#hence why it has kings and soldiers

[shedpuns]

"undyne was a cop in undertale" cold take. undyne was a soldier. they say multiple times that the royal guard exists because of the war and that when they don't have to fight humans the royal guard disbands. in the neutral pacifist ending the guard is disbanded because it's a tool of war with the humans, not of control over the monster populace.

there's plenty wrong with soldier being a profession and with standing armies in general and with keeping a populace in a state of constant cold war, but it's not the same things that are wrong with police, and the willingness of even Asgore (after the true pacifist ending) to disband the guard is a super positive sign.

Undyne cares deeply about the welfare and the freedom of monsterkind in a way that cops do not care about you. The fact that she doesn't in Deltarune is as much of a red flag as the fact that Toriel lets Kris' half of the room go empty or that Asgore doesn't remember that they don't like hugs or that Alphys prefers grim and joyless anime.

[wesleysniperking]

Sniper King is a soldier and a warrior, not an imitator. Put some respect on his name!

I was arguing with someone on Reddit (big surprise), and they were trying to tell me that Sniper King (yes, Usopp) was wearing a sun god mask because he was trying to emulate Luffy. But I am convinced that one of the reasons why—and there are indeed layers to this, not just surface level—is that the sun god mask signifies Usopp’s allegiance to Luffy (or Sun God Nika). Usopp donned that mask as a warrior to prove that he was a soldier ready to fight alongside and for Luffy.

What these Usopp haters miss is the deeper cultural significance of the mask. In many African traditions, masks symbolize spirits of the dead, totem animals, and other supernatural forces. They are deeply rooted in animism, the worship of the natural world. A mask might represent a nearby river, an animal, or a deceased ancestor. When Usopp puts on the Sniper King mask, he’s not just hiding his identity—he’s transforming into a new entity, embodying the spirit of a warrior.

This transformation aligns perfectly with the idea that Usopp is trying to grow and become someone stronger. Oda himself has said that Usopp would be African, and in African cultures, masks are used to initiate transformation, allowing the wearer to influence the spirits they are appealing to or offering thanks to. During a performance, the masked masquerader transforms into the spirit or entity represented by the mask, with their identity reinforced through song and dance. (Hmm…hence that whole thing with the Sogeking opening sequence and theme song)

So, the sun god mask Usopp wears isn’t about imitation; it’s about praise, admiration, honor, and acknowledgment. It’s a physical mechanism for Usopp to initiate his own transformation, symbolizing his commitment to fight alongside Luffy. There’s so much more depth here, but I’m standing firm against the notion that Usopp was trying to mimic Luffy. That’s a load of cow dung. It’s amazing how often I end up arguing with Usopp haters. They should just admit their bias instead of trying to stamp it as "objective." No way is it objective when you’re trying to convince an Usopp fan that Usopp’s worthless when he clearly isn’t.

Like seriously. People forget that Usopp is a storyteller. And that Oda said if the Straw Hats were in the real world Usopp would be African. I’m so with (a firm supporter in) this animistic beliefs narrative.

More thoughts on the subject of Usopp, Africa, Going Merry, and what it has to do with Water 7 and the narrative:

Link 1

Link 2

Link 3 - unrelated link

Link 4 - unrelated link

outside link that brings home a point

usopp community I created. feel free to join.

[twstgarden]

✿ ❝ 𝘀𝗼 𝗰𝗹𝗼𝘀𝗲 𝘆𝗲𝘁 𝘀𝗼 𝗳𝗮𝗿 ❞

━ malleus draconia x gn! reader ━ part 1. you always had a crush on malleus for a while now, but as his soldier, you knew you will never have the chance to confess much less for him to feel the same way towards you. find part 2 here.

slight (?) spoilers for chapter 7! f/n stands for first name.

do not steal or translate without my permission.

as one of malleus' guards, it was expected of you to accompany him everywhere and make sure he's safe from harm. hence why, you are now attending night raven college to guard your future king.

you've been working for briar valley's royal family for more than a century, so you have known malleus longer than you knew silver and sebek, having grown together as you were both around the same age.

he had always treated you with kindness and respect, but never crossed the line of being the future king and his guard, so you never get the chance to share your personal secrets or life with him.

once you were enrolled in night raven college, you were sorted to diasomnia - the exact same dorm as your fellow guards and your future king. you were there whenever they'd have their tea sessions over at the lounge but always found yourself being the listener and observer of the group, never sharing anything about yourself as you knew that the bond these four shares is far deeper than you could fathom.

you were just another guard.

you knew that and yet you still could not etch that into your mind, you were stubborn enough to think that maybe, just maybe, your bond with them will surpass the professional barrier and share loving, family-like ties.

or at least, you were stupid enough, delusional even, to think that the feelings you hold for the man you're serving will be reciprocated.

"so, i've heard queen maleficia wishes to help you find your significant other, malleus... what do you think of it?" asked lilia, which broke you out of your trance, suddenly interested in the conversation but remained silent, as usual.

"hmm..."

a hum escaped malleus' lips, setting down his teacup on its saucer as his sharp green eyes stared at his beverage in deep thought. your eyes were glued on his figure, taking in his features as you awaited for him to share his response. he had always looked strikingly beautiful, malleus was one attractive man and you would never deny that.

you loved everything about him - those striking green eyes of his, his beautiful horns, the adorable child-like smile he would display every time he was happy, his commanding presence, his voice, his powerful skills and abilities, and so on.

there was something about this man that you promise to serve with your whole life, so it was not a surprise that you had fallen for him over the course of your time together.

you snapped out of your thoughts as soon as malleus cleared his throat, preparing to share his response with a smile, "that's fine... i already have someone in mind..."

ah...

stupid.

delusional.

you were stupid enough, delusional even, to think that the feelings you hold for the man you're serving will be reciprocated.

what a joke.

despite the smiles on lilia, silver, and sebek's faces, you remained indifferent as you felt your heart slightly crack. you didn't want to ruin the happy atmosphere as much as you wanted to sigh out in despair and run up to your room, you didn't want them to suddenly be concerned if you decided to storm out.

so you sat there silently, tuning out the conversation as you were no longer interested to listen to something that you knew will hurt your feelings even more.

of course, he has his eyes set on someone.

of course, such a wonderful man would have already picked a perfect partner to spend his whole life with.

and that obviously wasn't you.

you will always be just a guard to him, just another soldier swearing on their own life for his safety and protection. as his guard, his happiness is obviously something you would think about as well, and if he had already found a partner, you should be happy for him.

it sounds easy, doesn't it? to be happy for the man you love falling for someone else, wanting to be in their arms instead of yours. of course, it is easier said than done.

several thoughts swirled in your mind as you spaced out, not bothering to listen to sebek's expression of happiness towards malleus' words, or silver's supportive phrases. you had thought, what if you confessed back then? will things be different now? will he choose to marry you?

ah, what-ifs.

what's the point of being the guard of one of the top mages in the entire wonderland if you don't even have the courage to confess to him?

"lieutenant?"

you snapped out of your trance as soon as you heard lilia's voice calling out to you, addressing you in your official title and not your name.

your bond will never go beyond professional.

"yes...?"

you replied softly, finding no energy to speak after feeling so downhearted. you noticed the hint of concern in your comrades' eyes whilst your future king looked over at you with curiosity as lilia spoke, "you haven't said a word ever since we started sitting on the lounge. is there something on your mind? we've been calling out to you for a while now, but you didn't respond."

"oh... um..."

you couldn't think of a proper excuse as silver asked, "are you tired, lieutenant? you can retire for the night..." you hummed in response as you shook your head, "i'm not tired yet. my apologies for being in a trance and spacing out."

"hmm... well, that's fine since you're with us, but you must remain vigilant when on guard duty. it is troubling to think that you might not be paying attention to malleus or your own safety if you're in a daze," reprimanded lilia as he leaned back on the chair. he may have already been retired, but he was still your mentor, he taught you all the sword-fighting skills that you practice today as well as combat tips that are useful in the field.

you meekly nodded as you mumbled, "yes, sir. my deepest apologies."

the conversation then went on as you proceeded to listen and observe, still not saying a word as you had nothing you wanted to share, finding it unprofessional to start sharing things about your personal life or feelings with them.

hours have passed and everyone has retired to their rooms. as soon as you entered your room and closed the door behind you, you sank to the floor and hugged your knees to your chest, sighing heavily as you covered your face.

"why did i ever think i have a chance with him?"

you spoke to no one in particular, covering your face with your hands as you tried to ignore that aching feeling in your chest. you should have gotten used to these little aches by now, but this time was different, that feeling of heartbreak was slowly affecting you physically. your chest felt heavy as tears threatened to spill down your cheeks with your breathing getting heavier by the second.

"i love you for as long as i can remember. i would carve out my own heart if it means i could be with you, but you do not feel the same way as i do. i'll always be just another retainer to you, but you will always be my whole world."

© twstgarden 2023 || please do not steal, translate without my permission, or use this to train a.i.

[your-local-crypt1d]

More WRA and Roseblings headcanons 🥀

Part 1!

Gem inherited her mothers' green eyes, whereas fWhip inherited his father's blue. After she transitioned, people would often say she looked just like their mother, to the point it was uncomfortable. Gem never knew her mother, she doesn't share the grief of her people (as much as she understands why they grieve, she finds it hard to sympathise), and being thrown mournful glances and overhearing hushed whispers of the late empress left a bitterness inside even if she knew it was illogical to be upset over it.

"What do you know of my mother? I did not even know my mother!" Has been a phrase Gem's regrettably snapped more times than she'd like privy

Just the complicated feelings/experiences children of a mother who died during childbirth having to deal with growing up, especially when that mother was such a beloved political figure as Grand Empress MelodiaRose of the Wither Rose Dynasty

All traditional Grimmish names are compounds. it stems from their language having a logographic writing system (e.g. Chinese), so it contains a separate glyph for each word or phrase. Traditionally, Grimmish parents choose two words and/or names and compound them together for their children.

As mentioned in the previous part, fwhips' name is a poor translation between mythic and common, and it means "someone who gets back up after being knocked down".

Gemini comes from the tradition of the firstborn heir being named after a constellation or celestial body, and then Tay is a synonym of May in Grimmish. May/Tay in Grimmish has to do with the rising sun, and it symbolises the heir being the rising Emperor of their nation. Not that that happens with Gem, though.

So Gem has a very similar name to her father (like John vs. Jack levels of similar) and looks almost identical to her mother.

Unlike in other empires, adoption in the Grimmish royal family means being included in the line of succession, and having the same rights to inheritance as blood-related children.

With a large portion of the population being non-human ("monsters"), monster hunters historically have been a very big problem for the residents of the Grimlands. The heads on spikes and towering walls are to keep the hunters out.

This leads to many orphaned children in the Grimlands and surrounding empires, especially orphaned vampire children since Vampires are fiercely protective of their young to their dying breaths. Adoption is a large part of Grimmish culture, and they take it very seriously.

Their foster system is the best in the realm, support workers for children in the system are highly regarded (in the same way soldiers and doctors are), and as mentioned, royal adoptees have the same legal rights to inheritance as their adopted siblings.

Hence why Sausage, an adopted child, was allowed to become king of Mythland when he had no blood ties to the royal lineage.

Speaking of, I think Sausage would make iron friendship bracelets for the other Wither Rose Alliance members. Pearls' has sunflowers carved into the metal and inlaid with yellow gems. Gems' has amethyst pendants in the shape of magical symbols. fWhips' is painted black with little spiked studs painted red.

Sausage has a lot of scars from growing up, and when asked about them he has a running joke of always coming up with inconsistent and elaborate lies on how he got them, fWhip is in on it too. He's told the same advisor three different stories about how he got the scar on his upper arm (a warden, falling down a cliffside, stabbed by an assassin). No one knows the real story except Sausage, not even his siblings, but that's just Sausage for you.

With the surplus of crops, especially wheat, in Gilded Helanthia, I think baking would be a very popular and cheap hobby. Also popularised by their Queen taking an interest in it. Pearl usually makes pastries, tarts, and breads which she'll bring to WRA meetings for taste testing.

Gem doesn't have traditional courtiers as most rulers do, she has a large family of Allays who live in her tower and do nice fae things like cleaning up and bringing her important documents. Only occasionally do they hide things from her, or take coins, but Gem finds it hard to be mad when they technically "work" for her unpaid. The Allays don't seem to mind, though.

Along with that, Copper Golems aren't an uncommon sight in the Grimlands and Pixandria, the copper supplied from the latter and the engineering from the former. The Copper Golems around Eastvale are what inspired a young fWhip to take up engineering in the first place.

And native to the northern regions of Gilded Helanthia and further up north into Mythland and the Codlands are Glares. Just to round it all out. I imagine the Glares around the swamp have the moss cloaks (like depicted in-game), whereas ones from Mythlandic dark oak forests lean towards liverwort and fungus, and the ones from the Plains of Gilded Helanthia coontails and vines.

[hwajin]

#! — ᴍᴇᴢᴢᴀɴɪɴᴇ | scb

genre: fluff, angst (tiniest bit suggestive)

pairing: knight!changbin x afab!princess!reader

wc: 9.6k

warnings/ contents: slow burny, arranged royal marriage stuff, forbidden love, friends to lovers, chracter death

note: this is my fic for @hyunverse 'war of hearts (until kingdom come)' collab!! it was SO fun to write this and especially with all the ppl participating in the collab, make sure to check all of em out!! this was my first every royal au thing to write so be kind on me 🤞🏻🫶

Ten in the morning. You had bathed, had gotten your hair prepared for the day, had been put into an outfit, too tight and insufferable. Had eaten breakfast, had conversed shortly with your parents, catching up on the latest news, boring and little informative. You had gone back to your room, had taken out a book to read which you couldn’t concentrate on. All too little happened, far too little time has passed.

Meet me after supper, by your balcony.

Changbin’s signature under the short note, and the message drove you to insanity. You hadn’t seen him in a while, his work occupying him and his time more often than it was to your liking; knights came home bruised up and injured, their horses distressed and tired. Changbin being the grand commander of his battalion never missed to take the most damage – the determination and his well-intended, devoted persona, as much as you loved him for it, always prone to trouble him.

Changbin and you had started a friendship a few years back. It was unlikely, unusual, for a princess and a knight to be as close knitted as the two of you were. Yet, when Changbin had started to work directly under your father, the king himself, and had gotten higher in his position of knight, you and him had chances upon chances to converse and mingle; be it on royal circulars or ascots, when discussing other kingdoms and the safety of your own, or inner economy and politics. It had been impossible to not acquaint the other, and your characters had seemed to connect naturally, much like two pieces of a puzzle, seamless, fitting to the other. Changbin was one you held dear to your heart, one you wouldn’t bear to lose – though your father didn’t approve of it. Had warned you countless times that your relation was of ill quality, that his direct commander was of no good influence to his child, no one you should converse with let alone call a friend – hence why tonight — much like all night, any time he wished to see you, speak to you —, Changbin offered your balcony as a place to catch up. You barely met elsewhere whenever you did, as it was by far the only place in the palace not watched by soldiers – those of who had told on you and Changbin often enough in the past for the two of you to grow cautious and careful. Seeing each other in the halls or the ballroom occasionally yet never speaking much, only conversing with eyes and sheepish smiles, reserving actual conversations when you were in lonesome. When it was the two of you only, left to talk about deeper-lying subjects than the ones you were used to with people other, than Changbin ever had the chance to. On your balcony, it was always the very pure of you both; no facets, no obligations. Him and you, in your most utter nature.

You missed your friend dearly.

Supper couldn’t have come any slower. You had been dreading the day and wishing for night, had watched the sun set behind the horizon ever so slowly, taking its sweet time – at least your balcony had always had the prettiest view. The book you had been hoping to finish today was lain forgotten on your vanity, about half read. Your mind had been elsewhere the entire evening, maids having to repeat questions second times to ask of your opinion on hair or attire choices, and you’d apologised each and every time. Your mind's been always in a frenzy when Changbin returned from the battlefield. The utter worry you bore for him, the one you’d call your best of friends, was more than you could manage with a clear mind, the notice of his duties calling always prone to set your heart to uneasy condition, only tranquillising when you saw the man in flesh and bones and with lack of harsh bruises, preferably. Though that was seldom the case.

“Might anything be bothering you, child?”

Your fathers stern voice, and you jolted up from the confines of your thoughts. You had only been poking around in your food, appetite lost if there was any to begin with, thoughts neither in the current nor on any subject talked about, thus not participating in your parents’ conversations. You blinked some before meeting his eyes, managing a smile apologetic.

“Yes- no. Nothing bothering me, I apologize. I’m perfectly fine.”

You’d always been a bad liar. You gifted another smile, hoping the matter would be dropped. You weren’t one to be untruthful to your parents, always speaking your mind when needed, standing your ground when necessary. Though when the name Seo Changbin fell, polite talking always turned into agitated speech and angry voices, and you were all but in the mood for such; so you kept the reason for your state a secret.

“I have just been feeling quite faint since morning, perhaps it’s the weather.”

Going back to your merely untouched food, the additional information surely leaving them convinced. It wasn’t a lie, either, much to your dismay; you had been feeling rather ill, with worry and anticipation for your friend, though neither King nor Queen would have to know of it.

“Oh dear, then maybe you shall be able to rest upstairs, no? Leave the plate full, honey, hurry to bed.”

Your mother had always been the softer of the two. You had grown old without siblings, an only child, your mother always the closest person to your heart. Which never meant you didn’t love your father dearly; yet the bond connecting you and the Queen had always been the stronger one.

Your eyes found hers, despite not having expected her offer you took it gratefully all the same. You knew your father wasn’t fond of your leaving early; arguing that it was high time to start being raised a Queen, a soon to be one, and excusing yourself due to nuisances such as sheer faintness was all but justifiable. Your mother shot her husband a glare, though, comforting hand on his arm; signalling that it was well. You left with a quick bow of the head, hurrying and increasing your step only after the vast doors of the main hall had closed behind you - your father preferred you walked around the hall in acceptable tempo.

Your shoes sounded up in quick manner against the tile floors of the halls, ricocheting against the tall space. Your dress threw waves at your fastened feet, breaking in tides against your figure. It was dark, corridors lit only by occasional candle; it was enough to see staff pass by, maids and already returned soldiers, and whenever they were in proximity you decreased your step. All greeting with a nodded “Princess.”, before passing by to their own affairs, and you merely nodded back, impatient to eventually, finally reach the comfort of your room, your beloved balcony. You weren’t certain if Changbin would be awaiting you already, he was always the last to finish his business with his men, managing to rest later than he’d like himself. He was commander after all, so, prone to overworking.

You opened your dark wooden doors in haste, making room and lighting a candle before struggling with the matches, your hands shaking, your breath hiccuping. Opening the glass doors of your balcony – to see Changbin standing by the edge of it, strong, linen covered arms propped up against the stone railings, shoulders hunched over in manner relaxed, observing eyes watching the view. It had always been a favourite of him, simply laying eyes on the vast space of the palace from above, on nature all around. He said it to be calming, especially in your proximity.

“Changbin.”

The man turned at the sound of your voice, away from his dearly loved sky and to face your eyes. Only now you were granted the ability to see the light bruises painting around his eyes, red, angry scratches by his chin and jaw; though you didn’t have time to pay mind to it just yet, only registering his presence without much thinking – you needed a hug, and if it was the last thing you could wish for.

He’d always had a steady build, and falling into his arms had perpetually granted stability you sought anywhere around, in the loneliness of your occupation and the worries of your future, stability no one except him was ready to grant. It took his steady arms and pouding chest, his pumping heart which seemed to increase in tempo whenever near you, for your mind to come to ease. It needed him on your balcony for you to forget about duties and crowns. With him on your balcony you were you, in your simplest form.

It took both of you several moments to finally discharge from the hug, and only after your bodies parted you got to inspect the state of your friend. Your fingers painted over the velvet under his right eye, only imagining the sting it caused. Your thumb caressed the fresh scratch right by his chin, your brows merely scrunching at the pain that must have caused – you would take it all from him, if you could. Would bear it all with him if it was any possible, if it meant shortage of his aching. It wounded anew whenever you’d see him after returning from the battlefield – you were well aware of his own wish for this profession – wanting to fight for what’s good laid in his nature – yet your own desire to know him safe and sound stemmed from egotism you never believed dissipating. He was your closest friend at last, imagining him in anguish of any kind cut at your own heart deeper than anything other was able to.

“Do not look at me like this. I am fine.”

Changbin. Always the personified reassurance, always the calm anchor that never allowed you to seed worry for him. That would give his life to keep you safe, that would sacrifice himself if it meant knowing you in happiness. It was sheer impossible for you not to bear worry. Though you always disguised, for his sake.

“I missed you. I’m glad you’re back.”

And with that you fell into his arms once more. Changbin embraced you wholly, holding your body so tight to his it was nearly uncomfortably suffocating, though you’d never dare to mind. The man buried his face in your nape, keeping there for a moment or two before parting again. An exchanged smile before a laugh followed, a laugh filled with relief, with reassurance; not one of Changbin’s departments was ever safe, no given guarantee he’d be able to return at all. Left and forgotten for times end on the battlefield; it was always a scenario open, one that you feared during sleepless nights.

Yet he was here, returned this time, like he always did, always promised.

“So, tell me everything.”

You rumpled up your heavy dress, wishing to change out of it as the setting sun indicated you’ve been wearing cottoned corset and linen silk for far longer than your liking allowed. You settled on your designated metallic chair, Changbin took seat on the other one. You’ve taken ownership over both a few years back – the maids and cooks in the kitchen still asked about the mystery of their disappearance, and you and Changbin found amusement in it each time. You had been practically children when you had snuck into the hot chambers, hiding from guards and personnel and getting hold of two cheap looking sitting attires because sitting on the stone porch of the balcony had become unbearable over time. You had sprinted up as fast as it was possible back then, had rushed with adrenaline and laughed your hearts out at the relief of not getting caught, of succeeding with your master plan. You had set the chairs on the balcony facing the vastness of the palace, just so you could have a look onto the sunset if you wished. The chairs haven’t moved since – no guard ever checked the privacy of your own four walls let alone the tiny balcony, so you’ve been sure your dear possessions would be safe and sound there for as long as you wanted them to be.

“You wish for me to tell you everything? Princess, I’m sure you have far more precious information about the happenings within the palace than my ever boring talk about the battlefield.”

Typical of him to deny his worth, and you huffed in bitter amusement. Your heart felt warm with the name he chose to call you; princess. He had started to drop your name and call you by your rank in fun initially, though the word contained in his addressing you, never without a slight teasing behind. You liked hearing the title out of his mouth the most. For with him it didn’t come with a notion of fearful respect, but utter friendship instead.

“Oh, I have told you the battlefield isn’t boring. Brutal, yes, but I am not weak, you are well aware.”

He was aware, though it wasn’t in Changbin’s own enjoyment to tell stories of war. It was his passion and well-earned duty to fight and protect, yet he always despised the idea of talking about matters of violence outside said matter itself; because he knew you would never fully understand, would never fully support said wanting and needing to fight and protect, because it didn’t seem fit to discuss such cruciality, with you specifically. Not because he thought you weak – but because he cherished you. Adored you. Loved you. Because his emotions for you grew deeper than artificial talk about duties and doings, politics and battlefields. Because every word he’d tell would make him wish you’d say instead, drinking up your utterances like the sweetest wine, following the soundwaves of your voice as though visualising them. When with you, talk about himself grew null, the wish to emerge in conversation about you sprouted prompt and plump within his chest, like ripe fruits on greenest bushes.

“I am aware, and yet your stories are far more exciting. I wish to hear them all – any news on your father? I hope you hadn’t started a fight while I was gone, you’re still on good terms? Oh, and how is Jisung? I haven’t got the chance to talk to him yet, is he doing well?”

Question after question, simply to hear you talk. And talk you did. Talked beyond answering Changbin’s questions, talked about this and that and oh how boring it’s been without him, talked until your guts hurt from laughing and until the sun started setting behind the saffron horizon, until first nightbirds began singing their lullabies. Until you warned Changbin to make haste and leave – when the clock struck ten your maids would come up, to get you ready and washed up for bed. Both of you reluctant, both of you hesitant to let go of the evening hug you shared, arms around the other, wrapped closely to hold body against body. It was you who pulled apart with a sigh, one so heavy it cut at Changbin’s heart. How he wished he could stay on this very balcony till midnight and beyond, could lay beneath those navy duvets of your bed with you. How he wished to be closer to you eternally, physically and emotionally, however humanly and inhumanly possible. Changbin was aware he was grasping at straws – a soldier and a princess would be one kind of a marriage across the entirety of the kingdom, having never heard of such love made believe it didn’t exist. And yet Changbin climbed over the stoned railings in reluctance, said a last goodbye with saddened eyes though you had disappeared behind your curtains too early to catch it. You were blissfully unaware of Changbin’s tragic plight – the man wasn’t all too sure if it was a good rather than a bad thing. He was aware that he couldn’t give you the life you deserved, the life you wished for. That marriage to a prince was an inevitable prediction in near future, that your heart didn’t burn for him like his did. And yet his mind’s contents were images of you when he laid in his bed that night, replaying in painful reminders until he had fallen asleep, at last.

___ . ꫂ

“Seungmin? As in Kim Seungmin? – Father, you cannot be serious.”

The sweet alluring euphoria you had felt rushing through your limbs the day prior had made way for even greater disappointment the following morning; breakfast had been served at ten as per usual, your family containing three had talked newest reports, focusing on especially the freshly returned troupes. Changbin hadn’t told you yesterday – as he seldom did – that though his battalion suffered minor loss the return hadn’t succeeded in whole unison. Soldiers had let their lives on fields beyond the kingdom, would never return to families, would live on in sole memory. Your father revealed such fragile information as though it was any other occurrence, simply an additional point of his list of news, as though his heart didn’t beat faster or tore in two at the sheer cruciality of the fact – your mother barely looked pained, continuing to spoon at her soup as though lost lives were barely a vanity as any other. You wondered if their detachment sprouted from year long experience, and you wondered and feared if your own heart would ever carve itself to a shape theirs had long accustomed. Not of stone, yet used to tragedy.

It was only after a break of short nature that your father discarded his silvern spoon by his right, turning towards you, waiting until you have met his gaze. Stopped eating yourself you listened to his following words, words you wanted to rip out his throat before they had the chance to escape his mouth, before they had the power to embed themselves to reality.

“Yes, Prince Kim Seungmin. His father and I had been conversing through letters and seemed it best fitting to arrange a marriage between him and you. He is most eligible, you would make a great pair. Not mentioning the power our kingdoms will have combined – you truly have no reason to be upset.”

The words like a heavy whip against your body, the spoken death sentence seeding rotten in your brain. Marriage was inevitable in your position and occurred quickly when only set in stone – meaning if your father’s decision was ultimate, you had weeks, at best, to count before walking down the aisle, before spending a life with a man you merely known by name. Your parents had never seemed a flaw in such arrangements, never understanding your wish for love, and to marry after it. After all, their marriage had been arranged and their parents’ was – mutual liking at best was unavoidable when you only reached the point of living together, and love was a mere privilege that would simply come to those who let it.

Only you never befriended their worldview, never believed the marriages they’d speak of were ones of true admiration. Admittedly, you wouldn’t be able to know better – you were simply a reader of written romance who had never found the luck to live through such feeling yourself, only words on thick pages that showed the very marriages you so dearly wished for. As a child you had believed your parents were in love, though you had started questioning that in your adolescence. They seemed happy, surely, as far as you observed. Though you doubted love had come to them passionately or fervidly, doubted a feeling as great as no other had ever swept them off their step. And your heart mourned, pained at the possibility that you may die with your life never be turned upside down by a person loved dearly and intimately, that the only destiny, the only availability of romance was a prince you felt nothing for.

Kim Seungmin; the name fell off your father’s mouth before you had the chance to cut his word off. Kim Seungmin, the prince of the neighbouring kingdom, a man so perfect you’ve never seen one like him. He was nice, he was charming, he was stiff when in absence of a familiar face. He was your parents’ favourite, he was the man everyone would die to have – he was your future husband, it seemed, the future King to your Queenship, and you felt nothingness for him. There was neither love nor hate; solely nothing. The thought alone enrolled panic within your guts, cold sweat spreading on the cushions of your palms, the little hairs by the back of your nape standing straight in fear – you as though saw your future before you, a future you couldn’t help but dread already.  

“Father, I barely know him, you cannot think of making me marry him by the end of the season, what do you-“

A heavy hand on the vitric of the table and you stopped your enraged flow of words momentarily, respect for your father overshadowing the fire that flamed up within you.

“You will get to know him. Besides, I have mentioned that he is most eligible. He is kind and humorous, he has a brain he knows to use. He has a name and a kingdom just like you do – you do not have anything to be upset about.”

Hot anger gnawing at your insides, seethed within the pit of your gut and dared to overcook in tears any nearing second. You didn’t wish to cry before your parents, before your father. Didn’t want to explain whichever context could possibly bother you to such hopeless state, didn’t want to show weakness in a matter so foreign to them. You blinked away the water in your eyes, observing mother and father exchanging a look, if questioning or degrading you couldn’t tell. They continued with their food, unaware of your inner turmoil, or choosing to ignore it. They were aware of your differing view on marriage, on your wish to marry after love, though years had passed since you had last spoken on the matter – it never let to compromises, hence felt aimless to convince and explain. Although, you felt the need to explain right then and there, to change their minds. For it might be the only chance you’d get, for your future might write itself if you failed to speak up now. And yet you felt a fool for scrambling for right words, for your inability to convince with great arguments and remarks. Because altogether, there wasn’t anything you could say, not to them, anyways. Because the search for love was null to them though tore apart your entire being. Thoughts and feelings head over heel while your parents waited for an answer, received only a lack thereof.

Only after counted minutes your voice filled the hall of the room, when your anger and frustration subsided just enough. Your body felt yet trembling, your interior shaken to the very last bone, though you had collected enough to speak, at last.

“You- you are right, Prince Seungmin would be the most righteous match indeed, he- he has qualities one could only dream of.”

Indifference from your addressees, a calming breath from your side. You wouldn’t allow to be married away without trying to change the outcome, surely. There was fate worse than yours, you were aware, unchangeable fate that one was bound to subject to. Maybe yours was too, maybe all words had been set in stone the moment they had left mouths; and yet you weren’t one to never attempt.

“But I don’t love him. I cannot possibly marry him, because I do not love him.”

Words like a slap against your parents, surely, and a part of you doubted your fate could be exchanged. Judging by the looks on their faces, by the utter disbelief. By the flared nostrils of your father, the deep crease between your mother’s brows. The settlement was set in stone; your father hadn’t asked you about the context, he had informed you. Simply and solely, as he had informed you of the fallen soldiers. As though marriage and death weren’t events of greatest major, as though all was null.

“Sweetheart, listen.”

Your mother’s voice an attempt to comfort, though you’d bet no word she could say would be the words you needed to hear.

“Your father and I are aware that you and we have… different views when it comes to marriage.”

Sensing your prediction to embed into reality you braced yourself from her following words, hoped they wouldn’t wound you too deep at heart. You were too fragile this moment altogether, you weren’t sure how many more hits you could take.

“…but you must marry sooner or later, honey.”

Voice too sweet to your liking for the words within the sugar coat were of bitterest taste.

“You will learn to love the prince, I’m sure of it. You must simply open your heart… leave alone there isn’t truly another… option… if you understand.”

Meeting her eye, questions marking your visage. You sweated, felt hot and cold simultaneously, felt each your senses magnify in overwhelming manner.

“There isn’t any other you love, child. If there was…”, a look to her husband, then back to you. It uneased you. “If there was another there might be arrangements possible to make. But the prince is the safest option and the best possible match for you, your father and I are sure of it.”

Your mother laid a hand on your father’s arm, the man merely looking at you, your mother gifting a compassionate look. You felt hard to breathe, your corset all too tight and the garments on you far too much. It was hot, the room started losing its shape. You excused yourself, arguing you’d need time to rethink the sudden information, hearing faint encouragement from your mother’s side, falling out of the velvet chair and stumbling your way gen room. Fiddling with the strings of the back of the dress, failing attempts of searching oxygen. Sobs past your throat in ugly manner, frustration and hopelessness laced within the cries.

Truth be told, if you actually loved anyone, all may be simpler. Truth be told your mother was right, and you saw your life being given away as though not your own altogether.

You needed air. You needed to breathe right the second or you dared to suffocate to death. Which wouldn’t be an alternative all too bad, given your future wasn’t yours.

Opening the heavy glass to your balcony in frantic motion – and you nearly cried out in utter fear of surprise. Changbin sitting on his assigned chair, garments lousy and head turning to catch your eye when he heard the noise from behind him. Seeing your blown out eyes and frantic look he hurried your direction, an expression of confusion and worry painting his face.

It wasn’t unusual of him to wait for you in the comfort of your balcony whenever he had the free time to do so, or the wish to talk to you. Your schedules weren’t always compatible, and you surely hadn’t the ability to reach out to him the same way it was in his own freedom. And while for most occasions you had grown used to it, today his presence, though comforting, had you jolt in your movement.

“Are you unwell? What is the matter?”

A supporting hand on your shoulder, his face to your level and searching for your eyes. You looked upset and beyond, frustrated almost if you Changbin had to tell, though he hadn’t seen you in such state nearly enough to be sure. Yet your body screamed discomfort, and he was ready to drop all if it meant to take it away.

“Help me out of this, I cannot breathe.”

A questioning look on the man, a blush then spreading over the dark of his skin when he realised what you were initiating; your back turned to face him, frenzy hands fiddling with the strings of your corset without success in opening the confines. You moved quickly, desperately, as though tormented deeply. Changbin stood a second or two before his own fingers found your back, entangling in your silk and tulle to grant you help; and utter shame and embarrassment coursed his body. It wasn’t intended intimacy, and he doubted you sensed the closeness altogether in your state of chaos. It was a cry for help from friend to friend and Changbin felt a fool to think of it as any different for your torment was surely great – and yet he was unable to overlook his lingering touch on your bare skin, the loosening ties when he successfully unknotted another part of your dress, when the heavy garment finally let go of your heated body and revealed the bit of white and lacen undergarments you hid underneath. Not only would the instance strike anyone in shock; you were unmarried and a princess, such proximity was looked down upon, said lightly. It was also Changbin’s heart that longed for his touch to stay where it laid, on the soft of your skin, even after he had discarded his eyes and turned his back to grant you privacy. It was his heart’s desire to not must and look away – the paining wish to be able to touch you without hesitation and in intimacy true, to undress you beyond the purpose of a helping hand. To account utter nearness because he’d be the man who’s promise it would be, he’d be the man to comfort and love you not behind closed doors.

Your shoes clacking against the stone porch of the balcony after a minute or two and Changbin had collected himself enough to face you anew. Your attire was casual, dress that could be a nightgown thrown over your body, and you took a seat next to Changbin, nearly as though your outburst was forgotten. Though your eyes didn't meet his, stood focused on the midday sky above — you were embarrassed or upset still for you nevee shyed away from locking gaze.

“I must apologise… I am not feeling too well.”

Your voice calm now, your face in absence of the panic it carried before. Yet Changbin’s worry didn’t dissipate, a deep frown painting his expression while he observed your figure. You looked in deep thought, gaze on the fingers in your lap now, fiddling with the silk of your dress. Lower lip between your teeth, occasional sighs of confusion, it might have been frustration also, sounding out into the midday air. Changbin gave you time, let you think of your words instead of pushing for an explanation for your distress – a habit of his you loved as with him there was absence of pressure.

It had taken moments of collecting thoughts and words before you felt you could speak up again. You had told Changbin the affairs that’d happened before you barged in on him, before fear and anxiety had started eating you alive. Your words had spilled out their confines in a manner Changbin had never seen before, you had let go of the tears you’d held back ever since your fathers words had settled in the dining room – Changbin had only ever seen you cry on one occasion prior to this, when you had gotten into a fight with your father in adolescent years and had waited for Changbin to appear on the balcony. Your emotions had overflown you that day, you had hugged and wetted Changbin’s shirt in a pond of tears, and maybe it had started back then. Maybe Changbin had loved you ever since that day, had realised it on your very balcony.

___ . ꫂ

You had felt Changbin’s warm hand on your own while you were telling him of Seungmin, of the marriage and your disagreement with it. He merely listened to your hearts’ spillings, hot tears building behind his own eyes which you failed to notice in your turmoil, yet Changbin didn’t dare fail in providing you greater comfort anyone else would be able to grant you. You had talked minutes upon minutes without a seeming rest, you had watched the sun set behind the horizon in navy colour as Changbin’s touch eased your mind. As his presence eased your panic, as his words of consolation eased your fear of future. You had locked gazes with his dark one, had seen your pain reflected within them, had sensed his wish to obtain the power in changing current circumstances for your very own satisfaction. You had sat with him in silence for uncountable hours, up until it’d been time for him to leave for you to rest at night, though reluctant from his side. You had laid on the soft cushions of your mattress, within the silk of your duvets, insomnia gnawing at you while your every thought was occupied with no other than your dearest friend. Your dearest friend who was the sole reason you had calmed after your burst of emotion, your dearest friend who would not shun revolutions if they were meant in your favour. You dearest friend who refused to leave your balcony, who insisted your every last tear dried up before he set foot towards his sleeping chambers.

You had laid on the soft cushions of your mattress, within the silk of your duvets, and had realised that this was love if you’ve ever seen it. That it’s been within your reach for as far back as you could remember, that you’d been a fool for not grasping out and taking an opportunity so grand it felt a punch to your gut. All too occupied with the very idea of love to have not realised it where it was provided, where it’s been hidden for you to find all time long; Changbin, your dearest friend. The man you were in love with.

The man who fought on battlefields for a living, the man who had neither power nor a name to him. The man who, even if you told your parents, could not be a match for you. Not an eligible one, anyways. The man who might not feel mutually towards you, all things considered. The man who – though you loved him, you were sure; it couldn’t be a feeling different – would never be any other than your dearest friend who’d wait for you on your porch, who’d gift a listening ear, who’d disappear when the sun set behind ever bright horizons.

The man who had been thinking of you during his own sleepless night after leaving you to your feelings in your room, the man who believed to have seen a change in your demeanour this very night. Who had believed to see a turn in your eyes and how they had observed him, with a new curiosity he’d never seen before. The man who might be wishfully thinking only, for you would never see him the way he saw you. The man who loved you so much it nearly pained him, the man who hated the prince of Empyrean with all his might.

___ . ꫂ

A week had passed since your father had announced the news of your expected marriage with Seungmin to the rest of the kingdom and anyone else in need of knowing, one week since you have realised your feelings for your dearest friend, the man you would never be able to call yours, not in a way you wished to – one week since you and Changbin had harvested an atmosphere which laid strange and thick above your heads, as though both of you knew of the others emotional turmoil, as though it only needed the fearless one to speak the words aloud – though both of you deeming the other to be of braver nature, and in a hurry a week had passed with few words spoken altogether.

You liked to believe that though the confession was wordless – his as much as yours – and though neither you nor Changbin dared to speak of the elephant in the room and regard to the subject of feelings and friendship your relationship per se hasn’t changed whatsoever. Liked to believe that despite your mutual wish for being more and conversing closer you yet were the same two friends that have known each other a decade, the same princess and the same knight that bore habit of meeting up in secret on a balcony sheltered from realities of cruel worlds. It was the very year long friendship, however, that didn’t allow your changed demeanour and the certain flusterness to go simply unnoticed. To be utterly aware that there was more on your minds than either of you would like to admit – it was a confession wordless, yet your bond went deeper as to not realise the two of you had changed. Behaviour and eyes surely spoke more than words could, now more than ever.

For Changbin, though aware of his feelings for you as long as he could recall, the cause in his wariness rooted in the knowledge that not in far future you’d be married and given away to another man, to a prince he himself could only ever dream to compete against. Seungmin had everything Changbin hadn’t, from a name to a kingdom to sheer power – Changbin merely triumphed with friendship and year long memories, whereas neither would bring you closer to you. Would neither be fit to be enough for you nor make the King himself approve nor make him the true rival against Seungmin he desperately died to be. It was against rules, it was against traditions, it was against own preferences – it was thoroughly hopeless, briefly put.

A week had passed since you and Changbin had been fools, cowardly to not exchange a word about the burden heavying your shoulders, wordlessly wandering to find an option in which both of you’d find happiness in – a week had passed since no ideas had come to mind, since you had seemed to have given up on love altogether. Because with every day there was less use to wish on it, every day a deeper understanding that you and Changbin might as well stay being cowards.

You were standing in the porcelain hall, uncomfortable dress hugging your body, suffocating your every breath. The room was utterly too filled, and the people were wholly too loud for your liking, talking and conversing about things you were unable to understand. You were making your way through the crowd, cautious to not appear snotty, careful to paint a smile onto your face whenever talked to. Your father had organised a ball with the neighbouring kingdom – both for you and Seungmin to befriend one another, and to send the troops farewell; other kingdoms have declared war, Empyrean and Noctifer enclosing to a unity to fight back against enemies.

Your supposed marriage had been made fully public and official not before every guest had settled in, the hall breaking into applaud and endless strings of congratulators followed the scenery. You’d been thanking everyone with smiles and nods, had talked to Seungmin for the first time since the plan had been settled – both of you flustered in a way most awkward, and quite frankly – you needed to leave the gathering. Needed to run until your feet gave out and your knees grew weak, until the tight corset around your bust finally suffocated you to faintness, needed to let the waters that collected themselves behind your lids gush free. It felt as though all and each townsperson and servant and maid and knight had finalised your very own future all in absence of your saying in it, people congratulating turning blind eyes to your wellbeing. In truth, it wasn’t solely your life on the line to be changed unasked – you haven’t had the bravery to ask the prince himself of his thoughts on the arrangement, for all you knew he could feel the very same about the deal as you did.

And then there was Changbin. Tidy black hair gliding between crowds, bell like laugh sounding out against the rest of voices. He was making his way through the place with his head held high, accepting kindest regards and farewells, wishes for success and victory like the high gentleman he was – you held him in your eyesight as often as you possibly could, only stable anchor against the mere crowd of strangers in the ballroom. His dark eyes met yours occasionally, whenever his own gaze danced across the room and over the heads of people only to find yours in the midst of it – the confession yet unspoken though your eyes told more than thousand words. Whenever your gazes met, you’d read his very own urge, to take your hand and escape from arrangements, citizens, princes and obligations. That his bitter glances towards Seungmin weren’t without meaning, that his eagerness for fight and protecting was milder than usual, that a hesitation marked him when the upcoming battle was mentioned by passing guests and former knights. That he wished to stay to win over your heart by spilling the feelings he had been surpassing for years on end only to avoid possible discomfort.

The confession was yet unspoken though you were convinced that Changbin loved you as much as you uncovered to love him, the man sure of your very own feelings as well – your change in demeanour, your longing gazes and lingering touches whenever on the balcony or in this very hall too telling to be ignored. It was undeniable, it was impossible.

You opened the door to your balcony in a manner shaken, hands moving fast to loosen the corset and allow for some air. The gathering had ended with a last speech of your father, thanking everyone dearly for their arrival, repeating previous news, wishing the troops the very best for the next days coming and speaking out his happiness and congratulations regarding your and Seungmin’s soon to be wedding. You had been drowning at that point, feeling as though water held your lungs captive and forbidding you to breathe – and then you’d seen Changbin, standing to look directly at you, from across the room. He had sensed your discomfort and had tried to flash you smiles and glances across the hall, had smirked and flared his eyes at you – it had given a reason for your father to scold him, it had given you a reason to flare him a warning gaze, had given your heart a reason to pain more than it was; your fate wasn’t written in the stars as it was, Changbin truly didn’t need to push it any further. In Changbin’s eyes he’d have done anything to paint a smile onto your features. Your brows had been furrowed, your eyes wet beneath layers of upheld strength – sillying across the room seemed like the least thing to do to brighten sunken mood.

You heard shuffling from beneath the stone porch, eyed down to find Changbin climbing up the firm vines that raked themselves up the entirety of your side of the palace. Heaving one leg over the railing for his body to follow suit, until he stood before you in all height. Changbin had asked to see you before he'd leave for uncountable months, and you had nodded in secretive manner when he had passed you whispering out his wish – not only did you carry a tradition to meet before every of his leavings, you both had a feeling that unspoken words between the two of you needed to be addressed, after all. If not for the sheer reason of the seriousness of the matter, then for the pact you’ve closed with Changbin, at the very starts of your friendship – Changbin’s occupation was a dangerous one, and any time he left with his troops he readied himself to never return — a mindset damaged if anything, though any matters you had shied away from over the time you had him to yourself were talked about before his discharge; it was a habit of greatest importance, because none of you would ever forgive yourselves for hiding a part of your minds and thoughts to the other; especially not when the subjects were as great as marriage and feelings unspoken.

“Hello.”

His voice breathless, and it hit you like coldest tides and angriest waves — just how much you would miss him. How much you have missed him any time prior, how it had always rooted from love rather than friendship. How you’d been utterly dumb to have never realised it, how you’d been a fool to only understand your feelings now, when it was most hopeless.

“Are you wholly insane?! You should be more careful shooting me glances when my father is around, he doesn’t approve of our friendship as it is.”

You made your way into your bedroom, the chilly air outside painting bumps across your skin. You despised when the troops left during cold temperatures. It gave you another reason to worry your brains out.

“I was merely looking at you, it is not my fault the mighty King does not like me because I am friends with his dear daughter.”

Sarcasm oozed from Changbin’s words while he made his way into your room, and you turned to shoot him a fiery glance. He wasn’t entirely wrong, though you knew that he was aware you weren’t either. You made seat on the plump chair before your vanity, red and golden stitching worn out over the years and looking fairly cheap against your gown, and Changbin stood in place behind you – he didn’t find himself in your own four walls all too often, always arguing that it was a sphere of privacy he didn’t want to step on. Every time his figure found itself beyond the safety of your balcony a feeling of tension laid itself into thin air, and you couldn’t help but paint red at the very thought of it.

He stood eyeing you through your vanity mirror, reflection milky and figures trembling, and you held his gaze. A million thoughts coursing your brain at the sight of him, though you only spoke out one of them.

“Sit down. Do not simply stand there.”

Voice snarky yet Changbin didn’t follow suit – keeping his space just by the door of the balcony, because truly, the only available seat next to the one you occupied was your bed. He’d never dare. So he continued standing, eyeing you through the vanity mirror, watching your face in the milky glass, bordered, as though trapped within the wooden carvings. A gaze so intense you nearly gave out, converted your eyes just shortly before turning in your seat and catching his eyes directly instead. There could be a million thoughts coursing his very own brain, ones that would never see the light of day, ones that you needed to hall out into the space between the two of you. It surely seemed like he was thinking a million things, lips caught between teeth and fingers playing with the hem of his attire, body utterly and wholly tense.

Yet you shuddered at the way he looked at you. Despite his nervous composure, his fidgeting body his eyes were darting, secure and meaningful on your own. He looked at you in a manner so deep you barely were familiar from him – it would have been scary if you didn't know him, if the room wasn’t so incredibly dense and thick in heavy tension. Tension you only could wonder about, could merely question. His eyes pierced through your own, prone to read the words written on the bloody skin of your heart. Unspoken words you yet needed to find courage for uttering – only one sentence was strong enough to break the barrier.

“Do not look at me like this.”

A huff out the man’s nose in a failed attempt to sound amused, and his eyes lost yours for only a second. A second in which you felt your world crumble within itself, in which you felt your haven slip past your fingers – for only one second, though. In the next Changbin’s eyes found yours again, carrying same expression, staring you down. Biting his lip, brows together in a look almost pleading. And your world seemed whole again.

“However am I looking at you?”

His voice tantalising, quiet. Not whispering yet the volume surprised you, the rasp that laid beneath it sent a wave of heat through the veins in your body. The room was in absence of further noise and the soundwaves of his words coursed the air long after he’d spoken them, giving you time to properly digest and clarify them. Changbin came nearer, closed the distance between your bodies inch by inch with steps slow. One by one you felt his presence further in your proximity, arose from your seat as slowly as he walked towards you. To face him eye to eye, to do anything other than sit and stare at him – because his gaze and the expression within was knocking you off your feet and punched remaining breath out your lungs, got your head and the thoughts inside it spinning and galloping in speed you didn’t know was possible.

Until he stood before you, only inches between your bodies. Yet merely looking at you, holding your eyes hostage with his own. You didn’t dare to back away first, nor did you wish to – you had always felt butterflies in the pits of your stomach when in such proximity to him, you’ve simply been too foolish to understand their fluttering about. Been too foolish to notice the seduction his lips drew, whenever he talked and laughed and said his ever same goodbyes, too foolish to regard your jumping heart whenever his breath fanned over you during hugs and late night whispers. You felt it on your lips, hot and fast, scattered and Changbin’s eyes beamed south – to your lips possibly, or maybe he needed to convert his gaze to recollect his composure – before you held contact anew. Tension in the room thick enough to scratch with simply a nail, bodies hotter now than you’d ever felt, ever known.

And then you understood; the heat radiating in between your bodies, nervous eyes flickering between gazes and lips, hands sheeting in a layer of sweat — the very moment written in books, the one that dared to steal the protagonist’s last breath — the moment before the kiss. You’ve never stood before said moment yourself though felt it must be it, couldn’t be anything else. Changbin’s utter body shaking in its place and he seemed like waiting, not leaning it nor pursuing — he waited for you to give the go and you did with a nod. A small one, barely noticeable though you knew Changbin took said notice — couldn’t not to, given the lack of space between you, the lack of strangeness between your personas. And the nod was all the salvation you needed, waited for. Changbin’s lips met yours in the very kiss you’ve read about, clumsy though in passion and thorough adoration. Mouths shy to open yet eager and letting the other in, tongues dancing in ways you wondered was possible. Eyes shut and your hands carefully around Changbin’s middle, unsure where to hold them and suddenly shy to touch the man at all. You pulled away, in fear maybe, realisation surely — what you were doing was inherently wrong. You knew of it and it was the truth — promised already to a man and kissing another, getting lost in his touch so tantalising and desirable. What you were doing was inherently wrong, and you didn’t care for it. You looked past Changbin’s worried eyes, silent questioning on your wellbeing and hesitation and you leaned in again, closing distance for another kiss laced now with confidence. Your hands not shying away from exploring, Changbin’s own touch following a path on your every inch of skin.

The contact of lip on lip and hands on bodies so unfamiliar yet you’ve grown to realise it was all you’ve been craving for, with no other than the man in your arms. The man that would leave in a matter of hours, would be off for months on end. Would come back long after you’d married another man – yet none of crucial thoughts wanted to stick for too long. You focused on Changbin, heart and thoughts full of him and the very way he felt against you, the very way his lips moved against yours in a manner less awkward now, tongues less shy and hands more eager. You allowed yourself to sink into the feeling and float within it, feeling as sweet and thick as golden honey smeared against lips, million times more pleasant and addicting in manners dangerous.

Changbin guided you. Barely realising at first though you were moving blindly with his help, stumbling helplessly until the pair of you made place on the bed. Air tensing further as you locked eyes for hour long seconds, and you were back, lips on lips in sync and hands following the rhythm. Shy to go any further than that because surely, having reached this point already overstepped a million sins you left to worry about later – not only this, you were also unsure of what could possibly unfold if you gave into the longing your entire body ached with, the urge for something greater and bigger. To give yourself wholly to the man you loved, to have him wholly to yourself in return, to grow into unison and remain side by side for the rest of days.

Changbin’s eyes shut in pained expression, fingers digging into layers of clothing he wished would vanish beneath his hands. He wished for you, longed for you yet couldn’t have you, not like he needed. His eyes daring to draw tears while his mouth never ended to dance against yours, with forces so great it surprised you.

And then he backed away. Your hands in his hair creating messes and his own on your hips, igniting impossible fires against the layers of your attire, two pairs of pupils blown out into orbs of blackness, chests heaving, lips bitten. Your face asking a million questions Changbin seemed unable to answer, and both of you stood in your positions to catch your breaths, to regain composure.

“Y/N… I must leave.”

In your years of friendship, you have never heard such weakness in Changbin’s voice, the secure shell he’d kept surrounding him breaking bit by bit until his very heart was left for you to tend. It weakened you, it pained and wounded you like nothing had ever before, and though water collected itself behind your lids you swore to not crumble before him. To hold your head high and save your tears for after he’s left.

It was a confession wordless and yet all was clear. You nodded, watery eyes and feelings unspoken yet without need to be addressed while Changbin’s lips found themselves on yours for the very last time, and you watched him make his way down the vines along your side of the castle, his kiss goodbye lingering on your lips and his remaining warmth surrounded you to shield against the cold, long after he was gone. You had stood on your balcony for a while longer, eyes fixed on the corner Changbin had rounded before disappearing from your view. His step’d been slow, unstable. He had turned around a last time, had sent a flying kiss and a first tear had fought its way past your lids. Many’d followed and all’d been silent, water down your cheeks and dampening your dress while you made no sound at all. That night you didn’t sleep, didn’t close your eyes for a minute. Had waited helplessly for the night to end, staring holes into your ceiling, had listened to Changbin’s troops readying their horses and setting off. You had left open the balcony door, cold breeze against bare skin a reminder of what you’ve lost. Tears had been rolling past the sides of your eyes, endless silent waters you hadn’t bothered stopping. Your body’d felt strange, not your own and all too tight, as though there’d been no room catching breath despite no confines caging you in. A part of you had left that night, a part so great you feared it’s lack would numb you out for the rest of days. Would numb you out regarding royal deals, would numb you out regarding Seungmin and the marriage to him – and maybe, you thought, maybe it wasn’t all too bad, then. Maybe the numbing would keep you from hurting, from drawing blood at your heart. Maybe numbing would allow you to keep this night and Changbin in anchor memory, as a source to sanity against unfulfilling duties – maybe numbing was the only option to keep loving the dearest friend you had while promised to another.

And numbing you needed. When not weeks later you stood in a white gown, before candlelit altar and suit dressed prince next to you in position, and when you haven’t heard of the troops nor Changbin in far too long to possibly be a good sing. When a letter had appeared on your porch three weeks into marriage informing you that war was lost, that half the soldiers would not be able to return; identified corpses written out below the notice, some names you were familiar with, Changbin missing on the list of lost lives – reassuring only little, because he hadn’t yet been back home, either. No returning knight had been helpful in giving you message about his whereabouts – the battle had been too messy, Changbin long not seen by anyone. Numbing you needed when two months into pregnancy you had never heard about the man again, the man you’d called your dearest friend and most secretive love, when years into retirement and elderly forgetting his face stayed an anchor memory against the laws of nature, his darken solid eyes meeting yours in loving gazes when you only sealed them.

taglist: @writerracha @princelingperfect @ggundeuri @orithyia-eriphyle @vumiixlyy @luvrhyune @hopeladybug @misitmoonlight @baldi-2 @baddecisionsworld @thetaytayray @midsoulz @hyunverse @realbangchan @hafsa-hoofsa-heefs @rachabreathing @nixtape-foryou @ameliesaysshoo @jisungsdaydreamer @https-skzology @day6andetcetera @linonyang @hgema @seoli-16 @bokk-minnie @foliea @amagumorii @nhyunn @ravyaryn @ink-spilled-stars @himarose @sherryblossom @shakalakaboomboo @r-arrh @siriusly1 @catwonwoo @suebinn @foxinnie8

[hum-suffer]

We'll say hello again (nevermind the chasm between us) 14

The governor of the West province is lacking in all respects. He is late, foremost, and Gauri despises him instantly.

"Wasting the time of the future King," Bhalla mutters from beside her, an equally snide look to him,"He should know better."

Bahu waves a hand,"Let it be. He'll come."

He's always been too forgiving, her twin. Too trusting, too forgiving. If it were up to him, Bahu wouldn't even follow proper protocol because he trusts his people to not hurt him. Gauri once trusted the same too, and look where that got her. An assassination attempt. She hopes no blood has to be shed before Bahu becomes hardened.

Some foot soldier announces the man's arrival and Gauri turns back to the entrance of the palace where a man, quite obviously quite older than her, is walking up the stairs in arrogance.

He's not bad to look at. He is muscled, thick arms and broad shoulders. His moustache is thick and he's smirking in an almost smug way. He has his hands, upper arms, and almost all fingers adorned with gold, and a heavy gold necklace drops down to his sternum.

Gauri is instantly suspicious. Governors of Mahishmati are paid well, very well, but they're not paid enough for all that gold. Especially in the seven years of tenure that this man has had.

He folds his hands in front of his face and only bows his head to Maa and uncle. "Rajmata. Dowager King."

Gauri feels her fingers spasm with the urge to make him bend at the waist but before that, Katappa speaks up. "Bowing is the proper way to greet your royals, Mahoday Vijay."

Vijay smiles, oily and slimey, but bends a bit at the waist nonetheless. "Forgive this miscreant any mistakes, Rajmata."

"Forgiven." Maa replies in a cool tone that let's Gauri know that the man isn't forgiven at all and Maa too sees through his tone.

Vijay's eyes turn towards the siblings and he smiles wider. "Salutations to my future."

Behind her, she almost feels Bhairav bristle as Vijay's eyes stay on her for a moment longer than necessary. She knows what he's done, that smug man. If she were to ask him why he called her his future, he would claim that she is being presumptuous and outlandish and he was talking about his future King.

Gauri wants to hang him.

Vijay turns back to Maa. "Rajmata. I have brought some tokens of gifts for my respected royal family. Shall I call them forward?"

Usually, gift giving would be engaged in, after the meeting. Vijay wants the upper hand as well as the power to ask for something when he's already given something. She admires his audacity, she does, but Gauri is seething as Maa is forced to say yes and the man beckons five of his household servants to the front.

He lifts the cloth off of a tray and passes the tray of a saree to Maa, tells her how it's the best artwork of the West. He gives a shawl to uncle, a dhoti and angvastra to Bahu and Bhalla each. When he turns to Gauri, they need to maintain eye contact as he presses a clothed tray in her hands and lifts the red silk to show a red saree.

Audacious. Ostentatious. Presumptuous.

Gauri had been right. He's here for her fucking hand.

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It figures that absolutely no one except Bahu and Bhairav believe her when she says that the man is blatantly disrespectful.

Bhalla says that she's thinking too hard, Maa waves her off by saying that his behaviour is common for lords, Gauri never goes to her uncle, Katappa says that he doesn't have any idea of the royal etiquette and hence doesn't know what the truth is.

Bahu tells her that he trusts her word, but she knows that he supports her only because he trusts her word, not that he sees the disrespect from his own perspective. Bhairav bows his head stiffly and tells her that while it isn't his place to comment, he knows that she's right.

At the dining table, Vijay talks about the province under his authority. "My province is the most prosperous in the Kingdom, Rajmata. With your blessings and permission, I would love to expand more in the art sector, so we can export more."

Not yours, Gauri wants to say as Maa continues the conversation pleasantly. The province belongs to Mahishmati, not him.

"My daughter overlooks the planning of events, recently," Maa says, passing a smile to Gauri. "I am sure that you will enjoy the Mahashivratri pooja arranged by her."

Even Maa?

Before Gauri can comprehend the level of betrayal she feels towards Maa, Vijay passes her a look of appreciation. "I am sure that whatever the princess does, will be the best."

Gauri gives Vijay a wooden smile and bashfully lowers her head. She sees Vijay's chest puff up in obvious enjoyment to her appeasement. Pleasantly, she replies,"Mahadev has been graceful to us, Mahoday. It is only our duty to return his blessings with genuine prayers."

Vijay hums, almost thoughtful. "I apologise, I am not much of a devout man. However, is it correct that Mahadev is the god who favours a good marriage?"

Uncle nods, almost too enthusiastic. He answers,"Why, yes. His and Mata Parvati's marriage is considered the world's greatest love!"

Gauri suppresses a grimace at his lack of subtlety and glances at Bhalla, who seems to be interested in his dinner only. Gauri knows his ruse, knows that his father would never do something that Bhalla wouldn't already sniff out.

Does anyone in the palace even want her around, if they're this eager to sell her off to a mannerless, disrespectful, arrogant Governor? Do they think that she's not enough on her own? Does someone want to remove her to remove her brother from the race of the throne, again? Do they just don't want the reminder of the previous Queen? Do they not like her because she's not like the previous Queen, her mother?

Is Gauri worth anything more than her hand in marriage?

The poison in her thoughts turns venom in her gums.

Amar— her twin, her other half— already seems to know what she feels. His hand pats her knee gently and brings her back towards the conversation, where uncle seems to be promising Vijay a tour of the palace and the temple built inside the palace.

"Gauri will show you around, won't you, girl?" The sheer amount of disrespect that one sentence brings is atrocious. Gauri forces a smile on her face and nods demurely.

Vijay smiles at her,"Thank you, your highness. I promise to be not to be a nuisance."

Oh, you won't be, she thinks, irrationally vicious. I promise to hang you if you are a nuisance.

She smiles at him still, and tells him,"Oh, you wouldn't be, Mahoday. It would be my pleasure to show you the majesty of Mahishmati palace."

"To know the palace as well as to be honoured with your esteemed presence will be a pleasure, your highness." Vijay says, his smile is almost winning. In another world, Gauri would have surely fallen for a man who smiled and complimented her, who seemed to be intent on wooing her.

In another world, she wouldn't have seen her uncle's satisfaction.

The smugness and sense of achievement that she feels from the eyes of Bijjaldev is enough to make her question if she should really follow through with her sugar promises.

Amar's hand on her knee expands and Gauri can feel his deep breath. She can feel the trepidation that hides in his composure. Gauri feels her stomach clench and her throat contracts at the sheer thought of being alone with Vijay. She hears a shuffle behind her and her eyes dart at Bhairav out of her periphery. She forces herself to calm.

Bhairav will be there, as is protocol. If, somehow, Bijjaldev manages to convince Maa to not allow her brothers with her, Bhairav will be there.

And if Bhairav too will need to go? Katappa serves the throne, and Bijjaldev is the Dowager King, who can order anything from Katappa, even if it may be a demand to see the training of his successor.

Gauri crosses her legs more tightly and feels her ankle brush Bhairav's dagger, still hidden in the drapes of her saree.

She raises her chin and brings a glass of sugarcane juice to her lips. There are things to be done and Gauri trusts no one more than she trusts herself— bar her twin.

If she has to figure it out by herself, all she needs is two conversations, some books, multiple smiles and just Bhairav's dagger.

Vijay's smile is full of achievement, Bijjaldev's excitement is palpable, Maa's shrewdness is natural, Bhalla's calculation is obvious and Amar's naivete is frustrating.

Gauri looks down at her hand. It is covered in alta, but she doesn't mind covering it in blood to survive.

She looks at her uncle and gives him a smile. She's always been a better chess player than he.

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Gauri and Bhalla are discussing her recent read, the very same night, when Gauri finally realises that the love she holds isn't enough of a reason for her to be loved in the same manner.

"Love is a thing to be experienced and felt. To be enveloped in such a feeling is the biggest haven anyone could ask for."

Bhalla shrugs, almost disinterested. "But if you do love so much, you're bound to get hurt sooner or later. The girl in the book, she loves too much and too fast, and look where that gets her: dead."

Gauri gives him a reprimanding look and counters,"But if you don't love, why would you even live? To thrive is to love. Man is a creature of society and affection."

"Man is a primal animal," he says, rolling his eyes. "The basic instincts that all humans have are: fear, lust, possession, hunger and anger. There's no instinct for love."

"That is because love has to be nurtured. It has to be sewn with care, thread by thread." Gauri frowns at him. Does he feel the same way about the way she loves him and others? "Love is in the very nature of man, but it must be nurtured."

Bhalla sighs like she's the one being obtuse. "When you love, you trust. When you trust, you expect. When you expect, you get disappointed. That's how the world goes."

"Whenever did you get disappointed via love, Bhalla?" She can't help but ask. She doesn't think she's ever been remiss in loving or showing that love. She likes to think that she didn't disappoint him.

He looks away,"The topic isn't I, Gauri." For the first time in her life, Gauri's name from Bhalla's mouth sounds harsh. Gauri is taken aback by the stern tone of voice and winces, looking down at her lap. Bhalla continues,"Love should be there, yes, but you must also acknowledge that love makes one weak. Dependent."

"Dependency is a good thing if the person you're reliant on is a reliable person. As long as you're also capable, depending on someone for something once in a while isn't a bad idea."

"Again," he says,"Dependency brews disappointment. You have not seen it yet and I hope that you shan't have to, but loving so easily is naive. Loving too much is suffocating."

Gauri feels like she's been slapped. Oh. She's back to herself in the past, when she was a new teen and fought maa because maa wanted to separate Bahu and her and Bahu didn't fight for her as desperately as she for him. She's taken to the moment she knew that he will always choose Maa, even over her. And while she feels like a sinner even thinking this, she knows she will choose him over even Maa and their country.

Gauri is back to the moment she heard Bhalla equate her marriage to the economic advantages and the way he seemed utterly unsurprised at Vijay's forwardness. She's back to the moment when she realised that he loves her, perhaps only because she's not in the race for that wretched gold throne.

She's taken back to the moment when Maa told her that her mother usually wore dark colours and Gauri felt like a breathing lie that birthed and died in the ribs of the woman who birthed her.

She's taken back to the moment when her uncle sneered at her, a child, and called her a simpleton. Back to the day she realised that he might have planned her assassination.

Gauri isn't ever going to be loved with the she loves, not from her blood. And if her blood doesn't love her, why would anyone else? It's not surprising, really, that she wants to go for children welfare. It's wretched and horrible, but Gauri understands her subconscious wishes now.

Gauri will become a minister for child development and when she does her job, she will earn a name, a respect. But the people she helps, they will also think of her as some invincible authority and feel indebted. She will earn their questionable gratitude.

It's not love, a voice in her head says snidely, but it'll do.

Tagging: @voidsteffy @vijayasena @alhad-si-simran @allizzprobablynotwell

[thebadboyfanclub]

Grow Forever, Never Yield (Aemond x Reader)

This was actually the easiest one to write, I loved writing this character and wanted to write a slightly enemies to lovers type of thing, this was requested by @aegvn I hope this is what you imagined and you enjoy it as much as I did

“The prince has surpassed me in his sword fighting skills I am no longer a worthy opponent to him, I would like to invite another skilled warrior to court”

“Whom will that be Ser Criston?”

“The lady (y/n) Phoenix”

“Of firebend? They would never allow their own to join our court”

The house of Phoenix at the firebend land was amongst the last of the rebels and as allied themselves with the Dornish during the age of Aegon the conqueror, inevitably they came to a treaty of peace with the Targaryen king that allowed them somewhat freedom if they agreed to acknowledge Targaryens as the true kings, in retaliation they decided to make the words of their house be

“Grow forever, never yield”

The lady (y/n) was the second child of Nevan Phoenix, she was known for her skill at yielding a sword amongst all of 7 kingdoms, the girl was young, mayhaps a year or two Aemonds senior still she had established herself to be a legend and a name that could install fear to any knight with a mixture of the men wanting to meet this legend that came from the far lands of firebend.

“Who would be better at preparing a prince for any battle other than what they call “the strangers' daughter”?”

The house of Phoenix had been in battle when she was just at the age of 14, thankfully the girl seemed to scoff at death, (y/n) had come victorious and led her brothers' army better than any man would have, to gaze upon her stallion as she held her sword and waited to give the signal to charge was a sight only a few could witness,

“If you die, die with honor”

(Y/n) would often say to her soldiers, some even whispered that even though she got injured she kept on fighting, hence the nickname of her being a descendant of the God of death.

Otto leaned back in his chair, it would be a great opportunity to remind the Phoenix of their treaty, with Viserys getting weaker and Rhaenyras claim shaking if Aegon had Phoenix on his side then others would follow only out of fear of facing her in battle.

“I suppose sending a raven would not be so bad”

“I will arrange it, thank you, lord hand”

-

(Y/n) was already bored of kings landing, the place reeked of piss and the common folk is starving, she had opened the window of her carriage and she could already count dead bodies that lay on the streets.

“What is the purpose of dragons and glory if you cannot even take care of your land and people?”

“Unfortunately some kings do not see past their noses and tall castle walls”

Her father responded he was not pleased with the visit either, howbeit he had given up his seat as the lord of the land to his firstborn son Henley since Nevan had phrased it as

“I am too old to support my family, I shall pass the torch and legacy to a mind full of ideas and a heart full of zest for life”

Henley was a noble and wise young man, peaceful and certainly diplomatic, he could talk his way out of anything before his opponent could even comprehend what had happened.

(y/n) was close to her dear brother and was immensely proud of the man he had grown to be, Henley’s first decision was to announce (y/n) as the First Lady commander of the knights, she was the reason he was alive.

“Why did we even agree to this? I do not wish to train a spoiled brat of a prince”

“Aemond Targaryen is a prince and mounts a very large dragon, as much as we are rebels at heart we must pick our battles wisely”

Her father advised her making her blow bubbles out of boredom mixed with denial of his words standing true, they could have easily found a way to deny the invite, she was certain that her brother hid behind this act of kindness, to keep their end of the bargain and appear as a pacifist leader to avoid conflict.

Before (y/n) could utter another smart remark and ridicule the name “Targaryen” even further she was interrupted by the carriage coming to a halt, she took a deep breath as a way to steal time and gather herself along with restraining her attitude.

“Let’s get this over with”

She spoke in a gritted tone before she got off their carriage to stand next to her father, before she was standing at the queen and lord hand, along with a young girl and boy, the queen did her best to hide her surprise at the young lady’s appearance, however (y/n) picked up at the widen eyes and clench of the fists which only made her smirk.

“Queen Alicent, I must thank you for the invite to your court”

“Welcome to kings landing lord Phoenix, it is an honor to have you and your daughter here”

(Y/n) chose to stay silent, her demeanor was cold and stoic as she held her head high and her chest puffed out, she mirrored her father down to his core, a true warrior.

Her copper hair was pulled back to one thick braid making her scar that overtook almost the entire left side of her face even more intense and visible, it was quite ironic since Aemonds had lost his right eye whilst the lady was missing her left.

The scar she held was twice the size of Aemonds, whoever did it wanted to cause pain and even craved to disfigure her, Aemond thought that not only did that person fail but since the lady was standing and had created a legend out of her name the person was unsuccessful, she was the most interesting person Aemond had ever seen, he never thought he would say a such thing but “she wears it well”

Her clothing was a dark dress but if you took a close look the detail of it was marvelous, you could even observe the drawing of a Phoenix at the hem of it, it was certainly eye-catching yet it embodies her character.

“Is this why you asked us to train the prince? You believed I would be best because of our similar injury?”

(Y/n) was visibly offended by this coincidence, it was truly not Ser Coles's intention nor reasoning behind his choice of a teacher, it all came down to the tales of her talent that he had heard amongst other soldiers.

(Y/n) spoke in a calm tone yet her voice was stern and demanding, she stared at Aemonds soul with fire in her eyes, Aemond was also taken back by the lady, it was the first time he had seen someone as young as him that has suffered the same fate as him.

“No, my lady, we do not wish to offend you, we merely admire your accomplishments”

Ser Criston took a step forward as he was the one responsible for (y/n)s arrival to court, silence overtook the group as Nevan was also skeptical now that he was present, he also did not want to intervene since it might make the matters worse knowing his daughters' temper stops at nothing when she feels disrespected or threatened.

“We have heard tales of you but you are beyond our expectations, my lady, we just wish for our prince to learn from the best”

“Very well, I think we had enough pleasantries, we are not here to sweet talk one another, I shall rest for the rest of the day, I will see the prince on the morrow at your training yard, I do not want to be disturbed by anyone unless it is my father until then, whom will escort us to our chambers?”

-

(Y/n) had whipped the prince to shape, she was resilient, cunning, and tireless, Aemonds entire body ached so bad that he had to sit in a bath of scorching water just to ease his muscles for at least an hour.

(Y/n) had once barged in and laughed at him, she ridiculed him with her words as Aemonds face showed no emotion as she spoke, well mostly as she laughed at him from her high horse “Was she also in pain? Probably too stubborn to admit that the practice also took a toll on her” he thought as he watched her go back and forth in front of him, though he was filled with rage from her little stunt, how dare she walk in at a such vulnerable hour.

“What type of lady walks in so shamelessly when a man is bare? I take it as a sign of you not being a true maiden?”

“Is that all you got? Your pride is so bruised that you cannot think of a better insult than one of my virtue? I suppose it suits a man, still, I would take not being a maiden if I had to choose to be that or laying with my brother or uncle”

Aemonds next move was something that she did not even expect, he rose revealing every single part of him, to Aemonds surprise (y/n) was unfazed and just eyeballed him straight in the face, she did not even glance for just a minute past his neck nor was there any sign of her being uncomfortable.

“I understand that in your land you have different customs but you are in kings Landing now, Vhagar is quite peckish around this hour and you would surely be a delectable snack to her”

“You can do as such that is true, are you sure you want to face the wrath of my family? We did not name our land firebend for nothing”

(Y/n) had a way of pushing his buttons, sending him to madness, and forcing him into losing his cool was her favorite hobby, one would suppose it is befitting if you take into consideration that her family's entire legacy was to oppose the Targaryens and remind them that they would always be the thorn that bled their reputation, even going as far as to making their sigil a Phoenix with its wings spread, the animal that is known for rising amongst the ashes, the ashes of dragon fire in this situation.

Aemond relished walking in the garden upon the hour of the ghosts, it was the only time this forsaken castle was quiet, Aemond had lived almost his entire life in solitude, not a child that made friends naturally and that worsened after Driftmark, the silence brought him comfort as the breeze went through him was refreshing.

“Incoming”

A voice erupted as someone attacked him from the back, luckily Aemond was quick on his feet and ducked just in time to miss the spike of a sword only by an inch, Aemond was unharmed and forced to defend himself with his bare hands.

“You sneaky bitch”

He spat as he went into defense, he could barely see her from the darkness that surrounded him as she marched at him with full force, you could hear their grunts as they had a go at one another.

“You think every war will be in broad daylight and fair? Some bastard can attack you even when you take a piss”

She taunted him, (y/n) did not hold back nor empathized with the prince who was put in a situation that wasn’t beneficial to him whatsoever, on the contrary, she was thoroughly enjoying seeing him struggle.

Aemond had suffered from attacks ever since the incident, in this moment he was pulled back into the time he was a boy and had to come out alive after his nephews resorted to violence over Vhagar, his breath was short and sharp as his eye squinted and had started to sweat.

Aemond grew vicious, not caring for precautions or if he made some serious damage to her, in his delirium he was placed in a death or life situation and he would be damned if he did not come out of this alive and well.

(Y/n)s laughter was replaced by a loud grunt and a thud once her back was forced against the wall and Aemonds hand was by her neck, his fingers clenching her airway making it harder for her to draw a breath.

“Yield”

He commanded in a low tone at her as she struggled under his grasp, he detected the struggle in her eye, even then her pride was strong, visible since she refused to make a sound and did her best to keep her composure, she did not want to give him the satisfaction of taking her as weak.

At that moment something in him changed, instinctively his chest collided with hers, the warmth of her body was inviting and her scent of vanilla was mouthwatering, he didn't even realize how close he had come to with his nose tracing her neck.

(Y/n) grew goosebumps at the strange sensation though she was thankful that Aemond was distracted enough to loosen his grip, she remained still as she took a few breaths to relax her system and regain her strength.

“What are you doing?”

“I was imagining a blade gracing this gorgeous neck of yours”

“Strange, I would love to do the same to you”

Aemond let out a sound of pain at the sudden move of (y/n) kneeing him in his stomach, she wanted to go for the crotch still she decided it would be best to spare him this one time.

Aemond took a step back however he laughed between his agony at her stubbornness of not wanting to admit that she enjoyed the intimate encounter as much as he did, his arms hugged him to soothe his stomach from the pain while she looked down at him, her hands were shaking and for a minute she wanted to run away, hide after being caught like a little girl that was eyeing the stable boy.

“It was silly of you to ask me to yield, you have forgotten I am a Phoenix, a word of advice for next time, never lose focus”

“I never lost focus my lady, I had no weapon, so I used what was available, my charm”

“Well judging by the fact I only kneed you and did not draw my sword from the belly button to your shoulder then never do that again”

“Was it truly that repulsive or are you just so prideful that you do not crave to admit that you liked it?”

“Don’t be ridiculous”

“Am I? Sweet (y/n)”

His voice was melodic as he got closer to her once again, now it was her that was defenseless and she was back again to the wall, the eye contact between them never broke as Aemonds hands found their way to the sides of her waist, (y/n) was frozen, for once in a life she did not know what to do.

Aemond was in full control when his nose brushed against hers and (y/n) closed her eyes letting out a breath that parted her lips ever so slightly.

“Seven hells, let us not do this”

“Why? The sweetest bite comes from the forbidden fruit”

“Mayhaps, but I am no fruit, I am a warrior and you are a stuck-up, obnoxious, little prick”

“A little prick that has you blushing, it is alright, I am a gentleman, and I will not expose you if you choose to take a bite”

Requests are open!

[theladyofbloodshed]

side eying tf out of the “eris is attracted to power that’s why he was attracted to nesta argument” because if that’s the case why wasn’t he attracted to feyre? or rhysand? or any other member of the mOsT pOwErFuL group of bitches in prythian???

I do think power plays a role, but I don't think that's the only thing. For me, the allure of Neris is so complex and far more interesting than Nessian:

Her power is likely a factor. I can't remember if the Autumn Court had arrived in the war to see Nesta's power barrelling out of her to flatten swathes of Hybern soldiers or not. Eris knows she was made in the Cauldron, killed the king, and he's not stupid - he has knowledge of daemati, was able to shield himself against one, caught Azriel - so knows she's probably other and powerful.

Eris was offered a made blade - with only a handful in existence - but wanted Nesta instead. This was without the knowledge that she had made it. So there's also the argument that he was immediately enamoured by her (Helion was starstruck the moment he met her). He compliments her during the dance and allows her to shine, knowing that's exactly what she needs in the dance.

She's a political asset to him. She cements a bond to the Night Court hence he rocks up with an engagement ring. Nesta also provides a link to Lucien through Elain - and we know he is remorseful at the end of ACOWAR when Lucien breezes past him in the war.

They will have had similar upbringings as the eldest child of an important family so mirror each other. In the HL meeting, even Beron was intrigued by her so, power aside, Eris might see Nesta as an important social piece.

Also a little bit of revenge happening. Eris notices the closeness between Cassian and Nesta when they meet him in Spring. Everybody probably knows what went down in the war between them and the king. Cassian essentially played a role in sabotaging Eris' engagement to Mor. He has no love for the Illyrian and could see Nesta as revenge to be the messy, petty bitch that he is.

[the-monkey-ruler]

what’s the difference between celestials, yaos, and w/e monkey king is

Oh wow there are so many things that are different.

I guess it's important to start with celestials/deities.

I am going to start by saying I am going to be talking about Eastern Heaven where it is based more in Chinese folklore and the Daos rather than Western Heaven where it is more in Buddism. (Yes there are different Heavens and they are slightly different but still together)

I think the biggest confusion I've seen when it comes to Westerners seeing learning about Chinese Heaven is that no one is born a celestial, not really. Celestials were all human at one point and they way that they get to heaven is that they have to earn it. None of this 'your dad/mom was a deity and thus you have immortal blood in you' no, none of that. That is what immortal schools are for. And really anyone can be an immortal in theory it just... hard. Because you have to be an immortal first before being a deity. Usually, in these cases, you would find an immortal teacher to show you how to cultivate via the Dao and hone your skills to be forever young, educated, enlightened, and skilled.

This could take hundreds if not thousands of years and even then you might just always be a student working under your teacher if you are slower to master these crafts or gain merit.

Hence why Wukong being an immortal in only ten years or so is such an unspeakable feat.

So even if you do become immortal and get the 18 or 36 transformations (these are standards in celestial soldiers) you still do not get recruited into heaven.

And yes you have hired into heaven to be a deity. Another difference I see people get confused a lot. You can't just take a role, there has to be paperwork, recommendation, even an internship depending on who recommended you, very business-like.

Which is why Wukong giving HIMSELF the title of Great Sage in Heaven was slanderous as... it's like walking into a business and telling them you are their new hire for a position they didn't even have or need. Not only bold but also slightly delusional.

Anyway either the immortal teacher will recommend you to heaven or you will be recruited via your merit and given a position. Thus you are given a title and finally able to be a deity. Each deity has had to go through this, working their way up the ranks over hundreds of years to get their merit. Some immortals never even get celestial titles, rather staying on earth to continue their cultivation and having a large amount of respect for their merit but otherwise forgo a god/goddess position to focus on their own studies.

Which is also why Wukong having a lowly position for his first job in heaven isn't unusual as he would have had to work his way up but that didn't really happen.

That is the basics of deities are there are some outliers (Li Nezha being a good one) but I hope that clears some things up.

Yaogaui or Yao in general are a different matter all together.

Yaoguai 妖怪 is a generic term for monsters or strange creatures. 妖怪 is a compound word consisting of two Chinese characters: 妖 (yāo), monster or demon and 怪 (guài), strange or unusual (as an adjective) or monster/unusual creature (as a noun). Both, when read as individual words, signify and connote strangeness.

妖 - (1) strange, uncanny (2) bewitching, seductive (3) eldritch

怪 - (1) monstrous, anomalous, (2) unnatural, (3) freakish

However, the 妖 often partake or share in the essential nature of an animal or a plant (a vixen, a snake, a butterfly, or a tree or a flower), is capable of assuming human or near-human form and of wielding supernatural powers, as well as developing other abilities due to Daoist cultivation.

From what I can tell it's more like objects/animals/ or even ideals trying to become more sentient and therefore than on the forms of humans as they achieve higher thinking

"when people lack constancy or engage in strange or abnormal behavior, then this leads to the emergence of the yao" ("人弃常则妖兴").

There are two types of Yao from what I have seen.

Cultivated creatures - living creatures and inorganic substances other than humans will also cultivate qi (mana/energy), wisdom, or look completely similar to humans through years of cultivation. Such a situation has always been called "成精 (Chengjing)", "Yaoguai" and "Yaojing" are most often called such creatures, and only a few are called "仙 (Xian)" They skip the reincarnation cycles as only Humans are allowed to cultivate and therefore they very being goes against nature.

Demoted gods - some gods were relegated to the mortal world and became Yaoguai because they violated the laws of heaven. The most representative ones are Zhu Bajie and Sha Wujing. In addition, in the Journey to the West in the heavenly court, there are also some people who violate the laws and deviate from the mortal, but privately descend. Many of them are waiters and mounts around the gods, such as the Golden and Silver Horned Kings of the Taishang Laojun, Yellow Robe Demon, which was originally Kui Mulang, Maitreya Bodhisattva's Yellow Brows Great King, Manjushri's Azure Lion and so on.

There are two ways for Cultivated creatures to be created.

Years of cultivation

Eating humans

Cultivated Yaoguai are often oppressed after cultivation as they are going against the laws of nature either way. Most start with personal cultivation to gain sentience but soon give in to eating humans as a faster and easier way to gain more power and their desires. They are either captured by Taoists or priests, or immortals, Buddhas and Bodhisattvas want them to go on the right path and remove their cultivation, allowing them to have a chance to reincarnate into the next life and be human.

In addition, there is a saying that "Dharma cannot be rectified for a thousand years, and you do not learn the wild fox Zen for a day. (千年不得正法，不學一日野狐禪)" The energy and skill created by the cultivation of species and the set of practice methods they teach will also be regarded as evil. Gong, those who learn it, will also be harmed by it similar to how when Wukong learned the Taoist form of immortality from Puti he was to be sent three punishments and killed by Heaven, thus him learning the 72 transformations in order to escape his execution by nature.

Not with Wukong... that is where things get tricky.

But he is, and always will be, the exception to the rules.

Wukong is to play as the discontinuous creature that is both Yao and Deity without really losing either status.

He was born from a rock that has cultivated, a born Yaoguai however he also gained the Way becoming a deity and later on a Buddha.

He is considered to be something that can be in both the demon world and the heavenly world, a strange fixation where he can easily travel between both worlds and still not be accepted in either case.

This is where his species as a celestial primate is called into question, as he is considered outside the ten natural things on both earth and Heaven.

In short, he is taking the cake of being the most unique monkey.

There is so much to be said about how Wukong is to be seen as a combination of these tropes, that his very being is ambiguous and anomalous in the role he plays within the novel where he goes against the heavens but also goes against demons, working for both yet yielding to neither as well. He is a walking, talking contradiction.

And I think this shows how the heavens and earth are also a connection within Chinese lore. There is always a cycle of translations, reincarnation, and cultivation where demons are trying to gain a higher form os Self but are also actively working aginst their mission by not submitting to the cosmic order to achieve true self. Wukong has been able to cross that barrier of being both a demon and a god without having to loose what it means to he his Self and how the journey is to show his entire character growth of coming to accept his "Self" eventually leading to his enlightenment.

It is even to be pushed that Wukong is not just a Yaoguai or a Deity but he is also Human as well. That he learns what it means to be human on his journey and that is what makes him so reliable to audiences is that humane nature of self-discovering that any generation can relate to.

There is a lot more to be said but I think I have talked a bit too much about the subject overall at this point.

Hope this helps!

[vale-isei]

Headcanons #2

◉ Dynamic and his brothers are Aurorian royalty. Fatal and Dynamic are princes, and Sonder as the oldest is the supposed king (Sonder married Enouement and gave him the full title of “King”, hence why Enouement is the main leader of the Republic of Aurora (though he doesn’t like being addressed as “Your Majesty”, etc.)). Dynamic, unlike his siblings, carries his title with pride. As the youngest, he has a lot to prove as an Aurorian Prince serving in the Days Union. He’s very flamboyant with his status.

Also going off of this huge headcanon: Macabre joined the Union the same time as Dynamic for obvious reasons. Sonder and Enouement commanded him to be Dynamic’s bodyguard, and since his new assignment, Macabre has been watchguarding Dynamic. From this stemmed a comfortable friendship between them.

Most of the Union likes or at least tolerates Dynamic. Except Radiant.

◉ Sorrowful isn’t from this time period. He grew up in Brazil, 2041.

◉ If you have ever watched Hannibal, you know Will Graham and his unique thinking process. I headcanon Practical to have the same thinking process: walking in someone else’s shoes, thinking of every little detail and re-enacting it in his head. “This is my design.” He can perfectly imagine a scenario, a thought, and use it at will. For example, he will sit at his desk and close his eyes. Every little noise fades away as he thinks about the blueprint of a new circuit board. He can see every wire, feel the warmth of every spark---the entire experience feels so surreal. He can take apart this mental image of the circuit board in his head, over and over again until he comes up with the most exceptional design. Once he has it, Practical opens his eyes and draws out the blueprints. Another example could be strategizing battlefield plans with Great, Scary and Dreadful. The three of them will be talking, but Practical closes his eyes and shuts out the noise. Everything around him fades into the battlefield setting. Practical can see the future movements of the enemy soldiers and predict multiple outcomes. He can see every enemy cannon placement, the exact formations made, the physical conditions surrounding the battlefield. Upon opening his eyes, he knows what to do.

This ability is completely unique. It’s the process of elimination and imagination intensified by the thousands. (As you can see, I admire Will Graham’s thinking process very much)

Of course, there are repercussions to having this ability. Intense imagination can be a blessing as much as it is a curse. Endless nightmares, constant thoughts of horrible outcomes, just to name a few.

◉ Unstable has a mechanical right hand. A night creature bit his hand and Benevolent… well. Benevolent had an axe and only a few moments before the infection reached Unstable’s brain. You can surely put two and two together on what ensued.

◉ Dreadful wears two inch-heeled boots, the reason being, “It’ll hurt harder when I kick someone in the balls”. He also enjoys the clicking noise they make on metal platforms and tiled floors. And it “coincidentally” boosts his height.

◉ Nobody has ever seen Sorrowful’s face except Scary (but nobody knows that).

◉ On that note, Placid has only ever revealed his face to Macabre and Practical.

[atlanticsea]

hii you're probably getting a TON of asks about your quiz, which read me like a book mind you- im afraid this one is no different. would love if you could elaborate on poet!! im very intrigued.

At last, here is my breakdown of my thinking behind the Poet archetype! I will say again what I said for my King and Soldier breakdowns: this is about my thinking regarding the actual archetype, it may or may not apply to you as a person, the quiz is more an interactive poem than an actual personality assessment, your personal reaction to your result will tell you a lot more than the result itself, etc.

So! Duty is the core value the quiz is centered around, and Poets reject it. Not necessarily in a rebellious sense, but the archetypal Poet believes that duty has too often been used to as an excuse for people to act in ways they think are unfair or hurtful, so they refuse to accept duty as moral in any way and want to make the world a better place with their own rules -- or lack thereof. However, they don't feel they can affect the world in traditional ways and have to find alternatives. This is where the song's lyrics come in: "there will come a poet whose weapon is his word, he will slay you with his tongue." The alternatives may or may not be effective, but the Poet's fear is that they aren't, or worse, that they're harmful. When I say that the Poet has very little to do with creativity as we usually mean it (aka art of any kind), that's what I mean. The Poet is inventive out of necessity, and it may choose art, but it may not, and it will often feel unsure or insecure about that choice; hence their envy of Soldiers, who in their eyes are much more able to have a direct effect on their environment. I also wrote Poets as explicitly lonely (each archetype is lonely in its own way, but Poets are built to be), because they feel at odds with the established order and fear they are the only one. This is why the love focused questions have Poet answers that talk of companionship. I do think though that out of the three archetypes, the Poet is the most inclined to optimism, because it inherently believes that change is possible and that fighting for it is a good thing. I do also think the archetypal Poet believes in a happy ending!

I'll also add for fun a potential reading I just thought about: Soldiers tend to be very caught in the past and what they've been through, Kings tend to be very worried about the future and whether or not they will fail the task they have been given, and Poets are probably the most likely to live in the present to try and create direct, tangible change. This makes it sound like Poets are the best one to be, but being too focused on the present may also mean you repeat mistakes or lack foresight, so they all have their ups and downs.

And one last thing since this is the third breakdown: none of the results are definitive, and none of them are meant to be absolute truths about you! Many of my friends got different results over the years, and they all interpreted that differently, because in the end they all know themselves better than any quiz with three possible results :) This quiz can give you a result that resonates with you, it may not, but your reaction to the it, to the questions, to the possible answers -- that's what actually tells you about who you are, so don't worry too much about my thinking behind the quiz if it doesn't match what you know to be true about yourself 🥰

[laneynoir]

Oooo can you do “Come here, we need to talk.” For Aragorn? I feel like this would be interesting-

So, turns out I did NOT post this two days ago like I thought I did... Oops. You can blame @sotwk and @a-burr-a-hobbit for accidentaly drawing my attention to that :P

Jordan, thank you so much for the request!

Word count: 2122

The nobles have a grudge agaisnt you, an irrational one, born from inset jealously and a belief that you do not belong. And you constantly find yourself antagonized by jabs, mostly verbal but some... Not so.

Hence your current state.

Really, you'd think that if one were to attempt an assasination, one could at the very least hire a competent assassin.

The orcs had come closer than these people.

Still, you had been shot with the dart, and the slash from the knife has yet to stop bleeding, so you push yourself up from the floor and limp tword the medical wing.

You had just turned the corner when you come face to face with a guard, who quickly dons an expression of suprise at your bloodied figure. Forgoing any words he may have spoken, you wave your hand.

"I am perfectly alright soldier. However there is a group of assassins tied together with some draperys in that hallway, they should still be unconcouss." You pause a moment. "Although one is almost definently dead and another is bleeding quite profusely. And you may want to get someone to mop up the blood before it dries into the floor."

You pat his shoulder before limping on -because although you know you haven't broken it, you've done something to your ankle- and make a sound of thanks to his promise to take care of it.

When you finally make it to the familiar pristine hall of healing, you can tell by the look on the maids face that you look a fright.

You are soon rushed to a seat on one of the beds as your favourite healer is brought to your side.

"Gracious me, they did a number on you this time didn't they?" Vera eyes the slash wound critically before grabbing a length of bandage and a few suspisous smelling jars.

You smile at her worry and shrug, immediately regretting such. "Tis not really so bad as it looks, I am only suprised that they would dare carry out an attack within the palace wall-OI"

Vera makes a small 'hmf' sound at your exclamation of pain. "I thought it was 'not so bad'? Are you going to tell the King?"

You sigh heavily. "I imagine Aragorn will learn of it it one way or another, though not, I think, from me."

At that Vera ceases her movements. "And just why not? That man -king- would tear down the castle of Rohan for you!"

The deadpan stare you give her is droll enough to chase off an orc but she doesn't flinch. "Because my dear Vera, I know very well how protective of his friends our King can be. And I would not dare put it past him to throw all of the nobles in a cell."

Vera gives you a look, that plainly lets you know that she knows there's more too it.

"And" you begin quietly "I think I am afraid that he wouldn't do anything. I hardly see him anymore and I fear I've lost his friendship."

The expression on her face melts instantly. "Oh y/n..." She pulls you into a hug, but jerks back when you release a yelp. "What-" her eyes widen "What's this then?"

She's quickly tearing away the sleeve of your tunic and gasps at whatever she finds on your shoulder. "What? What's what?"

Instantly she becomes a flurry of movement. "You- didn't tell me you'd been shot with a poisoned dart!"

She begins dabbing around the area, causing you to let a hiss out from betwixt your teeth. "In defence of myself, I was unaware of the poison."

~

Unbeknownst to both you and Vera, the problem of telling Aragorn, called Estel, would not come to pass. For already is he informed and strides with long pace beside Boromir.

Boromir who, though he shows no sign of it, is quite worried. In many battles he has fought with his now king, but never has he seen this expression on his face.

The king of Gondor looks murderous.

Aragorn has always carried a ruged yet regal aura, somewhat intimidating, one that makes all around him willing to follow, to obey, and to trust.

The air of such is still present, but also is an undercurrent of threat. And though he will never speak of it, Boromir is afraid.

It is an irrational fear, as he is certainly not the one whom ordered the attack on you, and yet he cannot chase the discomfort away.

The guards infront of the cell jolt at the appearance of their King and Captain, bowing stiffly they open the doors at Aragorn's commanding motion.

Inside is a pitifully ragtag group of four men and one woman. One of the men has his shirt compleatly removed and a thick bandage wrapped around his chest, the rest sport less cotton but look no less miserable.

At the sight of Aragorn they all jerk to sitting positions, each with differant levels of pain. "Oh King, to what do we owe the pleasure?"

The look Aragorn gives the red haired man is eerily similar to the one he'd given the mouth of Sauron, and that hadn't exactly gone well for him.

Cutting past any pleasantries, Aragorn stares at the man. "You are the leader?" At his tentive nod Aragorn inclines his head. "Come here, we need to talk. What is your name, and why have you come into my city with ill intent?"

The man's demeanour remains flippant as he introduces himself as 'Traydor' however this is not Boromir's first, nor is Aragorn an unobservant man, and they both note the sweat on Traydor's forehead and the slight tremor of his hand.

"To my first query you have given answer," Aragorn speaks, in a tone so cold that the man with the bandaged chest shivers. "And yet my second goes unanswered."

"I should think our intent was obvious, King Aragorn."

Boromir takes a step back as the sword of Elendil flashes through the air and lands against the throat of Traydor, who's eyes widen. "It is not in my nature to make empty threats, so I give to you one more chance; explain in full why you have entered my halls and put in danger one who holds my favour."

In the momentary silence, Boromir has the fleeting thought that Aragorn would probably not be holding a sword to the neck of a prisoner had it been him who'd been threatened, but then, he reasons, Boromir would rather remain a Spector of the long looks Aragorn sent to you, and not the recipient.

The silence dissolves with the broken tone of the man on the cott. "Traydor please. Dont let your pride take you from me?"

Traydor swallows agaist the unwavering blade agaist his person. "Fine! I will speak, but only because my husband pleads." He sends an anoyed, yet endearing, glance at mentioned man as Aragorn removes the blade from his neck.

"Then do so quickly, none of us wish for this meeting to be longer than it has to be." Aragon nods in agreement with Boromir's words and the redhead begins,

"As I pointed out, it us quite obvious that we were sent to end the life of lieutenant Y/n, in no specific way, and were offered a large sum to do so. 'Twas not until yestermorn that we learned of the past failed attempts on the Lory's life, and in haste we enlisted another's help, the man whom was slain.

"It was a risky endeavor the whole way through, for we were told that in halls of the palace our quary would be off guard, not so as we found, and were all desposed of and bound. I must say though, our hired hand managed a shot with his poison dart...?"

At this point he lookes to the least injured man who grimaced. "Plant called Eldarsbane."

Aragorn showes no outward sign of worry, but his breath catches and Boromir beguns to worry. "The name of that who hired you, give me this and you will keep your lives."

Traydor shrugs. "Fair, his name was Derind. Didn't like the fellow but I've lives I'm repsonsable for." At this his eye twitched and dismay coats his face. "Had I supose I should say."

Aragorn cannot find it within himself to pity the man, but turns to Boromir. "I must attend to Y/n, I trust you will deal with Lord Derind?" He barely acknowledges Boromir's nod before turning and disappearing diwn the hall.

"That was exciting"

Boromir son of Denthor, steward of Gondor, cannot disagree with the small man chrouched on the floor.

~

Aragorn has never regretted his Royal lineage more than in moments like this, when it is decidedly suspicious to run through the halls of the palace. He waves away concerned guard on this way to the halls of healing, praying to the Valar that you were there.

Someone must have heard his plees as he turn the last corner he hears the words: "In defence of myself, I was unaware of the poison."

You jolt up at his appearance, "Aragorn!" And if you watch a bit to closely at the fluid movement with which he sheds his cloak, that is no one's business but your own.

And perhaps Vera's, as she smirks knowingly. "What have you treated her with, Lady Vera?"

And so she rattles off a list of terms that only make slight sense to you, but he understands compleatly. When Aragorn mentions something of a 'Eldarsbane' Vera freezes, but quickly launches into movment at the request for some plant called prickelbear.

After she's hurried off in the direction of the gardens, you become far to aware of Aragorn's close proximity and in an attempt to distract yourself you joke; "How long until I die my King?"

He stills from his ministrations at your shoulder and your eyes widen. Turning, you look at him mouth agape. "I'm actually dieing? Mahal's hairy Balls of course I am. Will it be slow and painful-"

"Y/n, I will not allow you to die." The steel in his voice sends a jolt of alarm through you.

"And here I thought the plant was in charge of that." The jest is painfully halfhearted, and you shift your eyes always from Aragorn's. His reaction is to reach with a gentle hand and turn your face back to his.

"I say again," he says, voice as soft as the elves who raised him. "I will not allow you to die."

You fight the urge to rest against his hand -a battle not entirely successful- and find yourself in an odd state between releaved and dissapointed when he moves to trace the line of your jaw.

"How many times has this happned, y/n?" At your confusion he raises an eyebrow. "How many times has it escaped my notice and attention that the one I care for has been targeted for slaughter?"

Your mind is in a jumble, but you manage to tell him of the five previous attempts, by the end his elegantly grave features have hardened, before softening as he sets his forehead against your own. 

You can feel the blood rush to your face, but still feel odly at peace, especially for someone who is dieing.

But then, near death has always pit things in perspective; as such the fact that occasionally indulging is no crime, an hour can produce more than a day, and you've fallen madly in love with the king of Gondor.

Oh dear.

Vera returns with an odd shaped green and purple plant with spiked leaves, fifteen minutes later, you've a thick bandage with an ill-smelling paste beneath it. Aragorn proclaims that you will live and the joy and relief in his eyes shows so plaibly that you notice, and take the chanve at pulling him in for a hug.

While pressed against you he whispers in your ear. "Y/n, I do belive I've fallen in love"

"With whom my King?" You ask barely daring to fraw a breath.

"The most talented and loyal person to walk the halls of Gondor." He replies pulling away to look at you.

You smirk, "Falling for one's self is hardly becoming of a King."

Aragorn presses near to your lips, just a tilt of your head and you could claim the King. "Will you allow me to court you, to worship and follow you, to speak your counsel above all else, and shower you with the love you so deserve?"

A soft 'yes' escapes you, before you know no more, other than the lips pressed against the other, and the healing hands of your king tangle in your hair.

(I am fully aware of how bad this is, plz don't hit me)

[jupitermelichios]

rejected riverdale fic ideas

sam and dean winchester hear about the gargoyle king and assume he must be supernatural and spend three weeks chasing a sentient teleporting pile of sticks around the woods before figuring out it's not actually teleporting there's just like 6 different people all concurrently wearing the costume and murdering people

the teen wolf gang take a vacation in riverdale and get trapped in the town's temporal vortex (personally I like to think of it as the timehole but many disagree) and have to figure out how to escape

chose your own adventure fic where you have to stop archie from becoming aware that he's in a fictional narrative and going on a murder spree (again)

jughead jones makes a deal with bill cipher and unleashes weirdmageddon and the gang have to defeat him

the gang discover FP made a deal with bill cipher and unleashed weirdmageddon years ago and that's why riverdale is Like That. no one defeats him, they figure out the mystery and then just go on with their lives because they're all used to it

betty cooper and hannibal lecter team up to fight the trashbag killer

instead of going to hell when he dies, dean winchester accidentally takes a wrong turn and ends up in the great big diner in the sky, riverdale's canonical afterlife, and cas has to figure out how to get him back before someone notices that he lost the michael sword

the same except it happens instead of going to purgatory rather than hell, and benny is the new line cook at pops. he's still a vampire. this is never explained.

instead of whitby, dracula lands in riverdale and the gang have to stop him lucy westernra-ing cheryl

betty the vampire slayer

a tokyo ghoul fusion where it's revealed that half the cast are man-eating monsters disguised as humans. surprisingly little changes except that they resolve the farm plotline by eating edgar evernever.

cheryl's parents are revealled to be hydra agents and they try to use the winter soldier to assassinate hiram lodge but the power of friendship and milkshakes restores bucky's memories

mystery inc investigate the gargoyle king and reveal him to be clifford blossom after a series of light-hearted slapstick chase scenes. the riverdale gang are fully aware that mystery inc are opperating on cartoon logic, and are deeply disturbed by this

instead of washington, warlock's parents move to riverdale, and aziraphale and crowly have to live there while they co-parent the antichrist. (they both notice that tabith is an angel but assume she is aware of this and are much too polite to mention it to her)

cheryl blossom joins the x-men

cheryl blossom joins the brotherhood of evil mutants

toni topaz is given the outsider's mark after empress cheryl is murdered and must rescue britta from the loyalist conspiracy

betty is recruited to the beareau of control

the doctor visits riverdale and reveals that it's actually one of the time war battlefields, hence the timehole, and the gang are all daleks, except reggie, who is a timelord

Cheryl's russian spy parents open a gateway to the upsidedown in the palladium mines under riverdale and unleash a demogorgon on the town

archie is superman and veronica is lex luthor and riverdale is smallville

the entire show is revealed to be evelyn evernever's dream, and also evelyn is confirmed to exst in the tommy westphall universe

what if riverdale but a harem anime

archie is bella swan and veronica and betty are edward and jacob.(jughead is alice. obviously).

stranger things except instead of the upsidedown the dimensional gateways open onto rivervale

just the show loki except instead of the junkyard people the tva pruned go to riverdale. richard e grant loki becomes the new principle at the high school

after archie becomes aware that he's in a fictional narrative, he gains the ability to enter the white space between comics pannels and joins the x-statix

jughead is revealed to be entirely in archie's head, ala fight club

inception fusion where archie and the gang have to go inside hiram's mind to convince him not to bulldoze riverdale to make way for more paladium mines

dilton doily moves to nightvale to work with carlos the scientist and finds to surprisingly peaceful

regency au where alice cooper has to find respectable husbands for betty polly and ethel before anyone finds out about her husband being a serial killer and they become socially ruined

[beigetiger]

Part two of that ridiculously long post about AU Skul and Val, this time covering where they are located, what they do, who their followers are (including relevant characters) and their dynamics with other groups. Again, long post. Stuff alluding to more stuff I will talk about in the future. Pretty standard for me, overall.

Group demographics: as I said in the previous post, they technically lead two different groups of people. Skulduggery’s group is the necromancers, including but not limited to the Wreath gang. He’s now considered the king of them and so the majority of necromancers in Ireland (and some surrounding countries) follow his orders and live with the group.

Valkyrie’s group is a lot less clear-cut, but her group generally consists of people who either want power, want to fight gods, or have some flavour of criminal record and therefore don’t feel safe living in Roarhaven with the Sanctuary tightly running everything (definitely with some degree of prejudice).

Which characters are there: needless to say they have a decent number of followers, but I’m just going to list some of the actually relevant characters in here.

Melancholia and Solomon Wreath are there, and while they technically follow Skulduggery they also both love Valkyrie to a stronger degree than the other necromancers. When they came back from the dead, they decided that Skulduggery being in a situation where he pushed himself to accept his necromancy more was a good thing and so they kind of just…chilled in the background for a couple years while they worked out the kinks in their plan. They also didn’t tell anyone who wasn’t in their very specific group of necromancers, hence why Melancholia avoided telling anything to Valkyrie in AMFoM.

Anton Shudder is also present and works as Valkyrie’s second-in-command, but the way he got here is a little different from the others. This is all part of a very elaborate idea I have that I might write out in detail at some point, but for now I’m sticking to a summary. When Anton comes back right after the wand explodes, there is a lot going on. Cadaver is there, Valkyrie is there, Skulduggery is there and wearing Lord Vile’s armour, and Ghastly is there with a squad of Cleavers in order to fight them. Lots of stuff, and Anton is immediately confused. However, he ends up latching on to Valkyrie because she seems normal. Skulduggery is being weird, Ghastly is acting vaguely like a dictator and he has no idea what’s up with Cadaver, so he sticks to Valkyrie‘s side while she explains the situation to him. When it’s all over, Anton is given the choice to either go with Ghastly so he can be properly assimilated back into modern reality, or he can go with Valkyrie and she’ll help him best she can. Again, Project Veritas is a thing and Anton chooses the safer option and enters what is pretty much social isolation with Skulduggery and Valkyrie. He…did not love finding out about the Lord Vile thing.

The only reason he didn’t leave right there and then was because he didn’t exactly have anywhere else to go and he was also in the middle of figuring out his own unfortunate powers. His gisting ability is still there, it’s just altered. So instead of summoning a gist and having it fight for him, his being sort of fades in and out of reality while being replaced with the gist for few-second bursts at a time. It impacted him similarly to Valkyrie turning into a god, except to a lesser degree. When she decided to split off from the rest of Roarhaven, he kept on following her because again, he didn’t have anywhere to go and was vaguely worried that other people would see him as a demon. Nowadays, he works as a high-ranking member of the group and has a tendency to emotionally adopt younger soldiers, possibly trying to make up for the misdeeds he actively commits as a soldier. Like, this man feels crippling guilt for what he does but also legitimately loves Valkyrie and sees her as his little sister and has so become pretty good at just…shutting off his thoughts. He’s very sad and very good at his job, and Valkyrie worries about him in her more lucid moments.

When Anton needs to get away from it all, he leaves base for a few hours to go find a secret room he found in the ruins of the Dublin Sanctuary (although it had since been renovated. And then turned back into ruins) to talk to a series of echo stones that contain Erskine Ravel, from several hundred years in the past leading up to a few weeks prior to him betraying them, with a new stone for about every fifty or so years. He talks to them as a weird sort of therapy, because he has complicated feelings regarding Erskine and so he has someone to talk to who isn’t loyal to Valkyrie or Skulduggery. Nobody else knows about this place because Anton doesn’t want the two of them to find out lest they destroy the echo stones in a rage against Erskine.

Nefarian is also present in the group, and he hangs out a lot with Valkyrie because she finds him funny, even in her apathetic god form. Nefarian originally left Roarhaven because he didn’t totally trust Ghastly to not prosecute him for his crimes and so left to go join his only friend, who was happy to have him. He’s silly and he makes annoying remarks, but he’s also careful to do his job well so as to stay in Valkyrie’s favour. He’s in the process of learning how to be what currently counts as a normal person, which involves him dealing with emotional issues galore. I need to know more about his relationship with his family, because there is a damn reason he’s so attention-hungry and I can probably pin it on those guys.

Dusk is technically also a follower of Valkyrie, but he sort of fades in and out of the group. He left Roarhaven for a similar reason to Nefarian and left a bit after, deciding that he knew and therefore trusted Valkyrie enough to not kill him for being in her encampment. He now spends some of his time working for her and some of his time chilling in the wilderness, avoiding other vampires who might want to kill him for his crime of killing Moloch. Some of the other members of the group don’t like him but Valkyrie is extremely patient with him.

Where they’re located: I want to say that their main base is in whatever’s leftover of Dublin, since it’s close enough to Roarhaven that Valkyrie can keep and eye on them, it has resources and room for the people to live, and it has some degree of familiarity/emotional meaning to her. If Dublin wasn’t already fully empty by the time the full group of them showed up to take it over, whoever was there either left, was killed, or was assimilated into the group. The base in Dublin also most definitely has a time-locked cage in it for the purpose of containing Dusk at night. But while their main base is located in Dublin, they most certainly spend a large amount of time outside of it. However, they don’t spend all their time in Roarhaven. It’s quite normal for large groups (and sometimes even all of them) to leave camp to go on a little crusade to kill a Faceless One or attack some nearby enemy group. So while they’re generally located in Dublin, it’s far from a sure-fire way to find them and they’re often out wandering the wastelands in search of a fight (often headed by Skulduggery, Valkyrie, or both of them).

Their dynamics with the other groups: there are many groups, and so I’m not going to list all of them. I will list their major nearby gangs though.

Mevolent and Serafina’s team: the two groups hate each other to a degree that would be comedic if they didn’t have horrifyingly overpowered leaders. Mevolent’s little gang doesn’t have a main base, and instead wanders around Ireland (and other places when he can access them) in search of bloodshed. Other groups avoid them like the plague. Val + Skul’s team and Mev + Set’s team will also go out of their way to pick fights with each other when they’re in the area with each other. It’s not particularly deep, but it’s this whole well-known thing how much these two incredibly powerful and bloodthirsty groups hate each other.

The Sanctuary: Valkyrie’s friends miss her dearly and want her back. Some of them have become so burnt out from fighting that they’ve seriously thought about accepting her offer to have their souls melded to her (most particularly Dexter and Saracen). Although nobody has taken her up on it yet, she keeps the offer open. She also goes out of her way to protect them from danger she knows is coming (mainly Mevolent), although she tries to not do anything too direct because the Sanctuary has made it clear that she isn’t welcome in her current state. As for Skulduggery, well…there are complicated feelings and a lot more hatred towards him, especially coming from Ghastly. After all, it was revealed to the world that Skulduggery was Lord Vile only a few weeks previous to the magic explosion that kickstarted the end of the world. A lot of Sanctuary officials probably wouldn’t even believe that it was him if not for the fact that he had confirmed it himself. However, these Sanctuary people also place relatively little blame on Valkyrie for protecting him for so long because Cadaver explained in pretty clear detail that he lowkey emotionally blackmailed her into keeping the secret when she was sixteen. In short, Valkyrie is more well-liked than Skulduggery. This is actually a trend across nearly all of the groups still around, actually. Skulduggery is bad.

Winter’s rebellion: I am going to make an entire post talking about Winter and her little group because there is a lot to cover, but she fears her sister. A lot. Valkyrie would never kill her of course, but is definitely willing to injure her and will kill Winter’s teammates if provoked. She also refuses to let Winter kill Anton as vengeance for the death of Mia, which is a huge source of frustration for Winter. It’s also very bemusing to Winter that she, the girl who once tried to take over the world, is now actively working to keep the world free and instead prevent her sister from dominating it. She also has a bit of a dynamic with Skulduggery, but I’d like to cover it later in more detail. Additional info, Winter still hasn’t found out about Stephanie, who is Valkyrie’s current soul-finding project.

Again, there might be stuff I forgot in this post. There is a reason I split it into two parts. Winter is up next and then I might write some stuff about Dexter’s team because I have a weird number of ideas for the seven of them. Have fun y’all, remember to stay hydrated.

[aracaranelentari]

I just read ur hc about Fingolfin being a dancer and can I hear more about our dancing king please?

Happily! I could talk about Fingolfin for hours-

Indis is described as being "exceedingly swift of foot" and loved to sing and create music. I believe that she passed these traits down to her children in different ways and capacities: Findis is a great singer and loves to run in the fields of Valinor with her mother (I hc that she's the most like Indis), Lalwen is also very athletic but Indis' musical traits manifested in her through a love of playing instruments rather than singing or dancing, and Finarfin is less athletic but also enjoys singing and making music (he hangs out with the Teleri after all). And, of course, Fingolfin, who has the agility and swiftness of his mother in an even greater capacity, which translates in a musical sense to dancing.

In my headcanon, he had an affinity for it from a very young age, and he befriended Nessa in his youth, and she taught him how to dance. The Vanyar are very close to the Valar after all, and Indis is kin to Ingwë himself, so I think her children would have quite a few friends among the Valar.

Fingolfin was really talented at dancing, hence why he was noticed by the Vala of dancing herself. He has complete control over his movements and has the stamina and strength to never tire, and the way he twirls and flows and prances around is so mesmerizing it makes the viewer forget time is passing. He was well known for this among the Vanyar, who value beauty and the arts.

The Ñoldor value skill in crafts and words, however, and Fëanor especially, and I think this is where the self-consciousness I mentioned in that headcanon post comes from. Fëanor would absolutely take every chance he could to prove he's daddy's #1 boy, and I believe this would include belittling Fingolfin's dancing skills, as well as taking every chance he could to overshadow anything Fingolfin tried to do with a fancy new smithing project that would naturally get more attention from the Ñoldor, and from Finwë, than dancing ever could. At some point, I think Fingolfin started being ashamed of his own hobbies and abilities, and eventually his insecurities made him swear it off entirely (at least publicly, in private and with his siblings and mother I think he still found joy in dancing).

He never lost his skill in it, however, and I think this became important during the Helcaraxë crossing and in the wars of Beleriand. On the Helcaraxë, Fingolfin taught his people how to step lightly and swiftly so the ice beneath them wouldn't break, and so they could spring to the side if it did. He taught his soldiers agility and footwork, and how to move your shoulders and arms so that they become one with your blade. Fingolfin fought like he was dancing, and he fought so beautifully that sometimes orcs would stop in their tracks, hypnotized, and in the blink of an eye he'd strike and they'd never move again.

I like to think that Fingolfin regained a lot of his fractured confidence during his time as High King, when he realized that he had useful skills that Fëanor never had, at least until the end. We all know how Fingolfin kept leaping aside to dodge Morgoth's attacks, "as lightning shoots from under a dark cloud", and only faltered once he became weary. Since I headcanoned Fingolfin as being nearly tireless in his dances earlier, I think his weariness during this duel came from a place of burning himself out with such intense fury and despair, as well as the duel lasting a long time, potentially hours.

And once he was reembodied, and came to terms with himself and accepted both his own strengths and weaknesses, he officially took up dancing again. Elves from all over Aman come to his performances, and he has a particularly famous number where he reenacts his duel with Morgoth. He does duets with Indis and Nessa, and also regularly spars with Eönwë, since to him that's just another kind of dance.

Hope you enjoyed my word vomit about dancer!Fingolfin~!

[cafeleningrad]

I'm very likely not going to wath the show but from what I gather, I think the biggest issue HOTD has, is that it can't commit to be actually critical of any kinds of oppressive politcs .(Neither Alicent nor Rhaenyra of all people desiring power or considering warfare is... a choice, and defanging of their characters... and themes). It is even less interested in actually criticizing the Targaryen dynasty. Rather it's interested in those funky dysfunctional family dynamics as (perhaps not totally unclever) spectacle. Yet no criticism of their absurd monopoly on power, their entitlement and belief in their exceptional bloodright and social position that acthat escalates a in-family inheritance fight, and legal dispute into a continent wide civil. (I mean if anyone ever had to deal with inheritance fights, these are definitely brutal dramas but uh... a regular family would not have the means to cause a military and civilian body count...)

Hence, I get why they wrote out Nettles, or don't even care about her.

Nettles subverts everything the Targaryen mythology is build on. She subverts every claim of this family's monopoly of military power (dragon riding). She subverts the entire idea of the divine right of kings (and the divine Targaryen right to own and ride dragons).

Like everything the Targaryen are in Westeros is based on their military power of dragons. Everything else is propagnda. Hugh and Ulf are lowborn makeshift dragon dragonriders. Their lowborn status already shakes the foudnation of the nobility claim to wield so much power. But they get squeezed into the Targ propaganda as they're dragon seed bastards. So at least some Targaryen blood (allegedly) to justify that actually there is some Targaryen and some nobility in them, so it's not so bad that a blacksmith and a simple soldier are accessing the Targ power monopoly.

And still, any rewards Ulf and Hugh should receive for their successful battles get constantly withheld from them. Historical records stress howunruly, what brutes they were.

And then there is Nettles. Born of dubious, even lower parentage than Hugh or Ulf, and she looks nothing like a Targaryen. Unlike Hugh and Ulf, her riding Sheepstealer wasn't an organized trial but her bonding with the dragon through tricks, resourcefulness, and familiarity with the dragon. Nettles' story showcases how bonding with a dragon could be theoretically done by anyone, it's not a divine access via Valyrian genetics. Unlike Hugh and Ulf, Nettles does cry at all the horrors of war she witnesses.

All of them are only remembered in historical records, the Westerosian nobles don't speak of them in historical analogies, only the Burnt Men tie their traditions to Nettles.

One of Martin's biggest flaws is how he writes PoC characters. Often sidelined, often in the most compromised position, often not given a lot of room to be fleshed out. And yet Martin wrote Nettles with so much thematic depth, absolute opposition to everything Westeros and the Targaryens believe to themselves.

But with a show entirely uninterested in critiquing any kind of politics substantially, even less so the monarchic system, and even, even less the inherited ugly wig, funky fantasy-Sucession family, and believe that casting PoC characters for only one family is enough duty done to modern viewer sensibilities...

Then yeah, they don't get why scraping the only canonical PoC girl from the books is a problem.