#he will burn your house and throne/TAKE HIM FAR AWAY FROM HOME

[fluffypotatey]

you can say goodbye to

✨Penelope✨

you can say goodbye to

✨Penelope✨✨✨✨✨✨

I COULD RAISE HIM AS MY OWN

[daechwitatamic]

Of Ruin: Chapter 16 || KTH

(banner by @itaeewon)

Of Ruin (Masterpost)

Rating: NSFW - minors dni Genre: vampire!au magic!au royalty!au, s2l, slow burn, eventual smut, angst and fluff

Summary: Taehyung of House Rune, Prince of Infracticus has been cursed. You’re the human world’s leading curse-breaker. It should be simple. But unraveling the curse becomes the least of your problems in the face of a world on the brink of civil war… and the love you start to feel for the prince.

A/N: Thank you endlessly to @sailoryooons for betaing!!! 💕

//

Section Warnings: ig major character death but that’s kind of a technicality, vampire biting, blood drinking, vampire biting, fangwarming??? lmfao, fluff, what i hope is a plot twist lol wc: 5.1k

The passage behind the thrones leads to a corridor not far from Taehyung’s wing. It’s close to the section of rooms that are meant to be yours now. Yours, for your new life as an Infracti. For your new life as the King’s sperasa, until you become Queen.

You’d agreed that doing the ritual in your wing would be best, so that they won’t have to transport you - newly turned, probably unconscious - through the palace.

You are afraid.

You let yourself feel it, don’t deny yourself the right to float in the crawling sensation of terror clawing its way up from your stomach. Taehyung’s hand in yours can’t dispel it. Your pride in him and your love for him, mighty as they are, can’t dispel it.

You’ve become accustomed to fear in your time here. You press on.

In your main room, still unfamiliar to you, Taehyung holds you close, one hand on the back of your head and the other around your waist. You let him hold you, close your eyes.

“Brave,” he whispers.

“I don’t feel very brave,” you admit quietly.

A knock on the door comes and the Queen enters, followed by Jimin. Behind him is Seokjin of Score, and Namjoon. Taehyung arranged all of this once you and Dr. Kim had explained what would be needed.

Namjoon finds you and approaches, face solemn.

“You ready?” he asks quietly as you look over the written countercurse together.

“Have to be,” you say. “Are you?”

He nods. “We can do this,” he asserts.

“And then you get to go home,” you say.

He nods, looking up at you from the parchment. “I’m going as soon as we can confirm it worked,” he tells you, a bit of apology in his tone. Like he’s sorry he isn’t staying with you - even though there’s no way he could.

“Good,” you say, meaning it. “Tell your grandfather… Thank you for everything. And… Thank you, too. I couldn’t have done any of this without you.”

“It was an honor,” he says, quietly, then adds, “I’m grateful, too.”

You feel yourself choking up, and you will it away. You need to be clear-headed, professional. There isn’t room for this - not now. You’ll have to be sad later. Still, you tell him, “I hope I can come see you both soon. I’ll try - as soon as I’m able to be around humans.”

He smiles sadly. “Don’t come until you’re sure you won’t eat us.”

“I promise,” you say, smiling a little. 

He regards you seriously again. Behind him, Taehyung seems to be organizing the items you’d asked for, going over the directions again. Namjoon says, “This might be goodbye for a while, huh?”

“If the countercurse works,” you agree.

You both seem to hover on the precipice of a hug goodbye. In the end, he gives you a final clap on the shoulder, and then the plan is lurching into motion around you.

The Queen has the things you need - the metronome, a jar of ashes.

You set the metronome to a slow rate, and then usher everyone into place in the open space of the room. Then, you sprinkle the ashes in a perfect circle around the group, locking you in with the magic. No one speaks. They just watch you work, ranging from curious to subdued.

When the circle is perfect, you pull out the parchment with the countercurse and explain one last time.

“This is the point, right here,” you say, pointing and showing the paper around the group of Infracti, “when Namjoon will take over the incantation. The ashes will keep the magic close-by, but you need to close the circle as quickly as possible or we’ll lose the connection.”

“We’ve got it,” Seokjin assures you, steady. “Don’t worry.”

“Okay,” you say, pulse thundering. You wish there was anything you could do to stall. You wish there was a blanket you could pull over your head. You wish there was someone from the future who could come tell you that everything would work out, that things would go as you intend.

“If anything goes wrong,” you add, “break contact as fast as you can, and break the circle of ashes to let the magic out. The quicker the better.”

It is the Queen - though, she is not that anymore, now that her son has been crowned - who lays a cool hand on your arm.

“Nothing will go wrong,” she tells you evenly. “We are all here beside you.”

You nod, wordless.

“I’m going to start, then,” you say, but you have to clear your throat once to make it audible.

You mutter a spell you’d looked up just for this, and your parchment obeys the command, hovering mid-air between you and Namjoon, supported by nothing. Namjoon stands to your right and the Queen to your left, and you press your palms to theirs. With everyone in place, you make a perfect circle, with Taehyung straight across.

“Breathe with the beat of the metronome,” you instruct. “Inhale… exhale…”

You breathe in time with everyone around you until you feel your magic rise up, flowing out to mingle with theirs. It takes some time before you feel ready to start the incantations; with Taehyung all the way across the circle it takes a few minutes before you feel his magical signature touch yours through the flow of everyone else’s. But it is unmistakable when he does, the warmth and belonging that accompany the sensation couldn’t be from anyone else.

When you feel like your magic and his are secure, thoroughly immersed with each other, you begin the incantation. You speak slowly and carefully, feeling the familiar sensation of the curse beginning to untangle. You keep your eyes on the page, try not to get distracted by the others.

There is no room for error - you can’t die twice.

There is no snag this time, no pull behind your navel that tells you the curse is fighting back. When you say your last line, you take your hands from those next to you and step into the circle.

Across from you, Taehyung steps forward too.

Around you, the remaining four step closer and fill the gaps you’d left behind, their hands meeting to close a small circle around you and Taehyung. Namjoon’s deep voice picks up the incantation where you left off. He’s borrowing, pulling magic from the Queen and from Jimin, who flank him.

You meet Taehyung’s eyes. Your heart is in your throat. There is so much you want to say to him. That you love him. That you trust him. That he’s worth this sacrifice.

You can’t speak, though, not during the incantation. Instead, you step close to him, breathe him in, and let him envelop you.

He wraps his arms around you, just as he had before everyone else had entered your rooms. He would have to hold tight, he’d warned you, to keep you from moving too much when your body began to instinctively fight him. And then, after, to hold you up when your legs inevitably give out.

He’d also warned you it would hurt.

You are afraid. 

You are afraid, but Taehyung is cradling you between his arms like you are precious, so you take a breath and nod.

Taehyung leans down and nuzzles the spot on your neck that he tends to favor. You stifle your cry when his fangs puncture you, letting out a mangled groan of agony through gritted teeth. You’re glad for his inhuman hold around your back, because your knees do go weak for a moment before you will them back into compliance.

There is no pulling sensation, and no welcome rush of venom. Instead, Taehyung’s hands tighten around you like a warning and then the location of his bite goes white hot.

You hear yourself scream.

The heat spreads, up your neck, down your chest. Your eyes roll back, your throat rasps as your scream continues. Your legs give out, useless beneath you. 

You feel yourself start to fight, hands clawing at Taehyung’s sides, body beginning to twist and tug. Taehyung’s hold is true, and you get nowhere. Your lungs burn and your scream dies to a whimper before starting anew after you drag in a breath.

Everything is on fire - from head to toe you are aflame. Your muscles strain to aching as your body tries and tries to wrench itself away from the pain.

Darkness creeps in the edge of your unfocused vision as you kick fruitlessly at Taehyung’s immoveable legs. You hear yourself gasping out sobs between shrieks of pain. You can see less and less, the black swirling at the edges of your vision taking over by the second.

Before the darkness closes in on you, you will yourself to focus, choke down the next scream that crawls up your throat.

You want to see him. You want to see him before you die. 

Your eyes fight to find him against the blurriness, and you blink away tears. His mouth is wet with your blood and his cheeks are wet with tears, but when he sees you looking at him, he presses his forehead to yours, and his hands on your back unclench and soothe up and down instead.

There he is, you think. My King. My love. And then you let the darkness come.

—

Taehyung looks around the meeting room, then closes his eyes and rubs a hand down his face.

His cabinet, a mix of his father’s people and some of his own, wait him out.

“Three weeks,” he repeats hollowly.

The Infracti he directs that at nods. “Yes, Maiesti. The council needs time to deliberate. This is, as you know, a bit unprecedented.”

Taehyung purses his lips. It’s true; never before has a King - or former King, technically - been put to trial. Dethroned, murdered, cast away - yes. But not like this - a trial, a ruling of guilt, a council deliberating on what sentence he should serve. A sentencing that could take nearly a month, apparently.

“Very well,” Taehyung frowns. “And what of the other trials?”

An uneasy look passes through the room.

Taehyung sighs. “I asked for this myself,” he points out. “You don’t need to be afraid to talk to me about it.”

A woman at the table inclines her head in deference to her king. “Your trial has been scheduled the week after your father’s sentencing. We thought we ought to give you time to help your sperasa recover.”

That’s where Taehyung would rather be right now, in your dark rooms with you, and everyone in his cabinet knows it.

“Thoughtful,” he murmurs, because it is, because it’s not his cabinet’s fault that he murdered innocent humans while under the power of the curse, not their fault that he wants to answer for it.

“Hoseok and I will be fully prepared to represent your defense by then,” a dark-haired Infracti seated near Jin tells him. “I’m confident in our outcome.”

They move on to discuss the third trial - Seokjin’s father, the leader of the Scores. Seokjin listens politely, but the tips of his ears go red until the topic changes. 

Taehyung ticks the trials off in his head, all three, ducks in a row.

“Let’s meet in four days’ time,” Taehyung suggests, glancing around to see if anyone objects. “The trials were my first order of business, but we have a lot of work to do restructuring things around here.”

Everyone at the table nods, and once Taehyung gives a few cabinet members specific directions for tasks to handle in the next week, they disperse.

“Off to see your feral beast?” Jimin teases, as he and Taehyung follow the trickle of people out into the corridor.

Taehyung can’t help but grin, big and boxy. “I like her like this. I’ll almost be sad when she settles down again.”

Jimin laughs at this. “It’s only been a week since you turned her. You have at least another week or two before she calms down.”

Taehyung’s expression slides into a grimace. “Hopefully I’ll still be around once she’s settled and not rotting in the palace prison.”

Jimin’s face goes unreadably blank. “You don’t have to do this, you know,” he says, suddenly somber and quiet. “You’re the King. You could call it off - no one could say anything.”

Taehyung shakes his head. “I need to.”

Jimin purses his full lips at him, but doesn’t retort. Taehyung thinks that Jimin understands, even if he doesn’t like it.

“Yoongi will defend you well,” he says finally. “I’m sure the sentencing will be light.”

“I want the sentencing to be fair,” Taehyung says petulantly. “That’s the whole point.”

“It will be,” Jimin argues. “You were cursed. No one is going to hold that against you.”

Taehyung twists his mouth but doesn’t address this. They’ve been walking as they talk, and they near the doors that lead to your rooms. They’re heavily guarded - Taehyung counts seven Infracti but he knows there are more - mostly to keep you inside.

Jimin tells him goodbye, and the guards move to let him enter. He’s careful to slip through the crack in the doors quickly; the guards are careful to be ready, just in case you get through.

Your rooms are dark, the lamps all unlit, the heavy curtains closed and drowning out any sunlight that might filter through. Normally, Taehyung might expect you to have a fire crackling in the hearth, but part of turning includes several days of unbearable heat, and he’s not sure you’re past that yet.

You come out of nowhere, slamming into him from the shadows to his left, and Taehyung lets himself get knocked to the ground, landing squarely on his ass.

“Ouch,” he says, pouting at you.

Straddling him, rearing back so he can see the column of your throat working in the darkness, you curl back your upper lip, bare your brand-new fangs at him and snarl, the sound snapping and cutting.

He grins. He loves you like this. It makes him feel proud.

“What is it you need, my Queen?” he teases.

Your scowl at him, fangs hanging over your lower lip; you haven’t mastered putting them away yet, and Taehyung thinks it’s the damn cutest thing in the world.

“Drink,” you say, a demand.

“Are you thirsty?” he coos. Your scowl deepens. He knows your consciousness is cloudy right now, a haze of thirst and want and heat obscuring your finer thinking. But you’re in there, behind the haze, and each day a bit more of you shines through.

“Drink,” you insist again, petulantly.

He wishes he could take you hunting - deer, maybe even a bear. He’d loved to see you in action - he has no doubt you’d be a formidable predator, and it sends a thrill through him. But it would be too dangerous; if they happened across a human, you’d have no control. Not yet.

Maybe someday.

Instead, Taehyung flips you without warning, laying his body heavy over yours. You begin thrashing immediately, snarls rolling through you like seismic activity, but he’s stronger and he manages to hold you in place.

He gives a sharp whistle and your doors open. Your thrashing intensifies as you see an escape route, but the guards who wheel in two carts are quick, and soon enough the doors are shut again. Taehyung lets you up, and you skitter to the door, hands working at the knobs. They don’t budge.

You whirl around, looking at him furiously.

“Look,” he says happily, unphased by your anger, “they brought you drinks!”

Eyes narrowed suspiciously, you peer at the carts. There are a few items of blood-food, but unsurprisingly you pass them over. There are carafes of dark liquid, and if you wanted you could just drink. But Taehyung knows what your body is craving - just blood won’t be enough to sate you. Your fangs are tingling, itching to pierce, itching for warmth. You won’t feel better until that need is met, too.

The bags, just big enough to be cradled between two hands, are simply called Prey - a little joke by their inventor, none other than Jimin. They were created for newly-turned Infracti, meant to satisfy both needs at once. The pouch is not real skin, though it feels close enough. The blood inside is real.

You hold one between your hands, claws digging in like it might escape, and bring it to your mouth, piercing the pouch and beginning to drink. You let out a happy little sigh, and Taehyung comes to wrap his arms around you from behind.

“There,” he soothes. “Drink all you need. You’ll feel better.”

You work through three pouches before you stop, dropping the deflated Prey onto the cart it came from and turning to Taehyung with wide eyes, and the cutest fang-adorned pout.

“What is it, my love?” he murmurs, brushing a hand over the top of your head soothingly. “Don’t you feel better now that you’ve had some to drink?”

You nod, then reconsider, frowning and shaking your head.

“What’s not better?” he asks, moving to pull you into a standing cuddle.

Your frown deepens and you raise a hand and rub at your mouth, fingers sliding along your protruding fangs with a squeak.

“They hurt?” he asks sympathetically.

“Bite,” you mumble around your pout.

“Alright,” he tells you. “Let’s get comfortable.”

You loop your arms around his neck, and he takes a second to smile into your hair, holding you close. He likes you like this, too driven by your needs to be proud. He likes that you need him, that you want him, that the part of your brain that might make you pretend otherwise, or at least act like it’s less, is currently silenced by your bloodlust.

He lifts you, and you wrap your legs around his waist as he carries you deeper into your wing, seeking out your bedroom. The blankets are rumpled, half-thrown on the ground, like you’d tried to sleep but had eventually kicked the blankets off and gotten up to pace, instead.

That’s probably exactly what happened.

He settles back against the pillows and you straddle him, arms still around his neck. You bury your face against his chest and whine.

“I know,” he tells you, rubbing a hand up your back. You hiss at the contact, pulling away from where you’d been hiding your face.

“Hurts,” you complain.

“I’m sorry,” he murmurs, trying to touch more gently. He knows your muscles are sore, skin hot to the touch as your body adjusts. “You can bite if you need to bite.”

“You sure?” you ask, and Taehyung notes that it’s one of your first multi-word utterances. A sign that you’re making progress, coming out of the fog a little.

“I’m sure,” he tells you.

You nose at his neck, and he strokes lightly down your back until you find a spot you like.

It’s only a sting when you pierce the skin of his shoulder, over his deltoid, for which he’s thankful. You don’t drink - sangru can’t be ingested - but leave your sore, sensitive fangs buried in his flesh. You wrap yourself around him even tighter, settling in and closing your eyes as you feel relief for the first time all day.

Taehyung tries hard to hold still so he doesn’t knock you loose. He’s glad he can do this for you, help ease your way. 

He still finds it incomprehensible that you’d give up your human life for him. He holds still, and he whispers to you that it’ll get better soon, that Potato misses you, that he loves you.

After a while, he feels your breathing even out. He shifts gently, wincing as your fangs slip from his shoulder, the wounds starting to ooze tar-black sangru. Unbothered, he moves you gently into a more comfortable sleeping position, smiling when you hum in your sleep. Then, even though he’s slept all night ever since the curse was undone, he closes his eyes and lets himself drift away with you in his arms.

—

You lay still when you awaken, slowly taking inventory of each thing that hurts. Your head isn’t pounding - that’s a first, since the night Taehyung had turned you. You flex your fingers, roll your shoulders, stretch your legs towards the end of the bed. Things are stiff, but not painful the way they’d be the last few times you’d woken.

You rise gingerly, making your way to the windows, drawing back the curtains and filling the room with light. You blink against it, letting your eyes adjust.

You’re in your own rooms, your new wing in the palace. You wander from room to room absently, trying to familiarize yourself. You feel a little lost, a little out of place. You hadn’t inhabited these rooms for long before turning, and now you’ve been out of it for so long that you don’t even know what day it is.

You’re standing in the middle of the main room - with couches and an unlit hearth, just like Taehyung’s wing - staring absently at nothing when one of your tall doors cracks open.

You almost sag with relief when you see Satuel peek her head inside.

“Hi,” you breathe, deflating.

“You’re up,” she says, sounding a bit surprised. “It’s harder to keep track of you now that I can’t hear your heartbeat from outside.”

This makes you smile. “What day is it?”

She tells you as she comes inside, and you start counting on your fingers. Almost three weeks to the day since you’d performed Taehyung’s countercurse.

“Can I get you anything, Maiesti?” she asks.

You feel your face heat. “You shouldn’t call me that,” you say, a bit aghast. Your voice is rough from disuse. “I’m only Prince Taehyung’s sperasa.”

“You will be Queen soon enough,” she says in that cool, even way of hers. “What can I bring for you?”

You hesitate. “I’m very thirsty,” you admit.

She gives you a quick bow and retreats, and you sink into a chair, a bit dazed. Now that you’re noticed it, the thirst is powerful, and you find it hard to think about anything else.

Satuel doesn’t leave you suffering for long. She returns with a cart full of options - pitchers, Prey, and various pastries that must be blood-food.

You choose the pouches, the Prey, since they relieve both the thirst and the tingling need to bite. Though, you notice absently, the tingling isn’t so bad today.

While you drink, Satuel catches you up on what you’ve missed - the former King’s guilty verdict, Seokjin’s father’s trial underway, Taehyung’s own trial impending. Word that Namjoon made it back, that he’s doing fine settling back into his old life. That Taehyung has been here every day, helping you adjust, in between meetings with his new cabinet.

“Maiesti will be pleased to see you feeling more like yourself,” she notes.

“Do you think he’ll be long?” you ask, a bit wistfully.

Satuel gives you a knowing smile. “I think if I tell him you’re awake - really awake - he’ll leave his cabinet mid-meeting to come dote on you.”

You flush.

“Should I inform him?” Satuel asks, almost teasingly.

You wonder if, somehow, she has ended up as your friend.

You hesitate. “Could I… go see him? I’d really like a walk.”

You clean up before you go, and you’re pleased to find that you remember your way through the palace from these new rooms. It’s startling to walk down the corridor - your gait is awkward, your legs wanting to go faster than your brain thinks they can. But, of course, your brain is wrong - it needs time to catch up to what your body can do now.

You pause at the door of Taehyung’s meeting room, listening.

“I just think,” Seokjin is saying, somewhat hotly, “that there needs to be some weighting to the representation. The great houses should have more say than the lesser houses. We’re the ones here doing the work, we’re the ones here solving problems. The lesser houses can have a representative, but court families should have more.”

“I disagree,” someone else says, their tone carefully polite. “Beginning this new venture with an imbalance of power will only invite trouble. The lesser houses will be resentful from the beginning. It could brew into conflict. We don’t want to replace one monarch with a group of monarchs. Your Majesty, you wanted equality across Infracticus - that means you must start with equal.”

“You both make valid points,” Taehyung muses. “How do we decide? Should we vote?”

You step into the room. A few cabinet members look up, eyes widening. Another does a double take, at first deeming you unimportant and then looking again when they register who you are.

Taehyung lets out a noise like a laugh, a smile breaking across his face. “My love!” he cries. “You’re well?”

“I know my name today,” you tell him. “So that’s something, right?”

He starts to push his chair back, but you raise a hand to stop him. He halts mid-motion, clearly confused.

“What if you appointed representation by breaking up the land instead of by house?” you suggest, jumping uninvited into the conversation you’d interrupted. “I’ve seen it done that way above - it works, more or less. Then it doesn’t boil down to do the Runes get one or two, it would simply be that the Runes living in a designated area have the same representative as anyone else who lives there, too.”

Taehyung’s smile, if possible, triples in size. He finishes standing, pushing his chair away. He points at Seokjin mirthfully. “Discuss this suggestion in my absence,” he commands. “My Queen requires my attention now.”

Out in the hall, he sweeps you into a hug, swinging you in a circle. You laugh, slapping half-heartedly at him until he sets you down.

“You,” he says, “are the bravest, smartest, most beautiful Queen Infracticus has ever seen.”

“I’m not Queen yet,” you point out.

“We’ll start planning today,” he says, and then falters. “That is… if you want. I didn’t mean to rush you. I just got excited.”

You can’t help but smile, slipping a hand into his. “No,” you say shyly. “I do… want. Should we wait, though - for after your trial?”

He sobers. “Yoongi thinks it’ll be over in a day,” he says quietly, not meeting your gaze now. You squeeze his hand, reminding him that he’s not alone in this. “The Elders will testify that I was cursed… Namjoon is willing to testify as well… some of my guards, who kept me in my rooms…”

“I could, too,” you offer.

He nods, but it doesn’t seem like he’s saying yes. “If it comes to that,” he hedges. “But, like I said, Yoongi doesn’t think it’ll be much of a case. I’ll be relieved when it’s over, either way.” He shoots you a conspiratorial look. “And then, yes, we can start planning our events.”

“Events?” you echo.

“Wedding,” he ticks off on his fingers. “And then we’ll have to have a coronation for you.”

“I’d rather do it all in one go,” you admit. “I don’t like being the center of attention.”

He smiles indulgently at you. “You’ll get used to it,” he says. “If it helps, from now on, it will never just be you in the center, at least not alone. Wherever you go, you’ll always have me.”

And it does. It does help.

—

“Come on!” Taehyung’s voice is boyish, downright gleeful, as you struggle to keep up with his long legs.

“Where are we going?” you call to him, but your voice is lost by a strong ocean breeze, the sound carried away and drowned beneath the cries of the gulls and the crashing of waves.

In truth, you’re going slow on purpose, trying to savor this: the ocean you get to live beside, Taehyung laughing and carefree in a way you’ve never seen before, a sense that you belong right here.

It’s hard to wrap your brain around the truth that you don’t need to savor it, don’t need to make it last - you’ll have more time here than you can imagine.

Then, you recognize the stone steps he’s bounding down. He’s taking you to his stables.

“Potato missed me too much?” you tease, finally catching up. He grins at you in response.

Inside the stable, he tugs you past Potato’s stall, giving her a quick pat on the nose as he goes.

“Ta-da!” he crows, leaning over the wooden door to the stall, peering down into the space below. You follow his gaze and gasp, hands flying to your face.

“Taehyung!” you shriek. “No way!”

“You’ll scare her!” he chides, but he’s laughing, reaching to unlatch the door so you can properly meet the baby amarisca that stands in the stall. Her coat is royal blue, her hooves navy, and her eyes as black as Taehyung’s.

You sit on the ground and let her come to you, trying hard not to squeal and scare her even though you’re absolutely vibrating with excitement.

“I can’t believe you did this for me,” you all but sob, so happy you’re almost incoherent.

“You need to name her,” he points out, sitting down next to you, hay and dirt be damned.

“Noodle,” you say immediately. “Her name is Regency’s Noodle. Taehyung, oh my god!”

You almost lose it again when she presses her nose into your hand, and Taehyung beams, his smile as bright as the sun.

You’ve come a long way in your transition. You can go almost the whole day without drinking, mostly needing one end-of-day “meal” (four or five Prey pouches) to get you through. You’re more steady on your feet, practicing zipping around lightning-quick the way you’ve seen others do. And your magic is stronger, too. You’ve been thinking of asking Taehyung if there’s a more formal way you can train in magic, once things are settled.

There’s a lot still to come. Your wedding, your coronation. And though the cabinet has been hard at work, King Taehyung has yet to announce that he plans to dissolve the monarchy and create a more democratic system in its place. Neither of you - none of the cabinet members - expect the news to go over smoothly.

Whatever happens, you’ll face it together. It helps that Seokjin is so involved, practically Taehyung’s second-in-command.

“When she’s big enough,” Taehyung promises you, “we’ll race to my island. We’ll travel to the ends of Infracticus together - I’ll make sure you see it all. We’ll ride together and see all the places you grew up reading about.”

“And then what?” you ask, half-teasing. You have an eternity to fill, after all.

“Whatever you want,” he promises. “We’ll do whatever you want, My Queen.”

And he slides his hand into yours, where it fits like it belongs.

—

Taehyung’s hand is in yours when he meets with you and the Infracti who will defend him at the trial, Yoongi and Hoseok of Cleave. 

“I was… going to keep this to myself,” he admits, shoulders rounded with shame. “But I need to know that I truly answered for what I did. And I can’t do that if you only know part of the truth.”

Yoongi looks at you, like you might have some answers. You do not. 

Taehyung wilts just slightly more. He glances sideways at you. “My love,” he murmurs, “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you.”

“Maiesti,” Yoongi says, voice low with warning. He trails off. 

Taehyung fiddles with the rings on his fingers, unable to look anyone in the eye. “The whole truth,” he says, so quiet that you and Yoongi both lean closer to hear him, “is that the curse… it wasn’t what I intended - something went wrong -”

“What happened, Taehyung?” you ask, knowing it when you see him start to spiral into half-thoughts. 

He braces himself, and then tells you both what happened five nights before you’d arrived.

Before you came to Infracticus, Taehyung had spent an entire night in the deepest archives the palace held. He had thrummed with energy and desperation, as if stopping his father’s actions faster could also undo them. As if finding a solution quickly could absolve him, earn forgiveness.

He’d slapped a palm over the page when he found what he was looking for, after hours of searching, reading for so long that his eyes watered and begged to close.

A curse. A curse that would end his immortality, give him a human lifespan.

“If I die young, without an heir,” he had argued with absolutely no one, his voice echoing in the empty, stone room, “then the crown cannot pass on. After my father, it goes to no one.”

It didn’t solve the problem now, he knew. It meant Sunjae would continue to rule unchecked. But someday. Someday, Taehyung would die, and then Sunjae would die, and then the crown would be free.

He’d rest easier knowing that even if every plan he thought up eventually failed, at least Sunjae would be the last. Taehyung would spend however many years he got trying to stop him, and if nothing worked then at least he could die knowing that after Sunjae, it would end. The monarchy would cease to exist. Something better could rise from its ashes. It had to.

He had stood and pulled the book closer to the edge of the table so he could see it clearly and began borrowing, pulling magic from the world around him. He’d end his immortality, he’d kill his immortal self. For his people. For Infracticus.

“I am Taehyung of Rune, Prince of Infracticus,” he had told the empty room. He would bring his father down. He would end his house’s rule. “But perhaps I can be of Ruin, too.”

<- Prev

thank you so much for being here!! i hope you enjoyed this crazy world as much as i did. may scuttlebug tae live on forever in our hearts :')

[janaknandini-singh999]

Being a king was a lovely business.

But it was also a lonely business.

How can that be? If you are surrounded by all people chanting your name from the top of their lungs like a war cry?

But what if you never wanted a war?

Any of that separation, agony and a cycle encompassing all of that just going on?

"Dharma" Ram told himself, closing his eyes

When Kaikeyi exiled him, he had looked at the dawn raising his hand to the sun, as if to reach out to the new life awaiting him now.

When Dashratha wept rivers, Ram had never seen his father this vulnerable. He wanted to console him, to cry with him, but he was bound to go away for his sake.

When Kaushalya, despite being the mother and the pain she'd face by her son's separation, she had blessed Ram to go, to do what he was meant to do.

When Shurpanakha's nose was cut off by his brother, Ram had closed his eyes tighter and sighed, knowing a war was inevitable now.

Before that, however, during the exile he was quite happy. Braiding his wife's hair by the river, pausing to look at her with loving eyes as he smiled.

"What is it?" Sita asked him, smiling back "Don't worry, swami. We will be back at our home before you know it. This exile is just by default."

"My love, for me any place with you is a honeymoon. Who cares about any exile?" He paused again to tug a stray hair behind Sita's ear "Just let me cherish this moment. Who knows when it will come to pass again?"

Sita cupped Ram's face which made him tear up a little bit "Nothing can separate us. Even if the world does, you shall be the only king and God to rule my heart forever."

"A king's duty is to serve. So, let me serve you, not rule." He whispered and kissed her hands

"As a king?" Sita raised her eyebrows in amusement, grabbing an opportunity to tease her ever solemn husband.

Ram shook his head, laughing "As your righteous and rightful darling lil husband, of course" and tickled her as the sounds of their laughter blended in with the gurgling of water and singing of the birds.

"What must it feel like to be the king, dada?" Bharat had asked him with dreamy eyes once when they were kids. Only if they knew.

"Everything ever." Ram would answer in the future

"Everything one would think they'd want.

In the end only to be a martyr,

Deemed by all as a God."

"Dada, please don't leave us alone!" Bharat cried and cried, finally taking his big brother's sandals to be placed on the throne.

The heart that breaks to keep everyone else's from breaking. Did the people love the king because of who he really was or just because of the sacrifices he made for them?

But there was one who loved him for who he really was.

Hanuman

He was moved by his devotion so that the warrior monkey soon became his family

He looked up now at the fireworks that burst in the sky

Fire

He had a strange relation with it

Fire, that ran in Lakshan's veins like rage. The fire of poison that almost took him away. Ram's world would've been long gone into darkness if he had lost his brother. But Hanuman rescued him, because of which Ram would forever be indebted to him.

Fire, that danced on Hanuman's tail. With which he set ablaze the whole kingdom of gold to ashes. The arrogance of a vast emperor defeated by the piety of "Jai Shri Ram"

Fire, that devoured Raavan's body with the flaming arrow launched by Ram. A festival that would be celebrated for eons to come.

And finally, fire that Sita had to enter for the agnipariksha. Ram knew nothing could touch her wife but for a brief second, he recalled Sati's trial and the grief Mahadev went through. He gripped his heart as a tear lingered by his eye, burning as intensely as the agni Sita was so calmly going into. But she emerged unscathed and Ram finally breathed relief.

What does it feel like to finally come home?

Ram looked around

Diyas lit up houses as far as the eyes could see

An inviting, slow flame of love, not violent fire

Rangoli adorning every doorstep in welcome

He could finally see his family, his brothers as they used to be when they were young, his parents desperate to see their son back, his people longing to touch his feet, Hanuman hugging him fiercely in between sobs and lastly, his wife's eyes numb with the happiness of reunion.

"Swami" she breathed as tears rolled down her cheeks

If he had cried earlier, they would've seen him as a weak king. Hanuman would've set the world ablaze if he saw his Ram upset. So would Lakshman. And Sita would even set herself on fire, all over again, a million times in a million births if that would ensure his happiness

But now Ram let go, all the tears he was holding back since what felt like forever

So? How does it feel?

"Prem" Ram told himself, closing his teary eyes and smiling, swaying his head silently to the tune which was on everyone's lips

Ram aayenge toh angnaa sajaungi

Deep jalaake diwali main manaungi

Meri jhopdi ke bhaag

Aaj khul jaayenge

Ram aayenge

[glitchy-anime-fan]

This might be just me, maybe I’m missing something, but I feel like some people who criticise EPIC!Odysseus for killing an infant but drawing the line at sleeping with Circe might not be taking into consideration how literally every event Odysseus has face since Troy has affected him as a person and how much guilt he’s continually facing.

To preface; THIS IS NOT ME HATING ON OTHER FANS!! I’m not trying to bully anyone or make fun of anyone, this is just something that has been in my head and I need to rant about it. This also only pertains to EPIC’s depiction of Odysseus, not any other interpretation of the character/story!

[minor grammatical edits made on 2/25/2024)

I saw a discussion on here the other day where the parties involved were talking about the changes made between the original Homeric story and EPIC. One of the main points of contention that I remember was how one of them said it rubbed them the wrong way that Odysseus was fine with killing an infant but didn’t want to sleep with Circe. I can totally understand why this may be an odd choice of morality to make, however, we have to keep in mind that the Odysseus from the Troy Saga is VERY different than the Odysseus in the Circe saga. Troy Saga Odysseus appears to be far more confident in himself and his plans; one could even argue that he’s a bit cocky. As stated by Odysseus in the ocean saga, NONE of his own men died in the battle which would add to Odysseus’ confidence and pride. This is vastly different than the grief stricken Odysseus later in the story, but more on that later.

Now the infant scene in question doesn’t necessarily set in stone Odysseus’ moral/ethical code; one could say the situation itself is an ethical dilemma (a problem with no one right answer). Odysseus is told by Zeus, king of the gods, that if he doesn’t kill Hector’s baby than Odysseus’ entire family (perhaps even kingdom) is in grave danger. However, Odysseus doesn’t make a decision right away, I’m mean the entire second song of the saga is Odysseus mulling over his options; kill an infant or risk his families safety. Neither option is preferable and I think “Just a Man” is meant to show that Odysseus isn’t a man who would readily kill a child, no questions asked, just because he was told to. In “The Infant and the Horse” Odysseus is ready to comply until he discovers that the “foe” he’s meant to kill is an infant. I mean, he literally pleads with Zeus to give him another option;

[ODYSSEUS, ZEUS]

I could raise him as my own (He will burn your house and throne)

Or send him far away from home (He'll find you wherever you go)

Make sure his past is never known (The gods will make it known)

I'd rather bleed for ya, down on my knees for ya (He's bringing you down on your knees for ya)

I'm begging please

Oh, this is the will of the gods

Please don't make me do this, don't make me do this

This part alone shows that Odysseus is, in fact, NOT fine with killing a child. Again, the second song in the saga is Odysseus going over his options and even asks for forgiveness when he finally makes his decision. I don’t know about you all, but I don’t think someone who’s okay with killing a child would ask for forgiveness. In this situation it’s very likely that Odysseus made the choice to protect his family and kingdom above all else, which I feel like is a valid choice in this situation. Odysseus was told, by a god, that him and his family would be killed should the baby live, I highly doubt Odysseus at this point was readily willing to try and call Zeus’ bluff.

It’s also not like the action didn’t affect Odysseus later. Again, I’m sure someone who wouldn’t have a guilty conscience about such a heinous act would ask for forgiveness. Similarly, two songs later in “Open Arms”, Polites brings up Odysseus’ guilt at the end when he says “I see in your face, there is so much guilt inside your heart”. Odysseus is clearly guilty about what he’s done, once again reinforcing that he is not “okay with killing an infant”. You can also pick up on it in the way Jay sings Odysseus’ songs following “Just a Man”; Odysseus seems to be more distracted or distant likely due to the shock of his own actions.

Similarly, we have to take into consideration literally every new traumatic incident Odysseus is faced with between the Cyclops and Ocean sagas. In the Cyclops Saga, Polyphemus kills a large number of Odysseus’ crew which would make this the first heavy loss Odysseus’ army would have faced since the war. I can imagine that this loss would have been a huge blow to Odysseus’ pride given the fact that none of his men died in the war. Similarly, since Odysseus is their captain and king, it’s fair to assume that Odysseus may see the deaths as his fault adding to his guilt.

Not only does he lose many in his crew, Odysseus also loses his best friend Polites which greatly effects Odysseus throughout the rest of the musical. In “Keep Your Friends Close” when the crew is scheming to open the bag of wind from Aeolus, they say “Everything's changed since Polites,” referring to how much Polites’ death not only effected Odysseus but also the crew. Odysseus becomes more and more closed off and distrusting which makes sense since it seems Polites was the one that mainly pushed Odysseus to be more open. This is another death that Odysseus can tack onto the growing list of reasons his guilt is eating him alive.

Side note: Odysseus also looses the support of Athena, his patron goddess following “My Goodby”. Athena has been someone who we can assume (given Athena’s story during “Warrior of the mind”) has been guiding Odysseus since he was a child so, even if Odysseus is no longer happy with Athena’s view on being a good warrior, it likely hurt him on some level to loose her. We have to keep in mind; Odysseus also thought of Athena as a friend not just a goddess and has thought this way since he met Athena. If we assume that Athena and Odysseus have never had a fight this bad until “My Goodby” then I think it’s fair to say that the outcome of the fight would negatively impact Odysseus. He may be too prideful to admit it at the time, but I can only imagine how awful it would feel to loose the support of a friend and patron deity at the same time.

I think one of the biggest blows yet for Odysseus comes during “Ruthlessness” when Poseidon and/or the Laestrygonians sink and kill everyone but Odysseus and his immediate crew mates (as in, the crew on Odysseus ship as apposed to those on the other twelve ships). As I mentioned earlier, throughout the ten years Odysseus and his army were in Troy not one of his men died. This changed when they faced Polyphemus, and only worsens when Poseidon attacks. Odysseus goes from having a crew of 600 (at the start of the musical) to 43 following this attack. Not only does he loose nearly all his men, it’s directly Odysseus’ fault it happened in the first place. Poseidon tells Odysseus directly that they “totally could have avoided all this had [Odysseus] just killed [Poseidon’s] son”.

Had Odysseus just listened to Athena at the time and killed Polyphemus, there would have been no one left to tell Poseidon about the attack; the god likely wouldn’t have known. Likewise, had Odysseus not let his hubris get the better of him and not told Polyphemus his full name, even if Poseidon found out his son had died or was left blind, he wouldn’t have known who did it. The whole situation is directly Odysseus’ fault and Poseidon is very clear in letting him know that. This obviously is going to add to Odysseus’ guilt exponentially since this time it truly was his own actions that lead to this scenario. Not to mention that had Odysseus just apologised, Poseidon might have been gracious to the crew.

Now there’s no saying what that would look like for Poseidon, maybe he would have only sunk one or two ships or maybe he was lying, who knows. The main point is that Odysseus was given another chance to get out of this peacefully, but he can’t swallow his pride long enough to say “I’m sorry”. Odysseus instead tries to talk his way out of it and Poseidon isn’t having it; this is another instance of Odysseus’ actions resulting casualties. All of this happens before the Circe saga mind you.

So let’s review all the instances that would be causing Odysseus guilt so far:

He’s been forced to kill a child to save his family and kingdom

He’s lost his best friend and a chunk of his crew to Polyphemus

He’s lost the support of his patron goddess who he has also seen as a friend since childhood

He’s lost 90% of his crew (give or take) due to his own actions

You cannot look at this and tell me that it would not greatly affect your mental health in any way. Odysseus is being weighed down by an immense about of grief and guilt as the story continues. It gets to be so much that in Puppeteer Odysseus tells Eurylochus that while he would like to leave Circe’s island, he can “hardly sleep now knowing everything [they’ve] done”, directly referring to the guilt that keeps weighing on his mind. By this point in the story Odysseus is so wracked with guilt that he would rather risk his own life to save the few men he has left that add anymore to his guilty conscience.

I see this as one reason why Odysseus rejects Circe’s advances. Odysseus went to save his men who were transformed because he already can’t sleep and doesn’t want to add any more guilt onto his mind. Do we really think he would change this stance just so he could sleep with a goddess? The thought of cheating on Penelope would likely cause Odysseus just as much guilt as leaving his men. This situation poses a similar dilemma to the very beginning of the story; Odysseus can either comply and free his men or not. In this moment Odysseus is in a lose-lose situation, however, he doesn’t let that stop him from trying to essentially create a third option that doesn’t add to his guilt.

And he’s successful this time.

Unlike he pleaded with Zeus, is seems that for one reason or another Odysseus is successful in pleading with Circe; he is able to create a third option for himself and his crew. He’s able to create a reality where his remaining crew survives and Odysseus doesn’t add anymore to his guilt.

Again, this is not about the original story, or other interpretations, this is solely based on what we know from EPIC. In short; Odysseus pleaded and begged with Zeus not to make him kill Astyanax, to give him a third peaceful option but failed. Odysseus is given a whole song about his own moral struggle in the options given to him and is then haunted by the guilt of his actions. He is then faced with the death of his crew due to his own actions, becoming not only a point of further guilt but also a shot at his pride. Odysseus looses Athena’s favour and looses Polities. While Odysseus may have begun to cave to Circe, I believe it was ultimately his love for his family and his desire to not add to his guilt that made him reject Circe.

Odysseus was never okay with killing an infant, he felt guilty likely from the moment he made his final decision. By the time he meets Circe, Odysseus would rather attempt to talk his way out (something that hasn’t actually worked till now) than add to his guilt. I’m truly not sure what I’m missing that, in the context of the musical, this isn’t obvious. Maybe it’s because I’m taking EPIC as its own story and not a one-to-one with the source material, who knows.

Sorry this got really long, I just needed to get it out somewhere before it plaques my mind anymore. Once again, I’m not trying to hate on anyone or bully anyone, this is just my own opinion on the matter!

[dinossaurz]

The shadow raven

Prologue

Pairing: ??!reader; mafia!ateez;

Genre: Enemies to lovers, slow burn, mafia au.

Summary: Y/N is the mafia princess. She's heir to the "throne", but for that, she need to be married to a good boy. But he doesn't need to be part of Mafia. But what if destiny just decided to play with Y/N?

Warning: implicit nudity, guns are cited, blood (in this chapter)

WC: 478

Credits: to @rems-writing to this beautiful banner. Thank you, love 💜

Network: @newworldnet

You just kicked your red high heels through the lobby of your home. Your black dress damped with fresh blood.

You don't even tried to care about all the people working in your family manor at that point, just taking off that fucking tight dress and throwing him away just as you did with the heels.

"Darling, where are you going?" You listened to your father's high toned voice, but decided to ignore. "Y/N! I'm having a serious meeting here."

But again, you just ignored his desperate calling.

In the silence of your room, all alone, finally, you decided to look to yourself in your bathroom's mirror, and just realized how stained was your skin, with someone else's blood, already dark and dry. All along with bruises everywhere, where you were hit by something.

"You've fucked up again, little mafia shitty princess, don't you?" You whispered to yourself, turning away from your own reflection.

The water that falls in your tub is cold as ice, but you just thought about how the temperature would make you forget about what just happened a few hours ago.

Flashback

"You don't even now what you're doing, do you?" Your instructor asked.

You secretly were having shooting lessons with a cop friend. Ironically enough, he never know who you were, even if your father is his main mission as a police agent. You laughed a little thinking about it.

"No, I don't. That's why I asked you to teach me how to use it". Lies, all lies. You knew exactly what you needed to do, but you also needed to pretend being dumb just to make sure he never discover your true identity.

But not everything is what it looks like, and he knew exactly who you are. Oh, boy... And how he knew.

"You can stop pretending now, princess." He said, a lower tone that he's used to talk to you. You turn your head a bit, looking at him with a interrogative expression.

"I finally found you, the fucking shadow raven." And then, he smiled, pointing his gun to your chest, covered just with the black dress. You hold your breath, thinking about how close he is to you at this moment.

Without no thinking, you punched the gun away from his hand, skillfully. And he scoffed.

"So I'm right?" He looked at you with angry in his eyes, as if you had ruined his trust on you.

And then... he took a haste as skilfully as you, and then punched you various times, making your body ache and you screamed in pain, your eyes being blurry with the tears.

And then, when he was far enough from you, you took the gun and pressed the trigger.

BAM... was the last thing you remember after you entered your house and made a bloody mess in the lobby full of other people.

[sardonic-sprite]

Since EPIC has been taking up 90% real estate in my head without paying rent, here goes a series of me ranting about each song <3

The Horse and the Infant

*Entire opening*

I absolutely adore how it starts so quiet, like they're in the horse's belly planning. In my head, that initial rushing sound is a single candle being lit. As Odysseus names people and gets louder, there's more and more light, until on ATTAAAACK!!! the whole Ithacan army comes BURSTING out and it's glorious

Backtracking though,

What do you live for?/What do you try for?/What do you wish for?/What do you FIGHT for?

I used to goof and end on *what do you DIE for* because that's intuitive, but Odysseus directly contradicts that intuition! You can debate or have it coexist whether he's changing the line in that vision of kindness he clings to during the first act or whether he's in denial over the real damage he's causing, but the fact that the line IS this way gives me Feels

And then--

Pe-ne-lo-pe! Pe-ne-lo-pe! And Te-le-ma-cu-us!

The way everything cuts out but but the light strings and ODYSSEUS' OWN FUCKING HEARTBEAT LIKE COME ON! He loves them so much I'm willing to let him commit atrocities.

*insert EPIC battle music*

You can feel the chaos of battle and I don't know how Jay did it but he did and I love it so much

AHHH! *screech*

The sudden shift. Is a new challenger approaching? Sorta. Again, though, almost everything has cut out, but instead of sweet strings and a heartbeat, there's this droning bass like some inexorable, heavy doom approaching, and then there's Zeus, who sounds so imperial and *unfeeling.*

A mission/To kill someone's son/A foe who won't run/Unlike anyone/You have faced before/Say no more!

The clever phrasing is on point, because it tricks us all. And then Odysseus' reply -- he's already so confident, even cocky. He thinks this is some superpowered champ and he's like HELL YEAH ZEUS MA DUDE LEMME AT IM!

*the fucking piano*

It's a lullaby. It's the sound of ice dropping down Odysseus' spine. It's a million memories spinning in his head.

It's just an infant... What sort of imminent threat does he pose...?

The shock, horror, and disbelief... Ow. Odysseus is completely in denial. And then there's almost a scoff to "imminent threat," like he's trying to make Zeus feel like an idiot for fearing a baby, like he'll change his mind.

If you don't end him now, you'll have no one left to save! You can say good bye to -- Penelope -- You can say goodbye to -- Penelope--

DAMN Zeus pulls the Penelope card. AND YET. They say Penelope twice, just like Odysseus did in the beginning... but it feels so intentional that Telemacus is left out. The gods don't dare put the image of Odysseus' baby boy in his head, or this child will have Telemacus' face and Odysseus will fail.

I COULD RAISE HIM AS MY OWN! he will burn your house and throne OR SEND HIM FAR AWAY FROM HOME! find you wherever you roam MAKE SURE HIS PAST IS NEVER KNOWN-- the gods will make him know

Odysseus offering all these TOTALLY REASONABLE AND WORKABLE suggestions because what the fuck is this command, it's a BABY there are so many other ways-- And every sentence, Zeus and the gods are shooting the idea down with increasingly ridiculous excuses. Ok sure, maybe adopting the kid would end in tragedy when the truth comes out. Ok I guess maybe he'd find out elsewhere and track Odysseus down, but like. BUT THE GODS WILL MAKE HIM KNOW? My dude, WHICH GODS? You want the kid to Not Do A Thing? Right? That's why you want Odysseus to kill him? WHY THE FUCK WOULD YOU "MAKE HIM KNOW" IF HE'S ABLE TO LIVE IN BLISSFUL IGNORANCE IT WOULD SAVE ALL OF FUCKING GREECE A GOOD DEAL OF AGONY!

I'm on my knees for ya! I'm begging please! ... *thunder* *rain* PLEASE don't make me do this, don't make me do this!

He's so desperate. I want to cry. I am also on my knees begging. I just picture Odysseus shaking his head, tears falling, clinging to hope or delusion that Zeus will change his mind. And the rain... even the sky is crying

The blood on your hands is something you won't lose/All you can choose is whose...

This is. A statement of truth? A prophecy? A curse? It gives me chills, though, especially at the end when there's nothing but the last hiss... It feels *unfinished* like there's more to say, and part of it is how the grammar got rearranged to make the rhyme, leaving out a word or two, but since the meaning is still clear, it throws everything else into doubt. There's also the subtle emphasis Zeus puts on *won't*. What the fuck does that mean? Won't as opposed to can't? As though Odysseus could choose to wash his hands but ultimately chooses more bloodshed? Won't as in it's forbidden? Why? Won't as the future tense of don't? Does that mean it's a prophecy, that Zeus is telling Odysseus a neutral fact? WHAT IS THE EMPHASIS FOR?

Final remarks:

Never read the source material, so it was hard for me at first to get invested when there's all these names, but the pure energy and emotion draws you in no matter what, and in the end everything but Odysseus *literally* fades away.

The first MANY times.I listened, up until I watched this one animatic, I was convinced Odysseus turned away and spared the baby. Or better yet, adopted him (bc Im a Bat girlie first lmao). In my head there's a happy AU where Telemacus gets a new baby brother and meets his uncle Polites and everything is beautiful and shut up don't shatter my illusions I KNOW it has to happen bc *theme*

Is it my favorite song in the musical, no, but do I always sing/mouth along once the energy picks up? Absolutely. Overall, Imma go with 6/10

[telltale-apologist]

Alright my brothers, listen closely

Tonight we make the Trojans pay

Ten years of war, they've killed us slowly

But now we'll be the ones who slay

Think of your wives and your children

Your families wonder where you've been

They're growing old and yet you're still here

Do what I say and you'll see them again

(Yes sir)

Diomedes will lead the charge

Agamemnon will flank the guards

Menelaus will let our mates through the gates to take the whole city at large

Teucer will shoot any ambush attack

And Little Ajax will stay back

Nestor, secure Helen and protect her

Neo, avenge your father, kill the brothers of Hector

(Yes sir)

Find that inner strength now

Use that well of pride

Fight through every pain now

Ask yourself inside

What do you live for?

What do you try for?

What do you wish for?

What do you fight for?

(What do you live for?)

(What do you try for?)

(What do you wish for?)

(What do you fight for?)

Penelope

Penelope

And Telemachus

I fight for us

I fight for us

Penelope

(What do you try for?)

Telemachus

(What do you wish for?)

I'm on my way

(What do you fight for?)

Attack!

Who was that?

A vision

Of what is to come, cannot be outrun

Can only be dealt with right here, and now

Tell me how

I don't think you're ready

A mission

To kill someone's son

A foe who won't run

Unlike anyone you have faced before

Say no more

I know that I'm ready

I don't think you're ready

It's just an infant

It's just a boy

What sort of imminent threat does he pose, that I cannot avoid?

This is the son of none other than Troy's very own Prince Hector

Know that he will grow from a boy to an avenger

One fueled with rage as you're consumed by age

If you don't end him now, you'll have no one left to save

You can say goodbye to

(Penelope)

You can say goodbye to

(Penelope)

I could raise him as my own (he will burn your house and throne)

Or send him far away from home (he'll find you wherever you go)

Make sure his past is never known (the gods will make him know)

I'd rather bleed for you, down on my knees for ya (he's bringing you down on your knees)

I'm begging please (this is the will of the gods)

Please don't make me do this, don't make me do this

The blood on your hands is something you won't lose

All you can choose is whose

Is this Epic or is it PJO (I have Not caught up on either oopsies 😬)

[blueeclipsepaperstudent]

Lost Souls - Chapter Two (Lust x reader)

Summary:

Prince of Lust is known for his cunningness, desirability, extravagancy and most of all – cruelty. He can give others the taste of pure joy and desire, but before his victims can grasp on those feelings, he takes it all. Together with any desire to live, what made a being a being, to feed his sin. Where once was utter joy, there was utter hell. But lust is never-ending and always left unsatisfied, just like gluttony – enough is never enough. And so, the prince keeps on taking and taking, yearning to fill that void inside his rotten and wicked soul, or what was left of it, and hiding this very truth from the world and himself behind his jovial and cunning persona.

Reader is a mere mortal, who is trying to make her world a better place by helping only pure souls that are left in the world and tries to improve their lives. At the age of 25 she graduated Veterinary University and became well-regarded by her colleagues. But no matter how hard she tried, sometimes her knowledge, skills and practice aren´t enough to saves lives that matter to her the most. That is sadly a part of her job, of medicine. She is average beautiful honest and perceptive young lady with big heart and sensitive soul, that was hurt and struggled to live many times in her life. And is struggling once again. What will happen when she somehow ends up in completely different world and timeline, far away from home?

What will happen when these two lost souls finally collide?  Will they find solace in each other, or will their difference only keep them forever apart?

Maybe their difference isn´t so big after all. 

Lust x our world!reader

-----------------------------------

Warnings into the future: emotional struggle, suicidal thoughts, slow burn, small confidence, lust is a secret romantic, threesome, penis in vagina sex, oral sex, mirror sex, dirty talk, praise, violence (more warnings will be add in the future),

there will be probably no plot – it will be a journey of two souls finding their way to each other (with eventual porn)

This is for everyone who can´t wait for another book starring Prince of Lust. Because the book isn´t released (and who knows when it will be released) we don´t know his inside character. So this won´t be totally accurate and this is purely my imagination (hell I didn´t even read The Throne of the Fallen or The Throne of the Secrets, because it isn´t still translated to my language) what his character actually looks like. So, this fic will be probably rewritten once his book will be released :P.

And sorry for any grammar mistakes. As you probably found out English isn´t my native language.

AO3 - Lost Souls

---------------------------------

(Y/N) = your name                     

(Everybody knows this shortcut (just how many dirty fictions you read, you freak), but I will still give here an explanation.)

(Y/L) = your last name

(Y/Nn) = your nickname/short version of your name (given by your family)

(Y/C) = your favourite colour

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<<<< Chapter One

>>>> Chapter Three

Chapter Two

I took off my face mask as the patient let out his last breath, no resuscitation helped him. I let out a weary sigh to the beeping of the monitor expressing my another failure.

“Time of death – 12:38,” I said, looking at my colleagues, who looked as tired and as grim as I did.

I left the operating room without a word, leaving the rest of the work to my colleagues. I took off my blood-soaked clothes and gloves and threw it into the thrash. I washed my hands and left the death behind me and started looking for a place to hide from everyone.

------------------------------

I woke up to the alarm of my phone. Sign for me to get up. So I did. Ignoring the fact that it was getting harder with another day and another failure.

I did my morning routine, got dressed, took my keys and left my small, quiet cottage-like house to face another day at work.

-----------------------------

I was doing some paperwork in my office, which was attached to the clinic I had set up. After graduating the Veterinary university, I spent a year traveling across the world – Canada, Scotland, Ireland, Netherlands, Spain, Madagascar, Japan and many places in Africa and Asia - improving my skills and knowledge, gaining more practice and experience. When I returned home I set up a clinic, which helped the horses, farm animals, small animals, also wildly living animals that found themselves at the rescue stations. My clinic also cooperated with zoo. I wanted to help as many animals as I could. So, I hired the best of the best veterinarians, who shared my goal and passion, in my country and one from another country and soon our clinic became one of the best and acknowledged.

This clinic became my child and I was very proud of it. I loved my work and I still do. But recently my failures were getting the best of me. I wasn´t getting joy from any of my patients I could help and instead my mind was overwhelmed with patients I wasn´t able to help.

I took a sip of an energy drink I had poured myself. One could think I had taught myself to drink coffee, since I had attended a very difficult university. I despised bitter things and never got over it. But I really could use a dose of real caffeine right now. Good sleep was avoiding me for a long time and I needed to stay awake during the work.

I was lost in the words and letters on the blindingly white paper when the knock was heard.

“Come in,” I called out not lifting my head from the paperwork.

My colleague entered and sat down in front of my desk without saying a word. I couldn´t look at her. I still felt ashamed of yesterday´s exitus.

“How are you feeling?” my colleague said carefully. Like it was supposed to trigger some rampage.

“I feel fine” I lied with the most convincing smile I was capable of. I even looked from the papers and gave her my best smile to her. I wanted to convince her that she didn´ have to worry about me.  I didn´t want be a burden or let anyone down with my inner turmoil. But she always saw through my lies. It was a pathetic and naïve attempt. 

“Liar.”

Didn´t I say so?

I sighed and leaned against the back of the chair. I didn´t want to look at her. I knew that if I did, the dam of tears would finally break. And I didn´t want to look weak in front of her. I am her boss after all. I am supposed to be someone she could depend and rely on when everything fails and crumbles down.

“What do you want me to say?”

She remained silent for a few minutes studying my face. I tried to hold everything in, not to let anything of my true feelings to the surface. Then she said: “We´ve all noticed you´ve been out of your skin for a while now.”

I swallowed.

“There is no life in your eyes lately. You are not the same as you were the first day we started working together,” she continued with a hushed tone. Still no reply from me. “You can talk to us, you know. We are your family, you can tell us what is troubling you. You can rely on us.”

“I am the one you are supposed to rely on.”

“But you are human too. It is not a shame to feel lost and troubled. Especially with us. Boss or not. We are in this together,” she said with such a soft tone. Like I would break down if she raised her voice. Maybe I would.

Tears were prickling my eyes. I blinked many times to make them go away, but it wasn´t helping. I inhaled some air trying to say something, however I couldn´t bring myself to it.

My colleague rose from her seat and came to me, feeling and seeing my struggle. She kneeled before me and took my hands in hers.

And I broke down. The tears were flowing from my eyes endlessly. The more I tried to stop them the more were flowing. And my colleague held me in my arms, shushing me, comforting me. I grabbed her uniform in my fists and cried harder. She reassured me many times that it was okay. It was okay to cry. It was okay to let it all out. That I will feel lighter once I will get it all out.

But the truth was I didn´t lighter or better. Actually, I felt even worse.

“What is bothering you?” she asked me while I was calming down from what felt like hours long mental breakdown. But I think she already knew the answer. She just wanted to hear it from me.

“I am a failure,” I exhaled, my voice clouded in tears and full nose. She didn´t reply. She waited for me to explain.

“I failed one life yesterday. I failed 3 lives last week. And another ones last month. I couldn´t do anything to save them,” I cried out.

“But you have saved and helped so many lives in between. You are not a failure.” she paused and the continued.

“Death is a part of our job. No matter how far we have come with technology and knowledge, there are some things that cannot be cured, that cannot be treated. Sometimes we must give our patients procedures, but we don´t know for 100 % if the patient can endure the procedure or treatment, but we have to do this procedure, because we haven´t found a better way, yet. There's also the question of whether there is a better way.”

“I know that. But I cannot get rid of the feeling that I am not doing enough. That I can do more. That I should have tried more,” I whispered. I had never felt so small in my entire life like I felt at that moment. The anxiety making me smaller and smaller, making me a small, pressurised ball ready to finally explode. My chest was hurting, I couldn´t lift the weight of the guilt I felt.

My friend opened her mouth, tried to say something, but then someone burst into my office.

“It´s Freya!”

Both of us got up from the floor, entering the doctor mode, and rushed to the room, where we were looking out for our patients. Freya has been here practically since her birth diagnosed with muscular dystrophy. We were giving her strong inhibitors, so she could experience a normal life as much as possible, since the owner didn´t want put her down. However, she wasn´t responding much to the inhibitors. She already had a high dosage (as much as we could give her), everybody had expected some improvement would finally show up like it was in the case of other patients with the same disease.

The improvement had never showed up. The disease was progressing rather fast. Still she remained a happy and curious foal. She easily crawled into our hearts.

We arrived at her box. She laid there breathing heavily. Not moving.

We quickly got to work.

-----------------------

After hours of work, trying to make her cling to life, Freya was gone.

Another lost life to my list.

For the rest of the day everyone worked as best as they could, trying not to let sadness get to them. I contacted the owner, telling her the bad news. She arrived in an hour, and we handed her the foal for cremacy or burying. She arrived and left without a world, but I saw the resentment and accusations in her face.

-----------------------

I worked until evening, some of my colleagues already left in the afternoon, other colleagues arrived for the night shift.

I changed my work clothes to civil – black turtleneck and dark blue jeans -, put on my backpack and left the clinic. I didn´t have a car. I always used public transport. But I wanted to be alone right now, so I decided for a walk. It will be a long and tiring walk. Normally I was lazy to walk for so long (and didn´t have any stamina for it), but tonight I wanted to punish myself.

After an hour of walk I reached the bridge. Another half an hour was ahead of me until I reach my lonely home, where nobody was waiting for me. I gave myself a break and stopped, leaning on the railings. I looked at the depth beneath me. Dark and cold river flowing, not caring what else she took with it. Never stopping. A constant in this world. A complete mindless part of this world, but as much important. I wanted to be like the river. I wanted a clear mind. I didn´t want to care about the rest of the world.

I looked at the sky and wished I could live without guilt, without fears, without failures. I wanted to come home and have somebody there, who will hold me as I break down and then put my pieces together. I wanted to live happily like the foal until the very end. I wanted to enjoy my life as I have before.

I closed my eyes and made the wish.

Then I came to my senses and laughed at my nativity. Wishes were for the kids. Happiness was for the lucky ones, the chosen ones. I wasn´t one of them. And I will never be. I continued my walk ignoring the passing cars.

Suddenly, there was a loud and urgent car horn behind me. I turned around and was blinded by hitlights. The horn still sounding. I put my arms in front of me in pathetic attempt to protect myself. And then everything got dark.

--------------------

I didn´t know where I was, I couldn´t open my eyes no matter how much I tried. My body wanted to give up to the unconsciousness. I was cold.

I heard someone´s footsteps approaching me. Somebody touched my neck and then I heard someone talking, but I heard them like I was under water. I couldn´t make up the words. Somebody moved my body, but I lost the battle and fell to the arms of unconsciousness.

[sixhundredwinionsinatrenchcoat]

Epic the Musical according to Google Translate: The Horse and the Infant

ODYSSEUS: Alright my brothers, listen closely

Tonight, we make the Trojans pay

Ten years of war, they've killed us slowly

But now we'll be the ones who slay

Think of your wives and your children

Your families wonder where you've been

They're growing old and yet you're still here

Do what I say and you'll see them again

so be careful people

pay for a shirt tonight

Ten years of war are slowly killing us

but now he must be killed

think of your wife and children

Your family wonders where you are.

It grew and is still there

Do what I say and you'll see them again

SOLDIERS: Yes sir!

same lord!

ODYSSEUS: Diomedes will lead the charge

Agamemnon will flank the guards

Menelaus will let our mates through the gates to take the whole city at large

Teucer will shoot any ambush attack

And little Ajax will stay back

Nestor, secure Helen and protect her

Neo, avenge your father, kill the brothers of Hector

Diomedes leads the battle .

Agamemnon stands by the guard .

Menelaus allows our neighbor to pass freely through the gate in the city.

The taser causes any accidental attack .

And that's a bit of Ajax .

Nestor, save Helen and save her

Neo, pay your father, kill Hector's brothers

SOLDIERS: Yes sir!

same lord!

ODYSSEUS: Find that inner strength now

Use that well of pride

Fight through every pain now

Ask yourself inside

Discover your inner strength now.

Use your pride.

Now you have to deal with all this pain.

Ask yourself.

What do you live for? What do you try for?

What do you wish for? What do you fight for?

Why live while you still can

What are you cooking, what are you fighting against?

SOLDIERS: What do you live for? What do you try for?

What do you wish for? What do you fight for?

why are you still alive

what do you think What are you fighting for?

ODYSSEUS: Penelope

Penelope

And Telemachus

I fight for us

I fight for us

Who is Penelope?

Who is Penelope?

and Telemachus

A thousand people fight for us

I fight for us

SOLDIERS: What do you live for?

Why are you alive?

ODYSSEUS: Penelope

Penelope is

SOLDIERS: What do you try for?

What are you trying to achieve?

ODYSSEUS: Telemachus

Telemachus, that is

SOLDIERS: What do you wish for?

What do you want to achieve?

ODYSSEUS: I'm on my way

Get in my way.

SOLDIERS: What do you fight for?

What are you struggling with?

ODYSSEUS: Attack!

Fight!

Agh!

Oh!

Who was that?

who is who?

ZEUS: A vision

Of what is to come, cannot be outrun

Can only be dealt with right here and now

Look

The future is unpredictable

I can only deal with what is here and now

ODYSSEUS: Tell me how

Please tell me how to do

ZEUS: I don't think you're ready

I don't think you're ready yet.

A mission

To kill someone's son

A foe who won't run

Unlike anyone you have faced before

win

To kill his son.

An uncompromising racer

Unlike anything you've ever experienced.

ODYSSEUS: Say no more

I know that I'm ready

Not so

I know I remember to remember my own commands.

ZEUS: I don't think you're ready

You don't look ready.

ODYSSEUS: It's just an infant

It's just a boy

What sort of imminent threat does he pose, that I cannot avoid?

He is still young

He is still young

What types of risks can be avoided?

ZEUS: This is the son of none other than Troy's very own Prince Hector

Know that he will grow from a boy to an avenger

One fueled with rage as you're consumed by age

If you don't end him now, you'll have no one left to save

He is none other than the son of Prince Hector Troy

Know that the boy will be the avenger

Your appetite is like growing up

If you don't stop now, you won't have anyone to save

ZEUS: You can say goodbye to

Like you said, it went well.

ENSEMBLE: Penelope

Penelope, a man

ZEUS: You can say goodbye to

Well said

ENSEMBLE: Penelope

Penelope, a man

ODYSSEUS: I could raise him as my own

I can do it myself.

ZEUS: He will burn your house and throne

Your house and address will be burnt.

ODYSSEUS: Or send him far away from home

Or take it from home

ZEUS: He'll find you wherever you go

Wherever you go, you will see it.

ODYSSEUS: Make sure his past is never known

He needs to know that the past was not like that

ZEUS: The gods will make him know

The gods sang.

ODYSSEUS: I'd rather bleed for ya

I'd rather have blood

ZEUS: He's bringing you

He brings it to you

ODYSSEUS: Down on my knees for ya

I will bow down for you

ZEUS: Down on your knees

On the knees .

ODYSSEUS: I'm begging please

Please

ZEUS: Oh, this is the will of the gods

Oh, this is the return of the gods .

ODYSSEUS: Please don't make me do this, don't make me do this

Please don't do this to me, don't make me like this

ZEUS: The blood on your hands is something you won't lose

All you can choose is whose

You can't lose the blood on your hands

You can choose whatever you want

[crimsonretainer]

Writing sampler on dash for posterity--

What has led you to where you are today?

His is a cold demeanour, one that lends not to standing in the light of day, and yet this ridiculous question serves only to drag him into the burning sunlight. Hubert has never been under the illusion of being anything but a tool to ensure Edelgard’s objectives are met as swiftly as necessary. His father, that shrewd cowardly man, is the hammer that forged him into a blade worthy of opening the path to her goals with his betrayal of the Emperor. 

Perhaps that’s why the dagger remains firmly in his boot, why those creeping thoughts linger in his mind every time he sees that traitor sitting at the head of the table. It’s out of consideration for her plans that he has not slit his throat too soon for subjecting Edelgard to the experimentation of those who slither in the dark, yet even now he maintains carefully encoded lists, names upon names of every collaborator in the scheme’s that led to Her Majesty’s cruel fate at the hands of the man who called himself her uncle.

Yes, it is his Father who set him on the path of spymaster, assassin, all those years ago with his desperation to seize power, that led to his isolation from his peers in an attempt to ensure each one would rely on Edelgard more than they did him. From the Songstress to the noble of Brigid, all would rally behind her Banner, even if it meant sullying his hands more than his father already had. No… Hubert does not weep for innocence lost, he plots and schemes until the day She can ascend to the throne his traitorous father tried to steal from her so long ago.

“What are your strengths and weaknesses?”

Hmph, how ridiculous, clearly the so-called Ashen Demon was not as adept at teaching if they expected him to view a question such as this with anything more than scorn and distaste. And yet, how long has it been since he was so openly vulnerable with his thoughts? To acknowledge the deep seeded flaws in his carefully crafted persona required a catalyst he often refused to himself. Oh, Edelgard had requested it of him often, to bare his thoughts, be they filled with rage or dangerously calm, and yet here the professor stood making him act like an open book. Perhaps that’s why he takes up the quill, discards the engrained calligraphy and bares his rage onto the parchment like tomorrow will be denied to him.

“Weakness… Is it weakness to be so young that fleeing home and the role I was expected to play came naturally, Professor? Maybe it’s better described as hubris, to see your one friend torn away and for what? The schemes of a power hungry fool who sends the hounds after you for daring to defy him?” And just like that, the paper is slid from the table, deft sleight of hand hiding it within his sleeve with only a raised eyebrow from the songstress to his left to show for it. She’s always been far too smart when it came to matters like these, and yet he couldn’t help but admire that resilience in his own way, clearly she had been a smart decision when he leant into his greatest strength. 

“My strengths lie in strategy, to view the world as just another chessboard to manipulate to my advantage. Everyone has hidden strengths, and mine lie in drawing it from them, whether they’d like me to or not.” The writing is neater now, slipping back into the mask of the Noble man his father had raised him to be oh so effectively, despite the fact it put the traitor’s life on the edge of the myriad knives he’d prepared for every conspirator.

If a story were to be written about your life, what role would you play?

Hm, now that was a question he’d grown so familiar, one posed by every member of the conspiracy to overthrow the order that the crests had instilled upon society. Would he be viewed as a hero, with every dark deed committed wiped from his record for the service he’d given to her majesty? Perhaps the Church of Seiros would blacken him for his sins, erase him and his house from the annals of history for the hubris of rising against their order, yet another failed rebellion against the control they’d ensured the crests gave to their favoured noble houses.

Perhaps he’d fade into obscurity, with every deed and every sin assigned to the faithful few who they’d gathered to stand against the storm. Yet all the man known as Hubert Von Vestra knew was this, his name would never be recorded in the annals of Garreg Mach’s alumni, no matter the triumphs or the sins committed. The only role for him in history was Her Majesty’s right hand, a weapon to be wielded against her enemies, a shield to be raised for her allies until the end of his days, be they long or short.

[i-would-get-in-the-water-naked]

In an honor of the subtle (but for my neurodivergent brain A VERY PAINFUL) change of lyrics in "Done For" from "so you better cower before me" to "so you better cower now and flee", i decided to make this subtly different but cursed version of The Horse and the Infant. Enjoy.

Alright, my comrades, listen closely

Tonight we make the Trojans pay

Ten years of war, they've killed us slowly

But now we'll be the ones who slay them

Think of your wives and your children

Your family wonders where you've been

They're growing old and you are still here

Do as I say and you'll see them again

Yes, sir

Diomedes will lead the charge

Agamemnon will flank the guards

Menelaus will let our mates through the gates

To take the whole city at charge

Teucer will shoot any ambush attack

And Little Ajax, you'll stay back

Nestor, secure Helen and protect her

Neo, avenge your father, kill the brothers of Hector

Yes, sir

Find that inner strength now

Use that will and pride

Fight through all the pain now

Ask yourself inside

What do you live for?

What do you try for?

What do you wish for?

What do you fight for?

What do you live for?

What do you try for?

What do you wish for?

What do you fight for?

Penelope

Penelope

And Telemachus

I fight for you

I fight for you

(What do you live for?)

Telemachus

(What do you try for?)

Penelope

(What do you wish for?)

I am on my way

(What do you fight for?)

Attack

What was that?

A vision

Of what is to come, cannot be undone

Can only be dealt with right here and now

Show me how

I don't think you're ready

A mission

To kill someone's son

A foe who can't run

Unlike anyone you have faced before

Say no more, I know that I'm ready

I don't think you're ready

It's just a baby

It's just a boy

What sort of imminent threat does he pose, that I cannot avoid?

This is the child of none other than Troy's very own Prince Hector

Know that he will grow from a boy to a soldier

One fueled with rage as you're consumed by age

If you don't kill him now, you'll have no one left to save

You can say goodbye to

(Penelope)

You can say goodbye to

(Telemachus)

I can raise him as my own (he will burn your house and throne)

Or take him far away from home (he'll find you wherever you go)

Make sure his past is never known (the gods will make him know)

I'd rather bleed for you (they're bringing you)

I'm on my knees for you (down on your knees for you)

I'm begging, please (oh, this is the will of your gods)

Please don't make me do it, don't make me do it

The blood on your hands is something you won't lose

All you can choose is whose

[siriannatan]

Not Your Typical Emperors Meeting - one-shot

I really enjoy writing all these random one-shots lately :}

Am I almost done with yet another one-shot as I'm posting this? Maybe…

AO3

Scott was never taught to be a ruler. He was the second son of elven kings, after all, no one expected he'd ever have to rule. His older brother was supposed to do all that while Scott married some foreign prince and secured a good alliance. All Scott was ever expected to be was a polite, well-mannered, pretty prince who could hold a good conversation. He could have his little hobbies but that was after all his usual lessons on art, history, manners, and other such things. Not how to rule.

And then Xor decided to have his 200s rebellion and ran away to some stinking jungle elf prince. Who does things like that? And just a few days after inheriting the throne when your fathers decide they are done and go on a long, long trip. Not Scott.

Scott, faced with his new reality didn't complain or throw a tantrum freezing the whole castle for three days... Okay, maybe he did but once he got over it he sat down for a quick crash course on how to rule from his advisors. And did not go anywhere without them just in case he needed to ask them about things. He knew he could trust them, they have advised his father for years. And if they did start causing trouble he could just freeze them.

A real test of the new system came two weeks after Scott had to become an emergency king. Ruler's meet organised by lady empress Katherine of House Blossom. Scott could not bring any advisors along for that. Not into the meeting room, only rulers themselves were allowed in. At least communicators were allowed in case of emergency situations so Scott could always send quick questions out. Depending on where he was seated...

And so, after a week of learning what little elves knew about other kingdoms - Rivendell did not tend to be too open to other nations during Scott's father's rule. After a discussion with the advisors, Scott decided to be a bit more open. As scary as that was.

Lady Katherine was welcoming, even if surprised that it was Scott and not his brother that showed up. Scott was hopeful he made a good impression on her.

He didn't have much time to wander about the flowering gardens of the fairy kingdom. Not when he arrived late the day before the meeting and with it starting early. And him wanting to be there early to hopefully calm his nerves so he did not cover the whole castle in ice. And to maybe make a good impression.

He was not the first one to arrive. The half-dragon ruler of Grimlands, count fWhip if he recalled the name correctly from the quick course on other rulers, was already in his seat. Sleeping, as Scott judged from the lack of response to his greeting. He didn't let it bother him. Being a ruler, in his short so far experience, was a tiring thing so he let the man rest and looked for where he was supposed to sit. 

Right between Grimlands and Cod Empire. Two empires leading big alliances who happened to not like each other. From what Scott remembered it had something to do with cod and salmon-based religions or something like that. According to his advisors, he should be okay as long as he did not talk to either of them about fish. He could do that.

After that quick check-in with the home base, Scott looked about taking in the meeting room. Just in case he had to get one ready for any reason. Yet, somehow, most of his attention went to the sleeping count. He was not the image of what Scott imagined other rulers to be. He was a redhead and most of his face was covered by either hair or a pair of slightly sooty goggles. There was soot and slight burn marks all over his clothes. He did not wear a proper crown of any sort but Scott guessed the jewellery decorating his dark red and black horns were supposed to be it. Or he hoped it was, he'd feel stupid if he was the only one with a crown of some sort with his golden circlet in the image of stag horns. 

As fWhip started to shift and huff in his sleep Scott forced himself to not look at him anymore. He supposed he might have been handsome under all the soot and goggles. He shockingly did not mind the neatly trimmed beard. But he probably should process that later. When other rulers weren't gathering.

Next to come was the Codfather of the Cod Empire. A weird title but Scott would not comment on it. Or on the slightly funny hat he wore in place of a crown. Or that he looked even less like a ruler than fWhip with his tight, sleeveless shirt and loose pants and sandals. 

"Oh... hello... He's asleep? Good..." Jimmy, as the nameplate on the table said, said. "You're... from Rivendell? My condolences about the whole situation, I wasn't all that ready either when I had to take up ruling," he smiled taking his seat on Scott's left. 

"Thank you, I'm lucky my father's advisors are still around," Scott returned the smile. Jimmy's smile was nice even if most of his face was covered by his funny mask.

Jimmy hummed in response, busying himself with his communicator. He sat on the far end of the sizeable chair. Scott hoped it was because of fWhip and not him. He didn't have to wonder long, not with fWhip waking up with a wide, full-of-teeth yawn, followed by him pulling his goggles down and looking about the room with dark blue eyes. And shifting away as he noticed Jimmy who was completely ignoring him.

"You are... from Rivendell... the new king..." he muttered between a few more yawns. "Sorry, had a long night," he added stretching slightly.

"It's okay, I understand, the name's Scott," he introduced himself. Hoping Jimmy was not offended that he was friendly to his rival. He was just being generally polite, nothing else.

"If you say so," fWhip shrugged. "Didn't Katherine say she did not want any masks at her table?" the half-dragon grinned at Jimmy.

"Katherine's not here yet, I'll take it off later," the cod leader tossed back, not even gracing him with a look. "And behave yourself, you're making Scott uncomfortable with this un-called-for hostility," he added shooting Scott an apologetic smile. It made fWhip shut up with a huff.

Lucky for Scott more rulers started to arrive.

Next to come was lady Pearl of Gilded Helianthia along with king Sausage of Mythland. They looked a lot more like proper rulers which calmed Scott a little bit. They returned his greetings before returning to their previous conversation and pulling fWhip into it since they were his allies. Lady Pearl was sitting on the right of where lady Katherine would sit with king Sausage next to her, opposite Lady Shubble of Undergrowth who just arrived with lady Gem of Crystal Cliffs and separating her from count fWhip. They also returned Scott's greeting before coming back to their chat. Something about magic.

Scott hoped they would not talk about magic with him. Ice elves had a very different approach to magic than even other elves. A lot more casual approach than mages of other races and nations did not like most of the time. Yeah. Another 'no' topic for him.

Soon after them the one person Scott really didn't want to see showed up. Joey of the Jungle empire. King of the jungle elves and the one Xornoth ran away from his duties to be with. He came in with king Pixl of Pixandria who sat opposite Scott, luckily breaking the eyesight he'd otherwise have to share with Joey. Pix quickly shifter his attention from Joey to Jimmy.

And not too long after them the Ocean Queen Lizzie and her husband, king of Mezalea Joel arrived, quickly followed by lady Katherine and the meeting started.

Luckily, other than introducing himself properly Scott didn't have to say much and focused on listening. No one was taking notes so he dropped that idea and focused on trying to remember as much as he could.

Once the meeting was over most of the rulers quickly went their separate ways, back to their empires. But before they did they exchanged some pleasantries with Scott.

"If you ever need something blown up visit Grimlands," fWhip grinned before leaving Scott alone with Jimmy.

"Don't mind him, he's not the worst out there," Jimmy assured, once again donning his mask. A real shame since he was really handsome under it. "It's a bit hard to believe now, that we used to be friends... But that was before the war and stuff..." he added, there was a hint of regret in his voice. "You're always welcome to visit my kingdom if you don't mind some mud... Swamps have a lot of that," he chuckled a bit stiffly and also left.

Scott was not quite sure what to think about the whole meeting as he travelled back home. It was good to know what was going on in other empires. And it also made obvious what he still needed to learn. Like about that war Jimmy mentioned. He heard Cod Empire won some big war and that it sparked the animosity with Grimlands but not much beyond that. It would probably be very good for him to understand what has happened there. Just in case... Maybe because he found both rulers very handsome...

[k4marina]

— v. The Spoils of War || Heart of the Dragon

synopsis: with highgarden now secure daenerys shifts her attention back to the caves of dragonstone and you finally venture down since your arrival.

warnings: war, executions, death, game of thrones typical themes

a/n: all dialouge in italics is Valyrian

important note at the end, please read.

series masterlist

5.4k wrd count

game of thrones x fem!modern!reader

[gif found on pinterest]

I could hear the screaming from up above. The air smelt like burning flesh and amber as Daenerys had gone around lighting anything and anyone ablaze. My eyes roamed the ground immediately spotting Drogon and Daenerys on the ground. A scorpion's spear was lodged into Drogon’s shoulder and not too far off the side was Jamie wielding a spear, readying himself to attack Daenerys. Thankfully, Drogon noticed and threw fire his way only for Jamie to be saved by someone and thrown into the river.

“Protect them.” 

Viserion screeches and fire erupts from his mouth as he lights a ring of fire around Daenerys and Drogon so she could safely remove the spear. I turned Viserion back and aimed him towards the remaining enemy. 

“Dracarys.” 

Viserion ignites the ground beneath us in flames, destroying any remaining scorpions and Lannister men that were foolish enough to still fight. Through all the screaming and burning I could hear the galloping of horses and war cries. I look back to see a swarm of Dothraki coming from the West. They circle the remaining enemy soldiers, intimidating them. 

“Over there,” I say to Viserion. “We’re safe to land over there.” 

Carefully, Viserion descents to the open clearing I’d pointed out. Once on the ground again, I jumped off of Viserion and walked over to Daenerys. The fire around her and Drogon had fizzled down and she’d managed to get the spear out of his shoulder. I eyed the wound and then her worried expression. 

“He’ll recover.” I glanced back to the Dothraki taking the prisoners. “They got here faster than expected.” 

“I had Qhono send his fastest riders.” Daenerys replies. Her eye’s trailed towards the river. “He got away.” She says, referring to Jamie. 

“Good.” I turn to look at the river too. “We’ll need him in the future.” 

–––

Tyrion walks over the ash covered ground. There are burned bodies and empty cargo strewn about. The Dothraki loot the bodies of any remaining Lannister gold and weapons. He steps up onto the stone boulders where Daenerys stood. Tyrion and I stood on either side of her while Drogon and Viserion were behind her, eyeing the captured soldiers, ready to pounce with one word.

“I know what Cersei has told you,” Daenerys starts off calmly. “That I’ve come to destroy your cities, burn down your homes, murder you and orphan your children. That’s Cersei Lannister, not me. I’m not here to murder. ANd all I want to destroy is the wheel that is rolled over rich and Poor to the benefit of no one but the Cersei Lannisters of the world. I offer you a choice. Bend the knee and join me. Together we will leave the world a better place than we found it, or refuse and die.”

Tension hangs in the air as her words settle into the prisoner's mind. A few Lannisteer men kneel to the ground, while most remain standing. Dragon roars, moving closer to the men and almost all the Lannister men quickly kneel, while a few still remain standing including Randyll and Dickon Tarley, Samwell Tarley’s father and brother.

“Step forward, My Lord.” Daenerys commands. Randyll steps up in front of the kneeling Lannisters, his son not too far off. 

“You will not kneel?”

“I already have a queen.” He replies, gruffly. 

“My sister, she wasn't your queen until recently though, was she, until she murdered your rightful queen and destroyed House Tyrell for all time. So it appears your allegiances are somewhat flexible.” Tyrion says. 

Randyll turns to Tyrion, “there are no easy choices in war. Say what you will about your sister, she was born in Westeros, has lived here all her life. You on the other hand, you murdered your own father and chose to support a foreign invader. One with no ties to this land, an army of savages at her back.”

“If I remember correctly, the Targaryen’s have lived in Westeros for hundreds of years and before Aegon's Conquest they resided on Dragonstone in Blackwater Bay for nearly 500 years.” I turn to him with a pointed look. “Her Grace was born on Dragonstone and forced to flee her home and live in exile in a foreign land thanks to the Usurper. All she’s doing now is coming home and reclaiming what was her families from those who stole it from them.” 

Tyrion turns to Daenerys. “Perhaps he can take the black, Your Grace. Whatever else he is, he is a true soldier. He would be invaluable at the wall.” 

“You cannot send me to the Wall. You are not my queen.” Randyll grits. 

Daenerys doesn’t reply, merely turning to the Dothraki. Two men step forward, grabbing Lord Tarley and pulling him to the side. I watched as Dickon stepped forward. 

“You will have to kill me too.” 

Randyll pulls away from the Dothraki, turning to face his son. “Step back and shut your mouth.” 

“Who are you?” Daenerys asks Dickon. 

“A stupid boy.” Randyll replies for his son. 

“I’m Dickon Tarley, son of Randyll Tarley.” Dickon answers proudly. 

“You are the future of your house,” Tyrion tries to reason. “This war has already wiped one great house from the world. Don’t let it happen again. Bend the knee.” 

Randyll nods to his son, wordlessly telling him to save his life. “I will not.” He double downs.

“You’re loyal to your father and family, it’s commendable.” I step forward. “It’s a shame your father doesn’t share the same trait.” 

“My father is the most loyal man I know.” Dickon quickly defends. 

“Is he?” I say, accusingly. “He fought valiantly for the Targaryens during Robert's Rebellion, and now that the last Targaryen is here, he turns his back on her forgetting that 20 years ago he stood by her brother.” I shake my head. “But that shouldn’t be a surprise. After all, if he could turn his back on his eldest son, he can turn on anyone.” 

Dickon looks taken aback. “Eldest son? What do you know about my brother?”

“Nothing.” Randyll sharply replies. “That woman knows nothing.” 

“Do I?” I pressed further. “He couldn’t stand your brother.” I stepped down the boulder. “He hated the fact that he chose to read books instead of picking up a sword. So much so that he told his own child that if he didn’t take the black willingly, he’d kill him and make it look like a hunting accident. Instead of letting your brother be and naming you heir, he threw him to the Wall.”  I stepped closer to Dickon. “Tell me, is this the man you want to die for? The one who’d murder his own child for reading books? Is this where your loyalty lies?” 

The apple of Dickon’s throat bobs as he nervously swallows, shaking his head. “No, my father would never.” 

“No? Ask him then.” 

Slowly, he turned to his father who looked like he was ready to burst with anger. “Father. Tell me that she’s lying… please.” 

Randyll clenches his jaw, casting his eyes downwards, answering Dickon’s question. He looked like he was ashamed. Not over the fact that he’d behaved in such a deplorable manner to his son, but the fact that he’d been exposed to his other son. Dickon’s face fell. He brought his hand up to wipe his face and collect his thoughts. He side steps me, standing clearly before Daenerys. 

“House Tarley has served House Targaryen for centuries.” He began, his voice steady. “My father fought for your house against Robert's army and now, I will fight for your house, Your Grace. House Tarley is with you.” Dickon kneels, bowing his head. 

Daenerys looks at me, impressed before turning to the new Lord Tarley. “Rise.” She commands. “Your loyalty is greatly appreciated. I look forward to fighting beside you as I reclaim my family's throne.” 

Dickon stands, bowing his head once again. I lightly pat his arm, “you made a wise decision.” I turn back, stepping back to my place besides Daenerys. 

“I’m giving those who are still standing another chance. Bend the knee or suffer the consequences.” Daenerys looks at the rest of the men standing in the eye as she speaks. Half bend the knee, while the rest too dumb for their own good stood their ground. Daenerys looks towards the Dothraki who pull those who are still standing to the side so they could meet their punishment. 

“Dickon..” Randyll calls out his son who doesn’t spare him a glance or reply as he’s dragged away. 

Drogon moved towards the prisoners, eyeing them like a prize. Daenerys turns towards them, “I, Daenerys of House Targaryen, First of my name, Breaker of Chains, and Mother of Dragons, sentence you to die.”

She pauses, making eye contact with Drogon. “Dracarys.” 

Drogon draws in a deep breath and dragonfire spews out of his mouth at the men. They’re instantly engulfed in flames, their bodies completely incinerated. The remaining Lannister men recoil in shock and horror. Drogon huffs, pleased with his work and turns back to his brother. 

Daenerys turns back towards Dickon who had tears in his eyes after watching his fathers execution. “I will call for you to raise your banners, Lord Tarley. Until then, rest and prepare for the battle to come.” Daenerys says, sort of reminding Dickon of his new position as Lord, but also as one of her allies before she turns back and walks away with Tyrion not too far behind. 

I stood atop the boulder, watching as the men who bent the knee walked away, thankful that they had lived before turning my gaze towards Dickon. 

“You made a wise decision.” I say, softly. “It was a hard one, but right. You will be a far better Lord than your father was.” 

“That’s not true. I can never be as great as him.” He said, dejected. 

“Would you ever threaten your own child for wanting to be in the company of books rather than swords?” I ask. 

Dickon shakes his head. 

“Then you’re already better than him.” 

—–

“Are we ready to leave?” I ask Daenerys and Tyrion. 

“Yes,” says Daenerys. “Highgarden is secure. The Dothraki will remain at guard here until a group of Unsullied take over the castle.” 

“And I’m assuming you’re going back home to check on the place?” I ask Tyrion. 

He nods. “I won’t take too long at Casterly Rock.” 

I looked around at the battle-ridden field. The once dead soldiers now buried under ground, stripped of their armor and weapons. I spot a Dothraki carrying one of the Lannisters' swords and get an idea. 

I turned back to Tyrion and Daenerys. “Have all the enemy swords gathered and taken back to Dragonstone with us.” 

Daenerys frowns. “Our men have plenty of swords, what use are the Lannisters weapons to us?” 

“Just humor me.” 

Daenerys and Tyrion share a look, but nonetheless, she gives the order to round up the swords. A few Dothraki call out towards us, signaling something to Daenerys. 

“They say that they’re ready to leave.” Daenerys explains. 

Understanding, Tyrion bows. “Then I will be taking my leave, Your Grace.” 

Daenerys dismisses him with a nod and the two of us watch as he makes his way over to the Dothraki that would be escorting him to Casterly Rock. Once they were out of sight Daenerys and I began our walk to where our dragons were. 

“How did you know that about Randall Tarley?” She asks. 

“I read about him,” I replied. “His eldest, Sam, became a Maester and in his old age he wrote about his life. Growing up, his life on the Wall, being the first man ever to kill a White Walker, basically a biography. In the book he alluded that his father would have done anything to get him out of his family, even making things look like an accident.” 

“So you did all of that on a hunch?”

I shrug. “It’s not a hunch if it’s true, is it?” 

“I guess not.” 

We fall into a comfortable silence, but it’s clear Daenerys is in deep thought. “What do you mean we need him?” 

“Who?” I ask. “Jamie?” 

She nods. 

“I mean what I said.” I said. “We don’t need him now, but later. He’ll be a great ally and an important tool to help knock down Cersei.”

“Jamie will help bring down Cersei? The woman he loves?” Daenerys doesn’t sound convinced. 

“He loves her now, but not for long. His bond with Cersei is already strained after the death of his children, it won’t be long for him to realize that the woman he once loved has changed for the worse.” 

“So once he’s come to his senses he’ll bend the knee to me?”

“What? No?” I shook my head. “He’s not going to waltz onto Dragonstone and bend the knee. You need to remember, he was there when your father had gone mad, he lived through Aneys’ madness. I know you’re nothing like your father, but he doesn't and he’ll be hesitant to shake your hand.”

“You just said he is going to be an ally. How is he an ally if he doesn't bend the knee to me?” 

“Because anyone who is against Cersei is an ally.” 

She stops walking, staring off at Viserion and Drogon. Her eyes lingered at the wound on Drogon’s shoulder where he’d been pierced with a spear. A spark of anger runs through her at the thought that her son was injured. 

I placed a hand on her shoulder. “She’ll pay for what she did tenfold, we’ll make sure of it. You just need to keep a cool head and trust me.” 

She lets out a long breath through her nose, “okay.” 

“Though, I think you and I should hitch a ride on Viserion and let Drogon fly alone.” Daenerys agrees with my suggestion and mounts Viserion after I do. Both dragons take to the sky, Drogon a little shaky, and they fly back to Dragonstone. 

–––

When we landed we were greeted by Missandei, Jon, and Ser Davos. Missandei was the first to step forward, eyeing Drogon and then the blood on my armor. 

“Are you hurt?” 

I shake my head, helping Daenerys off. “It’s not mine. Give Drogon something to eat, he’ll heal on his own, so just let him be.” 

She nods, relaying the same information to a Dothraki guard who goes to do as I’ve said. Daenerys walks over to where Jon and Ser Davos are standing back, still wary of the two dragons.

As they talked, Missandei turned to me, “have you heard from Grey Worm?” 

I smiled, knowingly. “No, but Tyrion is heading to Casterly Rock and I’m sure he’ll send us a raven soon. Don’t worry, you’ll have plenty of alone time once he’s back.” I winked, teasingly. 

She suppressed a smile, blushing. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Daenerys turns back, beckoning us forward. We walk over to her, Jon and Davos glance over at the blood on my armor, but don’t comment. 

“Jon Snow and his men have been exploring the caves below.” Daenerys explains. “As they’ve said, it’s filled with Dragonglass.” 

Jon nods. “From what we’ve explored so far, we can tell that the entire cave system is filled with Dragonglass.”

“We’ll explore tomorrow in the morning,” Daenerys says, watching as the sun begins to set. “Everyone get some rest.” 

Missandei and I bow, watching as she walks towards the castle. Today had been a long day and the last thing I wanted to do was explore some caves. Missandei and I began walking back to the castle with the men behind us. Jon and Davos walked silently together. 

“How was Highgarden?,” Missandei asks.

“Beautiful,” I recall. “Minus the Lannister force trying to ransack it.”

“I’m sure Lady Olenna had something to say about that.” Missandei laughs, but I don't, catching her attention. 

“What happened? Did she make it out safely?” Missandei asks. 

I pause, thinking back to her in that room. “No,” everyone stops walking, shocked. I turn back to their expecting faces. “I got there in time, but she didn’t take the antidote. I tried to convince her, but all she said was that Cersei had taken everyone from her, that her time was over and she was at peace with it.” 

“So you just?..” 

“I honored her wishes. I held her hand until the poison took effect. I’ve already given the orders to have her buried with the rest of her family. At least Cersei can’t split them apart in the afterlife.” 

No one spoke, all of them just taking in my words. The air got colder, and the stars began to peak out of the sky. 

I shook my head, “It’s been a long day. I’ll see you all in the morning.” I turned, not waiting for a reply and trekked back into the castle. The halls were dark and barren, but it was still nice. The walk to my room was refreshing, there was a small ache in my legs from riding Viserion all day. How Daenerys was able to fly a top of Drogon with no saddle was beyond me. Maybe I could look into making a saddle. Once in my room, I slipped my armor and clothes off and stepped into the already drawn bath waiting for me. 

Tomorrow was going to be another big day. Everything was starting to pick up fast. So much was going to start happening in such little time. I could only hope that it’ll end up in our favor instead of Cersei’s or worse, the White Walkers. Once I had bathed I slipped into my nightgown and settled into bed with a heavy heart. 

––

The air smelt like salt, fish and seaweed. A gust of air rushed past me as I walked down the stone steps towards the beach, blowing my hair silver back. I spotted Missandei and Daenerys already there, talking amongst themselves. 

I bowed my head towards Dany, “it’s fucking freezing out here.” 

“The days are getting colder,” Daenerys says. 

“Where’s Jon?” I ask, looking around the beach. Both northern men and our Dothraki were scattered around the shore, carrying boxes and supplies. 

“There,” Daenerys juts out her chin, pointing at Jon making his way over to us. 

“Your Grace, My Lady,” Jon says. “This way.” 

He leads the three of us to the entrance of the cave where he’s handed a torch by Ser Davos. The opening is dimly lit, almost inviting until you look deep into the center of the cave where nothing but the dark pit awaits. I clench my jaw, nervous. I hadn’t been in here since that night.

“Are you okay?” Daenerys asks in hushed Valyrian, just loud enough for me to hear. 

I stare into the cave and nod, my hand instinctively coming up to where my necklace sits on my neck. 

“It’s just a cave, that’s all.” I can't tell if I’m telling her or myself. 

Missandei and Ser Davos wait by the entrance of the cave as the three of us step forward. Jon leads with Daenerys beside him while I follow behind her. The cave looked the same as it did when I woke up. I could feel an unsettling feeling settle on my chest as we went further into the cave and closer to it.

“I wanted you to see it before we start hacking it to bits.” Jon says. He lights a brazier, illuminating the cave and the Dragonglass against the fire. 

Daenerys looks around the cave in awe. “Is this what you saw when you first entered?” She asks, looking at me over her shoulder. 

I shake my head. “No. They’d hacked away at most of the glass in this cave over the years for weapons or jewelry. When I came here it just looked like a cave.”

Jon lights another brazier, listening to our conversation, despite not knowing what we were saying. “So this is it, all we’ll ever need. There is something else I want to show you.” 

He steps further into the cave and Daenerys turns back, asking with her eyes, are you okay? I nodded and beckoned her forwards. She turned, following Jon. I held my breath the closer we got to the carvings. A few nights after my arrival I’d sat down and explained to Daenerys how I’d gotten here, or was brought here, more or less, but decided to leave out the part about the paintings. 

The jagged cave walls were now covered in multiple carvings. The carvings reached all the way up to the ceiling of the cave. They varied from swirl patterns to drawings and smooth shapes. Looking at all of it so up close, I couldn’t help but marvel at it all. After so many centuries, the carvings remained the same, undisturbed. When I’d first arrived those carvings had either faded or were hacked away by people who wanted “a piece of history” but seeing them now in its actuality left a shiver down my spine.

“The Children of the Forest made these.” Jon uses the flame of the torch to show the molars painted onto the walls. 

“When?” Daenerys asks. 

“A very long time ago.” He replies. 

“They were right there standing where we’re standing before there were Targaryens or Starks or Lannisters. Maybe even before there were men.” Daenerys says. 

“No,” Daenerys turns from the wall to Jon. Jon walks to another wall, bringing the flame close to show a decision of the Children of the Forest and the First Men standing together. “They were here together, the Children and the First Men.” 

“Doing what?” Daenerys asks, stepping closer to examine the murals. “Fighting each other?” 

Jon takes her by the arm, leading her to the other side of the cave, using the torch to light the way. The mural showed the Night King and the White Walkers. 

“They fought together against their common enemy.” She says, putting it all together. “Despite their differences, despite their suspicions, together.” Daenerys stares down the painting, silent. “We need to do the same if we’re going to survive.” 

“Because the enemy is real. It’s always been real.” Jon finishes her thought. 

Daenerys turns to Jon. “And you say you can’t defeat them without my armies and my dragons?” 

“No, I don’t think I can.” 

Daenerys steps forward, closer to Jon. “I will fight for you. I will fight for the north…” Jons face softens just slightly, “when you bend the knee.” Only for it to harden again. 

“My people won’t accept a southern ruler, not after everything they’ve suffered.” Jon doubles down. 

Daenerys steps even closer, “they will if their king does,” she argued. “They chose you to lead them. They chose you to protect them.” 

There was a pregnant pause, the Dragon Queen and the King in the North staring at each other, either one not willing to back down. 

“The Boltens were northern,” I finally spoke up, eyeing the two. They both look up at me. “Second most powerful House in the North after the Starks. Tell me, were they better than Southern rulers?” 

Jon opened his mouth to interject but I cut him off. “Is your pride more important than your people's survival?” 

Jon closes his mouth, standing down while Daenerys seems pleased that I was there to deliver the final blow. There’s another moment of silence as Jon mulls over our words.

“The torch.” I say, conusfung Jon and Daenerys. “Hand me the torch.” 

Confused, he hands me the torch. Daenerys frowns, “are there more paintings?” 

Jon shakes his head. “No, Your Grace.” 

“There are.” I step between them, walking deeper into the cave. “Let me show you what I saw that night.” 

Silently, they followed me, Jon looking between Daenerys and I. I lit the way for the three of us, my eyes bouncing off of the walls for the markings. I stopped suddenly, staring at the wall on my right. There. 

I moved to the torch forwards, revealing the full mural. Daenerys brushed past a bewildered Jon and stood by me. Surprisingly, my necklace didn’t react like it did before, allowing me to fully see the mural. 

There, same emblem as my necklace; two dragons entwined around a sword with a ruby at the hilt in the middle of a dragon eating itself, like the drawing of a snake eating itself. There also seemed to be a message written below, although crudely. The symbols mirrored the glyphs used in Valyrian, enough for someone to decipher it, but almost illegible. I moved the torch closer to the nearly faded symbols. When I had gone to see the paintings, before I was brought here, everything was smudged but still legible while the words were completely faded away.

“What does it say?” Daenerys asks. 

I carefully read aloud. “ābrar iā morghon.” 

“What does that mean?” 

“Life or Death.” 

–––

The walk back to the entrance of the cave was quiet, each one of us deep in our heads. When we reached the entrance Davos and Missandei were joined by Varys who held two raven scrolls. He glances over the three of us before bowing, handing off the ravens to Daenerys. She opened one, reading the contents and pocketing it. She eyed the other, this one tied in red ribbon, on the side a word was written. Knowingly, Daenerys handed it off to a confused Missandei. 

Daenerys and I smiled at each other, like giggling school girls before she turned her attention back to the people around us. 

“The Westerlands and the Reach are now fully secured.” Daenerys announced. 

“That means Cersei has the Crownlands and, what? The Stormlands?” I hum. “If they haven’t turned on her yet.” 

“She’s surrounded.” Daenerys says, elated. 

“Don’t be quick to sound so excited. We still have a long ways to go.” I say. “She still has whatever remains of Euron’s fleet, the remaining Lannister army and the city's watch, and, if she can, which I doubt, the Golden Company.” 

“How is she to gain the Golden Company's support if we’ve stopped her plan?” Missandei asks. 

She wasn’t wrong. Cersei’s grand plan to gain the Myrish sellsword company’s favor was to sack Highgarden and by herself an army and supposedly elephants, but now that Daenerys and I have foiled that plan, while also dealing a heavy blow to her army, she has almost no options. But we still have to be vigilant. Everything was going well for Daenerys originally, until she was dealt blow after blow to the point of madness. 

“There’s other ways,” I answer. “The Red Keep is the Targaryens' second home. Every King from Aegon the first to Aenys has walked those halls. It’s littered with Targaryen artifacts, not to mention that there are nineteen known dragon skulls under the Red Keep, and many more that we don’t know.” I shake my head, “she still has a way to gain their favor.” 

Daenerys grimaced at the thought of Cersei being in possession of her family's items whether it be a simple pot or the dragon skulls of all the dragons that had remained after the Doom. 

“Then what do we do?” She asks me. 

“We wait.” I say. “We out number her, no doubt. But we can’t rush or else we’ll make a mistake and create an opening for her to strike on. We must stay vigilant.” 

Everyone agrees, understanding the full degree of things. We had one shot, one opportunity to take the throne, and rushing was not an option.

Daenerys turned to Jon. “Tell your men to continue their mining, if you require more hands, tell me and I’ll put my men to good work.” 

“Also,” I turned to Jon. “Light as much of the cave as you can. Preferably past those markings. And tell your men not to touch them, they’re already faded as it is, we don’t need them wiped away.” 

“I understand.” Jon bows to Daenerys and I before he and Ser Davos walk away to begin their work. 

––

Everyone in the castle is asleep except for Daenerys and I, lounging in the Painted Chamber. The hearth is lit and a platter of bread, fruit, and wine is laid out for us. On the table an Unsullied figurine stood on both Highgarden and Casterly Rock. The Martel sigil stood tall on Sunspeer and a Kraken on the Iron Islands while in the North stood a Direwolf. The only Lion remaining on the map was on King’s Landing.

“All these allies, all these soldiers yet I’m still not close enough to my goal.” Daenerys mumbles, a cup of wine in hand. 

“You will,” I plucked a grape off the vine, plopping it into my mouth. “There’s still a long ways to go.” 

She takes another swig of wine, “how far ahead are we?”

I lean back on the sofa, head tilted up. “We stopped them mid way to Highgarden, which is about a day and a half ride to and from King's Landing. Capturing Casterly Rock only took half a day, thanks to the new armor and weapons that Tyrion’s raven mentioned. If I had to guess, four or five days.” 

“That’s it?” 

“It’s not much, but at times of war every day counts.” 

We settle into silence, Daenerys planning what to do next while I try to fight off sleep.

“They’ll starve.” 

“Hm?” I slowly open my eyes. 

“The people of King’s Landing, they’ll starve. We’ve cut off their food by taking both the Rock and the Reach.” 

I nod. “We have.” 

Daenerys pauses. “But you already knew that.” 

“Mm-hmm.” I sighed through my nose, sitting up. “Out of everyone in King’s Landing, Cersei has the most food. And if she’s such a benevolent ruler, then she’ll distribute it to the smallfolk.” 

“But she wont.” 

“Exactly. Civil unrest will ensue and the people's hate for Cersei will get worse.” 

Daenerys sighed, placing the glass of wine on the table. “How did Aegon do it?” 

I watched her tired expression carefully. “He had his sisters. Visenya mostly focused on the war aspect of the campaign while Rhaenys focused on allies and the smallfolk.”

“There’s only two of us.” 

No there aren’t. 

“We’ll see.” I finished the cup of wine. “Speaking of, how is your and Jon Snow’s relationship?”

Daenerys turns a light shade of red. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” 

“Sure.” I say, not convinced. “Have you shown him the dragons?”

She shook her head. “They’d eat him alive.” 

“I won’t be so sure.”

She watches me pick off some more grapes. 

“ābrar iā morghon. Life or Death.”

I stopped what I was doing, slowly glancing up to meet Daenerys’ gaze. 

“What does it mean?” She asks aloud. “What does any of it mean?”

I take a moment, rubbing my face. “Maybe it’s asking us to pick.” 

“Between life or death?” 

I hummed. “Do you know what a dragon eating itself means?”

She shakes her head. 

“It represents the eternal cycle of rebirth and destruction.” I say, absentmindedly swirling my finger in a circle. “It’s supposed to be a snake, but instead this one is a dragon.” 

“And this dragon represents you?”

“No, you. Well, rather your house, I guess.” I dropped my hand, folding them on top of my stomach. “For centuries the Targaryens have tethered between destroying itself and thriving. It’s asking you to pick life or death. Do you want to be the reason why the Targaryens finally tip over and destroy itself or the reason it thrives for generations to come.” 

She sighs, frowning. “I came here to reclaim my family’s throne, but now that I’m here I’ve been told of the Army of the Dead and now that the fate of my house rests in my hand.” 

I stand up, moving to sit next to her. “I know, it’s a lot. But you can do it.” 

Her eyes wander over to the map of Westeros, landing on the Lion on King’s Landing and the Dragon on Dragonstone, facing one another. The stone carved lion mocked the dragon. If it could speak it would definitely be saying something along the lines of “I dare you, pussy. Do something,” but more in an old Westerosi fashion. 

“One step at a time,” I reached over for her hand. “Everything will fall into place and you’ll have Cersei at her knees and the throne in your hands.” 

a/n: another chapter for you lovely people. i was wondering, now that we're getting closer to climax of the story (night king and cersei) how would you guys feel if i also wrote some side stories that would take place after the main one? smt like life after taking back the throne and what not, lmk ur thoughts.

@wotcherpeak @music-luver25 @your-favorite-god @radiantdanvers @cluelessteam @daenerys713 @ministark @laanswife @idohknow @jromanoff @bdudette @bitchyfestivalbouquet @glitteryobjecttaco @cantbecreative @lovelyteenagebeard @the0twst0shrimp0mc @sucker4seresin @marytargaryen @naneko31 @9tailedfoxfire @iilsenewman @ivyrose9194 @coffee-is-my-oxygen @mysterypotatoink @bitchycolletorvoid @nattysplatty @wifiatthetrainstation @nymeriiiia

[jdgo51]

Expectant

Today's inspiration comes from:

365 Devotions for Peace

by Cheri Cowell

"For unto us a Child is born, unto us a Son is given; and the government will be upon His shoulder. And His name will be called Wonderful, Counselor, Mighty God, Everlasting Father, Prince of Peace."— Isaiah 9:6 NKJV

"Experts say that babies in utero are impacted by the atmosphere of their parents’ home and the attitude of their parents. If God had chosen you to carry the infant Jesus into the world, would your home life and the attitude of your heart have nurtured in the holy child such traits as kindness, gentleness, patience, and trust in God? Would God have chosen you for such an important assignment? The answer is, He has…

Isaiah wrote the well-known words above more than seven hundred years before Christ was born. God’s chosen people had been waiting for the promised Messiah for a lot longer than they had anticipated. Finally the wait was over. God chose a human being named Mary to bring Him into the world. And God has chosen you and me to carry the truth and the love of this Christ child into the rest of the world.

Lord Jesus, may the atmosphere of my life and the attitude of my heart make my life a place where You want to be and a place where people can meet You. Amen.

Behold! The Lamb of God who takes away the sin of the world. — John 1:29 NKJV

Behold, the Lamb

Those people will never be hungry again, and they will never be thirsty again. The sun will not hurt them, and no heat will burn them, because the Lamb at the center of the throne will be their shepherd. — Revelation 7:16-17 NCV

I love decorating the house with nativity scenes at Christmastime. In each one, young Mary tends to her Newborn while her faithful husband stands guard. Wise men and shepherds stand in awe. And often near the Christ child is a little lamb. Jesus is known as the Lamb of God, and the symbolism is not lost on us.

Throughout the Old Testament, the people of Israel sacrificed lambs as sin offerings. John the Baptist was direct in drawing the comparison. When he saw Jesus coming toward him, he said,

Behold! The Lamb of God who takes away the sin of the world. — John 1:29 NKJV

Then on the cross Jesus was the perfect sacrifice — the perfect once-and-for-all sin offering — that removed our sins as far as the east is from the west.

This Christmas, when you spend time in front of a nativity, may you be filled with peace and awe as you behold the Lamb of God.

I stand in awe before the manger as my soul whispers, “Behold, the Lamb.” Amen."

Excerpted with permission from 365 Devotions for Peace by Cheri Cowell, copyright Zondervan.

[acourtofmenandthirst]

Bartering for a Life

Eris x Archeron Sister Reader, back by popular demand! Same storyline as Cauldron of Fire, but can be read independently for the most part! I really like this theme, but I feel like I’m mostly critiquing the Inner Circle lol I took a lot of shots at them this time - a little uncalled for but I got carried away! In this fic, Feyre & Rhys try to convince Eris to return you to the Night Court

Word Count: 6.2K

Warnings: Family angst maybe, soft Eris, none really lol

You woke with dread, pulling the sheets over your head and swallowing yourself in darkness. The sun had just barely started to rise as the clouds parted just enough for a few beams of light to break through your bedroom windows.

Eris stirred beside you, reaching for you under the blankets and pulling you into his chest. You slinked around him, hooking your arm around his neck and sliding your leg between his, an action not unnoticed by the sleepy male, as he smiled and pressed a kiss to the crown of your head.

“What’s got you up so early?” He whispered, nuzzling his nose into your messy hair. “I surely thought you’d sleep far longer after last night’s activities.”

You hummed, tracing a finger across his shoulder blade. The warmth of his fiery veins seeped welcomingly into your hand, the cool Autumn air still swirling across your skin. “I had a nightmare,” you replied, not completely true.

“The nightmare is yet to come,” he huffed, wrapping his arms around your waist, keeping your bare chest pressed tightly to his. You grumbled incoherently in response, a curt curse slipping past your lips. “You know,” Eris offered. “We don’t have to go. I’ll gladly burn that monstrosity of a house down, should you give me the go ahead.”

You shook your head against him, ruffling the sheets - Eris pulled them tighter around you. “If we go and they see how well I am, perhaps they will leave us alone.” You and Eris had received a multitude of letters from your sisters, daily, begging for you to come home. They thought Eris held you as prisoner, torturing you for information about the Night Court, about Feyre and Rhys, about their power.

You spent almost a year with Eris, the first few months in which you’d be left wholly alone. They’d broken contact with you once you willingly left their precious court. It wasn’t until you and Eris had set your date to be married, for you to take your place beside him on the throne, that they had resumed contact.

Desperate pleas to return home, where you belonged. You laughed when you read the first letter, how wrong they were. How they still couldn’t see how toxic their court and inner circle truly was to you. Feyre had both of her sisters, the ones she liked better. It took a special invitation from Rhys - extended to Eris, not you - that you’d decided to act. An invitation to the River House, to be exact: their own private home. It was a request for you both to join them for brunch, to all be together one last time before the wedding, in which Rhysand would offer your betrothed anything he wanted in return for you.

“How political,” the male whispered, fingers tracing deftly down your back. “You will make a fine High Lady.”

You tilted your head up to kiss him, to which he happily captured your lips in his. “And as a wife?” You whispered against his lips.

“Utterly irresistible.”

____________________________

After you’d spent the morning with Eris in a long, drawn out bath and dressing each other in your most exquisite clothes, you were ready to step foot in Velaris for the first time since you’d left. Eris pressed his palms down his blood red jacket, smoothing out the gold embellishments. As you turned to face him, he held your coat out for you and slung it over your shoulders. The thick wool was heavy, draping nearly to the floor, as you bundled yourself up for the Night Court winter.

Eris took your hands in his, warming you instantly. “You can still say no,” he reminded you, gazing down at you sweetly under his eyelashes. “I can think of much better ways to spend our day.”

“It took me nearly an hour to drag you out of the bath,” you replied, giving his hand a squeeze. “Now that I’ve convinced you to dress, we have to go. Otherwise all of my efforts would have gone to waste.” With a satisfied smile you gazed up at your future husband. His red hair swirled around his temples and you admired how his eyes sparkled with that same fire.

Eris smirked. “Half the fun is taking your clothes off.”

With a tut, and failed attempt to hide your growing smile, you shook your head. “Once we get back, I will let you take my clothes off.”

“No,” he sighed, hand dropping yours to run his hand along the collar of your coat, pulling the thick material between his fingers. “When we get back, you will take them off for me - ” his hand dipped below the hem of your coat, playfully tracing along the neckline of your dress, dipping a finger underneath, lighting a fire against your collarbone. “Layer by layer.”

He pulled the breath from your lungs as his finger danced over your flushed skin. You swallowed sharply, knees trembling with anticipation. Your eyelids nearly fluttered closed as he worked his way up your neck. Eris’s warm breath tickled your skin, leaving you surrounded with his scent: the last burning embers of a bonfire, the crisp fall air.

As soon as Eris leaned forward to press his lips to yours, you snapped out of it. “Eris,” you hissed, palms laying flat against his chest to keep him standing arms length away from you. He had already worked your coat half off, cloak falling loose from one shoulder.

He smiled down at you with pink tinged cheeks. You could have sworn you smelt his arousal. “Not so easily tricked,” he said coyly, twirling a loose strand of your hair around his finger. “I’m looking forward to your show later.”

You rolled your eyes, huffing a breathy laugh as you fixed your coat. “If Rysand doesn’t manage to kill you at brunch.”

At that, Eris took your hand, readying to winnow you to the house. “I’d like to see him try.”

Warm air swirled around you and you buried your face into Eris’s chest. His hand snaked around your back, holding you against him as you both appeared in the snowy streets of Velaris. Eris’s hand slung through your hair, brushing lightly against your scalp as his hand rubbed your back. The winnowing always made you dizzy, perhaps you hadn’t had enough time to adjust to your new Fae body, or merely hadn’t gotten used to the winnowing powers yet. You weren’t sure if you ever would.

You stepped away from Eris, the cold already biting at your nose as you swiveled around, spotting the River House not far off. You slipped your hand in Eris’s warm one and trudged your way through the freshly fallen snow. “It’s fucking freezing,” Eris said, kicking at the snow with his boot. “Who would choose to live in this?”

You laughed, peering up at him as your shoulder brushed his. “You know, when they were all warning me of all the terrible things about you, that first time we danced together in the Court of Nightmares, nobody mentioned you complained this much.”

A small smile pulled at his lips, he hadn’t felt a genuine smile in years. Not since you’d shown up. “Consider yourself lucky.” His thumb brushed against the back of your hand. “I could simply not talk to you at all. Which, conveniently, is how I like to keep things with these Nightmare dregs.”

At that you rolled your eyes. A part of you was thankful, afterall. Eris had not turned out to be the male they’d made him out to be. He cared for your wellbeing, ensuring you were always comfortable and well fed in the Autumn Court. Beyond that, though, you’d broken down his walls, and he yours. You were able to confide in him, laugh with him, and hold him in your arms. He held you back just as tight, spending every evening with you.

The two of you strolled along the icy Sidra, the wind blew harshly off the water. You walked up the grand entrance to the River House, the cobblestones coated in white, not a footprint or trace of life to be seen, save for the glowing lights and smoke from the fireplace.

It was a house built on forced love. Two souls barred together by the Mother, forcing the two physically together despite any cognizant force. Despite what Feyre said, how much she told you of - and constantly physically showed - her love for Rhys, you still didn’t know how the Mother would will together two beings in Feyre’s darkest moments, as she lay dying for another male. She hadn’t been mated to Tamlin, yet she endured three months of pure torture for him. She’d fallen in love with Rhys only after he enacted their bargain - a visit every month. If she had learned to love Rhysand when she was stolen away to the Night Court, how come she couldn’t believe that you could love Eris after willingly going to Autumn?

Feyre was luckier than she knew. You’d wondered, in that moment, what happened between Eris’s parents. How fate was not always so kind as to mate you with the most powerful High Lord, with riches and glory galore. How your older sister had managed to end up with the alleged most accomplished general in Pythian history. Elain, gifted with some supposed magical powers, gifted a kind mate who she wouldn’t even spare a glance at. You wondered how it had been for those who had found their so-called mates, High Lords and esteemed generals alike, yet suffered greatly because of their powers and titles. Your heart ached for the Lady of Autumn, and all the tortoure she’d endured at the hands of her mate.

But through that, she had given you the greatest gift of all.

You supposed the mates worked out well enough for your sisters - for everyone in the Inner Circle. So they must have assumed it was that nice for everyone else. If you’d had a mate in the Night Court, they could hold him over your head like they had done for Nesta. How they wouldn’t allow her peace or a place to live, even, until she accepted him and only him into her bed.

They lived ignorantly in their grand River House, gaudy carpets and the smell of oil paint. All while the remainder of the Court of Nightmares suffered at the hands of Morrigan’s father, left to rot like the scum of the earth every other court thought them to be. You scoffed aloud as you climbed the stairs.

While you’d never be able to argue with the imbeciles of the Night Court - that they were as bad, if not worse, than Autumn - you’d taken pride in your new court, the court that would someday belong to your future husband, and you. If Rhys and Feyre wanted to remain blind to their own faults, that would be fine. They were hypocrites and there wasn’t anything you could do to change it.

But you wouldn’t sit idly by.

So, as you and Eris stood in front of the grand black door, you were prepared to tell them exactly that.

Eris glanced at you, white clumps of snow stuck to the loose strands of his hair, and offered you a firm nod. His cheeks and nose were red, contrasting harshly against his pale skin. He squeezed your hand and raised his other hand to knock, knuckles inches from the door, waiting for your signal.

You bit your lips and swallowed the lump in your throat, the nervousness that bit into your chest. You inclined your head, maybe only a centimeter, but enough for Eris to proceed, offering three sharp knocks against the solid door.

It swung open immediately, no doubt Azriel warning the High Lord and Lady upon your arrival the minute you’d winnowed in. Feyre stood in the doorway, a bright smile pulled across her lips, as she greeted you quietly. She stepped to the porch in nothing but her socks and sweater, and wrapped her arms around you. You would have stumbled backwards, if not for Eris’s hand pressing into your back, holding you steady. He cocked his brow at you, no doubt surprised at your sister’s hello. “You look well,” she said, her bright eyes scanning your face.

“I am,” you replied curtly, trying your best to start off on the right foot. While you and Nesta had always been close, coping with the aftereffects of the Cauldron very similarly, you’d seen first-hand how her apathy and coldness toward your youngest sister had affected her. You promised yourself you’d enter her court on a new foot - after all, they were the ones that presented you with the opportunity to dance with Eris, and to choose your new future for yourself.

“Come in, please.” You took one step in, Eris following quickly behind you, his hand not leaving the span of your back. Feyre’s gangly crew stood in the entryway a few feet back, all at attention, lined up in the hallway, as if this was well rehearsed.

Elain broke out in a quiet sob, tears welling up in her eyes and palm covering her mouth. Her own red-haired mate was nowhere to be seen, no doubt still an outcast among the group. Nesta stood beside her, stoic and firm, the silver fire in her eyes noticeably missing. Cassian stood behind her, mirroring the way Eris stood behind you, with his arms crossed and wings splayed widely. He flexed the muscles in his arms, shirt tight around his broad chest. Eris stood a bit straighter, challenging the Illyrian,a few inches taller than the black-haired male. Azriel lingered behind the lot of them, shadows swirling around him. While he’d never been one to attack you, insult your trauma after the Cauldron, or outwardly comment on your relationship with Eris, he’d never defended you, either. But you often thought of him as a friend, and felt deep down the two of you had some parallels, trapped in the Night Court with no sense of belonging.

Rhysand stood oh so casually, leaning against the wall, arms crossed. His wings were nowhere to be seen and instead of dressing casually, like his mate wearing one of his sweaters, he wore the normal black jacket, material that no doubt cost more than what any of the others sported. That’s why Eris insisted on dressing you in your finest gown, it was something between the High Lords, the sense of who looks more powerful… even if it was just a meeting between family.

The two of them were to be brothers soon.

Feyre took your coats and ushered everyone down the hall, urging you all to be seated in the dining room, as brunch would be brought out soon. The others moved first, begrudgingly turning their backs to you to be seated. Nesta wrapped a slim arm around Elain, pulling her to her side and dragging her away by her side. Cassian stared at the Shadowsinger, then nodded his head toward you and Eris, indiscreetly telling his brother to keep tabs on Eris - or you - or probably both.

As you walked down the hall, you felt the eyes of hundreds staring at you. You hated being in that house. How Feyre had painted her most intimate moments with her mate and family, and had plastered it up on the walls for all to see. Every image, hers or not, was bolted large and high, leering eyes absorbing every detail.

The birth of baby Nyx. Nesta in the Rite. The Valkyries. The Illyrian males atop the mountain. These moments were not hers. They did not belong to her. Yet she was privy to every meeting, every conversation, every life event through that gods damned Daemati power.

There were no private moments shared in this Inner Circle. Not like what you and Eris had. If you’d stayed here, and by some Cauldron's blessed miracle you found a male or had one of these life altering experiences - been swooped up in the Rite or another war - every moment would be put on display for everyone else to see.

You noticed how Eris visibly cringed at each painting, how he shuddered as Feyre’s blue-grey eyes seemed to follow him down the hall. He leaned in close, lips nearly brushing against your ear. “Where are the paintings of you?”

You could have laughed, had it not been so tense. “Trashed.” Eris hummed in that insulting mocking way he so often did. It wasn’t a lie though, Feyre had painted you with the sisters curled up in the tattered bed at the cabin. But it was hidden away. Of all the memories strewn along those walls, that was not accepted. Perhaps Feyre couldn’t look at you now that you’ve ashamed and embarrassed her and her mate at their own ball. After all, your portrait was the only one noticeably missing. You scanned over the familiar faces, each of your sisters, Feyre’s new brothers, Morrigan, even Amren and Varian.

Eris’s hand brushed against yours. “I’d offer you hundreds of paintings if it weren’t so vain. Even I’m not that narcissistic.” At that you smiled, almost unsure if he was joking. Your heart swelled though, as you knew Eris would give you the world if you asked.

There were only two remaining seats in the dining room once you’d made it down the hall. It was so unlike the Court of Nightmares or the Autumn Court. No grand table, rows of empty chairs on either side. It was a narrow room with only ten seats.

You and Eris both were delighted to see Morrigan waiting at the end of the table. She held a babbling toddler on her lap, orange food smudged across his mouth and dribbling down his chin. His black hair curled away from his face, bright blue eyes that seemed to be exact copies of Feyre’s. You frowned, heart tightening a bit as you watched the baby flap his tiny bat-like wings. Your sister had been so excited for her family to grow, for all the Archerons and Illyrians to be together as a whole unit. Only for you to break her dreams of having a whole family.

At least, that’s what Rhys had said when you left.

Eris pulled one of the chairs out for you, which you took, and found yourself seated next to Nesta, Cassian to her other side. Eris sat beside you, which put him at the corner of the table, far too close to Rhys, who sat at the head.

Feyre strolled in and sat across her mate, calling in the servants, who brought out steaming hot trays of food. They placed them all at the center of the table simultaneously and left immediately. You glanced to Eris, who seemed unimpressed at the action. You weren’t expecting such a formal brunch, servants and so much prepared food, something you grew familiar with in the sophisticated Forest House. You’d been invited for a casual family brunch, so you’d thought.

You took a spoonful of porridge - the tray that was placed closest to you - and poured yourself some tea. You hadn’t managed an appetite all morning, since you woke up with the dread of this visit four hours ago. The table was utterly quiet, only the sounds of forks and knives scraping porcelain plates, and the giggling baby echoed off the walls. “This is Nyx,” Feyre said, running her tattooed hand over his black hair, gazing down at him fondly.

You smiled at your baby sister, so young and once so innocent, with her perfectly healthy child. “He’s beautiful,” you replied truthfully. You were happy for her - you tried to be, at least. Everything she’d wished for had come true. She had a home and a doting husband, a winged baby and large home, a whole new family. Feyre smiled in thanks, returning to tending to her son, cleaning his chubby cheeks with her napkin. You hadn’t met the heir to the Night Court; she’d only been a few months pregnant when you left for Autumn.

Everyone ate in silence until the High Lord spoke up. “Have there been developments on any gifts from the Cauldron?”

Eris choked on his water, a sight you’d never seen. He gaped at Rhysand, amber eyes shimmering with fire. He couldn’t stop himself from stifling a laugh, taking every offense to Rhys’s words. “That’s what you care about? You haven’t seen her in nearly a year, you’ve been allegedly so worried about her well-being, begging her to return to your precious court, and that’s the first thing you ask her about?”

Rhys’s jaw set, but he was cut off. “Every one of us was given something, it’s surprising that (Y/N) wasn’t. Unless she was and is hiding it.” You’d never heard Nesta come to Rhysand’s defense before. You weren’t sure you liked the sound of it too much.

“You’re starting to sound more and more like Amren,” you muttered, taking a sip of your tea, gazing down at the brown liquid before you.

“Funny you should mention that,” Cassian grumbled, stabbing his fork into the thick slab of meat on his plate. “Since you’re in her seat.”

“I’m sorry she and Varian had to make the sacrifice to miss brunch to make room for us,” you replied, setting your cup down a bit too harshly, eliciting a sharp noise from the glass.

“A sacrifice I was ready to take, as well,” Morigan mumbled from across the table, eyebrows raised at Cassian.

Before Eris could jump back in the conversation, Rhys stood at the end of the table. He pressed his palms against the wood, earning silence from the entirety of the room. Your eyes flitted to Feyre’s as she swooped Nyx up into her arms, holding him against her chest, rocking him back and forth. She shot Rhys a pleading look, to which he understood immediately, and nodded at her. You saw Elain wipe at the tears that streamed silently down her rosy cheeks.

“Join me in my office,” Rhysand said to Eris, barely able to even look at the male’s direction.

Eris stared blankly at Rhys, still seated, back immaculately straight. He dropped his hand to your knee and gave it a light squeeze from atop your dress. He turned when he offered you that same hand, standing and pulling you upright beside him. “Surely the matter at hand will be discussed with (Y/N),” he replied, ready to follow Rhys out of the room.

Rhys narrowed his eyes at the red-haired male. “I think this deal would be best discussed High Lord to…” he trailed off, you weren’t sure if he was outright intending to offend Eris, or simply couldn’t finish the sentence. You decided it was something of male ego, to flex his superior position.

Eris smiled the same smile the Autumn courtiers taught him so many years ago. “High Lord and High Lady,” he corrected. “To Autumn’s heir apparent, and his High Lady,” he replied smoothly, ushering you away from the table to stand before Rhys.

You had to admit, Eris calling you his High Lady made you stand a bit straighter and hold your head up a little higher. The male oozed confidence, always so calm and collected. You’d never seen him without the upper hand or at the mercy of the other High Lords. He knew these kinds of conversations were just duels of wit, and he was never the first one to back down.

Rhys bit back whatever comment was bubbling up as Feyre stood across the room. Nyx was once again in Morrigan's arms, and Feyre moved to join the three of you at the opposite end of the table. “Then let’s talk.” She smoothly walked past Rhys, not without giving him a warning look. You could tell they were mind-speaking, as they so often did, simply based on the twitch of Rhysand’s eyebrow and the plea in Feyre’s eyes.

You followed them down the hallway, Eris’s hand falling to rest on your hip as he huffed out a breath of annoyance. Your sister shuffled anxiously, thick socks gliding against the wooden floors. Rhys walked a half step behind her, as if ready to pounce between her back and Eris, should he choose to misstep.

Your fingers twisted before you, hands clasped together in nervousness. Being around the Inner Circle made you want to drink; something they so often did together, a pit that you and Nesta had fallen deep into. You wished there was a drink in your hand, something deep red or dark brown, to hold in your palms to hide your fidgeting.

Feyre led all of you past large black doors, which Rhys was quick to shut and ward. He sat behind the great desk and waved a hand over the surface, clearing away all the papers and maps strewn across the top. Feyre took a seat on his lap, propped up against his chest, legs crossed over his thighs. His hand snaked around her waist and her hands immediately fell to meet it.

You sat in the armchair on the other side of the desk, Eris in the seat beside you in a matching chair. You sat on the edge, hands held firmly in your lap, resisting the itch to reach out to him. Eris, ever so proper, sat tall in his chair, legs spread ever so slightly, boot-clad feet pressed firmly against the floor. His eyes washed over the artwork around the office, the Illyrian mountaintops and the sky on Starfall. He was caught up on the large portrait behind Rhysand, though, the larger-than-life self portrait of the High Lady. Lifeless blue eyes that stared straight back at him, her tattooed hand curled under her chin, and a glimmering crown atop her head.

Why there ever needed to be two of her staring into his soul, he would never know.

“The charade is over, Eris,” Rhysand began indifferently, lounging in his seat. The tone in his voice could have made you flinch, as it was the same one he used when he first dismissed you to Autumn. It’s her choice if she wants to go with you. “You’ve made your point in taking (Y/N). All we’re asking is that you release her back with her family.” Your choice, indeed.

Eris smiled, not an inch of him moving, remaining impossibly still as he countered the High Lord. “Does she look like she needs to be released?”

All eyes flitted to you, studying. You felt them scrutinizing your every flaw, from the quirk of your brow to the frown on your lips. You sucked in a breath and remained levelset, eyelids falling forward as your mask fell into a cast of pure boredom. You’d been watching Eris closely lately, picking up on his own mask of disinterest.

And he was quite impressed.

“You gave me the option to take Eris’s marriage proposal on my own free will,” you reminded Rhys, who, he himself, seemed impartial to what you had to say.

“He made the offer, (Y/N),” Rhys began slowly, emphasizing each word. “To keep the alliance between our courts for the upcoming war. And - ” his purple eyes flitted to the red-headed male. “ - should he need backing in a certain internal war.”

You swallowed your tongue, willing the Mother to give you the strength to not drop your facade and stare at Eris. He shot back immediately, though his words remained unrushed. “I do not need your assistance in dealing with my own father. And in regards to my future wife, she was never meant to be a tool in the game. I proposed because I want her by my side in the Autumn Court.”

“There is no need to return with him, (Y/N),” Feyre chimed in. “You have a room here, a life and family. Elain has been utterly beside herself since you’ve left. And Nesta has been so different without you.”

Different. Of course, without her drinking buddy or someone to bitch about Rhys to. She’d changed before you left, right at the time she had become mated to Feyre’s war general. She ought to have been glad you left, no longer the thorn in her side tying Nesta to her old life of sleeping around and drinking herself into a coma. Without you, she had been able to be molded into the female warrior they wanted. “They both seemed well to me.” Again, not entirely true, but at least Elain was out of her room, no longer shut away from all people and food, and Nesta was… out and about with her male companion.

“You missed her mating ceremony,” she added, after dipping into your thoughts.

You nodded. “I remember when she was disgusted by him and that word - ”

“She was apprehensive,” Feyre interrupted, leaning forward off her husband’s chest, not leaving his lap. “Look at her now, happily mated, married, and living her own life here in Velaris, on her own free will.”

“And that’s how I am living now, Feyre,” you replied, raising your voice more than intended. Your hands fell to the arms of the chair, fingers digging into the plush fabric. “The only difference is that I am not in your court. And I chose Eris.”

“It’s not real, (Y/N),” she interrupted. “He’s not your mate.”

“For some powerful High Lady, you are still somehow so blind. The Mother gives you a male you’re tethered to for the rest of your gods forsaken life and suddenly everyone needs to live the same way as you?”

“You don’t know everything, (Y/N),” she added, trying to settle herself back down in Rhysand’s arms. He watched the two of you, deciding some things were better left for siblings to resolve on their own. Afterall, he and his brothers had far harsher ways of dealing with their problems. “There is such a thing as fate. You’ll meet someone here that you actually love - ”

You narrowed your eyes at your younger sister but couldn’t bite your tongue. She really did live in her own little world. “Is that what you were telling yourself when you were dying for Tamlin? That you loved him and it was your fate to suffer - ”

“Enough, (Y/N),” Rhys cut in, eyes darkening and brow narrowing. “I will not have you speaking to my wife - your own sister, I might add - in such a way. And you ought to know that name is not to be mentioned in my home. I’ll only be advising you once.”

Eris rolled his eyes and couldn’t stop himself from teasing the couple. “Such a welcoming family, I wonder why she ever would have wanted to leave.”

“The only reason you were brought here,” Rhys continued. “Was to call off the alliance between our courts. You said it yourself, it’s unnecessary. You can leave (Y/N) out of it and take care of Beron yourself.” Eris remained silent and utterly still. You never wanted the Daemati gifts, but in that moment, you’d kill for it. He didn’t reply, perhaps he was weighing his options. “I will make it worth your while.”

Rhys refused to look anywhere but at Eris, not daring a glance at your eyes. Your heart lurched up into your throat, and you forced yourself to breathe slowly through your nose, working past the increase in your heart rate. You could feel the blood swirling in your ears, the room suddenly growing hotter the longer it took Eris to reply. “There is nothing you could offer me,” he stated simply, as if it were the only logical answer.

Rhysand conjured up a black box atop the desk, large enough to spread the whole surface. He opened it up and suddenly the room lit up, a silver glow casting over his features. “Three Made swords,” he explained, turning the box to face Eris. “The power of the Cauldron in each one. The silver flames that no longer exist anywhere else in the universe.” Feyre bit her lip.

Eris waved his hand at them, not even bothering to look inside. “You can keep your cursed blades.”

Rhys shot Feyre a look, as if to say I told you so, but continued on. “Then name your price. Money? Jewels? Diamonds?”

While in any normal instance, the male beside you would have loved to toy with Rhysand groveling to make a deal. He would have asked for land or riches from the other courts. He would have teased the male until they reached an agreement Eris knew would be near impossible for the Night Court to fulfill. His red eyes watched as Feyre toyed with the cuff links on Rhysand’s sleeve, waiting with baited breath for him to succumb to an agreement.

But when it came to you, Eris was in no mood to barter.

He stood and brushed his hands down his jacket with a huff. “(Y/N) is not a piece of property to be traded. She is far superior to anything you might offer - or any of you at all. It is an insult to think I would accept such meaningless trades, and an insult to my future High Lady and your sister that she is an object to be purchased.” Eris held a hand out to you.

Rhys stayed silent, defeated - maybe. Ready to give up - definitely.

You rolled your eyes and grabbed Eris’s hand. Feyre wasn’t about to plead with Eris to let you go. She simply sat atop her mate and let him handle it. He handled all matters. The same way he handled Nesta’s out-of-control drinking, by making Feyre cry at the breakfast table surrounded by her newfound family. She probably had to beg him to organize this meeting.

At the root of it all, Feyre didn’t want you back. She wanted her perfect little happy family together. She wanted Elain off her back, wondering what you were up to in Autumn; she wanted Nesta to quit drinking away her sorrows on evenings she missed you.

She didn’t miss you - she probably enjoyed the silence and the spare change in her pocket. You were no longer picking fights at bars, sleeping with random males, or ruining the reputation of the High Lady of the Night Court. You could only assume that the morning breakfasts were much happier while you were gone, no longer forced to have any conversations on how you were a toxin to the court.

“Remove the wards,” Eris ordered, peering down at Rhysand and Feyre. Rhys looked half like he wanted to snap at the Autumn heir, probably for some final satisfaction, or simply to prove that Eris couldn’t order him around. But with one look at Feyre, her eyes fallen to the floor below, completely done with the conversation and the two Fae standing before her, Rhysand waved a hand and lifted the spell.

Eris bitback his snarky farewell comment - something about revoking their invitation to the wedding (which he would gladly do) - and winnowed you away without so much as another glance at the High Lord.

His arms wrapped around you when you’d landed in Autumn, the soft sound of the crackling hearth surrounded you as Eris had taken you right to your bedroom. He pulled you tightly against his chest, bowing his head to press a kiss to the crown of your head.

You selfishly dreamt what the pull of that mating bond felt like. The one that so easily swayed Feyre’s decision, that had her head filled with nonsense and shrouded her free-will. The one that so securely bound your sisters to their mates, and the lady of Autumn to her husband way back when. Something so primal and desperate, that you’d be mated to someone you hated, someone who wouldn’t hesitate to kill you.

You looked up at Eris, meeting his soft red eyes and the frown that pulled across his lips. His brows were pulled taught in frustration, pity perhaps. You were almost embarrassed at the charades the Night Court had pulled to try to have you sent back to their court, if you weren’t already outright offended by their gesture. His fingers drew back and forth against your back, through the thick material of your dress, reminding you that he was a constant, and that he wouldn’t let you out of his arms, nor trade you for any amount of money or treasure.

Your arms wrapped around him and you dragged your hand up to the nape of his neck, running your hand through his hair. You couldn’t muster a false smile, not even in reassurance that you were feeling alright. You weren’t, but he knew that and already accepted it. He had his own shitty family to deal with, he was no stranger to the feeling. He leaned forward into your touch, dropping his cheek against the top of your head and hugging you tightly.

You wondered if you could grow a mating bond. That if perhaps you could come to realize you’d met your perfect equal, your exact opposite, that you could feel that same innate tie in your chest, have that otherworldly pull to one another. You twirled a red curl between your fingers. Perhaps you’d one day have that with Eris.

[its-vannah]

Midnight Rain | Jacaerys Velaryon x Reader

A/N: Y'all have no idea how happy I am to finally release this chapter. Although this series is a crossover between Jace x Reader one-shots and Midnights, this one adds in a classic fairytale spin, as it's based off of Sleeping Beauty (the Disney version, we don't condone the original). I hope you guys enjoy reading this one as much as I loved writing it.

Warnings: Mentions of death, fighting, violence

Midnights Masterlist

Just what we wanted, just what we wanted

Everything had gone to plan. You were tucked away in one of the far eastern towers in Asterthal, forever at rest while your palace was in shambles.

My town was a wasteland

Homes had been burned, the palace ransacked, bodies were left littering the ground.

Full of cages, full of fences

Sites that had once attracted outsiders were now unrecognizable, reduced to ashes. Those who had survived the attack were kept inside cells beneath the palace, waiting for their executions.

And the life I gave away

If you had been awake to see your people now, you would've been devastated. But after one of your friends, who had been working as a spy for the Queen, slipped you a sleeping concoction, you were unable to escape slumber.

But for some, it was paradise

But the Queen was delighted to hear of your capture. The alliance between the eldest Velaryon-Targaryen son, Jacaerys, and the House of Asterthal's eldest daughter would have been unstoppable.

I wanted that pain

She had ordered your execution, but been advised to put you to rest rather than death. Anything more and she'd be tried for treason against a noble house.

Chasing that fame

So, Queen Allicent sat beside the Iron Throne, a goblet of wine in her hand as she toasted to her recent victory. Long live the Queen.

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When the news reached Jacaerys that the House of Asterthal had been attacked, his heart dropped. He feared that it was too late, that your life had already been taken.

All of me changed

But when it was revealed that you were alive, he immediately sought out his mother, searching every hall to find her.

Once he spotted her in her chambers, he fell to his knees before her.

Rhanerya looked down at her soon, concern in her eyes, "I'm afraid you've heard?"

My boy was a montage

"She's alive," He managed to blurt out, clasping his hands together, "Mother, please, I must find her."

She hesitated, "Jacaerys, it could be far too dangerous for you to go to her aid. We must think this through."

"I love her, mother. I wish to marry her," He said between bated breaths, "She's everything I ever wanted—everything I needed."

Rhaenyra bowed her head, thinking back to when she lost the man she loved, "My son, do you understand the dangers you will face on your journey?"

Jace nodded, "I understand and accept the challenges I will face."

"Then you have my support," She said, pulling him into a hug, pressing a kiss to his temple, "I love you, my son, come back to me."

Picture perfect, shiny family

"I will," He promised, before pulling away, "And I'll return with her."

On the ride to Asterthal, memories plagued Jace's mind of when you had met. At the time, he had no idea that you were the woman he was supposed to wed. You were simply a girl taking a stroll through the forest.

"Are you alone?" Jace had asked, pulling his horse on a lead behind him, "It isn't safe out here."

But you merely smiled, "I've been living here my whole life, I understand the dangers."

"You live in the woods?"

Nodding, you continued walking, "My family lives in a cabin farther up the hill. It isn't too bad, really. Just farther away from the town."

'Cause he was sunshine

"Do you need a ride back? The sun is about to set."

Shaking your head, you turned back to face him. It was only then that your beauty struck him. You were gentle, steady, but he knew that there was a fire that lay inside you.

I broke his heart 'cause he was nice

"I was told to never trust a stranger," You replied, "But I thank you for your kindness."

"Then let us not be strangers," He bowed, "Prince Jacaerys Velaryon."

Shocked, you immediately curtsied, "I'm sorry, my prince. I didn't know—please accept my apologies. I hadn't known you were to be in Asterthal."

"It's to discuss arrangements between me and the princess."

He wanted a bride

You tilted your head, "The princess? Why, she's been locked away for years. Since she was a babe. Only when the time is right will she be able to wed."

He sighed, "I'm hoping the time is now. We need Asterthal's support now more than ever, with everything going on."

"Then, I wish you luck, my prince."

"I'll gladly accept it, if you allow me to escort you home. I don't feel right allowing a lady like yourself to go on alone," He said.

You hesitated, unsure, "I wouldn't want to impose upon you."

"It would be my pleasure," Jace said, a reassuring smile on his face, "The Prince's orders."

All of me changed like midnight

You returned his smile, "Then I'll gladly accept your offer."

"It's Y/N," You breathed, "My name, it's Y/N."

He walked beside you up the hill towards your cabin, leading his horse behind him. The two of you talked about everything: your upbringings, ability to relish in the peace and silence of the woods, and even shared stories of yourselves that no one had seen. It was refreshing. But then you arrived at your cottage, and your shoulders suddenly dropped.

"I suppose this is goodbye, my prince."

All the love we unravel

Jace sighed, bowing his head, "I look forward to meeting you again, Lady Y/N."

He was sunshine, I was midnight rain

Drowning, you shook your head, "I'm not sure that's a good idea, my prince. You're betrothed. It wouldn't be becoming of us to see one another again."

He paused for a moment, "I nearly forgot."

You reached out to grab his hand, giving it a small squeeze, "As did I. But there's a stark difference between the world's we're used to. I'm not sure it would be wise for this to continue. I apologize, my prince."

He wanted it comfortable

"It's I who should be apologizing, my Lady," Jace said, "I've become comforted by your presence in this short period of time. I bid you farewell."

With that, pain heavy in his chest, he pressed a kiss to your hand, walking away with a heavy heart.

"I was comfortable, too," You muttered, leaning against the doorframe.

Now, riding on his dragon to Asterthal, Jace couldn't help but smile. From the moment he met you, he knew you were going to have a big meaning in his life.

A slow-motion, love potion

But until he had spoken with the Lord and Lady of Asterthal, he hadn't known that their daughter, Y/N, had been hidden away in a nearby forest. As soon as he heard your name, his heart swelled. He had known it then, and he knew it now: you were the love of his life.

-------------------------------

Dismounting his dragon, Jacaerys fought his way through the knights guarding the entrance to your chambers, his sword impaling and beheading several men who came his way.

Their swords had been held high, but their skill was no match for the young prince and his dragon.

Finally reaching your chamber, he threw the doors open, panting.

Throwing his sword down beside him, Jace kneeled down beside your bed.

Pressing two fingers to the side of your neck, he felt a steady pulse.

Reaching into his satchel and removing an antidote, he held the vile firmly in his hands as he twisted the cork off.

Pressing a kiss to your forehead, he opened your lips and poured the liquid down your throat.

A deep portal, time travel

Waiting for a sign to show that you were awake, it took a few minutes before you stirred, groaning in your sleep.

Your body had to have been sore from the position you had been in the past few days. So when you opened your eyes, meeting Jace's gaze, it didn't take you long to lurch forward, grabbing his collar and pulling him towards you.

Lips moving against each other, you held him close to you until you were both so out of breath that you couldn't help but pull away.

Except on midnights like this (midnights like this)

Resting against your forehead, Jace smiled, "I knew it was you.