#high king of inferno

[snowboyclarkov]

Cross-Bey Polls - 4: ARP - KIH

In Beyblade Burst, many of the people can be considered as equivalents to people from the Metal Saga or the original. They are also often considered to be weaker than the previous generation bladers. With that, I've made 7 polls of Burst vs. Metal/OG to see who comes closest to defying this. This is the fourth poll - High King of Inferno vs. Emperor of Destruction.

[novaursa]

Chasing the Inferno

- Summary:  It was during Rhaenyra’s and Laenor’s wedding feast, that the king noticed something he was blind to for far too long.

- Pairing: targ!reader/Harwin Strong

This whole work is inspired by this brilliant anonymous ask:

- Note: reader is referred to as Y/N, has striking resemblance to her late grandmother Alyssa and is younger sister of Rhaenyra. These events happen after The Flames We Hide. To read all the chapters in chronological order, visit my blog. The list is pinned to the top.

- Rating: Explicit 18+

- Word count: 3 532

- Tag(s): @sachaa-ff

The evening air carries the scents of roasted meats, spiced wine, and fresh flowers into the grand hall, mingling with the vibrant sounds of revelry. The hall is a living tapestry of silks, banners, and candlelight, casting everything in hues of crimson and gold. A sea of finely dressed lords and ladies flows beneath the arched ceiling, the thrumming heart of the grand wedding feast of Rhaenyra Targaryen and Laenor Velaryon.

You arrive with the grace and splendor expected of a Targaryen princess, a vision that commands the attention of every eye that lands on you. The dress you wear is a rich deep plum, the color of ripened plums at dusk, lined with golden thread that shimmers in the light. The sleeves are long and bell-shaped, flowing with each movement, while the bodice is tightly laced with intricate embroidery of dragons in flight. Around your neck, a delicate chain bears a pendant of a dragon curled around a glittering ruby—a gift from your father. Your silver hair is braided in intricate patterns, falling down your back with hints of shimmering ribbons intertwined through each strand. 

You sit beside Rhaenyra at the high table, your twin sister glowing with happiness under her finely woven veil. She leans toward you with a playful smirk. “I see you’ve decided to steal the attention for yourself tonight, Y/N. Not even the newlywed princess is safe from your charms.”

You laugh softly, returning her smirk. “It’s not stealing, dearest sister, merely borrowing for the evening.” Your eyes flick toward the bustling crowd, scanning the faces, seeking a particular one even as you engage in idle conversation.

You find him across the hall—Ser Harwin Strong, the Breakbones, the man who has captured your heart in ways you would never openly admit. His broad shoulders and easy smile cut a striking figure amidst the revelers. He leans against a pillar, eyes fixed on you with a heat that makes your pulse quicken. Even from here, you can feel the intensity of his gaze, the unspoken challenge in those dark eyes. A smirk pulls at your lips. Tonight is not just about celebrating your sister’s marriage—it is a dance, a game of fire and shadow that you and Harwin have played many times before.

As the feast progresses, the lords and ladies rise from their seats, drawn to the center of the hall where the dancing begins. You stand, gracefully gliding down the steps, the train of your gown trailing like liquid night behind you. Many lords vie for your attention, each more eager than the last to have the honor of a dance with the daughter of the King.

You indulge them—one by one, offering your hand with a practiced smile that promises nothing but amusement. Lord Beesbury twirls you first, his steps light but unremarkable. Lord Tyrell is next, his flattery sweet yet forgettable. Each time the music swells, you shift, gliding seamlessly into the arms of another suitor, all while casting sly glances over your shoulder to see if Harwin is watching.

And he is. His eyes never leave you, following every step, every spin, the set of his jaw tightening each time you turn away just as he moves closer. You can feel his impatience building like a storm, the tension of the game heightening with every dance.

Finally, after what feels like endless teasing, you find yourself caught in a whirl of movement, spinning until you are only steps away from him. Harwin’s expression is a mix of hunger and frustration as he makes his move to claim you at last.

But just as his hand reaches for yours, you slip away, turning instead into the arms of a young knight from the Westerlands, offering him a dazzling smile that is only for show. “My, Ser Harwin, are you growing weary of this dance already?” you tease, your voice lilting as you catch his gaze. You can see the fire in his eyes, a silent vow that he will not let you slip away so easily next time.

When the dance ends, the Westerlander knight bows low, eyes filled with admiration as he releases you. And as you turn, Harwin is there—closer than before, a step ahead of any other. This time, you do not pull away when his hand grasps yours, his grip firm and warm, sending a shiver down your spine. His voice is low, rough with suppressed desire, as he murmurs into your ear. “Do you truly believe you can keep running from me, Y/N?”

You tilt your head, lips curving into a smirk as you meet his gaze fully, violet and brown heat clashing. “Run, Ser Harwin? I am only leading the chase.”

Without giving him the satisfaction of a response, you spin away from him, the hem of your dress sweeping across the floor as you are swallowed back into the crowd. You glance back over your shoulder just long enough to catch the frustration in his expression before disappearing into the throng of lords and ladies once more. Harwin will catch you like he always does—of that you have no doubt. The thrill is in making him work for it.

But for now, the game continues, and you savor every moment of it.

The night is young, and so are you—dragon-blooded and bold, playing with fire and reveling in the heat that comes with it.

The music swells, a lively tune that fills the hall with mirth and energy, but it does little to settle the unease that creeps into King Viserys’ chest. Seated at the high table, he holds a goblet of wine, though he has barely touched it. His gaze drifts from one side of the room to the other, watching the mingling guests, the lords and ladies spinning in intricate dances. Yet his eyes keep returning to the center of the hall, where Rhaenyra and Daemon move together with a fluid grace that borders on impropriety.

His brow furrows as he watches them—his daughter and his brother. The distance between them is too narrow, the smiles exchanged too familiar. Even now, after all these years, Viserys cannot fully discern what lies behind those shared glances. His hand tightens on the armrest of his seat, his knuckles whitening with the effort to maintain composure. The court is watching; he cannot afford to let his concerns show. Not here. Not tonight.

But then, from the corner of his eye, something else catches his attention—a flash of deep plum silk, a braid of silver hair glinting in the candlelight. His eyes shift, narrowing as he tracks the movement, and there you are, his younger daughter, Y/N, weaving through the crowd with that same effortless grace, the very image of your late mother Alyssa in her youth.

Viserys watches as you glide from one partner to the next, a playful smile ever present on your lips. Each lord who steps forward is charmed, entranced even, but there is one figure whose presence never strays far from your orbit—Ser Harwin Strong. The son of his current Hand, a man known for his strength and loyalty, but also for the intensity of his gaze, a gaze that now rests solely on you. 

Viserys leans forward slightly, frowning as he observes the exchange unfolding before him. Harwin moves closer, clearly intent on catching you, and you—ever the playful one—tease him with fleeting glances, spinning just out of his reach each time he draws near. The way your eyes gleam with mischief, the way you turn your back only to glance over your shoulder at him, invites more than just a dance. It’s a game, and one that is all too familiar to Viserys, who remembers his own youth, and the thrill of such pursuits.

But then Harwin catches you. His large hand wraps around your waist, pulling you closer, closer than what is proper for a dance in front of the entire court. Your laughter rings out like silver bells, light and teasing as you push back against him, yet the way Harwin’s hand lingers—fingers splayed possessively against the silk of your gown—does not escape your father’s notice. The look on Harwin’s face is far too unguarded, a mixture of admiration and longing that sends a jolt of concern racing through Viserys.

Viserys’ chest tightens as he watches you lean in, saying something that makes Harwin’s smile sharpen, though the words are lost to the music and laughter that fills the hall. Then, just as quickly as he caught you, you slip away again, your skirts swirling as you twirl out of his grasp, leaving Harwin standing in the middle of the floor with a look of mingled frustration and desire. The scene plays out before Viserys like a vivid memory, like something he should have noticed sooner, something he should have acted upon long before tonight.

His eyes narrow as he follows the thread of events with growing unease. You laugh and dance your way out of the hall, light-footed and swift, and though Harwin remains behind for a few moments, his gaze tracks you with the keen eye of a falcon. Then, as discreetly as he can manage, Harwin moves toward the exit, following you.

Viserys’ grip on his goblet tightens until he fears it might shatter in his hand. He remains rooted to his seat, unwilling to cause a scene, yet the implications churn in his mind like a dark tide. The daughter who bears his blood, a Targaryen of pure lineage, slipping away with the son of his Hand? It is unthinkable—and yet, Viserys cannot ignore the undeniable connection between the two of you. The way you moved in tandem, how easily you played off one another as if you were two parts of a whole. It stirs something in Viserys, a deep-seated dread that this could lead to something more—something he has not prepared for.

His gaze shifts, and he meets the eyes of Lord Lyonel Strong. The Hand is seated farther down the table, looking distinctly uncomfortable, as though he too is aware of the precarious position his son is placing him in. When their eyes lock, Viserys does not miss the brief flash of unease in Lyonel’s expression, followed quickly by a nod of acknowledgment, as if to say he understands what Viserys is thinking. And, undoubtedly, he does.

The memory rushes back, clear as day—months ago, when Lyonel Strong came to him with a proposition a second time. “Your Grace,” Lyonel had said, his voice steady and filled with the gravity of a man who understood the weight of his words, “there are many fine matches to be made for your daughter, Y/N, from prominent houses across the realm. But I would humbly suggest that what my son Harwin offers may be worth more than mere lineage. His devotion to the princess is unwavering, and his love is without question. He would be a husband who honors her above all else, a union built on something deeper than mere alliances.”

At the time, Viserys had dismissed the notion—politely, but firmly. His daughter was a Targaryen, and surely she deserved a match that would strengthen their house politically, not merely satisfy matters of the heart. Yet now, watching the scene unfold before him, Viserys finds himself second-guessing his decision. Could there be merit in such a match after all? Could Lyonel’s words hold more truth than Viserys had been willing to see? But then again, to allow such a thing would be to acknowledge a love affair that has clearly grown far beyond simple courtly affection.

Viserys’ thoughts whirl, torn between the duty of a king and the love of a father. He knows that if he raises the matter now, it could cast a shadow over the entire evening, drawing unwelcome attention to something that should remain hidden, if only for the sake of peace. And yet, can he afford to remain silent, knowing the path that such unchecked desire could lead his daughter down? His gaze flicks back to the entrance where you vanished, and a part of him itches to rise from his seat, to go after you and demand answers.

But he stays rooted in place, forced into inaction by the eyes of the court and the weight of his crown. Instead, his gaze returns to Lyonel, and he sees the older man swallow nervously before looking away, clearly wishing to be anywhere else. The tension between them is palpable, unspoken yet undeniable.

Viserys takes a deep breath, forcing himself to remain calm. The decision he makes next could have lasting consequences, for both you and the realm. As the music swells and the laughter of the court continues around him, the king’s mind churns, trapped in a web of duty, love, and fear.

For now, he decides to wait—he will watch, and if Harwin oversteps again, then the matter will be brought to light. But the seed of doubt has already taken root in Viserys’ heart, and it will not be easily dismissed.

The night is long, but Viserys’ thoughts are longer still.

You slip through the winding corridors of the Red Keep, your heart thrumming in your chest as you make your way deeper into its shadowed recesses. The sound of music and laughter fades behind you as you reach a secluded passage, hidden away from the eyes of the court. This path is familiar, a secret shared only between the two of you. You’ve met here before, during stolen moments when the weight of duty and the eyes of others became too much to bear. The flickering torchlight casts long shadows along the stone walls, giving the space an almost dreamlike quality. Yet there is nothing dreamlike about the tension that crackles in the air as you wait, anticipation coiling like a serpent beneath your skin.

Footsteps echo faintly down the passage, the heavy tread unmistakable. A smirk tugs at your lips as you press your back against the cool stone, the thrill of the chase still buzzing in your veins. He always catches you in the end; it’s a part of the game, a part of the dance you both know so well. You hear him approach, his steps purposeful, a hunter closing in on his prey. You hold your breath, relishing the thrill of being caught, knowing what comes next.

And then he’s there—Ser Harwin Strong, towering and fierce, the firelight casting sharp angles across his rugged features. He looks at you with that smoldering gaze, dark and intense, his chest heaving as he closes the distance between you. “You run from me as if you ever wanted to get away,” he says, his voice a low rumble that sends shivers down your spine.

You don’t reply with words, only a wicked smile that dares him to come closer. And he does, with a predatory grace, until his body is pressed against yours, trapping you between the stone wall and his broad chest. “Caught you,” he murmurs, his breath hot against your ear, one hand sliding up to cradle your jaw while the other grips your waist possessively.

Before you can retort, his lips crash against yours in a kiss that’s anything but gentle. It’s all fire and hunger, the pent-up tension of the night spilling over as he devours you with a need that’s impossible to hide. You kiss him back with equal fervor, fingers tangling in his dark curls as you pull him closer, desperate to close the distance that’s been kept between you all night. Every touch, every bite and nip, is laced with the emotions you can’t express openly—a love too dangerous to voice in the light of day, but undeniable in moments like this.

Harwin’s hands roam over your body with a familiarity that sends heat pooling in your core. He tugs at the laces of your gown, his fingers rough but practiced, until the fabric loosens and falls away, exposing the soft skin of your neck and shoulders. You gasp against his lips as he nips at your throat, the scrape of his teeth drawing a moan from your lips. His own garments follow suit—his tunic and belt discarded hastily, the sound of cloth hitting stone echoing faintly in the small space.

The air between you crackles with a desperate need, the kind that’s built up over countless stolen moments, secret touches, and longing glances. There’s no pretense here, no titles or duties—only the raw, unfiltered connection between you. Harwin’s hands slide down your waist, gripping your hips firmly as he lifts you, pressing you harder against the wall. You wrap your legs around him instinctively, gasping as you feel him against you, hard and ready. The anticipation coils tightly in your belly, every nerve alive with want.

His eyes meet yours for a fleeting moment, and in them, you see everything he can’t say aloud—devotion, desire, and the promise that he would burn the world for you if you asked. But words are unnecessary now. You reach down, guiding him until he’s pressed right where you need him most. There’s a brief, charged pause—a moment where everything hangs on the edge—and then he pushes into you in one smooth, powerful motion.

The world tilts, pleasure and need blurring everything else as he sets a rhythm, hard and fast, the way he knows you both like it. It’s familiar and yet never loses its edge—each thrust, each gasp, sending sparks of electricity through you. You bury your face in the crook of his neck, biting down on the rough skin to muffle your cries, while his own growls of pleasure vibrate against your ear. His hands grip you tightly, fingers digging into your flesh as he moves, driving into you with a force that leaves you breathless.

But it’s not just the physical pleasure that binds you in this moment. It’s the intimacy, the shared understanding that this is where you both belong—together, hidden away from the prying eyes of the world. Here, you are not a princess, and he is not merely the son of the Hand. Here, you are simply two people who have found something rare and precious, something that defies the rules of the world you live in.

He kisses you again, slower this time, a searing heat beneath the tenderness as he deepens the connection between you. Your bodies move in sync, finding that perfect rhythm that drives you both higher, closer to the edge. You can feel it building, a tightening coil of pleasure that threatens to snap at any moment. His name falls from your lips like a prayer, a desperate plea, and he responds with your name in kind, low and reverent.

The world narrows to just the two of you—the heat of his body, the rough press of stone at your back, the intoxicating scent of sweat and desire. And then, with one final thrust, the tension breaks, pleasure crashing over you like a wave, drowning you in bliss. Harwin follows a heartbeat later, a guttural groan tearing from his throat as he buries himself deep, his body trembling with the force of his release.

For a long moment, neither of you move, the air thick with the aftermath of your passion. You stay entwined, foreheads pressed together as you catch your breath, your heartbeats slowing in tandem. His hands are still on you, holding you as if he’s afraid you might slip away even now. And for a moment, the world is quiet, all worries and responsibilities forgotten in the haze of sated desire.

But reality is never far away. Slowly, you both come back to yourselves, and he reluctantly pulls back, letting you slide down until your feet touch the ground once more. There’s a flicker of regret in his eyes, a wish that this moment could last longer, but he says nothing as he helps you adjust your gown, his touch gentle now.

You smooth down your skirts, fixing your hair with a practiced ease, though the flush of your skin and the brightness in your eyes would give you away to anyone who looked closely enough. Harwin lingers, his fingers brushing against your cheek in a soft, almost reverent caress. “You always make me chase you,” he murmurs, his voice laced with fondness.“

And you always catch me,” you reply, the smile on your lips tinged with affection. “Perhaps I simply enjoy the chase.”

He chuckles, but there’s a seriousness in his gaze as he cups your face in his hands, holding you still for a moment longer. “One day, I won’t let you run again,” he says quietly, the promise heavy in the air.

You don’t answer, not with words. Instead, you lean up to kiss him one last time, slow and lingering, tasting the bittersweet mix of what you have and what you cannot yet fully claim. When you pull away, you give him a final smile before slipping out of the shadows and back into the world where duty and decorum await.

Harwin remains behind, watching you go with a look that holds both longing and resolve. He knows this is far from over.

[failbettergames]

any games you'd recommend? could be for any reason! (similarity to fallen london, you know the people who made it, you just think it's neat, etc.) besides your own, of course, I already own all of those :)

Yes, here's a list of all of the games we talked about in our newsletter last year:

Birth: an adventure puzzle game about constructing a creature from spare bones & organs.

Scarlet Hollow: an immersive, episodic horror-mystery.

Egypt: Old Kingdom: a strategy simulator of the Great Pyramids period.

The Past Within is a fun, eerie way to spend an hour with a friend.

The Pale Beyond: high stakes on the frozen wastes, Sunless Sea feelings. 

King of the Castle: medieval monarch party game.

Stray Gods: an urban fantasy, musical visual novel featuring the gods of Greek myth.

Vampire Survivors: so moreish.

Knotwords: extremely satisfying crossword-anagram-puzzle game.

The Banished Vault: so gorgeous it actually makes us a bit cross.

Astronaut the Best: an anarchic comedy about assembling a team of hapless astronauts. 

El Paso, Elsewhere: supernatural neo-noir shooter, in which you must destroy the villain you loved - even if it means dying yourself.

Thank Goodness You're Here: may be the only game that’s more British than the ones we make.

The Fabulous Fear Machine: pulpy horror narrative strategy.

WORLD OF HORROR: Junji Ito-adjacent roguelike.

Lies of P: tickles your Fromsoft fancy. 

The Lamplighters League: essentially 1930s supernatural XCOM 

Tails Noir (formerly known as Backbone): gorgeous, bleak, compelling and unsatisfying in equal measure. 

Mediterrea Inferno: a spicy story about finding yourself after isolation.

DotAGE: manage a village where the Village Elder has helpfully precise visions of the future.

Slay the Princess: the princess is very bad and you have to kill her. 

VR remake of The 7th Guest: very fun, silly and far less punishing than the original. 

Astrea: Six-sided Oracles: interesting dice-and-deckbuilding system. 

Return of the Obra Dinn: truly a modern classic.

[goldenamaranthe-blog]

Who Dares Summon Me: Human Vaggie & Charlie

Vaggie: (sitting in the living room of a piece of shit apartment and reading from a "demon summoning" book. the sound of gunfire and police sirens barely even registers to her ears anymore)

Vaggie: Okay, so I got the Pentagram, a goat (glances at two goat plushies she stole from a name brand toy store) Fuckers will live..... they make millions in a day.

Vaggie: Candles... (glances at the Bath & Body Works, cinnamon and vanilla scented candles)

Vaggie: And... blood.... uh.... (Looks at the bucket filled with water, corn syrup, red food coloring, and cocoa powder to help create a blood effect) Fuck... demons can tell the difference between real and fake blood, right? Dammit.

Vaggie: (cuts her finger with her pocket knife and lets] a few drops fall into the bucket) There. That should work. Now, let's see-

Lute: (comes out of her room half naked and throws a pair of panties at Vaggie) Yo, Vagina! Adam stole your underwear again as a prank, I guess. Here.

Vaggie: (gawks as she catches the garment and spikes it to the floor) Lute! What the fuck?! Can't you control your fucking boyfriend??? How did he even get into my room?! I keep it locked for that reason.

Lute: (grabs a beer out of the fridge, pops the cap off on the counter, starts chugging, and flips off Vaggie as she returns to her room for whatever round she and Adam are on)

Vaggie: Sick perverted sons of bitches... (turns back to the book) Read the forbidden script and make a pact. (Scoffs) Okay, edge lords. I'll give it a go.

Vaggie: (recites the script with some difficulty)

..........

Vaggie: (relaxes her back against the couch) Can't say I'm surprised. I literally bought this online for six-

-Fire tornado erupts from the Pentagram and burning red eyes stare down at Vaggie from the inferno-

Demon Charlie: WHO dares summon the powerful Princess of Hell- Oh, fuck!!! (Trips over the bucket and falls face first into Vaggie's lap, revealing that she is wearing a red dress with black thigh high stockings)

Vaggie: Jesus Fucking Christ!!!

Demon Charlie: (face still pressed against Vaggie's crotch) You have a very comfortable lap.

Vaggie: (grabs demon's horns and pulls her up so they're sitting in front of each other) You're actually a demon?

Demon Charlie: (blinks) Considering the fact that you're still holding my horns, I have this adorable little tail (waves her heart-shaped tail in hello), and I came straight up from Hell because of your summoning circle. Yup! (Sees the plushies and gasps) Oh! You even gave Razzle and Dazzle their own conduits! You're so sweet!

Vaggie: ...........Who?

Demon Charlie: Razzle and Dazzle! You know. My pets. It's written in chatper six, paragraph five, sentence three. (Snaps her fingers and the two goat plushies turn into two living goat demons with wings)

Vaggie: (scouring the book) What?!

Demon Charlie: (snuggling her boys) Also, I know you had to use a little of your own blood to make this work, which I promise to help heal that cut on your finger by the way, but Thank You So Much for just using fake blood! I always feel so bad when people actually use a bucket of real blood. I usually let my dad take those summonings.

Vaggie: (glances at the bucket rolling across the floor then back to the demon) Y-Youre dad?

Demon Charlie: Lucifer, the King of Hell. (Light bulb goes off) Oh! I never completed my introduction! I'm Charlie Morningstar, Princess of Hell and heir to the throne. Pleased to meet you!

Vaggie: Uh.... Vaggie.... I never would have expected the Princess of Hell to be so..... bubbly....

Demon Charlie: I get that a lot. Now! What can I do for you? How can I help? Do you need money? Power? A soul you'd like for me to devour?

Vaggie: N-No... nothing quite like that....

Demon Charlie: Oh, thank Satan! I hate eating souls. Most of them taste so bad!

Vaggie: Uh-huh.... Well.... I don't really have anything for you. I got bored and decided I'd try this out...

Demon Charlie: (disappointed) Really? But you sold me your virginity. Surely, there's something you want in exchange!

Vaggie: I'm sorry. WHAT?!?!?!?!?!?

Demon Charlie: Drop of virgin blood and (holds up Vaggies lavender panties) an article of clothing that covers your most intimate desire.

Vaggie: (silently screaming)

Demon Charlie: H-Hey! If it makes you feel any better, I'm still a virgin, too! (Under her breath) Not from lack of trying on other asshole's accunts, but still....

Vaggie: Ay, Dios mio!

Demon Charlie: Well, I can't take your payment until you come up with something you want, soooooooo! (Transforms into a human)

Charlie: (snuggles up to Vaggie's side) I'll just have to stay here with you until you come up with something!

Vaggie: (catatonic)

[masterjedilenawrites]

List of books below, taken from the Star Wars wiki. Only included: Original Novels, Novel Adaptations, Script Books, and Young Adult Novels. Please no comments about books that are missing from the list... it is what it is.

The High Republic: Convergence - Zoraida Cordova

The High Republic: Path of Deceit - Tessa Gratton, Justina Ireland

The High Republic: The Battle of Jedha - George Mann

The High Republic: Path of Vengeance - Cavan Scott

The High Republic: Cataclysm - Lydia Kang

The High Republic: Into the Dark - Claudia Gray

The High Republic: Light of the Jedi - Charles Soule

The High Republic: The Rising Storm - Cavan Scott

The High Republic: Out of the Shadows - Justina Ireland

The High Republic: Tempest Runner - Cavan Scott

The High Republic: Midnight Horizon - Daniel Jose Older

The High Republic: The Fallen Star - Claudia Gray

The High Republic: The Eye of Darkness - George Mann

The High Republic: Defy the Storm - Tessa Gratton, Justina Ireland

The Vow of Silver Dawn - His Majesty the King

Dooku: Jedi Lost - Cavan Scott

Padawan - Kiersten White

Master & Apprentice - Claudia Gray

The Living Force - John Jackson Miller

Queen's Peril - E.K. Johnston

Queen's Shadow - E.K. Johnston

Inquisitor: Rise of the Red Blade - Delilah S. Dawson

Queen's Hope - E.K. Johnston

Brotherhood - Mike Chen

Catalyst: A Rogue One Novel - James Luceno

Thrawn Ascendancy: Chaos Rising - Timothy Zahn

Dark Disciple - Christie Golden

Thrawn Ascendancy: Greater Good - Timothy Zahn

Thrawn Ascendancy: Lesser Evil - Timothy Zahn

Ahsoka - E.K. Johnston

Thrawn - Timothy Zahn

Lords of the Sith - Paul S. Kemp

Tarkin - James Luceno

Most Wanted - Rae Carson

Solo: A Star Wars Story: Expanded Edition - Mur Lafferty

Rebel Rising - Beth Revis

Crimson Climb - E.K. Johnston

A New Dawn - John Jackson Miller

Jedi: Battle Scars - Sam Maggs

Lost Stars - Claudia Gray

Leia, Princess of Alderaan - Claudia Gray

Thrawn: Alliances - Timothy Zahn

Thrawn: Treason - Timothy Zahn

Rogue One: A Star Wars Story - Alexander Freed

Battlefront II: Inferno Squad - Christie Golden

Heir to the Jedi - Kevin Hearne

Doctor Aphra - Sarah Kuhn

Battlefront: Twilight Company - Alexander Freed

The Princess and the Scoundrel - Beth Revis

Alphabet Squadron - Alexander Freed

Aftermath - Chuck Wendig

Shadow Fall - Alexander Freed

Aftermath: Life Debt - Chuck Wendig

Victory's Price - Alexander Freed

Aftermath: Empire's End - Chuck Wendig

Last Shot - Daniel Jose Older

Poe Dameron: Free Fall - Alex Segura

Shadow of the Sith - Adam Christopher

Bloodline - Claudia Gray

Force Collector - Kevin Scinick

Phasma - Delilah S. Dawson

Star Wars: The Force Awakens - Alan Dean Foster

Galaxy's Edge: Black Spire - Delilah S. Dawson

Star Wars: The Last Jedi: Expanded Edition - Jason Fry

Resistance Reborn - Rebecca Roanhorse

A Crash of Fate - Zoraida Cordova

Star Wars: The Rise of Skywalker: Expanded Edition - Rae Carson

[that-guy-sleepy-miles]

Red King Design Notes

I got a single request to explain Red King's design, so I'm going feral! This will have notes based on AU lore (events), 'lore' (character relationships), and things I noticed in the show! (This one is for you, @daikon-dimes <3)

Let's start from the top and move down!

‎Red King's horns!

Firstly, her "Proud Horns"! The color is a deep-red version of DBK's old horn color, and the shape is based on Princess Iron Fan's bull-horn hairstyle!

And then her "Transportation Horns". These are a slightly darker color than the Proud Horns and their shape is based on PIF's hair and also vaguely based on DBK's horns.

That actually brings us to...

Bangs like Mama and Red King's tiara!

Okay, horn lore:

Red King had eaten a monk and then took a killer fucking nap—like she CONKED OUT—and she woke up with big ol bull horns (magical power expression* has to go somewhere, and she's not really using it or feeling anything right then) and she was like "oh, dude, what the fuck", and then freaks out because she can't balance herself anymore

After being freaked out for a while, she demanded that the nearest bull clone get her a mirror.

She looks at herself in the mirror (she's learned how to balance at this point, good for her), she touches her horns, and she goes,

"Heh. Like Mother's hair."

And, even though she and her mother are in the middle of essentially a Cold War, she finds her mother's old tiara and puts her hair around her horns like her mom's… decorative hairstyle? whatever we'd call that. like the way her mom serves massive cunt 25/8—because she loves her mom more than anything else. (No matter how much of a raging ******* PIF is being. God, why is she like that sometimes???)

(The Eternal Fire design has sidebangs that are reminiscent of PIF's but more silky and flowy.)

Bull Fam Huadian and Bindi

The Eternal Slumber design has a huadian (a form of traditional Chinese ornamental forehead makeup, which is located between the eyebrows and sometimes on the cheeks, the temples, and the dimples) shaped like the Demon Bull family crest instead of the traditional flower petals. This is because of the idea that Red Son's "red dot" is a huadian, which I've seen floating around quite a bit, but I'm 99% sure it's a bindi.

It's in the right spot for a bindi and the wrong spot for a huadian, it looks like a bindi and doesn't look like a huadian—it's a bindi. I don't know if this is still going on (people thinking it's a huadian/saying it's a huadian/drawing it as a huadian), but it's a bindi. It's a bindi guys.

(Because of Red Son's tendency for overly expressive downturned eyebrows and the inconsistency of hand-drawn animation, it's hard to tell, but the "red dot" is seemingly intended to be slightly above and between his eyebrows, not high above on his forehead. You can tell on screenshots where it's on his forehead that it's in the wrong spot, it's actually really fun.)

Also, the people on the wiki call it a "forehead dot" and I'm so...

Anyway, in her Eternal Fire design, Red King's bindi returns! This is because her time with MK has "reignited her inferno", and she is returning to herself! With her bindi! Welcome back, pookie bear!!!

and on the note of her "reigniting her inferno", her Eternal Fire design has the same eyebrow makeup as the Red Son minifig!

Her Samadhi Ring

In the Red King AU, Red Son is allowed to keep his/her ring of Samadhi for a number of reasons. Importantly, DBK and PIF let Red Son their ring because it is their power—Red Son was born with the Samadhi Fire, and it's an expression of their power. They are a family obsessed with power for a good while, so in the Red King AU, DBK and PIF felt it cruel to strip their only child of their power and of the remainder of it. The thought also was that, as the creator of the fire, Red Son would have the most incentive to keep the ring safe. They'd certainly never lose it, like some people.

(Fun fact, this means that DBK's nose ring is the other way around like it was in his younger years. That's just a really silly detail, but like... they match <3)

Red King's Hair Highlights (and Their Relation to Red Son’s Magic Expression and the Samadhi Fire)

(By the way, the Eternal Slumber design has more chaotic shines because her hair isn't brushed, and the Eternal Fire design has more uniform/put-together shines because her hair is being taken care of.)

Red King has shiny hair, and that's not just to look cool. To explain why, I had to make a giant post about the LEGO Monkie Kid Magic System. I go in-depth about Red Son at the end of that post, but I'll give a TLDR here:

Red Son has a wholly unique form of expressing magic among demons, gods, dragons, descendants, reincarnations, and everything in-between (the in-between being Red Son himself, MK, Wukong, and Macaque [Red Son is half-god, half-demon; MK was intended to be a mystic monkey but got his genetics messed with; Wukong and Macaque are mystic monkeys outside of any of the 10 species, they just need to be noted here [Their magic is completely conventional, they're just crazy strong]). His body, and specifically his hair, is directly connected to his magic in a way that's different from other characters for reasons we can only speculate.

Because Red King is stronger than Red Son (and has a link to the Samadhi Fire), she has many large hair highlights! Generally, they're condensed into one or two large shapes, but smaller highlights around a large shape are also acceptable. :]

Outfits

Eternal Slumber wears zhong yi (middle clothes), a longer version of Red Son's robe from season 3, and Red Son's sandals from season 3. (I call those house shoes but the model sheet says sandals.)

Zhong yi were worn under normal clothing in Hanfu, and often worn to bed. Some posts about zhong yi: 1, 2, 3. Because Red King is... well... sleeping often but in a regal way, she wears zhong yi instead of modern sleepwear. Her robe is also longer to evoke the fact that it is a robe and she is a king.

Eternal Fire wears a sleeveless version of Red Son's coat with a gold trim. This gold trim is actually because of something on Red Son's page on the Monkie Kid Wiki! Okay, so, I'm so autistic that part of my LMK Special Interest (it's been 4 years, so this is officially a special interest) actually extends to the Wiki... and on Red Son's Wiki page, there is something so fun!!

On Red Son's Minifigure–show comparison, the screenshot used to compare contains a coloring error! Red Son's collar is actually his skin tone! And I LOVE THAT. NOBODY TELL THEM. IF YOU ARE A WIKI EDITOR AND YOU'RE READING THIS, DON'T FIX IT!!!

I love coloring errors and I love mistakes. Not only is there the original coloring error (the mark of a human being; someone worked on this scene and they made a mistake and now we can see it and see them! It's as if their memory is saying hello, and that's why I love coloring errors), but someone else missed it, and now it has been used to represent this character's design as a whole (a SECOND human being!! Hello!! You've been here, and you didn't catch something, and now I'll always remember you were here!).

And that's why I don't want it to be fixed. I know it should be fixed, and I know the Wiki is a source of knowledge, but I also just... love people so much... and I decided to remember the coloring error by giving Red King's coat a gold trim. <3 (I was going to keep it to the collar like the coloring error, but it didn't look good.)

Other notes:

She's wearing armbands like she did when she was a baby because the Eternal Fire design is her "returning to herself."

The ballroom gloves are just sexy like that. Make MK go Looney Tunes. (And the wristbands are for the same purpose.)

S H A N T S

Uhhh that's it! Thank you!! <3 <3 <3 <3!!

[earthlybeam]

Requested by @grand-admiral-ano

how would the elves react to this?

↓

↓

↓

Gil-galad, haldir Versions are below.

👑𝓖𝓲𝓵-𝓰𝓪𝓵𝓪𝓭

🜲 Trapped in a Burning Building in Lindon While defending Lindon against an invasion, Gil-galad is trapped in a building that catches fire after an enemy attack. He’s knocked unconscious by falling debris, and the fire spreads quickly. The reader risks their own life, rushing through the smoke-filled building and dragging him out of the flames just as the walls begin to collapse.

🜲 The air was thick with the acrid scent of smoke, swirling around you in suffocating tendrils. The once grand halls of Lindon, now under siege, were quickly becoming a hellish inferno. The sound of battle echoed through the streets, but here, inside the burning structure, it was a different kind of chaos. The roar of flames filled the air, licking at the wooden beams above and sending splinters of burning debris raining down. The heat was unbearable, searing the very stones beneath your feet, and the choking smoke blurred your vision. Gil-galad, ever the leader, had been at the forefront of the defense, his sword in hand, his face a mask of determination. His presence had been a beacon to his people, his calm authority inspiring strength in the midst of chaos. But even he was not immune to the fury of the enemy’s onslaught.

🜲 Amidst the chaos, a blast had rocked the building, shaking the very foundation. A mass of timber and stone had fallen from above, striking Gil-galad across the back and sending him sprawling to the floor with a sharp, painful crack. His body had crumpled under the weight, his breath knocked from his lungs in a heavy gasp. The sound of the collapse had reverberated in your ears, and when you rushed toward him, you saw the High King sprawled motionless beneath the debris.The fire, fueled by the invaders’ attacks, quickly spread, and it was clear that there was no time to waste. The air grew hotter, the smoke thicker, and the danger more immediate with each passing moment. His normally stoic face was hidden beneath layers of dust, and his form lay still—too still. You didn’t hesitate. You couldn’t. Every moment you spent contemplating the situation was one that could have been too long. The weight of the rubble didn’t matter. With sheer force, you wrenched the stones from his body, your hands burning from the heat as you pulled him toward you. His head lolled to the side, the blood from a cut on his temple staining the ground beneath him. His breathing was shallow, and there was a faint pulse beneath your fingertips—but he was unconscious.

🜲 The building groaned ominously as another burst of flame tore through the walls, and you knew that time was running out. The floor beneath you creaked in protest, the walls threatening to collapse in on themselves at any moment. Every instinct told you to leave—to save yourself, but you couldn’t. Not when Gil-galad, the King of the Noldor, lay helpless before you, his life in your hands. With effort, you dragged him across the smoke-choked room, your heart pounding in your chest as the flames licked at your heels. The roar of the fire was deafening, and every second felt like an eternity as you carried him toward the exit, the weight of his body making it harder to move with each step. The hall, once filled with the soft murmur of Elven voices, now only held the sound of destruction—the crackling fire, the rumble of collapsing stones, the fierce wind of a building in its death throes.

🜲 When you finally reached the doorway, the wood above you cracked, splintering as if it were alive and eager to consume you both. You stumbled, nearly losing your footing as a piece of the burning ceiling came crashing down behind you. With a final burst of strength, you pulled Gil-galad into the open air, out of the fire’s reach, and collapsed with him onto the grass beyond the building. You lay there for a moment, gasping for breath, your lungs burning as you fought to clear the smoke from your throat. Gil-galad, though unconscious, had been saved. His chest rose and fell, weakly but steadily. He was alive. As you caught your breath, the High King slowly stirred, his eyes fluttering open, the smoke and debris still clouding his vision. He blinked, disoriented, as the full weight of the situation began to register. The fire raged behind you, but here, in the cool air, the world seemed to slow down for just a moment.

🜲 Gil-galad, though weak and disoriented, tried to push himself up, his body protesting the movement. His once-pristine armor was singed and scarred, the elegant golden cloak now frayed and scorched. His normally impeccable appearance was marred by soot and blood, and the usually composed expression on his face faltered as he took in the destruction around him. His breath was shallow, and he winced in pain, but when his eyes met yours, there was something different in them—a raw, vulnerable gratitude. “You… saved me,” he murmured hoarsely, his voice barely audible over the lingering crackle of the fire. His gaze, though weak, held yours with a steady intensity that sent a shiver down your spine. There was no pride in his words, no authority—only quiet, humble acknowledgment. His fingers twitched slightly, as if he wanted to reach for you, but he lacked the strength to do so. Instead, he offered a small, respectful nod—barely perceptible, but it spoke volumes.

🜲 In that moment, the High King of the Noldor, the legendary ruler who had seen centuries pass, who had led armies and fought countless battles, looked at you with something that could almost be called… awe. It wasn’t just the gratitude of a king to his subject—it was the recognition of a fellow soul who had risked everything for him, a moment of vulnerability that even Gil-galad could not hide. His chest heaved with another labored breath, but despite the shock of the close call, his usual composure began to return. He would not let the fire have the satisfaction of claiming him. Not when there were still battles to be won, still people to protect. And yet, for the briefest moment, he was simply Gil-galad—alive, fragile, and deeply indebted to the one who had saved him.

🏹𝓗𝓪𝓵𝓭𝓲𝓻

➳ Tackled to Safety During a Storm While patrolling Lothlórien during a violent storm, Haldir narrowly avoids being crushed by a falling tree when the reader/you tackles him to the ground just in time. The two land in an awkward, close position, leaving Haldir uncharacteristically flustered.

➳ The storm raged through the woods, the wind howling like a feral beast as rain lashed the canopy above. Haldir moved with silent precision through the underbrush, his sharp eyes scanning the darkened landscape for any signs of disturbance. The weather had grown increasingly violent, but his duty as Marchwarden left no room for retreat. Even in the worst of conditions, the borders of Lothlórien had to be protected. Lightning lit up the forest in blinding flashes, momentarily painting the world in stark white before plunging it back into shadow. Haldir’s silver hair clung to his face, the relentless rain plastering it to his skin. His usual elegance was somewhat diminished by the storm, his cloak soaked through, boots caked in mud, yet his posture remained firm, his focus unbroken. The storm did not intimidate him—it was but another obstacle to overcome.

➳ Suddenly, a deafening crack split the air, so loud it seemed to vibrate through the earth itself. Haldir’s head snapped to the side, his sharp elven hearing pinpointing the source of the sound. A towering tree not far from where he stood had been struck by lightning, its mighty trunk splintering under the force. Time seemed to slow as he watched the massive tree begin to fall, its thick branches clawing through the air, the weight of it careening directly toward him. For a fraction of a second, he froze. Not out of fear, but because the situation was so sudden, so precise, that even his elven reflexes couldn’t save him in time. He prepared to dive, but before he could move, something collided with him from the side—a force strong enough to knock the air from his lungs. He hit the ground hard, water splashing around him as he was tackled into the wet, mossy earth. The crash of the tree landing mere inches from where he had stood was deafening, the impact sending shockwaves through the ground. The storm howled around them, but all Haldir could focus on was the weight pressed against him, the warmth of another body shielding him from the cold, rain-soaked earth.

➳ He blinked, his vision adjusting to the dim light, only to find himself nose-to-nose with the one who had saved him. You. For a moment, neither of you moved, the world around you drowned out by the pounding of rain and the hammering of your hearts. Your face hovered just above his, your breath mingling with his in the narrow space between you. Haldir’s silver-blue eyes, normally so composed and unreadable, were wide with surprise. His lips parted slightly, as if to speak, but no words came. You were drenched, rain dripping from your hair onto his face, and you suddenly realized the compromising position you were in. You were lying directly on top of him, your hands braced against his chest, the soaked fabric of his tunic clinging to the hard muscles beneath. His expression was utterly unguarded, caught somewhere between disbelief and astonishment.

➳ Finally, he spoke, his voice low and tinged with faint amusement. “You… tackled me.” You blinked, struggling to catch your breath. “I saved your life!” you countered, trying to shift your weight off him. However, the rain-slicked ground betrayed you, and you slipped, your hands sliding awkwardly, leaving you pressed even closer against him. Haldir exhaled sharply, the barest hint of a blush rising to his cheeks—though it could have been attributed to the cold or the exertion of the moment. His tone was wry, but the faint crack in his usually calm demeanor betrayed him. “And nearly crushed me in the process.” You pushed yourself up again, this time managing to regain your footing, and extended a hand to help him up. He hesitated for the briefest moment before accepting, his strong fingers gripping yours as you pulled him to his feet. The two of you stood there, drenched and panting, the storm raging around you.

➳ Haldir brushed himself off with as much dignity as he could muster, though the faint blush on his face remained. He ran a hand through his wet hair, smoothing it back as he regarded you with a mixture of exasperation and reluctant gratitude. “I suppose I owe you thanks,” he admitted, his voice steady now, though his eyes lingered on you for a moment longer than necessary. “Next time, however, a simple warning will suffice.” You opened your mouth to retort, but his words carried a faint warmth that wasn’t lost on you. His usual air of detachment had cracked, just slightly, revealing something softer beneath. As he turned back toward the fallen tree, the corners of his lips twitched into the faintest ghost of a smile—a rare expression that made your heart skip a beat. “Though,” he added, glancing back at you with a smirk that sent a spark through your chest, “your form was… effective.”

➳ Despite the storm, despite the near-death experience, you couldn’t help but smile. Haldir’s gaze lingered on you for a moment longer, as though he were memorizing the details of your drenched and disheveled appearance, before he turned back to the task at hand. But even as the two of you moved to navigate the storm-drenched forest, you couldn’t shake the memory of the way he had looked at you—unguarded, surprised, and, perhaps, just a little bit enchanted.

[sleepy-writes-stuff]

DP X DC WRITING PROMPT #3

(I'm feeling kinda angsty today, I guess. If there's a fic/prompt like this already tho, please link me. 👀)

next →

✦

Reaper of Heroes

Once crowned as the High Ghost King of the Infinite Realms, Danny gains some grim reaper-like abilities and dominion over a specific subset of souls.

Heroes.

People who don masks and capes to protect the innocent from those who would harm them, just like he once did in the beginning of his existence as a halfa. He's was horrified by the responsibility but is eventually resigned to it. Due to bittersweet nostalgia, he quickly grows fond of the heroes that rose up after he took the throne and packed away the suit. Responsible he may be for the collection of their souls, but with council from Clockwork and the Ghost of Time's knowledge of the most desired paths, sometimes he'll just... let a soul slip through his fingers and return to it's vessel before it's chain is completely severed. He doesn't care that the observants complain constantly about those particular actions. If there's still room for a soul to do good for the better of everyone else, they can hardly stop him from straying from their plans. Much less with him as their king and protection as his obsession.

Only he is responsible for the reaping of these specific souls, unless delegated to one of the more common reapers at his command of course. Sometimes he follows his favorite heroes around, invisible to them unless he wishes them to see him or they're very close to death's door. He's trailed them so closely that some heroes have reported seeing a kind but sad looking man with white hair and aurora green eyes when they've nearly been pushed past the limits of their mortal bodies.

Ones who have passed through the veil but came back report vague memories of a similar sort; a kind man who cradled the very essence of their being with hands so gentle it's worth a few awe filled tears once he released them back amongst the living. The JL give him the moniker Grim, for his black and white coloring and for the shadowy scythe he carries not as a weapon but more like a key that unlocks the chain that binds them to their flesh. He never speaks to any of the heroes he interacts with tho. Always silent with a calculating, but sorrowful gaze.

At least until now.

When he appears before a bruised and beaten, young Jason Todd with whisper soft words in his ear as he comforted the concussed boy about to be killed in a fiery inferno at the hands of Gotham's mad clown.

As the explosion comes to a close, an unseen figure cradles the star-like light of a soul close to his chest as he wept and apologized for being unable to save the young soul from such a painful end but was thankful the poor boy this light belonged to could feel it no longer.

✦

What do you think? Angsty enough? I might have a little more to add to this but I'm gonna stop for now. I injured my hand yesterday, so it hurts to type for too long.

[ithaqualovers]

My Eveningstar

Husband! Morningstar (Helel) x Reader

(TW: NSFW!! 18+ only) ((This was requested by a friend of mine, and this is my first writing a smut ToT... If there is a mistake please tell me! And if you don't know the meaning of Eveningstar is 'The brightest' and symbolized that you are an eternal beauty and love of a Roman goddess.)

Meanwhile, above the high tower, the wind howled as it swirled around the spire, bringing with it the distant cries of the people below. You stood atop the tower, surveying the land with a wistful gaze. Then the Morningstar's servant suddenly called you to the tower's chamber, requested by your king, Helel the Morningstar. the servant approached you and spoke solemnly. “King's dear lover, Eveningstar,” they said. “The Morningstar has need of your presence. He awaits you in the tower chamber.” The servant bowed before you and stepped back. You were surprised by their words, but you nodded and set off for the tower.

As you ascended the stairs, you wondered what Helel wanted from you. When you reached the chamber, you saw the king standing in the centre. Your husband, Helel. The sun that centred on his mask shone brightly as he grinned. “My dearest, come closer to your beloved husband.” You slowly walked up to him, your heart pounding in your chest. Helel slowly took his mask off to expose his dull-cream pupils. Helel took your hands in his, his touch comforting and warm. He brought your hands to his lips and kissed them softly. He looked into your eyes and said “You look so beautiful today, my Eveningstar... Your presence shows a goddess-like beauty, and I am blessed to be able to call you mine.” A smirk appeared on his face. You have never felt him call you like this since he is so possessive and obsessive towards you.

You already know what he wants. You rolled your eyes and crossed your arms. You can tell that he has an agenda in mind by the way he is speaking so intimately and romantically to you, and the smirk on his face shows that he knows he is getting to you. His possessive and obsessive nature further confirms that he is after something, and that he expects you to give in to his wishes. “What is that you want to do with me, Helel? I will not let you use me for your own gain again.” You replied, your voice was stern and unwavering. Helel chuckled softly, his eyes gleaming with a mischievous glint as he stepped closer to you. He reached out to gently brush a strand of your hair behind your ear. “Oh, my fiery dove, you are always so quick with your words,” he purred, his voice dripping with desire. “But I see through that facade, Y/n. I know deep down you crave the touch of your beloved husband.” His hand trailed down from your face, caressing your neck and collarbone. “I want you. I want to feel the heat between us ignite into a blazing inferno. To taste the passion that burns within our souls.” His voice grew huskier as he leaned in close, his hot breath washing over your lips. “Give yourself to me completely, my Eveningstar. Let us indulge in pleasures beyond mortal comprehension.”

You hesitated, unsure of what to do. You raised a brow and met his gaze, feeling a tremor of fear and excitement. Taking a deep breath, and sighed. Do you really have to give in to him? You knew that there was no turning back if you said yes. Taking a deep breath, you closed your eyes and nodded, ready to take the plunge. “Hm. So needy...” You smirked, feeling a rush of adrenaline as you opened your eyes as your e/c stared into his dull-creamy eyes. “My needy king wants to fuck his Eveningstar, correct?” You chuckled at your words and a smirk tugging your lips. Helel's eyes narrowed slightly, a mix of amusement and desire dancing within them as he leaned in closer, his voice dripping with dark allure. “Oh, my delectable dove, you always knew how to play with fire. But be warned, for I am the inferno that consumes all in its path.” His hand trailed down your arm before gripping your waist possessively. “Oh, yes. I want nothing more than to claim you as my own once again. To feel our souls entwined in a passionate dance of pleasure and dominance." He pressed himself against you, his breath hot against your ear. “But remember this: it is not just 'fucking' I seek. It is the sheer ecstasy of surrendering ourselves to the darkest desires that reside within us both. Are you ready to lose yourself in the flames?”

You closed your eyes, the excitement coursing through your veins. You were ready to embrace the unknown, to let go of all inhibitions and finally break free. You nodded a silent agreement that sealed your fate. You really give in to him, huh? “Mm... Alright, my Morningstar... Do as you wish.” With your permission granted, Helel grinned, a sinister glint in his golden eyes. He leaned in close, his voice a low whisper in your ear. “Good.” His eyes gleamed with a mix of desire and satisfaction as he felt the heat of your words wash over him. He released a low, rumbling chuckle that resonated through the chamber. “Ah, my insatiable Eveningstar,” he murmured huskily, “your eagerness fuels the fire within me.”

With a swift, fluid motion, he scooped you up into his arms, carrying you effortlessly towards the grand bed adorned with silk sheets and dark velvet drapes. As he laid you down gently, his hands moved with purpose, skillfully removing every garment you wear. His touch was firm yet tantalizingly gentle as he explored every inch of your body, tracing patterns of pleasure along your curves. He slowly removed his heavy cape and settled in next to you, he pulled the bust of his short black coat to his side exposing his bare chest. You shivered as you felt his sharp fingers, caressing your hips. His breath was hot and heavy against your skin as he lifted your hips. His eyes drank in the sight of your body, and you felt your heart race as he leaned closer. His lips brushed against yours, and the intensity of the moment was overwhelming. Helel pulled down his trousers as he positioned himself above you, and you felt the tip of his dick teasing your entrance. His golden eyes locked onto yours with an intensity that could ignite galaxies. Lowering himself onto you, he claimed your lips in a searing kiss while simultaneously entering you with a slow and deliberate thrust without a warning. You gasped as he filled you, your entire body trembling with pleasure.

“Mmf... H-Helel...” You moaned his name in his mouth while his tongue explored your mouth, tasting every corner of it. Feeling your inner muscles clench around his cock, Helel pressed down even further, filling you with his length to the hilt. A low groan escaped his lips as he broke the kiss, his eyes locked onto yours, boring into your very soul. “That's it...” he panted, and his hands roamed over your body, tracing patterns of desire and love across your skin. He began to move within you with a slow, rhythmic intensity, each thrust pushing you closer to the edge of ecstasy. “Let me hear your screams of pleasure as we drown in the inferno that binds us together.” He whispered huskily. You clung to him as the pleasure rose within you, your cries growing louder and louder until you screamed out in pleasure. Oh, your cries are only making him turned even more passionate. Helel let out a deep, throaty moan of pleasure as he felt your inner muscles clench around him. He increased his pace and thrust harder against you, pushing you closer to the edge of ecstasy. “That's it, my Eveningstar,” he growled lowly, “Take me all in... Mmmf– surrender yourself to me.” His hands roamed hungrily over your body as he moved within you with an almost primal intensity. With each thrust came another wave of pleasure that threatened to sweep away any sense of rationality that remained between both of you. “Hah...” He moaned aloud as he felt himself becoming lost in the fire between you two.

You bit your lip and gripped the back of his neck tightly as your nails dug into his flesh and started bleeding. Helel groaned in both pleasure and pain as your nails dug into the back of his neck, fueling the fire that burned within him. His thrusts became more urgent and desperate, matching the intensity of your grip. He gasped and grinned, “You are... enjoying this... aren't you?” His hips moved with a primal rhythm, meeting yours with an unyielding force. The sound of flesh slapping against flesh filled the room, mingling with the symphony of your moans and breathless cries. “Mmn... I'm almost there..” As you continued to tighten around him, Helel could feel his release building within him, becoming an unstoppable force ready to consume them both. With one final deep thrust, he let out a guttural groan and released himself inside you, filling you with his semen. He collapsed beside you on the bed, his chest rising and falling heavily as he regained his breath. A satisfied smile played on his lips as he turned towards you, brushing a strand of hair away from your face. “You feel so good...” he whispered, “My beautiful, Eveningstar.”

Both of you panted heavily as Helel kissed you tenderly, wrapping his arms around you as he pulled you close. You both lay there in silence, savouring the moment and the connection you had just shared. You looked at him and smirked, “Tired already?” you asked. Helel's eyes gleamed with a mischievous glint, his breathing steady. “Tired? Far from it, my love,” he purred, his voice laced with desire. “I am merely catching my breath before I continue to ravish you again.” With a swift and fluid motion, he rolled over, pinning you beneath him once again. His hands traced a path of fire along your body as his lips claimed yours in a hungry kiss. “Prepare yourself, Eveningstar,” he whispered against your lips.

“For I am not done with you yet.” 

[llondonfog]

fratricida

much love and gratitude to @cheshanoneko-draws for allowing me to bastardize interpretation of their wonderful post <3

Lilia fought.

He expected nothing less from the venerable fae, and he would have even felt an awe befitting of his young years once upon a time for the chance to test the limitless hunger of his magic against the General in his prime. He might have even lost— the weight of tactical experience versus raw power and all that.

But this was no simple training duel, and Malleus was no longer bound by the glass chains of cultivated restraint and noble intentions. Lilia— the fae whom he had once dared to conspire deep within the lonely chambers of his heart as one he might call father— had lied to him. Had betrayed him.

He had betrayed them all.

And with that squalling, raging hellfire of an inferno inside of his ruined heart burnt to the blackest of cinder dust, neither Lilia-the-General nor Lilia-the-Laughing-Lying-Pleading-Father ever stood a chance against the might of his overblot-fueled control.

It wasn’t revenge that he was after, no. It was complete and utter devastation. There was only one way to right this tragic wrong, and that was to destroy every trace of the source from the start. And so, blind and deaf to the fae’s horrified and broken pleas as Lilia, clever Lilia, became all too quickly keen on just what Malleus was searching for as he tore apart the memories in his mind with a savage desperation, scattering snatches of laughter and dappled sunshine and the warmth of tiny hands to the ether— he found them. 

For a moment, he nearly hesitated. For a moment, he could nearly see a faint outline of the boy, curled up in his palms in a slumber so familiar that it nearly beckoned Malleus to wake him. An outline of a boy adored by the sun and cherished by the moon, a beloved child of both day and night, blessed beyond his means and measure.

A sin, one that should have never existed.

Here in the middle of a maelstrom brought to bear by the consequences of all those who had ever come before him, he tasted it at last— a madness, of the same kind that consumed the brilliant, dark star of his mother. In his ears, he can hear her voice, high and cold and cruel in her breathless satisfaction to see the curse she had brought forth into this world enact the vengeance she had been robbed of without dignity.

“My son will become king of this land, and his light will shine down upon our peoples as our North star… As for the humans, they shall fear him, they shall fear his light as the harbinger of their doom.”

And with one simple crush of Malleus’ snarled claws, as the warping memories writhed and shrieked and spilled as viscous as lamb’s blood betwixt his fingers, Lilia Vanrouge forgot that he ever had another son.

[richincolor]

New Releases - Week of October 15, 2024

Like last week, there are quite a few new books for us to peruse for release day. What catches your attention? 

Under the Heron’s Light by Randi Pink Feiwel & Friends

Inspired by stories about the real-world Great Dismal Swamp, this dual POV Young Adult fantasy by Randi Pink explores alternate history, a family’s supernatural connections to the swamp, and the strength that comes in knowing your roots.

“Four-thousand-six-hundred-forty-two steps in,” Grannylou interrupted. “You remember that now, Baby. Four-thousand-six-hundred-forty-two steps to paradise.”On a damp night in 1722, Babylou Mac and her three siblings witness the murder of their mother at the hands of the preacher’s son—so Babylou kills him in retaliation. With plantation dogs now on their heels, the four siblings breach the treacherous confines of the Great Dismal Swamp. Deeper and deeper into Dismal they delve, amid the biting moccasins and pitch-black waters, eventually creating a refuge within the swamp’s natural—and supernatural—protection.Centuries later, college student Atlas comes home for the annual Bornday cookout and hog a celebration of the fact that she and her three cousins were all born on the same day almost nineteen years ago and share a birthday with their Grannylou. But this Bornday, Grannylou’s usual riddles and folktales about a marvelous paradise deep in the Great Dismal Swamp start to take on a tangible quality. Change coming. When Dismal calls, sucking Grannylou in, it’s up to Atlas and her cousins to uncover the history that the black waters hold. Centuries of family tension, with roots all over Virginia and North Carolina, are about to be dug up. Because Babylou and Grannylou are one and the same, and the power she helped cultivate—steeped in Black resistance, familial love, and the otherworldly mysteries of the Great Dismal Swamp—is bubbling back up. But so is a bitterness that runs deep as the swamp’s waters. And some are ready to take what they feel they’re owed.

Inferno’s Heir by Tiffany Wang Bindery Books

Fearing for her life, an outcast princess joins the rebellion against her own kingdom and family. . . but when playing with fire, someone always gets burned.

Teia Carthan abandoned her morals long ago, and now there’s nothing she won’t do to stay alive. So far she has survived her parents’ deaths, the ire of the Council, and innumerable attempts on her life, orchestrated by Jura, her half brother and soon-to-be king of Erisia. Teia’s rare control over two elements marks her as both an outsider and a formidable opponent—but once Jura is crowned king, there will be no way to survive him. Not for Teia, not for anyone.

When Jura moves to crush the rebellion that seeks to overthrow the monarchy, Teia sees one last opportunity to ensure her own safety. She can infiltrate the rebels, locate their base . . . and betray them to Jura, trading their lives for her own.

Yet when Teia meets the rebels, she gets far more than she bargained for. And when she gains not only their trust but their friendship, she begins to have doubts. Perhaps the rebels are right. Perhaps the Golden Palace should be torn down and the monarchy destroyed.

But then again—what if there is another possibility? What if Teia were on the throne instead?

Rest in Peaches by Alex Brown Page Street YA

Quinn Marcelo wouldn’t necessarily win the award for Most Popular Person at her school, but unbeknownst to her peers, Quinn entertains them at every football, basketball, and baseball game―as Peaches the Parrot, her high school’s God-like mascot.

When someone sabotages the legendary Peaches costume at the Homecoming Game, Quinn’s left unmasked and humiliated. After all, Peaches’ identity was a closely guarded secret and a point of pride for nearly everyone at Olivia Newton-John High. As if that wasn’t enough, Little Peaches, a new, real parrot that the PTA got to enhance the Peaches Experience, is kidnapped right after Quinn’s unmasking.

Determined to uncover the culprit, Quinn publicly unravels the lives of everyone in her path―including Tessa Banks, the most popular girl in school―in a no-holds-barred conspiracy-fueled investigation. But when a killer starts going after the people implicated in Quinn’s mascot disaster, she must race to uncover the truth behind her feathery faux-pas―before the truth kills her, too.

Tangleroot by Kalela Williams Feiwel & Friends

Noni Reid has grown up in the shadow of her mother, Dr. Radiance Castine, renowned scholar of Black literature, who is alarmingly perfect at just about everything.

When Dr. Castine takes a job as the president of the prestigious Stonepost College in rural Virginia, Noni is forced to leave her New England home and, most importantly, a prime internship and her friends. She and her mother move into the “big house” on Tangleroot Plantation.

Tangleroot was built by one of Noni’s ancestors, an enslaved man named Cuffee Fortune―who Dr. Castine believes was also the original founder of Stonepost College, and that the school was originally formed for Black students. Dr. Castine spends much of her time trying to piece together enough undeniable truth in order to change the name of the school in Cuffee’s honor―and to force the university to reckon with its own racist past.

Meanwhile, Noni hates everything about her new home, but finds herself morbidly fascinated by the white, slaveholding family who once lived in it. Slowly, she begins to unpeel the layers of sinister history that envelop her Virginia town, her mother’s workplace, her ancestry―and her life story as she knew it. Through it all, she must navigate the ancient prejudices of the citizens in her small town, and ultimately, she finds herself both affirming her mother’s position and her own―but also discovering a secret that changes everything.

Legend of the White Snake by Sher Lee Quill Tree

A snake spirit transforms into a boy and must hide his true identity after falling for a headstrong prince in this lush, romantic retelling of the traditional Chinese folktale.

When Prince Xian was a boy, a white snake bit his mother and condemned her to a slow, painful death. The only known cure is an elusive spirit pearl—or an antidote created from the rare white snake itself. Desperate and determined, Xian travels to the city of Changle, where an oracle predicted he would find and capture a white snake.

Seven years ago, Zhen, a white snake in the West Lake, consumed a coveted spirit pearl, which gave him special powers—including the ability to change into human form.

In Changle, Xian encounters an enigmatic but beautiful stable boy named Zhen. The two are immediately drawn to each other, but Zhen soon realizes that he is the white snake Xian is hunting. As their feelings grow deeper, will the truth about Zhen’s identity tear them apart?

Halfway There: A Graphic Memoir of Self-Discovery by Christine Mari Inzer Little, Brown Ink

A poignant graphic memoir from rising star Christine Mari, following her college year abroad in Japan, as she struggles to reconcile both sides of her mixed-race identity. Christine has always felt she is just Half American, half Japanese. As a biracial Japanese American who was born in Tokyo but raised in the US, she knows all too well what it’s like to be a part of two different worlds but never feeling as though you belong to either. Now on the brink of adulthood, Christine decides it’s time to return to the place she once called home. So she sets forth on a year abroad in Tokyo, believing that this is where she truly belongs. After years of feeling like an outsider, now she will finally be complete. Except…Tokyo isn’t the answer she thought it would be. Instead of fitting in, Christine finds herself a fish out of water, as being half of two cultures isolates her in ways she’d never imagined. All she can do is try to stay afloat for the rest of the year—still figuring out who she is, what she wants in life, and whether she’ll ever truly be more than halfway there. Author-illustrator Christine Mari explores what it means to lose and find yourself in this moving narrative of belonging and home.

I Was Told There Would Be Romance by Marie Arnold Little, Brown Books for Young Readers

Fifteen-year-old Fancy Augustine is a Haitian American girl with simple desires. She’d like to trade in her floppy, oversize boobs for cute, perky ones. She’d love a boyfriend. And she’s desperate for an invite to the biggest event of the school Imani Park’s birthday party. When Fancy learns her BFF, Tilly, has received a coveted invite and has a secret boyfriend, she is (understandably) devastated and wholeheartedly determined to do whatever it takes to get her own happily ever after.

So what if she makes a deal with the devil (Imani) that guarantees her an invite—but only if she can bring a boyfriend? And what’s so bad about letting her crush, Rahim, believe that she can create a voodoo potion for him in exchange for him posing as her boyfriend? And, yeah, maybe she’s destroying her friendship with Tilly and falling hopelessly behind in her schoolwork, but Fancy knows it’ll all be worth it in the end. Plus, it’s not like Fancy’s parents would really make good on their threats of sending her back to Haiti…right?

[withallthatisleftofmyheart]

It is not Wednesday but here is a WIP

So far it is smut-free and SFW. It's a fix-it in which Adar is taken to Rivendell, faces the consequences of his actions, is thanked for giving everyone 1000 years without Sauron, and becomes a massive simp for Elrond.

In the depths of a slumber that gave him no rest, Adar dreamt of flames and darkness. Visions of his children, bloodied and burning, flooded his mind. His arms recalled the warmth and weight of each and every babe that he had cradled in his arms, and his lips, the sensation of pressing to their cool foreheads as he bid them farewell. He saw the face of Mairon, beautiful and treacherous. Adar felt the wine he had given him as it slithered down his throat. How sweet it had tasted, how foul it truly was. Like soft kisses upon his neck that were needles in his skin. Morgoth’s crown was in his hands, plunging into The Deceiver's back. His children were stabbing Sauron. His children were stabbing him. His children were stabbing each other. The smell of his flesh as it burned in an inferno of torture. The smell of burning flesh as the Men were branded. The smell of volcanic ash and decimation. Death, blood, flames and darkness. And then he awoke. 

The first thing he noticed was the soothing sound of running water, then songbirds and then he felt the pain. His body was agony all over, which was not unusual but this time it was different. He urged his eyes to flutter open and felt the stickiness of tears that had been repeatedly shed and dried. The light was blinding at first, it had been a long time since he had witnessed so blue a sky. With a grunt, he pushed himself up to sit and saw that he was lying in a lush meadow, beside a river whose waters were crystal clear. He was all alone and could not recall how he came to be here. The last thing he remembered was…he did not want to think about it just yet. Instead, he chose to inspect the wounds that seemed to cover his entire body. As he moved his fingers to search for tender spots, he discovered that he was not wearing his armour. In its place he found a linen gown of brightest white. Someone must have changed him, but who? Through the fabric he felt out the shapes of countless stab wounds. Many of them were already healed, but still they ached. By the time he had finished his task he was exhausted again. So he lay back into the soft grass and drifted off once more.

This time his sleep was restful and his dreams, while bittersweet, were not so horrifying. He saw an elven commander in shining armour, charging toward him on a white horse. Then, the same beautiful elf was sitting at the opposite end of a long table. These were memories, they had actually happened. In the dream however, the elven commander walked the length of the table and kissed Adar so softly that it made him weep. Then they were on a battlefield discussing the works of Rúmil while elves and uruks fought and died around them. Next, Adar was lying on his back with Sauron’s wicked face looming over him. He cried out in fear and the Dark Lord’s form shifted into that of the elf. He was singing a lullaby from the First Age. “Elrond?” Adar spoke from inside the dream. “Adar,” the elf replied, “Adar, wake up. You must drink.”

“Elrond,” he croaked as his eyes opened once more. It was not Elrond who knelt beside him in the sunny meadow but High King Gil-galad, offering him a waterskin. The King’s face was stern, yet a hint of concern was visible in his eyes. “High King,” Adar acknowledged. “Drink,” the King replied. Once again Adar pushed himself up to sit. The pain had returned to its usual level, which was excruciating but at least familiar. He took the waterskin from the King and drank greedily. His thirst was so great that he finished the whole thing before wondering if it was poisoned. He did not have the strength for suspicion, so instead he chose to be grateful. “Thank you,” he said, gasping for air. The King’s only response was a “Hmm.” Adar asked, “Where are we?” The King stood up and offered out his hand. Adar hesitated but then took it and heaved himself to standing.

The world spun and it felt as though his legs had been knocked out from beneath him. He collapsed into the King’s broad shoulders and closed his eyes, waiting for the feeling to pass. Adar could hear the lullaby from his dream again. He realised that it was the King who was singing it. Gradually the ground became solid once more. “You have a beautiful voice,” he noted as he tested out standing on his own. His knees wobbled but the King held out an arm and he took it. Ignoring his compliment, the King said, “Many are displeased by your being here. Do not make me regret letting Elrond convince me to bring you,” before leading him out across the meadow.

[novaursa]

The Price of Fire (Final Chapter)

- Summary: It was by grace of the gods that firstborn child of Viserys I and Aemma was born a boy and he lived. And all of the rest, scholars will later say, is by power of something more malevolent in kind.

- Pairing: male!reader/Rhaenyra Targaryen

- Rating: Mature 16+

- Previous part: 17

- Tag(s): @sachaa-ff @alyssa-dayne @oxymakestheworldgoround @mrsjohnnysuh @your-favorite-god

King’s Landing looms ahead, the sprawling city spread out beneath you like a sprawling beast, its narrow, twisting streets a maze of stone and shadow. Silverwing soars above it all, her powerful wings beating against the wind, her silver scales gleaming in the midday sun. The Sept below, a vast and imposing structure of pale stone and stained glass, stands as a symbol of the Faith’s influence—a symbol that is about to be obliterated.

You guide Silverwing down, your heart a steady, unyielding beat in your chest. The wind whips past you, carrying the distant sounds of the city—cries of alarm, the tolling of bells, the shouts of people fleeing as your shadow falls over them. You can feel Silverwing’s anticipation, the simmering rage that mirrors your own as she descends, her massive form casting a dark shadow over the grand edifice.

“Dracarys,” you whisper, the word a deadly promise, a sentence of destruction.

Silverwing’s roar splits the air, a sound of pure, unbridled fury. Her jaws open wide, and a torrent of flame erupts, a searing wave of heat and fire that engulfs the Sept. The stained glass windows shatter in an explosion of color and sound, shards raining down as the stone walls crack and blacken under the onslaught. The air is filled with the acrid stench of burning wood and melting metal, the screams of those inside drowned out by the roar of the flames.

You guide Silverwing lower, her claws tearing into the roof as she lands, the stone buckling and crumbling beneath her weight. The flames surge around you, the heat searing, the smoke rising in thick, choking plumes. Below, the once grand interior of the Sept is a blazing inferno, the pews and altars consumed by the relentless fire, the sacred tapestries reduced to ash.

Silverwing roars again, a fierce, triumphant sound, and you raise your sword, the blade gleaming in the light of the fire, a symbol of your wrath, your vengeance. “This is what you deserve!” you shout, your voice carrying over the roar of the flames, the destruction. “This is the price of betrayal!”

The city watches in stunned silence, the flames casting eerie, dancing shadows over the rooftops and walls. The Sept, once a place of worship and power, is now a blazing ruin, the Faith’s hold over the city crumbling to ash.

You pull Silverwing up, her wings beating against the smoke-filled air as she rises above the burning structure. Below, the flames continue to rage, the fire spreading, the screams of those trapped inside a haunting counterpoint to the crackling of the inferno.

Your gaze sweeps over the city, taking in the chaos, the panic. This is your city now. The city that once a cheered for you now screams. And you will drive every last remnant of the Faith from it, root and stem, until not even a whisper of their influence remains. And they will scream more.

With a final, defiant roar, Silverwing turns, her powerful wings carrying you away from the smoldering ruins, back toward the Red Keep, where the rest of this grim play is set to unfold.

Within the high, forbidding walls of the Red Keep, the atmosphere is charged, every face pale, every movement edged with fear. Rhaenyra strides through the corridors, her presence a storm of barely contained fury. Daemon walks beside her, his expression that of cold determination, Dark Sister at his hip, ready for whatever comes.

They reach the throne room, the doors swinging open with a heavy, echoing thud. Inside, Aegon sits slumped on the Iron Throne, his crown askew, his face drawn and haggard. Alicent stands before him, her hands clenched in front of her, her eyes wide with a mixture of fear and defiance. Beside her, Helaena clutches her children close, her face pale and tear-streaked.

Rhaenyra’s gaze sweeps over them, her eyes hard, unyielding. She steps forward, her voice ringing out clear and cold. “It’s over, Aegon. The city is ours.”

Aegon lets out a bitter, broken laugh, his head dropping back against the cold metal of the throne. “Is it?” he mutters, his voice filled with a hollow mockery. “You have the city, but at what cost?”

Rhaenyra ignores him, her attention shifting to Alicent, who takes a shaky step forward, her face taut with desperation. “Please, Rhaenyra,” she begins, her voice trembling, her eyes pleading. “For the sake of my children, for my grandchildren—”

“It’s not up to me,” Rhaenyra cuts her off, her voice sharp, final. “I am not the one who will decide their fate.”

Alicent blinks, confusion and fear flickering across her face. “What do you mean?”

Rhaenyra’s gaze is steady, unyielding. “It is for my brother-husband to decide. He will decide their fate as he decides the fate of those who betrayed him, who crowned you king in his place.”

Alicent’s face drains of color, her hands trembling. “Please,” she whispers, her voice breaking. “You must stop him. He’ll destroy us all.”

Rhaenyra’s expression doesn’t change, her eyes hard and cold. “He’s finishing what he started. He’s driving the Faith from this city, from his throne. And when he’s done, he’ll come here. And then we’ll see what justice is to be done.”

Daemon steps forward, his gaze locked on Aegon, his voice low, edged with menace. “You thought you could steal the throne, and there would be no price?”

Aegon’s eyes meet his uncle’s, a flicker of defiance in their depths, but it’s weak, hollow. “What would you have me do?” he mutters, his voice barely more than a whisper. “Kneel?”

Daemon’s smile is a thin, dangerous thing. “It’s too late for that, boy.”

The room is silent, the weight of the moment pressing down on them all. Alicent’s eyes fill with tears, her hands clutching at her skirts as she looks from Rhaenyra to Daemon, her voice trembling. “Please… please, I’m begging you…”

Rhaenyra turns away, her expression closed, unreadable. “It’s out of my hands.”

And as the tension thickens, as the silence stretches, you can feel it—the storm building, the moment before the strike, before everything changes forever.

And soon, very soon, the fate of King’s Landing will be sealed in blood and fire.

The heavy, iron-studded doors to the throne room creak open, the sound echoing through the vast, silent space. You stride in, your armor stained with soot and ash, the scent of smoke clinging to you like a second skin. The flames from the Sept still linger in your eyes, a searing, fierce light that draws the gaze of everyone in the room.

Rhaenyra and Daemon stand at the base of the Iron Throne, their faces a mixture of relief and resolve as they watch your approach. Behind them, Alicent and her children are gathered, their expressions ranging from fear to defiance. Aegon sits slouched on the Iron Throne, his face pale, his eyes hollow, his fingers drumming nervously against the armrests.

In your hands, held with reverence despite the blood and grime that stain your gloves, is the crown of Visenya Targaryen, its silver and black jewels gleaming dully in the low light of the throne room. You come to a stop before Rhaenyra, your heart steady, your gaze locked on hers.

“Rhaenyra,” you say, your voice carrying through the stillness. “I found this in the ruins of the Sept.”

Her eyes widen, the breath catching in her throat as she stares at the crown, a mix of sorrow and pride flickering across her face. You step closer, your hands trembling slightly as you raise the crown, placing it gently upon her head. The cold metal settles against her brow, the weight of it a testament to her birthright, to her strength.

“For you, my Queen,” you murmur, your voice filled with a fierce, unyielding love. “For Visenya.”

Rhaenyra’s eyes shine with unshed tears, her hand lifting to touch the crown lightly, her gaze never leaving yours. “Thank you,” she whispers, her voice trembling. “For everything.”

You nod, your heart swelling with a fierce, protective pride, and then your gaze shifts, your eyes hardening as they fall on Aegon, still slumped on the Iron Throne. He looks up at you, his face tightening with fear, his body shrinking back as if trying to meld with the twisted metal of the seat.

You take a step forward, your gaze locked on Aegon, the silence in the room crackling with tension. Aegon’s eyes dart around wildly, his fingers gripping the armrests of the throne so tightly his knuckles turn white.

“Brother,” he begins, his voice wavering, but whatever words he’s trying to find seem to choke in his throat.

You ignore him, your steps slow, deliberate, your gaze never wavering. You can feel the eyes of everyone in the room on you, the air thick with fear and anticipation.

Alicent moves suddenly, her face stricken, tears brimming in her eyes as she steps into your path, her hands outstretched, a desperate, pleading gesture. “Please,” she begs, her voice cracking with desperation. “Don’t do this. I know… I know there’s still a part of you left from when we were young. I know you remember.”

You pause, your eyes meeting hers. There’s a flicker of something—an old memory, a distant echo of a time when things were simpler, when you were different people. But it’s buried beneath the weight of all that has happened, beneath the anger and the loss that have shaped you into the man you are now.

Your gaze shifts past her, to where Helaena stands, clutching her children close, her face pale and tear-streaked. The sight of them tugs at something deep inside you, but it’s not enough to sway you, not enough to pull you back from the path you’ve chosen.

“Step aside, Alicent,” you say quietly, your voice steady, though there’s a dark edge to it, a finality that sends a shudder through her. “This is not your choice.”

Alicent’s face crumples, her hands trembling as she reaches out, her fingers brushing against your arm, her voice breaking. “Please… they’re just children. He’s your brother.”

You pull away, your eyes hardening as you push past her, your steps sure, your gaze fixed on Aegon. The athmosphere in the room is suffocating, every breath a struggle as you ascend the steps toward the Iron Throne, your heart pounding with a fierce, unyielding resolve.

Aegon stares at you, his expression set in fear and confusion, his mouth working soundlessly as he tries to find words, to find some defense against the storm bearing down on him.

“Please, brother,” he finally whispers, his voice breaking, his body hunched as if to shield himself from your wrath. “I didn’t want this. I never wanted any of this.”

You stop before him, your eyes cold, unyielding. “And yet you took it,” you say softly, the words heavy with all the bitterness, all the betrayal that has brought you to this moment. “You took what wasn’t yours.”

Aegon’s face crumples, his body trembling as he shrinks back, his eyes wide with terror. “I was pushed… they made me—”

“No more excuses,” you cut him off, your voice a sharp, unforgiving blade. “You took the crown, you took my throne, and now you will face the consequences.”

The room is silent, the air thick with the weight of what’s to come. You can feel the eyes of everyone on you, can feel the fear and hope and anger swirling around you like a living thing.

And then, with a slow, deliberate motion, you reach out, your hand closing around the armrest of the Iron Throne, your gaze never leaving Aegon’s.

“It ends here,” you say, your voice steady, implacable. “The time of the usurper is over.”

The silence that follows in the throne room is suffocating, each breath held in a suspended, uneasy stillness. Aegon sits rigid on the Iron Throne, his knuckles white as he grips the armrests, his eyes darting around the room, fear and confusion written across his pale face. Alicent remains frozen, her expression stricken, Helaena clutching her children, their soft sobs echoing in the stillness.

You turn away from Aegon, your voice carrying a calm, implacable authority as you speak to the guards positioned around the chamber. “Take them to their chambers,” you order, your tone brooking no dissent. “They are to remain there, under watch, until I decide their fate.”

Aegon’s breath leaves him in a shuddering exhale, his shoulders sagging as if the weight of the world has suddenly fallen upon them. He looks up at you, his expression a twisted mix of relief and resignation. “Thank you…” he murmurs, his voice trembling, but you ignore him, your gaze already moving to the next battle ahead.

Daemon steps forward, his presence a looming shadow of grim determination. “Aemond is still at Harrenhal,” he says, his voice carrying the barest hint of a challenge, his eyes fixed on yours.

You nod, your mind already racing ahead, the thought of your younger brother a burning coal in your chest. “I’ll deal with him,” you say, your voice steady, your resolve unyielding.

Daemon’s eyes narrow, the muscles in his jaw tensing. “You almost died last time,” he reminds you, his voice hard, his concern thinly veiled behind a mask of irritation. “You know what Vhagar is capable of. Let me go. I’ll handle Aemond.”

“No,” you say firmly, your gaze meeting his, a silent, fierce determination in your eyes. “I need you here, Daemon. To hold the city, to keep order. If anything happens to me…” You let the words hang, the unspoken possibilities stretching between you.

Daemon’s expression darkens, his eyes searching yours, his mouth tightening with frustration. “You’re risking everything,” he says quietly, the words almost lost in the cavernous silence of the room. “There’s no telling what that mad dog will do. You need to think this through.”

“I have thought it through,” you reply, your voice a low, controlled burn. “Aemond won’t stop. He’ll keep coming, keep fighting, until one of us is dead. This has to end. And it has to end now.”

The room seems to close in around you, the weight of your decision pressing down, the air thick with tension. You can see the worry in Daemon’s eyes, the anger, the fear he’s trying so hard to hide. But you also know he understands—better than anyone—the cost of inaction, the price of hesitation.

He exhales sharply, his gaze flicking away, his jaw clenching. “And if you die?”

“Then you’ll do what you have to,” you say, your voice softening, the edge of command giving way to something deeper, something raw. “You’ll protect Rhaenyra, the children, the throne. You’ll finish what we started.”

Daemon’s eyes snap back to yours, his expression fierce, almost defiant. “You’re not dying,” he says, the words a low, harsh growl. “Not like this. Not to him.”

You reach out, gripping his shoulder, the contact solid, grounding. “I’ll be careful,” you promise, a ghost of a smile touching your lips. “But this ends now.”

He looks at you for a long moment, the storm of emotions swirling behind his eyes, and then, with a reluctant nod, he steps back, his hand falling away from the hilt of his sword.

“Fine,” he mutters, his voice thick with reluctant acceptance. “But if you come back with so much as a scratch, I’ll kill you myself.”

You chuckle softly, the sound incongruous in the tense, heavy air of the throne room. “I’ll hold you to that.”

With a final glance around the chamber, your gaze lingering on Rhaenyra, who stands watching, her eyes dark with worry and understanding, you turn and stride from the room, your steps echoing through the silence, the weight of what you must do settling on your shoulders like a shroud.

This is it. The final move in a game that has cost so much, that has left so many scars. You know what you must do, what must be done to end this. To bring peace, or at least, something resembling it, to the realm.

And as you step into the cool, shadowed corridors of the Red Keep, the roar of dragons echoing faintly in the distance, you let yourself feel, just for a moment, the fear, the uncertainty. And then you push it aside, your heart steady, your mind clear.

This will end. One way or another, it will end. 

The sky above the God’s Eye is a vast expanse of dark clouds, roiling and churning like the surface of the lake below. The air is filled with the promise of rain, the scent of the storm mingling with the tang of smoke and ash still clinging to your armor. Silverwing’s powerful wings beat rhythmically beneath you, carrying you higher, closer to the heart of the approaching tempest. You know what awaits you in the storm—Aemond, Vhagar, and the final reckoning that has been a long time coming.

You spot them in the distance, a dark silhouette against the storm clouds, Vhagar’s enormous form dwarfing even the vastness of the sky. She is a beast of legend, her wings stretching wide, her body coiled with lethal strength, and Aemond, perched atop her back, is a small, dark figure, his gaze already fixed on you, even from this distance. The sight sends a surge of anger through you, but you force yourself to remain calm, focused. This is what you came for. This is how it must end.

Silverwing roars, her voice a defiant challenge that echoes across the skies, carrying through the thick, stormy air. She pulls back her wings, gaining altitude as you approach, your gaze locked on the monstrous form of Vhagar, her ancient eyes gleaming with a dark, terrible intelligence. Aemond’s face is set into grimace of rage and something else—anticipation, a fierce hunger for the battle he knows is inevitable.

You draw Blackfyre, the blade heavy and familiar in your hand, the dark steel gleaming in the flickering light of the approaching storm. The wind whips around you, tearing at your cloak, but you hold steady, your focus narrowing to the task ahead, to the fight that will determine everything.

“Come on, Aemond,” you mutter under your breath, your voice swallowed by the wind, the storm. “Let’s end this.”

Silverwing surges forward, her wings cutting through the air with a powerful beat, her body coiling and tensing, ready for the clash. Vhagar responds with a deafening roar, her jaws snapping open, flames licking the edges of her teeth as she dives toward you, her massive form a terrifying sight against the darkened sky.

“Dracarys!” Aemond’s voice carries across the distance, his command a whipcrack of fury, and Vhagar unleashes a torrent of flame, the searing heat turning the air around you into a furnace.

“Dive!” you shout, leaning forward, urging Silverwing into a sharp, gut-wrenching descent. She responds instantly, her body twisting and folding as she drops, the flames barely missing you, scorching the air above your head. The force of the dive tears at you, your vision narrowing as the ground rushes up to meet you, but you hold on, gritting your teeth against the pull of gravity, the force of the descent.

Silverwing levels out, her wings beating furiously as she skims the surface of the God’s Eye, the water churning beneath her, the spray dampening your face. You glance up, your gaze tracking Vhagar as she follows, her massive body plummeting toward you, a dark shadow against the storm.

You pull Silverwing up, her wings straining as she climbs, spiraling upward, the water spinning away beneath you. Vhagar follows, her roars shaking the air, her massive form closing in, her claws outstretched, her jaws snapping. You twist in the saddle, raising Blackfyre, the blade catching the dim light, a stark contrast against the darkness of the sky.

Aemond’s face is a mask of fury, his eye blazing with hatred as Vhagar closes the distance, her jaws snapping at Silverwing’s tail, her breath hot and foul. You can feel the heat of her flames, the searing intensity of her rage, but you don’t flinch, your focus locked on Aemond, on the end that is coming.

“Is this what you wanted, brother?” you shout, your voice raw, your words a challenge thrown into the wind, the storm. “Is this the price you’re willing to pay?”

Aemond’s laughter is a harsh, jagged sound, echoing through the storm. “You’ll die here, just like you should have above the Storm’s End,” he snarls, his voice filled with a cold, pitiless fury. “You’ll fall, and your family will burn.”

You grit your teeth, your anger surging, the fury of his words igniting something deep and primal within you. “Not today, Aemond,” you growl, your grip tightening on Blackfyre. “Not today.”

Silverwing roars, her voice a furious, defiant challenge, and she dives again, her body twisting, her wings folding as she drops beneath Vhagar, the wind whistling around you, the ground a blur beneath your feet. You shift in the saddle, raising Blackfyre, the blade gleaming darkly as you aim, your heart pounding, your mind clear.

“Dracarys!” you shout, your voice a command, a promise.

Silverwing’s jaws open, and a torrent of flame erupts, a searing, blinding wave of fire that engulfs Vhagar’s side, the heat of it turning the air to steam, the sound of it a deafening roar that drowns out everything. Vhagar roars, her body turning, her claws slashing through the air, but Silverwing is already moving, her wings beating powerfully as she pulls away, the flames still licking at Vhagar’s scales.

Aemond curses, his voice a harsh, guttural sound, and Vhagar lunges, her massive jaws snapping, her claws tearing at the air. Silverwing twists again, her body coiling, her wings beating furiously as she dodges, her movements fluid and graceful despite the size difference.

You see the opening, a fleeting moment where Vhagar’s massive body shifts, exposing Aemond, his face twisted with rage and frustration. You don’t hesitate, your hand steady as you raise Blackfyre, the blade poised, your heart a steady, unyielding beat.

“This is for my son you wanted to slay!” you roar, your voice carrying over the storm, over the chaos of the battle, and you hurl yourself from the saddle, the wind tearing at you, your body hurtling toward Aemond, Blackfyre gleaming in your hand.

Time seems to slow, the world narrowing to this single moment, this final, irrevocable act. You see the flash of shock in Aemond’s eye, the sudden, dawning realization as you close the distance, your blade aimed straight for his heart.

Blackfyre strikes true, the blade piercing Aemond’s armor, sinking deep into his chest. His eye widens, his mouth opening in a silent scream, his body jerking as the steel drives home. The impact knocks you both from the saddle, Vhagar’s roar of fury and pain a deafening, all-encompassing sound as you fall, the wind tearing at you, the world spinning in a dizzying blur.

You feel Aemond’s body convulse beneath you, his blood hot and slick on your hands, his eye staring up at you, wide and uncomprehending. There is no more hate, no more fury—only shock, only pain, only the cold inevitability of death.

The water of the God’s Eye rushes up to meet you, a dark, churning expanse, and you feel the impact, the icy cold engulfing you, pulling you down, down into the depths. You hold on to Blackfyre, the blade still buried in Aemond’s chest, the weight of him dragging you both down, the world fading to black around you.

And then, there is nothing but the cold, and the dark, and the silence of the deep.

An Excerpt from Fire and Blood by Archmaester Gyldayn

The Reign of Queen Rhaenyra Targaryen and the Aftermath of the Dance of the Dragons

With the death of Y/N Targaryen, eldest son of King Viserys I, in the skies above the God’s Eye, the Dance of the Dragons reached its final, bloody crescendo. His confrontation with his half-brother, Prince Aemond Targaryen, and the destruction that followed their deadly clash, marked the beginning of the end for the bitter war that had torn the realm asunder. Yet, the consequences of his life and actions would continue to ripple through Westeros for generations to come.

Rhaenyra’s Reign and Legacy

Following her husband’s death, Queen Rhaenyra Targaryen held the Iron Throne, her claim uncontested for a time, though her rule was fraught with tension and unrest. The death of King Y/N left her heartbroken and enraged, but she remained resolute in her determination to rule in his memory. Rhaenyra's reign, while short-lived, was marked by a period of brutal consolidation of power.

The destruction of Oldtown, the ancient seat of the Hightowers, and the burning of the Citadel sent shockwaves throughout the realm. The loss of so many maesters and the destruction of centuries of knowledge left a scar that would never truly heal. The Faith of the Seven, deeply weakened by the annihilation of their central seat of power, was forced into a position of subservience, the remnants of their once formidable influence shattered.

For years, Rhaenyra ruled with an iron fist, her sons—Jacaerys, Lucerys, Joffrey, Aegon, and Viserys—by her side. It was said that she kept Visenya’s crown close, a reminder of the sacrifices made and the blood spilled for her throne.

The Fate of Prince Daemon Targaryen

After the tragic death of King Y/N Targaryen above the God’s Eye, Prince Daemon Targaryen, his uncle and closest confidant, was left to navigate the aftermath of the war that had claimed so many lives. Known as the Rogue Prince, Daemon’s life was marked by bold decisions, fierce loyalty, and unyielding ambition. The loss of his nephew and the violent end to their shared struggle left an indelible mark on the man who had once been the scourge of the Stepstones and the terror of Oldtown.

Daemon's Role in the Aftermath

With Rhaenyra on the Iron Throne, Daemon took up the mantle of protector and enforcer of her reign. As the queen’s most trusted general, he was tasked with maintaining the tenuous peace that had settled over the realm. His presence in King’s Landing, commanding the loyalty of the City Watch and wielding the fearsome authority of his dragon, Caraxes, kept potential dissenters at bay. Despite his age, he remained a formidable figure, his sharp mind and ruthless disposition ensuring that no one dared openly challenge Rhaenyra’s rule.

Daemon's ruthlessness in quelling rebellion, particularly in the aftermath of the war, became a source of both fear and respect. He was instrumental in crushing the remnants of Green loyalists and those who still harbored sympathies for the late Aegon II. His actions were decisive and often brutal, his reputation for dealing harshly with any who threatened his family solidifying his position as Rhaenyra’s enforcer.

The Decline of Daemon Targaryen

As the years passed, the fire that had driven Daemon began to wane. The loss of his nephew and brother-in-arms, combined with the weight of his own advancing age, left him increasingly isolated. Those close to the prince spoke of his growing melancholy, a shadow of regret that seemed to haunt him. The Rogue Prince, once so full of life and passion, began to withdraw from the court and the world he had helped shape.

In his later years, Daemon spent more time at Dragonstone, where he had first made his mark as a young prince. He took solace in the company of his daughters, Baela and Rhaena, and in the memories of his lost loves and lost battles. The fiery spirit that had once driven him to lead men into battle, to carve out his own kingdom in the Stepstones, and to burn Oldtown to the ground in vengeance, seemed to flicker and fade.

The Final Flight of the Rogue Prince

It is said that in the end, Daemon’s last act was one of defiance, an echo of the man he had always been. Mounting Caraxes one final time, he took to the skies above Dragonstone, his dragon’s roars echoing over the island. Where he flew and why is the subject of much speculation among the chroniclers of the time. Some say he flew to the site of the God’s Eye, the place where his nephew had fallen, seeking some form of peace or perhaps simply to rage one last time against the cruel hand of fate.

Others whisper that he flew west, to the lands beyond the Sunset Sea, chasing some distant, unreachable dream. Whatever his final destination, Prince Daemon Targaryen was never seen again in Westeros. Caraxes, too, vanished from the skies, leaving only rumors and legends in his wake.

The Fate of Alicent Hightower and Her Children

After the fall of King’s Landing, Dowager Queen Alicent and her remaining children were confined to their quarters in the Red Keep under constant watch. It was here that the woman who had once been the power behind the throne slowly withered away. Alicent, stripped of her influence and wracked with grief over the loss of her son Aemond and the destruction of her ancestral home, spent her remaining days in isolation, her pleas for mercy unanswered by Rhaenyra.

Aegon II, who had briefly held the Iron Throne, was imprisoned and remained a shadow of his former self. The torments of his mind, compounded by the separation of his dragon Sunfyre and the crushing weight of defeat, left him broken. He spent his final years in a gilded cage, watched over by guards who once knelt before him as their king. His life ended quietly, his body found cold in his chambers, the crown of Aegon the Conqueror resting beside him—untouched and unworn.

Helaena Targaryen, gentle and soft-spoken, was spared much of the cruelty that befell her mother and brother. Allowed to live out her days in the Red Keep, she devoted herself to her children, her love for them a rare light in those dark days. She passed peacefully, though some whispered of a sorrow that had never left her eyes since the day the dragons came.

Daeron Targaryen, the youngest and only survivor of the old king’s sons, was missing for years after the fall of Oldtown and the death of his dragon Tessarion. It was rumored that he had fled to Essos, the scars of war etched deeply into his heart. He never returned to Westeros, and his fate remains one of the many mysteries left in the wake of the Dance.

The Legacy of King Y/N Targaryen

The war on the Faith waged by King Y/N forever altered the relationship between the Iron Throne and the Seven. The destruction of the Starry Sept and the Citadel not only broke the Hightower’s influence but also diminished the power of the Faith of the Seven to challenge the Crown. His brutal campaign, while criticized by many as an act of barbarism, effectively cowed those who might otherwise have stood against Targaryen rule in the name of the Seven.

The maesters of the Citadel, decimated and scattered, struggled for years to rebuild. The loss of so many records and the erasure of much of their accumulated knowledge left a void that could never truly be filled. The Citadel became more cautious, its influence waning as the memory of dragonfire over Oldtown haunted its halls.

The smallfolk, left in the ashes of their burned city, spoke of King Y/N with a mixture of fear and reverence. He was both the dragon who had laid their homes to waste and the warrior who had avenged his daughter, Visenya. His legacy, like his life, was marked by fire and blood, his name etched into the annals of history as one of the most ruthless yet undeniably effective Targaryen princes.

The Line of Succession

After Rhaenyra’s death, her eldest son, Jacaerys Targaryen, ascended the Iron Throne as King Jacaerys I Targaryen. His reign, though challenged by those loyal to the memory of Aegon II, was one of relative stability. He was known for his efforts to heal the scars left by the Dance and to restore the fractured realm his parents had fought so fiercely to claim.

King Lucerys, Jacaerys' younger brother, succeeded him, and his rule was marked by a more peaceful consolidation of the Targaryen legacy, though his life was overshadowed by the tragedies of his youth. The remaining brothers, Joffrey, Aegon, and Viserys, played significant roles in the court, their presence ensuring that the Targaryen line remained unbroken, their family ties unassailable.

Conclusion

The Dance of the Dragons left the realm scarred and divided, the shadow of the conflict lingering long after the final dragons had vanished from the skies. Yet, it also forged a new era, one in which the Targaryen dynasty emerged both weakened and strengthened, their hold on the throne unchallenged but their losses incalculable.

The legacy of King Y/N Targaryen, his war against the Faith, and the burning of Oldtown remain topics of fierce debate among the maesters and lords of Westeros. Was he a tyrant, a madman driven by grief, or the necessary fire that cleansed the rot from the realm? Perhaps he was all these things, and more.

But one truth remains unchallenged: the fire he unleashed, the blood he spilled, and the throne he fought to defend shaped the destiny of the Seven Kingdoms, and the echoes of his actions will reverberate through the histories of Westeros for generations to come.

[aftercamlann]

ACBB 2023 MASTERPOST

Thank you to all our wonderful writers, artists, beta readers and hype readers who participated in this years After Camlann Big Bang! We hope you will consider participating again this year!

Below is the final masterlist for After Camlann 2023:

*** Title: This Remarkable Season Author: s0mmerspr0ssen Artist: PapySanzo89 Pairings/Characters: Merlin/Arthur Pendragon, side: Leon/Morgana, Gwen/Lancelot, Gwaine/Percival, (temporary) Cenred/Merlin, surprise/minor pairings Rating: Explicit Word count: 79,313 Summary: Arthur Pendragon, Crown Prince of Camelot, must marry. King Uther expects him to choose a high-ranking noble, preferably a lady, from amongst the Camelot ton. But as fate would have it, the Prince finds himself drawn to Mr Merlin Emrys, an obscure gentleman from the countryside. Merlin, impoverished and desperate to save his family from complete ruin, must marry, too. Feelings are secondary, for the match must be an advantageous one. Soon, both Arthur and Merlin are caught between the pressure of expectations and what their hearts truly desire…

Story is here | Art is here | Reblog on Tumblr here *** Title: The Chough's Call Author: Aro_Tarot Artist: Winnett Pairings/Characters: Merlin/Arthur Pendragon, Mordred/Daegal Rating: Teen and Up Word count: 85,861 Summary: When Arthur went back to his hometown to find his missing sister, he wasn’t sure what he would find. He simply hoped that there would be some clue that would lead him to her. A clue, he did find, but instead of pointing him in a direction, it led to him being knocked out and waking up in a different world, one with magic.

Taken, rescued, and now staying in a refugee sanctuary, Arthur was now not just searching for his sister but also the figure known in history and legend as the Once and Future King. As he works as an assistant to a sorcerer named Merlin, befriends a group of knights, and is accompanied with his childhood figurine turned living chough, Arthur starts to question if he would want to go home after all of this is over. Of course, that is only if the others and him can survive the prophecy, the return of the ancient evil known as the Ivory, and if Emrys can fulfill his part by finding the Once and Future King.

Story is here | Art is here | Reblog on Tumblr here *** Title: I hear that deserts heal your history Author: Celaenos Artist: gramnel Pairings/Characters: Morgana & Arthur, Merlin/Morgana, Arthur/Merlin Rating: Mature Word count: 68,355 Summary: Morgana pushes herself up slowly, looking around. She is in the backseat of a car, in what looks like a vast and empty desert, pulled off against the side of a highway. No cars, no people anywhere that she can see. A blonde woman is sleeping in the front passenger seat. Morgana stares at her, confusion overwhelming, even as the dawning horror builds the longer that Morgana studies her features. The sharp edges are there: the tilt of her chin, the shape of her nose, the way that her mouth opens just slightly—it’s all there plain as day, and Morgana feels faint. Furious. Terrified. Why now, after all this time?

She crawls over, flinging open the backseat and vomits down into the dirt.

In the front seat of the Cadillac, the reincarnation of her brother wakes with a start.

Story is here | Art is here | Reblog on Tumblr here *** Title: Flicker Of A Candlelight, Heat Of An Inferno Author: lavender_spice Artist: MerlinLikeTheBird Pairings/Characters: Merlin/Arthur Pendragon, Gwen/Morgana Rating: Teen and Up Word count: 93,168 Summary: When Merlin gets injured on a hunting trip, Arthur is forced to face his true feelings for his stubbornly loyal manservant. Merlin is everything he should not want, and yet Arthur struggles to keep his feelings at bay.

On top of all this, after learning of his father's lies and hypocrisy, Arthur hatches a plan to put an end to his people's suffering once and for all, finding unlikely allies along the way.

Can the two boys intertwined by destiny navigate their relationship amongst betrayal, secrecy, and a near-impossible mission?

Story is here | Art is here | Reblog on Tumblr here *** Title: Charlatans and Ruffians Author: thenerdyindividual Artist: kairennart Pairings/Characters: Arthur/Gwaine/Merlin Rating: Mature Word count: 84,980 Summary: Merlin and Gwaine spend their days bopping around kingdoms, performing for the masses in exchange for petty coin. Sometimes they perform for room and board. When they perform at a tavern, the tavern owner gives Merlin a ring for payment, everything changes. Turns out the ring was haunted by the ghost of Queen Ygraine Pendragon. Now Ygraine is threatening to haunt Merlin for the rest of his life if he doesn't travel to Camelot to protect her son Arthur.

He goes to Camelot, and it turns out that Arthur is a huge pain in the ass. But he's also kind and does his best for his people, and that has Merlin and Gwaine falling for him.

If only Merlin didn't have to contend with a genocidal king and political plot involving the Kingdom of Magic.

Story is here | Art is here | Reblog on Tumblr here *** Title: till our souls catch us up Author: EachPeachPearPlum Artist: griffonskies Pairings/Characters: Merlin/Arthur Pendragon (Merlin), Arthur Pendragon (Merlin), Merlin (Merlin), Morgana (Merlin), Gwaine (Merlin), Lancelot (Merlin), Percival (Merlin), Leon (Merlin), Elyan (Merlin), Gwen (Merlin), Mordred (Merlin), Freya (Merlin), Uther Pendragon (Merlin), Morgause (Merlin), Nimueh (Merlin) Rating: Mature Word count: 47,641 Summary: "Everyone but Uther Pendragon will be allowed to live," the voice says, echoing through Arthur's bones, the raw power of it terrifying beyond anything he’s ever felt, and he knows that even if the owner of the voice can be trusted to spare his citizens, the offer of sanctuary does not extend to him.

Or: When Camelot falls to an army of sorcerers, Arthur expects to follow his father to the pyre. Instead, he’s surprised when the new king spares his life, although he’s not entirely sure death wouldn’t have been better than spending the rest of his days locked in his room, waiting for Emrys to get bored of having him around.

What follows is a tale of murder attempts, evil schemes, and a mysterious prophecy.

And destiny, of course.

Story is here | Art is here | Reblog on Tumblr here *** Title: In A Land Of Snarky Dragons Author & Artist: BGN846 (bgn_846) Pairings/Characters: Merlin & Arthur Rating: Teen and Up Word count: Word Count: 48,369 Summary: Merlin is living the best life, learning how to raise dragons from his dragonlord father, Balinor, on their farm. This teenager has not a care in the world (magic is legal) until the local druids pay a visit. Merlin is not happy to discover he has a destiny featuring another person he’s never met. Once and future king his arse, not on his farm. Ignoring the prophecy with the mystery no named future king, Merlin tries to pretend everything is fine.

However, one giant, scaled, slightly bored troublemaker named, Kilgharrah, decides that this prophecy of destiny and kings is the perfect adventure to get his blood pumping. So the great dragon does what he does best, and proceeds to stir the proverbial pot.

Cue, kidnappings, rescues, attempted coups, and a fair amount of dragons all to keep destiny on track.

Story and Art is here | Reblog on Tumblr here *** Title: it’s a fated thing Author: fabledfrog Artist: a_star_is_here Pairings/Characters: Merlin/Arthur Pendragon - Arthur Pendragon, Merlin, Gwen, Morgana Pendragon, the Knights of the Roundtable, OCs Rating: Teen and Up Word count: 34,848 Summary: Merlin has a good life. He sleeps in the royal bed, sits on the king's right, uses magic out in the open, free and never again hidden.

He likes the first bit, is tired of the second, and is still awed by the last.

When he first told Arthur, he hadn't expected them to work together to destroy the destinies that had been written since the dawn of time; he hadn't thought that they would be able to change their path so drastically that everything would be different.

He hadn't even realised it, when all had been said and done. He'd only learned the truth of what they had done when he had gone to the Crystal Caves and they had shown him what his life could have been.

He'd thought they were safe from it; the cruel fate that had awaited them was averted.

Only, not everyone was happy with that.

-

In which Merlin's magic is used to create problems for the future. Or the past. All time in general.

Story is here | Art is here | Reblog on Tumblr here *** Title: We Are Made for Flying Author: remaymber Artist: CaughtInTheRa1n Pairings/Characters: Merlin/Arthur, side: Morgana/Leon, Gwen/Lance, Percival/Gwaine, Freya, Hunith, Uther Rating: Mature Word count: 62,114 Summary: When Arthur sees Merlin for the first time at Camelot circus, he knows he is doomed. What makes his fate even worse is that Merlin seems dead set on hating him. But as destiny wants it, they find they need each other to solve the mystery that is Uther Pendragon to protect Camelot. As time passes and slowly the questions asked turn into answers with grave consequences, the final question remains: Do opposites attract, or will their differences be insurmountable after all?

Story is here | Art is here | Reblog on Tumblr here *** Title: Separate Ways (Worlds Apart) Author: salamandair Artist: Stelle Pairings/Characters: Merlin/Arthur Rating: Mature Word count: 30,490 Summary: Seven years ago, Merlin and Arthur were engaged to be married. They were happy, in love and had plans to create a better future

Seven years ago, Arthur’s world was turned upside down and the lovers broke off their engagement.

Seven years later, Arthur Pendragon is now Albion’s youngest Prime Minister in history and hates anything to do with magic.

Seven Years later, Merlin Wyvern is now the leader of a rights group fighting for equal rights for magic users.

Now, their separate worlds collide as a decades-long fight finally comes to a head to change Albion forever.

Story is here | Art is here | Reblog on Tumblr here *** Title: Nerdboy and the Incredible Prat Author: bad_peppermint Artist: paintedpigeon Pairings/Characters: Merlin/Arthur Pendragon Rating: Teen and Up Word count: 34,828 Summary: The guy Merlin keeps running into at Comic-Con, wearing matching cosplay, just might be his soulmate. Too bad he’s kind of an asshole.

Story is here | Art is here | Reblog on Tumblr here *** Title: The Reluctant Prince Author: Cookie Artist: Schweet_heart Pairings/Characters: Merlin/Arthur Rating: Mature Word count: 33,900 Summary: Arthur has never really wanted to be a prince, and the thought of being king in the future fills him with dread. But that is his destiny and not even falling in love with a stage magician called Merlin can change that.

Story is here | Art is here | Reblog on Tumblr here *** Title: Out of the Dark (Into the Light) Author: MyKingdomComeUndone Artist: Profiad Pairings/Characters: Merlin/Arthur, Morgana, Gaius, Gwen, Lancelot, Mordred, Will, Sophia, Edwin, Valiant, Anhora Rating: Explicit Word count: 40,894 Summary: Instead of participating in a deadly drinking game by the sea to save Camelot from unicorn-related famine, Arthur finds himself in a cave, along with a bunch of total strangers. The catch? The only thing each of them remembers is their own name. Before panic can truly set in, an old man with a staff appears out of thin air to tell them it’s all part of a test: only the first of them to reach the exit will be permitted to leave. The others won’t be so lucky…

The quest sounds straightforward enough, but on the way, Arthur and his fellow amnesiacs are faced with wicked traps, dangerous creatures, and some threats that may even come from within their group. And as if that’s not enough trouble to face without his memories to guide him, Arthur also has to deal with his increasingly distracting feelings for a certain dark-haired sorcerer among their group, going by the name of ‘Merlin’…

Story is here | Art is here | Reblog on Tumblr here *** Title: A Smooth Sea Never Made A Skilled Pirate Author: Pearl09 Pairings/Characters: Merlin/Arthur Pendragon, Merlin, Arthur, Leon, Gwaine, Lancelot, Uther Rating: Teen and Up Word count: 41,752 Summary: Arthur grew up in Camelot, next to the sea. However, he was never allowed out on the water. As the one thing out of his reach, it was the one place he yearned to be—even just to briefly experience the open ocean. When he finally decides to take his life in his own hands and hears rumors of a pirate ship nearby that might let him on board and out of the city, he has no idea what is really in store for him.

Story is here | Reblog on Tumblr here *** Title: Chase the Sun Author: MerlinLikeTheBird Artist: wortvermis Pairings/Characters: Merlin/Arthur, Morgana, Gwen, Gwaine, Leon, Freya Rating: Teen and Up Word count: 27,572 Summary: “We lived together before and we both survived, didn’t we?” Arthur doesn’t take the bait.

“Barely,” Merlin answers, picturing their uni days. The first taste of living with anyone other than his mother or sleepovers with Will. It all made for strange, dreamlike memories, for all that it has only been a few years past.

He feels like a very old twenty five most times. He shouldn’t be this age and so tired.

Story is here | Art is here | Reblog on Tumblr here *** Title: Take Me Up (cast me away) Author: sacredraisincakes Artist: Athena Pairings/Characters: Merlin/Arthur Rating: Explicit Word count: 58,975 Summary: In an effort to ease tensions between the kingdoms of Albion, Arthur plans a summit to bring together each of the monarchs to create a treaty between them. But schemes from within his own kingdom force him to change his plans ever so slightly.

"No one will believe us."

"They will... We'll start now, and over the next few weeks make it more and more obvious, until the moment we announce our engagement... Then once our visitors are gone, we simply end the betrothal. Everything goes back to the way it was."Edits for the main houses of sparringett's epic Merlin/GoT crossover fic (to be posted later, hopefully).

Story is here | Art is here | Reblog on Tumblr here *** Title: I Don't Know How to Start Author: thetreeofwillow Artist: Shadow_Hole Pairings/Characters: Merlin/Arthur. Other characters: Gwen, Gaius, Morgana Rating: Mature Word count: 38,605 Summary: When Merlin collapses in a long forgotten hallway, Arthur has to fight for his life.

With Camelot still sitting on the edge of destruction following the dragon’s attack, Arthur should be preoccupied with reconstruction and resource management. Instead, Merlin has taken ill, and for some reason, Arthur can’t keep his mind off him.

What is Arthur to do with his kingdom in tatters, his whole world view shifting and his closest relationships rocking closely held beliefs? How is he to handle this while being drawn ever closer to Merlin? Merlin, whose condition is worsening by the day.

Story is here | Art is here | Reblog on Tumblr here *** Title: Sacrificing All Within Me, To Save Us Author: LadyDanielle Pairings/Characters: Merlin/Arthur Pendragon Rating: Explicit Word count: 55,286 Summary: In his second year as King of Camelot, Arthur has legalized magic and prospered the kingdom with Merlin's guidance. But rumors spread that Arthur is just a puppet under Merlin's control. Arthur begins to doubt himself - maybe he’s depending too much on Merlin's ideas instead of his own judgment. How can he push past expectations to rule as he chooses, including taking Merlin as his consort openly if he can’t rely on his own decisions.

To prove himself, Arthur makes a risky choice that could be the fall of Camelot. He decides to find out the hard way.

Story is here | Reblog on Tumblr here *** Title: Fate has made you so Author: slantedknitting Artist: LFB72 Pairings/Characters: Arthur/Merlin, Arthur/Elena Rating: Explicit Word count: 29,351 Summary: It’s 1953, and Arthur is a young, up-and-coming architect working on rebuilding London. All he wants is to be successful and live his life in peace and quiet. All his boss wants is to find a good match for his daughter Elena, and he thinks he’s found that match in Arthur. Arthur agrees to go out with her to get ahead at the firm, but the person he’s really interested in is her friend Merlin, and it turns out Elena has her own purposes for being with Arthur.

Story is here | Art is here | Reblog on Tumblr here *** Title: Contact High Author: Leandra Artist: Papysanzo Pairings/Characters: Merlin/Arthur Rating: Explicit Word count: 84,292 Summary: After a toxic relationship, Arthur is afraid of getting hurt again, but then he meets Gwen, a scriptwriter he collaborates with in one of his film classes. To win her heart, he plans to cook her the best vegan food she has ever had. The idea would be brilliant, but Arthur is neither vegan, nor can he cook. In a desperate move, he enlists the help of Merlin, the obnoxious barista who works at his favourite coffee shop by day, and is a vegan food vlogger by night.

With his past as a young offender, and a history of addiction, Merlin can’t find a job as a chef, and his dream of opening his own restaurant someday seems unreachable. He pours all his passion into his food videos, but while his recipes and personality have what it takes, his video making skills are subpar at best.

Arthur and Merlin put their animosity aside and strike a deal: Merlin will cook for Gwen, and Arthur will claim he made the food, while in exchange, Arthur will help Merlin make better food videos. It seems the perfect way to meet everyone's needs …

Story is here | Art is here | Reblog on Tumblr here *** Title: Where Gods Go Artist: mirayladraws Pairings/Characters: Merlin/Arthur Rating: Mature Word count: N/A - Art Summary: When Arthur Pendragon gets read in on the Animus project, the last thing he expects is to fall in love and get pulled into a war between Assassins and Templars.

Art is here | Reblog on Tumblr here *** Title: Dave Author: Camelittle Artist: LFB72 Pairings/Characters: Merlin/Arthur, side Gwen/Lancelot, side Morgana/Gwaine/Leon, early Merlin/Will, Various UK Panel Show Hosts, OCs, Rating: Teen and Up Word count: 60,342 Summary: Merlin - lover of crunchy fried snacks and secret admirer of his straight flat mate, Arthur - never expected to have a career in comedy. But after trying stand-up on a successful open mic night at university, he finds himself hooked. He and Arthur run a successful late night talk radio for a show for a while, but Arthur’s father intervenes. After a misunderstanding forces them into conflict, Merlin vows never to see Arthur again, to protect his own soft, pathetic, pining heart. Which would be fine, if the UK comedy circuit weren’t so small. But for some reason, they keep bumping into one another - at comedy festivals, and on radio and TV panel shows - and despite everything, the chemistry that made their radio show so popular in the distant past grows stronger than ever.

Story is here | Art is here | Reblog on Tumblr here *** Title: Reluctantly in Love Author: chaosgenes Pairings/Characters: Merlin/Arthur Pendragon, minor Lancelot/Guinevere Rating: Explicit Word count: 29,923 Summary: Arthur has waited for Naming Day all his life, but could not be more disappointed when he finds out who the Soul Stone names for him. It isn’t the prisoner he meets in the dungeons, but his heart aches for him anyway.

Merlin has never thought about soulmates until they come knocking at his door in Ealdor. Convinced that there’s something wrong with the Soul Stone, he travels to magic-banned Camelot to end its influence. He never thought that he would be enraptured by the crown prince who comes to interrogate him.

Story and Art are here | Reblog on Tumblr here *** Title: Of Oaths Made and Broken Author: Zorbo_Jorks Artist: aueth Pairings/Characters: Merlin/Arthur, Gwaine/Mithian, Elena/Vivian, ft. The Knights, Gwen, Uther, and Morgause Rating: Teen and Up Word count: 48,323 Summary: Kilgwan just smiled— a gleeful presentation of far too many jagged teeth. He leaned forward on his throne and sang, “When the five of you I last did see, five promises you made to me! Three promises are broken now— one yet to test and one still sound.”

Arthur growled, and Morgana made a similar noise beside him.

“Are you serious?” she asked, “That was years ago!”

“A word given is a word to keep,” the creature sang back, ignoring the table’s shouts of dismay, “You sow lost words— dark gifts you reap.”

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

As children, Arthur, Morgana, Gwen, Elyan, and Leon made vows to a creature named Kilgwan in the catacombs of Camelot.

Years later, on the even of Arthur's prospective betrothal, they are whisked away to make ammends for breaking them. Merlin and Gwaine must make up for the prince's sudden absence by disguising the latter as Arthur to court Princesses Mithian, Vivian, and Elena in his place, all while Merlin tries to find Arthur and his friends before any ill befalls them.

Amid this, Morgause schemes to kill the Pendragons and Merlin pines for his prince, convinced his love cannot be.

It takes very little for the delicate web of problems to fall into chaos.

Story and Art are here | Reblog on Tumblr here *** Title: All Winding Paths Lead Back Author: Imagined Artist: feuxx Pairings/Characters: Merlin/Arthur Rating: Teen and Up Word count: 76,250 Summary: “You’ll give me magical training?” Merlin asks.

Arthur smiles. “Yes, and training in courtly etiquette. I imagine Ealdor doesn’t have nobles?”

“We don’t have nobles, but we do have pigs. And chickens,” Merlin says. When Arthur raises his eyebrows at him, Merlin flushes heavily with embarrassment. “Oh, shut up. My lord.”

“Don’t talk to your king like that,” Arthur says, but he doesn’t actually seem very upset about it, even though Merlin sort of wants to hit himself in the face. “Welcome to Camelot, sorcerer-apprentice Merlin of Ealdor.”

Or: Merlin is sixteen when he comes to Camelot, vying for the new position of court sorcerer that has opened under King Arthur—a noble king, golden and lionhearted, who is trying to legalise magic in all of Albion. Of course, Merlin doesn't expect to be chosen.

But he is.

Story is here | Art is here | Reblog on Tumblr here *** Title: And All the Bells Were Ringing (ARTWORK) Artist: SerpentineWizard12 Pairings/Characters: Merlin/Arthur Rating: Explicit Word count: N/A - Art Summary: “When he grew tired of swimming, Arthur waded out onto the bank and flung himself down without self-consciousness, lying back on his elbows between the roots of the nearest tree. Merlin lingered in the water for some minutes longer, watching the prince’s movements out of the corner of his eye, the way the water collected in the dips and hollows of his body and threatened to run all the way down. There was something unguarded about Arthur when he was like this; Merlin could think of only a handful of moments in which he had seen the prince without his veneer of distance and authority, and each one stood out in his memory like keys to a puzzle box, unravelling the complexity of Arthur’s personality one layer at a time.

Story is here | Reblog on Tumblr here

[ieatcocoa]

A Lasting Impression ♡

Characters: Lucifer/OC/Lilith

Switching POVS

Word count: 3.2k

Important: 18+ minors do not interact. fem dom! Lilith, sub top! Lucifer, fem!reader, threesome, fingering, open relationship, penetrative sex, teasing, oral sex, character uses she/they pronouns.

I made this for a close friend of mine, his OC’s name is Ciel, and she is an overlord in the underworld.

Literally, my first time writing smut…so…

Boarder credits to plutism !

The eternal crimson light radiates above Pentagram City. It illuminates among crumbling sidewalks whose jagged edges are nearly as sharp as a local thief's blade, leaving behind twisted shadows that linger longer than the pungent odor of regret and sex. Dried blood sticks to any available surface, acting as the only reminder of a being's existence after being viciously gored. The light is a terrifying symbol of one's vulnerability to death, where a person's entire being is stripped down to its core and made visible to their true self.

Most hide away as best they can to maintain their sense of seclusion. Stability.

It would be a lie to suggest Ceil is not among them. She has always found solace in the darkness. That is only natural, as it was the first thing she saw when she entered hell. Many assume that when you meet your demise, you are rudely dropped into a flaming inferno and forced to live out the rest of your days as a helpless slave to the man himself. However, after Ciel's final breath and the way the cold air felt against their blue lips, everything became numb. She seemed caught between time and space, followed by an endless nothingness. They imagine it was their punishment to be alone, with only encounters from the depths of her memory bank. But then there came a light, similar to the one she bears witness to before her…

Nestled in the heart of the city's junction, the enormous white and gold estate is a beacon of splendor and charm. Its pristine facade, adorned with intricate golden accents, shimmers under the gentle caress of moonlight, casting a mesmerizing glow that enchants all who behold it. It's almost absurd that something so heavenly is here. As expected, its inhabitants are the embodiment of grace and delicacy.

Lucifer and Lilith Morningstar.

Every sinner knows them, regardless of how recently they have 'dropped.'

Respect is difficult, yet even the meanest brutes can bite their tongues when graced by royalty. Ceil longs for that kind of authority. Talk of the town is like a never-ending telephone game, misconstrued or added on for flare. When others became aware of her presence, there was an unprecedented wave of rumors, specifically in the Pride ring.

That may be why they were invited during their daily tea hour with Rosie. The beautifully sealed envelope exudes an aura of grandeur. Its seal, meticulously stamped with the emblem of the hosting organization, adds an air of exclusivity and importance to the contents within. As they run their fingers along its smooth surface, they can almost feel the excitement radiating from within, promising an evening of elegance.

The king and queen had invited her to their home.

To their party.

To them.

Ciel knew she couldn't pass up this opportunity, which is how she ended up here. Within the walls of the magnificent mansion, the gala unfolds like a scene from a fairy tale. Crystal chandeliers hang from the high ceilings, casting a soft, golden glow over the exquisitely decorated ballroom. Elaborate floral arrangements adorn every corner, their vibrant hues adding to the lavish surroundings.

Guests, fitted in their finest attire, mingle amidst the grandeur, their laughter and conversation filling the air. Servants move gracefully among the crowd, offering trays of decadent hors d'oeuvres and glasses of fine champagne.

At the center of the room, a raised dais hosts a band of talented musicians, their melodies weaving through the crowd with allure. The music swells and dances, carrying with it an irresistible energy that beckons guests to the dance floor.

That’s when she saw them.

The royal pair attracts attention with their elegance and poise. The handsome man with the tousled blonde hair was the first to catch their eye. Despite his stature, his presence fills the room with undeniable charisma. His rosy cheeks hint at his jovial nature, while his piercing eyes sparkle with intelligence.

Beside him is his counterpart, a tall and remarkably gorgeous woman with olive-toned skin that sparkles in the mellow candlelight. Sculpted with refinement, cascading waves of dark hair frame her delicate features.

Together, they epitomize the perfect balance of strength and grace, their union symbolizing harmony and unity within the royal court. As they engage in conversation, their easy rapport and shared laughter illuminate the room, captivating all who have the privilege of beholding them.

Ciel is held hostage by the image of such a delicacy. If she had not been able to feel the gazes of other bystanders, she would have drooled like a starving animal or a dunce.

Amidst the crowd, Lucifer notices the young woman seated alone at a table, her presence a calling to him. He approaches with a stride and a knowing smile on his lips.

As he reaches her table, he offers a drink with a courteous nod. She meets his eyes with a mixture of surprise and curiosity, her demeanor guarded yet intrigued by his attention.

“Hello there, a drink?” The champagne in his hand sparkles tauntingly as Ciel takes hold, giving it a small taste. “Why thank you.”

Lucifer takes a seat beside them, manuring ever so gracefully that his pristine tailcoat tucks perfectly underneath him. “Are you that new face I’ve heard so much about? I must say, you are much less intimidating in person.” The mild jazz playing in the background does not drown out his voice.

"Mm, it seems I am; my name is Ciel. Take passing conversations with a grain of salt, as they are often misconstrued.”

“I see.”

“And what about yourself? You’re not at all what the book makes you out to be.” Ciel looked at him carefully, a gentle smile gracing their lips. Lucifer’s bushed brows shot up in amusement. “I understand an introduction is not needed! How grand! Are you pleasantly surprised I’m not some horrid beast?”

“Would it be wrong of me to say yes?” She teased.

Funny. He likes that.

As the night wears on and the champagne flows freely, they are drawn together by shared laughter and lighthearted banter. Their eyes sparkle with mischief as they exchange playful quips and witty remarks, the intoxicating effects of the bubbly heightening their sense of camaraderie.

With each passing moment, their inhibitions fade, replaced by a growing sense of desire. Their laughter becomes more animated, and their touches linger a fraction longer, igniting a subtle yet undeniable spark between them.

However, amidst their playful flirtation, a shadow of guilt tugs at the overlord's conscience. She steals furtive glances towards his wife, who converses amiably with an acquaintance just a few feet away. Summoning her wit, she offers a sly remark, "Your Majesty, your charm is as dangerous as it is delightful. I fear I may be getting swept away in a current where I shouldn't be swimming."

The king's demeanor momentarily gives way to a thoughtful silence, his expression becoming unreadable as he weighs the words. For a fleeting moment, the air between them crackles with tension, as if suspended in anticipation of his response.

Then, with a subtle shift in his countenance, his features softened, and his eyes were alight with a glimmer of delight. With measured grace, he leans in slightly. "Ah, my dear, perhaps it is the allure of the forbidden that makes life's dance all the more thrilling."

Hm…

“A beauty she is.” Ciel sighs as their eyes drift across the captivating woman again, no longer masking her words with subtlety.

“Lilith? Indeed.” He responded.

“How would she feel about her husband chatting up a stranger?”

“Is this not a social event? Conversation is the pinnacle, sweetheart.”

“Conversation maybe. Flirting is not.” Ciel quips back.

“Ah ha! I see now. Is that what is bothering you? Lilith is not ignorant of my proclivities; in fact, she welcomes them with open arms!” He expresses himself gleefully, animating with his arms outstretched.

“It still feels wrong to be this friendly behind her back.” The once sweet fizz of the drink now burned unpleasantly at Ciel's throat. There is a beat of silence.

“Would you like for us to all get better acquainted?”

How could they deny an offer as sweet as that?

The ascent up the grand staircase is a haze. The soft glow of candlelight flickers against the walls, casting intricate shadows that sway with every movement. As they reach the top of the stairs, the air becomes thick with suspension.

Is this the appropriate thing to do?

Scents of jasmine linger in the air, mingling with the heady aroma of musky cologne, creating an intoxicating allure that pulls Ciel forward, ceasing any previous doubts.

Guided by the faint sound of murmured voices, she stands before the elaborate doors of the king and queen's private bedroom. The wood is warm beneath her fingertips as she pushes them open, revealing a sanctuary of luxury beyond.

The inside of the room is bathed in a soft, golden light, casting a halo around Lucifer and Lilith as they recline upon the plush bed. The queen's eyes are alight with a playful spark, and her voice is a melodic whisper as she welcomes them into their intimate domain. With a graceful gesture, she invites her to join them, her words laced with a subtle invitation that ignites a flicker of desire within Ciel's chest.

“No need to be shy, lovely. Your presence is much appreciated.”

Time feels as though it were moving through a thick puddle of molasses. Lingering touches dance along Ciel's skin; the feeling is so overwhelming that a soft whine escapes her lips. It was not her intention to come and seduce the most prominent individuals in the underworld, but she was pleased with the outcome. Little did she know, the feeling was mutual. Lucifer watches from a distance, his eyes ablaze with tension, his demeanor poised yet brimming with desire.

He knew it was not his turn.

He knows to wait patiently.

His gaze never wavers as he observes the exchange between Ciel and his goddess, a silent witness to the unfolding tableau of intimacy. With a tender smile, Lilith reaches out, her fingers grazing Ciel's cheek in a gesture of affection. In that brief touch, a current of electricity courses through, heightening the intensity of the moment. “I've heard so much about you; please forgive me. I just needed to see you for myself.” “You’re much prettier in person.” And then, as if guided by an invisible force, Lilith leans forward, her lips meeting theirs in a gentle yet impassioned kiss.

In that stolen moment of intimacy, the world outside fades away, leaving only the desperation of her and Lucifer, who watches with bated breath, his need now mirrored in the depths of his eyes. He can feel the distinctive strain against his pants.

All three let out short huffs as they hastily dropped their garments. It was too hot, too sticky. Ciel sought comfort in the cold air wafting throughout the chamber, being able to feel herself slip away in the confinements of pleasure. The only thing that drew her back was the distinct ticking of the grandfather clock.

“How do you feel?” Lilith is imbued with a sultry allure, carrying like a whispered caress throughout the air.

The duvet that was once neatly tucked into the soft mattress below was now thrown aside by the movement of bare bodies. Lilith has them right where she wants them. Their legs spread prettily enough for her to see the glimmer of the slick coat along her fingers. Ciel's cunt flutters greedily as the skillful fingers push inside once more. A mewl escapes her lips as she tries to form coherent thoughts. It was all too much. The tips of her fingers press snuggly against the sensitive tissue, making her chase for more.

It’s to no avail.

Each time she experiences that wonderful feeling, it is abruptly taken away, leaving her bewildered and dazed.

“Confined.” Ciel manages to sputter out after the loss of Lilith's touch. “I understand that, darling. What do you seek?” Lilith asks as she presses against her soft and sticky walls once again. She hisses, annoyed by the teasing. With a sharp retort poised on their lips, they muster the courage to respond with a sly remark, hoping to regain control of the conversation. “Release.”

But as the words leave their mouth, a wave of instant regret washes over, like a cold shower extinguishing the fire of their defiance. They realize too late the weight of their words and the potential consequences of their impulsive retort. Lilith's mouth curls into a grin as she makes a disapproving sound with her tongue.

No.

“Greedy thing.”

Please!

Ciel finds themselves consumed by an insatiable desire for her touch once more. Every fiber of their being yearns for the electrifying sensation of her fingers against their skin, aching for the pleasure it brings. Her voice trembles with intensity as they plead, their words an impassioned request for her return. Lilith coos gently, wiping away the salty tears that collected at their lash line. A forgiving queen she is. “Shh shh… I’ll ask you again.“

A murmur echoes within the room, laced with an ethereal appeal that holds them transfixed. "What do you seek?" With trembling breath, they confess their deepest longing, their voice barely a whisper, “Power.”

“Good girl.”

The stretch of Lucifer’s cock lacked the familiar, painful ache Ciel was accustomed to. He glides inside smoothly and bottoms out fully. Lilith’s preparation had made it easy; a puddle of arousal coats the underside of their body. Never in his life would he compare the beauty of another to his love, but this one? This one was making it increasingly difficult. Her walls had him entrapped, earning a low groan from him. So soft, even the jagged stitches that etched across her body felt gentle. His pulse flutters as he drags an earnest finger over the raised skin. He could not explain the growing impulse that rose within him, as he frequently acted on it. Lucifer presses a long kiss on the scar at the junction of her navel. “You’re doing so well, taking me so well.” He softly murmurs while pressing his finger against her sensitive nub, causing Ciel to cry out. His pace quickens and the sound of skins hitting against one another grows in passion-filled intensity.

Ciel's muffled squeak was met with the sweet taste of Lilith, a mixture of nectar and lust. The mound, so snuggly pressed against her lips, flutters with need. “Sweetheart—!” Lilith whimpers.

What a beautiful voice.

Ciel had no time to enjoy the sweet sound as Lucifer's rhythmic hip movements clouded her mind. She could hear the distinctive sound of lips meeting one another in a feverish haze. So passionate. They feel a sense of awe and reverence wash over them as if witnessing a sacred union that transcends mortal understanding.

“I love you.”

It was not said to her, though the effects were all the same. Ciel wailed loudly as their hips stuttered, their orgasm rushing over them so hard it left a dull pulse within. He groans in response to the connection between the inseparable duo becoming tighter. He presses his hands against her thighs, massaging the sweat-coated fat in between.

“You’re okay, lovely. I got you.”

The smooth exchange between the two leads Lilith to rush after her release; she can feel the coil inside snap. Coming down from her high duey sweat beads at her forehead, she was satisfied.

Ciel yearns for the snug embrace of Lucifer, their bodies still entwined in the aftermath of their passionate encounter. It took a moment for her to gasp for breath before her eyes trailed downward. He hadn’t cum.

She could cry.

Lilith, ever so perceptive, notices their discomfort and moves to reassure them. She offers a warm and understanding smile as she softly touches their cheek. "How precious. Do not be troubled, my dear." She says softly, her voice a soothing melody amid their turmoil. Drawing them up into a tender embrace, the queen whispers words of reassurance, her voice a balm to their wounded pride. With her gentle guidance, Ciel begins to feel the weight of embarrassment lift from their shoulders. “This is not your doing. Luci requires a little extra attention.” She gently pulls Ciel aside, then lays her husband down.

He had waited patiently, so who was she to deny his release?

Ciel peeks in marvel as she kisses him up his jaw, her fingers gripping his cock securely and slowly pumping it while cooing.

“My dove?”

“Yes, honey?”

“Can you feel me?” With that, her free hand glides three fingers into his inviting hole, delicately pumping in and out. She receives no response; instead, Lucifer lets out a pitched whine, and he puffs out a strangled breath. To see someone as significant as him come undone so effortlessly made the familiar warmth of yearning pool in Ciel's gut.

“Are you paying attention?”

In their oblivious state, she fails to register the question, their mind preoccupied with the grandeur of the moment. Her laughter fills the air, quickening their heart with realization. A rush of warmth floods their cheeks as they finally comprehend the implications of the words. With an impish glint in their eye, Ciel teasingly inches closer to her, their movements slow and deliberate, like a predator closing in on its prey.

How ironic.

Hearts race with excitement at the audacity of their actions. “Whatever for, your majesty?” With a charming smile, the queen leans closer, almost meeting lips for another kiss. How she wishes she could taste her once more, the flavor forever grained into her mind. This was no mistake. She is thankful for the rumors, the yearly gala, and the chance to savor such a delight.

The air surrounding them thickens as Lucifer moans once more before cumming, and the sticky remnants drip from her fingers as she brings them up to Ciel's mouth. They do not hesitate to suck, and the taste is as sweet as hers. Heavenly.

“Why for our next rendezvous, of course.”

Author's Note: thank you so much for reading ! If anyone is here for an update on my Alastor fic I'll be working on it soon enough! Let me know if anyone wants a variant version where it's x gn reader. much love! p.s my ask box is open pls come talk with me.

[cheriecelestial]

Luminary Pt.1

pairing *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧ Yan Emperor!OC X Swordmaster!OC

disclaimer *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧ yandere thoughts. hurt/no comfort. angst. mentions of violence and character death. lovers to enemies.

a/n *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧ Reposting a very old piece post editing (not really lol). According to my old a/n this was “very 3am spontaneous writing” meaning the idea was spontaneous not the process. Very manhwa-esque historical plot ig. Please listen to Joel Sunny’s Luminary for the whole experience. like always COMMENT LIKE & REBLOG (☆≧▽^)

Pt.2

Ceaseless noblesse chatter, clinking of glasses and rustling of ball gowns blurred into an unintelligible myriad of sounds. Cecily massaged the bridge of her nose in an attempt to calm the pulsating migraine in her forehead. As much as she loved dressing up on her own accord and dancing, she felt much repulsion to high society. Whosoever had compared high society to a sandalwood tree must’ve been a wise person - exquisite and ambrosial smelling but intertwined with serpents waiting to pounce. Her sharp gaze, reminiscent of a relentless hunter, swept the expanse of ballroom to locate her target attendee. He wasn’t here, not yet at least. But he was expected to be here soon, after all what king doesn’t show up to the party he hosted in his own honour ?

Everything the room exuded an elite air of grandeur. Golden tendrils resembling vines creeping up the wall and colluding in a labyrinthine pattern of flowers and leaves against the stained glass ceilings. Lush roses filled each vase placed exactly five meters apart from each other. In the centre of the dome were three collinear alchemy powered faux stars, the centre attraction and the nominative factor of the ballroom — the Syzygy Hall. Leaning against the stone wall, the crisp night air fills her lungs while the stars twinkle in the dark, velvety sky, and she watched them with a nostalgic sense of appreciation. The flashing memories of her stargazing in this very hall with a certain gifted mage tugged harshly on her heart stings but she forced herself to shun them and focus on the task ahead.

Cecily shifted her attention to the noblemen and women drift across the smooth marble floors like clockwork nutcrackers in grandfather clocks. It all looked so beautiful and for the lack of a better word, rich. A part of her would’ve wanted to join to the festivities had her heart not drowned in waves of indignation for the host. But then as having danced her fair share of high society parties — she knew of the incessant debauchery, corruption and vicious yet sugarcoated calumny at the core of this diamond and silk adorned marvel. Nobility was a word that evoked images of artifice, undeserved riches, wastefulness and textbook narcissism. Albeit belonging to the pinnacle of non-royal nobility — Cecily’s lineage was both a blessing and a curse. As the daughter of one of the three dukes in the empire and the daughter and successor of the continent’s finest swordsman , Carlisle Reginald, Cecily was taught to be wary of desperate social climber with saccharine laced tongues at a young age. Just the thought of her family flared the inferno of negative feelings further.

“This far behind enemy lines ? Can’t tell if it’s brave, audacious or plain stupid.” Cecily rolled her eyes at the new admission. “What would you know anything about bravery Marcellus ?” The red haired paladin flinched at the woman using his full name and bit his tongue to restrain himself from answering her verbal jabs.

“I did what I had to do” He muttered quietly with his gaze fixed on the floor as if it was the most scintillating creation known to mankind. “You mean leaving your men to die mid-battle and defecting to the enemy’s side ?” Cecily scoffed at his confession. She couldn’t help be reminded of the past when they were trainee knights and how they were a symbol of valour and justice. The nights they spent at taverns celebrating after successfully completing missions and training. Cecily couldn’t pinpoint when everything changed and when people she knew digressed beyond recognition but it left a bitter taste in her mouth. Marcel’s words were slow to come out but he sighed and answered, “I merely chose the winning side . Unlike you, I have a sense of self preservation.”

“Where I’m from , we call it cowardice”

“Probably why that place burnt to the ground,”Marcel was hit with a sense of instant regret the second those words left his mouth. He muttered a quick apology as if that ever solved anything .

“Don’t say what you don’t mean. Genuine care doesn’t suit the self-serving likes of you.” Cecily spat out with anger laced in her seemingly calm tone. Had it been some other place with someone else, she wouldn’t have hesitated to draw her sword. Knowing her temper, he saw fit to change the topic of the conversation, “ It’s a fine dress you’re wearing. But I have to say - had I not known better I’d say it was a wedding gown. One refined enough for a duke’s daughter”

“It is a wedding gown. I just repurposed it since I don’t need it anymore and my other gowns were burnt along with my house. I’m sure you remember, you were there.”Cecily spoke in a monotone as she absentmindedly fiddled with the lace trimmings of her dress and the silver corsage on her wrist.

Marcel gulped at the realisation and looked away to the sea of jolly nobility dancing their evening away but he still couldn’t seem to shake off the chills floating in the air. Luck truly wasn’t on his side today “I know it was a purely political arrangement but Cedric was a good man. You have my condolences.”

His words evoked a humourless laugh from Cecily. Just how shameless could he be ? Leading the campaign that killed her fiancé and still have the guts to offer his sympathies.

“Losing a fiancé ? I’m sure you know what that’s like. Considering how you let Lucia Arden die just to save your own skin.”

Cecily remembered the sweet and gentle field medic who stopped at nothing to consistently heal her comrades and boost her fellow knights’ morale with her encouraging words. And she also remembered watching the radiant light leave her eyes and her skin turn frigid pale after Marcel defected and ambushed his own squadron. Cecily and Marcel were the closest of friends, maybe that’s why his betrayal stung so much. Had someone told about Marcel’s betrayal to her younger self from two years ago, she would’ve laughed at them and wonder if they lost their mind.

“What happened to her was regrettable. I asked her to join me. But she refused. Because she was -” so loyal to you, is what he wanted to say but something told him that not completely the sentence would serve him better. Cecily didn’t respond to him nor did she look at him. Marcel’s gaze fell to her fist which had clenched so tight that her knuckles were turning white.

“I tried you know. I really tried to convince her. That was more what I should’ve done considering what her family did to Genevieve—” despite his attempts to mask his emotions, venomous contempt seeped into his voice.“Lucia wasn’t her family. She didn’t know. She had no part in it.” Cecily countered firmly.

“She was going to be a mother ! And they—”Marcel swallowed thickly, unable to continue. Cecily sighed and massaged the bridge of her nose. Genevieve - the feisty barmaid at their favourite tavern who managed to capture Marcel’s heart and subsequently died a tragic death the hands of the Marquis Arden who couldn’t bear the disgrace of his daughter’s fiancé choosing a destitute orphaned commoner over his well-bred aristocratic daughter.

“What happened to her was unjust, but that doesn’t justify your treachery. You let your own men die. The very men that swore loyalty to you. The ones that fought, ate and bled by your side.” Cecily eyed him with simmering hatred. Marcel looked uncharacteristically startled for a moment by the her disdain but covered it up quickly. Silvers of guilt flashed in his eyes when he realised that even if he had managed to secure a future for himself as the commander general of the new king’s knights, he lost something truly important to him. The past him would’ve really hated him now.

“Of all people I thought you’d know what it’s like to lose the one you love the most. But in hindsight, you’re probably worse off than me. I’m sure you know, he isn’t what he used to be. The King’s scouts have been looking for you and the other rebels . You should leave before he sees you.” Warning her was the most he could do for her now. He had sworn loyalty to the new king but standing in front of his childhood friend - he couldn’t help but feel a tinge of conflict.

“Why ? Is he planning to send me and my men to the gallows ?” Cecily scoffed as if impressed that the king was putting in so much effort to locate her. “Your men ? Yes. You ? No. Corrupted or not, not even he could get himself to kill the woman he loves so dearly. But I’m positive whatever his plans for you are, would make you wish that he sent you to the gallows instead. He won’t kill you but beware— he won’t be soft either. He’s changed beyond recognition.”

“That’s exactly what I’m counting on,”she muttered to herself as she watched Marcel vanish from her side and melt into the sea of guests.

For a moment the entire ballroom stilled and she knew he was here. Her eyes swept the length of the ballroom till she met the gaze of the devil himself. Unlike what he used to wear when she knew him, he donned the most lavish robes and jewels she’d seen on a person. His unruly platinum hair were styled perfect to accentuate his looks. The crystalline vivid blue eyes she fell in love with were replaced by a sinister shade of ruby red. He stared intently at her, it is as if his eyes intended to pierce her skin and rip out her soul. Her stomach twisted and the chill in the air sent goosebumps down her neck and back. He never looked more glorious. The corners of his lips curled up into a slight smile as he made his way through the crowd. Her breath shallowed with each step that he took towards her.

“Duchess Reginald. It truly is you and here I thought my senses were deceiving me.” Cecily flinched at the title knowing full well that she never got to ceremoniously inherit the title since the previous Duke died at the emperor’s sword following the coup d’état and the estate was burned to a crisp not too long ago. His gentle expression of adoration cut off air from her lungs and she felt as though the string of pearls around her neck turned into a noose. She wanted to scream, to cry, to seek retribution for all the havoc he wrecked but swallowing her emotions down she placed her hand on her heart and bowed lightly,“Glory and blessings upon the rising sun of the Asterin empire,” Cecily heard melodious laughter as response to her words. Her heart dropped from the sheer impact. Cecily Reginald was a creature of pure control and the idea of losing control, especially just by his mere presence, was offensive to her. Her heart burst into multitude of emotions as she tried to rein them and stay calm.

“And I never thought I’d see you bow. But then, bowing isn’t always submission. Now is it, my dearest Cecily ?” Electricity coursed her veins at the way her name rolled off his tongue in the same tender fashion as he used to when they were younger. He’s changed beyond recognition, Marcel’s words ringed in her ears. Cecily didn’t want to give him the satisfaction of eliciting a reaction so she shifted her gaze away. Much to her dismay, her refusal just swelled his need to provoke her further .

“Please don’t shy away duchess. It’s a glorious party, would you be so kind to grant me the honour of a dance ?” The king outstretched his hand towards her with seemingly innocent intent. The emperor’s first dance of the evening, an action that symbolised winning the favour of the emperor. Which was why — traditionally it was done between courting, betrothed or wedded couples. After a moment’s hesitation she took his hand and was guided to the centre of the dance floor. The king placed a hand on her waist and interlaced his other hand with hers. The position seemed so natural to them like two pieces of a puzzle that were created to fit together. He actioned the orchestra and the waltz began without a hitch as the band of musicians weaved pleasant melodies into the air.

“You look ravishing my dearest.” Cecily’s breath hitched as the king tugged on her waist, pulling her closer. His smirk widened in satisfaction at her visceral reaction. “Thank you your majesty.” She looked at him with her eyes betraying traces of emotion even though she was restraining herself to her best capacity. But the memory of his touch still fills her heart with longing but she still hated how much the sensation excites her.

“I was informed that troops stationed north of Demaris were brutally slaughtered by the rebel forces spearheaded by a certain raven haired general. You wouldn’t know anything about that, now would you duchess ?” Cecily’s face hardened and she replied in a sharp tone,“Depends on why those troops were present in the first place your majesty.” The king’s troops were sent to forcefully evict war immigrants that were rendered homeless by the conquests of the previous emperor since he regarded them as a political liability. The villagers were kind enough to house some of the rebels in exchange for protection against the monsters near the border.

Vivacious laughter bubbles from his chest and he responded ,“Very well dearest. And please, drop the formalities. Call me by my name. Your majesty feels unnatural.” She knew provoking him any more than necessary would only spell trouble for it. Her scheme had to work out as planned. “Atticus,” she breathed out with much difficulty. Saying his name was a tougher task than she had initially thought. A pleased smirk made its way onto his lips, leaving Cecily feeling as if she had lost.

“I know blue is your colour but I have to admit, you look utterly angelic in white. You are, without a doubt, the most beautiful person I have ever laid eyes on. What a fine bride you would make.”

Under different circumstances, she would’ve blushed and accepted the compliment graciously. Cecily felt a strange feeling of melancholy and what ifs shrouded her. She was so determined before coming here and she couldn’t afford letting her purpose dissolve just because she was holding onto the ghost of the man she loved.

“What use is beauty when you’re cursed with rotten luck the way I am. I have two dead fiancés on my tab already.” She laughed humorouslessly and eyed him with an insinuating sharpness. Atticus smiled with his evergreen charm before continuing knowingly ,“ Hmm. Maybe it’s a sign from the goddess of marriage that those men and you weren’t meant to be .”

Cecily arched her brow at his revelation. Is that what he was trying to paint them as ? Twists of fate ? She may not have loved either of them but they weren’t deserving of the end that befell them. “I know you’ve taken many aliases in your lifetime but goddess of marriage ? That’s a new one your majesty.” Atticus’ mocking clearly struck a nerve. She half expected him to take offence to her words but instead he looked at her in bemusement.

He clicked his tongue in a ‘ah’ gesture and suggested ,” Well you know what they say m’lady. Third time’s a charm .” Cecily knew exactly what he was implying but she didn’t want to grant him an ounce of satisfaction by giving him a favourable reaction .

“Unfortunately your majesty, I am above wedding kinslayers and dark magic practitioners .” She scowled at him as if testing to see if he had even an ounce of conscience intact . Atticus’ smile faltered and there was a brief flicker of discomfort in him as the implications of her words sunk in. His eyes narrowed slightly at her reaction.

“Ces I —,” but before he could respond Cecily cut him off ,“ And even if they had it coming . It doesn’t change the fact that you killed my father.” Memory of the pain of finding out about her father’s death on accounts of treason was clear as day in her heart. Carlisle Reginald was many things but not a traitor. He was so loyal to the crown that there were times when she resented him for choosing his duty over his own family.

Atticus visibly grimaced and his eyes turned to icy resentment ,“ The same father that abused you and caused you unimaginable pain in the name of training ? The same father who burnt the side of your face to destroy any chance of marriage because noblemen don’t wed women with scars ? The same father that nearly pushed you to end your life because you couldn’t handle the mantle of becoming the next swordsmaster ? Do you truly resent me for it my dearest ?” Cecily felt her throat tighten with emotion. She glanced away as though trying to think of an answer. There is no right answer to that question.

“ I don’t but —,” She admitted, her eyes still fixated on the corners of the room ,“ What about my Silas? Why did you kill him ? He looked up to you. He chose to pursue alchemy over swordsmanship because of you. He was a child . He didn’t deserve it.” The night her father died, the king’s men burnt her family estate to the ground and her brother with it.

Atticus stared at her for a couple of seconds before letting out a pained sigh ,“ My love, you must believe me. I never intended to put Silas in harm’s way . I just wanted to get rid of the duke because he was the only one standing between me and the throne. I was sure that Si would be at the academy. But unfortunately he was at the wrong place at the wrong time. If it provides any solace just know I had the informants and soldiers who failed to convey that Silas was in there executed .”

There were many things she wanted to say, to vent her frustration and anger but when the time came - her grief was too severe to be expressed in words so she just looked at him, hoping he’d see how much he made her suffer. Atticus tore his gaze away from hers and clenched his jaw as if keeping himself from saying or doing things that would just worsen their situation. Uncomfortable silence befell them as they continued to dance. For the first time she realised, that they were is a ballroom filled with people. The world seemed to have dissolved into nothingness when it came to Atticus but now she was starting to feel the weight of the other guests’ curious stares and whispers. Of course rumours would make their way across high society at the speed of lightning. Two star crossed lovers forced on opposite sides by fate. Cecily and Atticus had love, one for the ages but one chose the duty to her homeland over love and the other chose power over love. Love had no place in this fight of morality and duty. It was quite a pity really.

“But your crimes don’t end there. You delved into a form of magic that was forbidden for a reason, there is always a cost for power that wicked. Always.” She looked straight into his ruby red eyes. The vibrant blood red swirled in a way that resembled shadows obscuring a ravenous beast lurking underneath.

“Is that why you got engaged my brother ? To dispose of me and make him king ?” Cecily felt the temperature around them fall as Atticus’ eyes shone with a newfound sense of fury. Gone was the sweet and gentle man she knew, instead he was replaced by this - this thing. His fingers twitched where he held her waist as if wanting to tear into her skin.

“Sure. Let’s go with that .”She replied cooly. Logic be damned, she just wanted to shatter the mask he was wearing and truly see what he’d become.

“You think I’d let him have you ? Let him make you his queen ? I‘m so sorry if it hurts you my darling but I will slay any man who thinks he can have you . If you really want to be queen, I could make you this very moment. Just say the word.” For the first time, his suave facade cracked. He sounded almost desperate, so much so that Cecily was tempted to believe that a part of the old him was still in there. Regardless of Cedric somewhat sanctimonious and saintly character, he always lacked the vigour and the ambition it took to become king and most of all - to deserve Atticus’ goddess. Cedric was the only pure blooded prince who showed an inkling of kindness to a bastard of the previous emperor so Atticus granted him the mercy of a quick and painless death. But the idea of him wedding his beloved was beyond blasphemous and filled him with unimaginable rage; making him want to give Cedric a slow and painful death instead.

To him, Cecilia Seraphina Reginald was the closest humanity has attained to godliness. The passion she projected in her art and the fire that burned behind her eyes is enough to drive anyone to insanity . She used the sword as if it was an extension of her own body and where most fought with the crude desperation , every movement of her body was deliberate and precise as if she was floating like a butterfly through the air. With each step, she seemed to move through space and time, transcending the boundaries between ordinary and extraordinary. Each slash and strike was like a paint stroke on canvas, drawing a picture of beauty and grace in motion. Her raven hair striking a beautiful contrast against her emerald eyes . Even when her father burnt the side of her face , it barely obscured her beauty. Atticus had seen her in sickness and in health. At what she considered her worst, to his eyes — she was far more enchanting than any of the excessively powdered noble ladies he’d seen in court . There is something religious about the way he adored her. There never was a God in Atticus's life. No one deserved that title after what life had thrown at him since he was little.

He remembered the first day they met when she fended off the third prince bullying Atticus at their first day at the Royal Academy. She never once discriminated against for being an illegitimate child of the emperor. Atticus was born as a result of acts of cruelty on an elite battle mage of an enemy nation who was taken by the previous emperor as spoils of war. Despite his actions, the emperor never even bothered to officially make her his concubine so Atticus’ status in the Royal Palace was akin to that of a servant’s. Throughout his childhood, he had been a prince solely in name. His entire life, everyone looked at him as if he was some sort of abomination — except her. Despite that the dignified and legendary duke’s only daughter, the lady with the highest status after the empress and princesses themselves, when faced disapproval for befriending the emperor’s bastard, she never once turned her back on him. And not necessarily because she was kind but because it was the right thing to do. Cecily was first person in Atticus’ life who made him believe that he was worth being treated as a human.

“What have you become Atticus ? We could’ve—”

“We could’ve what exactly ? Huh ? There was no other way. And you know it.” Atticus spat out through gritted teeth, a look of abject misery flashed by Cecily’s face. He was right, unless there had been some great power intervention there was no way he could become king. It didn’t matter if the most elite swordsmaster or the nouveau rich nobles that supported him, he could never get past the old nobility and the six legitimate pure blooded princes.

“What is worth it ?” She asked with her words dying by the end of the sentence. For a moment, she felt as though she was back when they were kids and how he would talk about making them pay. No rebels or tyrants, no duty or thirst for power — just as Ces and Atty .

Something in Atticus’ snapped as he gripped her wrist tighter,“ Better than anything I ever imagined. They always acted so high and mighty, you should’ve seen how they grovelled and begged . It was worth it, all of it.”

“Was it worth losing me ?” Cecily knew she shouldn’t have asked something she didn’t want him to answer. She knew she shouldn’t have crossed that line. She shouldn’t have because she knew the answer. But she had to— in order to move on, to let him go, to fulfil her duty and destiny.

“I haven’t lost you” Out of all the responses he could’ve given , this was the least expected. Did he truly believe that ? Cecily searched his face for any signs of fallacy or trickery but found none. Her mouth fell open in disbelief and after composing herself she asked ,“ What makes you say that ?”

“The way I feel for you.” He answered without even skipping a beat. Cecily scoffed internally, the way he felt for her ? What a jest. It was common knowledge that the starting price for dark magic is a person’s humanity. Dark magicians were known to not be able to feel anything let alone remorse or guilt .

“That’s not true. You can’t feel anything.” She jeered at him. Atticus didn’t respond and twirled and lifted her into the air in accordance to the rhythm of the waltz. His lack of reaction almost made her think that he didn’t hear what she said, she opened her mouth to say that again but was cut off by his reply ,“Contrary to popular beliefs my darling , dark magic doesn’t completely deprive a person of all emotion. It merely diminishes emotions that were present in silvers and amplifies the most emotions felt by the person. In short, the user becomes absolutely sure of what they feel and what they want. Anger becomes rage , sadness becomes despair , fear becomes horror and love becomes –” As he spoke, he pressed his lips against her hand. She can feel the heat of his breath in the centre of her palm ,“ — unbridled obsession.” Cecily breath hitched as he moved his lips up her wrist to her palm again, tracing her veins with his lips.

"Pray tell, is that how it went ? Your barter of soul with a devil for dominion only to find yourself upon the throne, consumed by anguish not because you killed your family but rather by the realization that your affection for me would impede your ambitions ?"

Atticus got closer to her. His eyes were locked on hers, and his lips had a slight twitch to them. Lust. He was never the type to give into such base urges, but in the her presence - he craved her. A part of him hated this feeling even more than her tormenting comments. If only he could kill her and rid himself of this weakness of the flesh. “You aren’t far from it . You know I never understood the appeal my father saw in my mother but I guess I do see it now. Fiesty enemy general that just refuses to concede and all.”

“And here I thought you said you were never going to be anything like your father. I guess you kings are doomed to repeat failures of your predecessors. After all the apple doesn’t fall far from the tree.” He absentmindedly hummed in response to her words as if neither agreeing nor disagreeing. His eyes were fixated on his thumb caressing her wrist, Cecily noticed it and tilted her head to her side as if silently asking ‘what’re you thinking ?’

“You aren’t wrong my darling. Maybe I am the same as him. But it doesn’t matter anymore. I have everything I wanted. Except for a couple things and I don’t intend on stopping until I’ve got them.” Atticus’ eyes gleamed with a glint of great impending danger. He paused for a second as if debating whether he should disclose his plans or not but in the festive atmosphere decided the former. “You’re quite a stubborn little thing you know. I wonder if I were to incapacitate you from wielding the blade ever again, would your resolve shatter ? All the princes are dead, there’s no one to succeed me. I’ve made sure of it. Who would you crown king after me ?” He wondered if he chopped her wrists off so that she couldn’t use her sword again, would she stop resisting then ? Or perhaps if he snapped her ankles then maybe she wouldn’t be able to run away ?

“Incapacitate me ? You think you could do that ?” Albeit Cecily knew she was playing with fire, she wanted to see to what limits she could provoke him before he took extreme measures. They were playing a dangerous game. Both were waiting for the other to make a mistake, to lose their cool and to drop the civil facade and settle the score .

Others might see Atticus as this stone cold man with no feelings, but his heart was beating loud and clear in his chest, seemingly for one purpose. He hoped that his emotional conflict would clear out once he made the deal but it didn’t help. Not one bit. He often found his eyes subconsciously searching for the familiar figure in the crowds of people he’d address every day, wanting nothing more than to reach out and have her with him again. The scent of her skin and the light lavender fragrance haunted him as he tried to sleep, the vivid image of her following him in his dreams. If it were up to him, he’d drag her to the church alter this very moment and make good on the wedding gown she was wearing. He knew she wore that to mock his guilty conscience, that is if he had any left.

“I have my knights stationed at every corner of the ballroom. One action and they’ll attack.”

“You think fresh recruits could even hold a candle against a swordmaster ?” She was right, no matter how trained they would never able to best her. The only one who stood a chance against her skill was he himself. No one else.

He chuckled at her spirit, it was one of the things he adored most about her. “No. Not really.” Cecily smiled with a victorious expression but at the same time she knew if he were to use his magic, things were bound to get messy. Although not their own, but much blood would be spilt and in a room full of the empire’s finest — it wasn’t a risk she was willing to take.

a/n 2.0 – After reading this my current writing seems so crappy wtf. I guess there is a reason this took three months to write. Tho good to know I couldn’t articulate my thoughts well enough to make a respectable plot even back then. Sorry for the abrupt ending, tumblr kept glitching so I had to split it in two. I’ll upload pt.2 in a week.