#his king fell and he pledged his allegiance to a new one

[miseria-fortes-viros]

do u ever think about how niall lynch was a devilishly handsome son of a bitch who was impossible not to like, naturally commanded the attention of everyone in the room, told stories as easily as breathing, ruled over his own particular corner of the world, didn’t even seem real until you knew him, died facedown on a gravel driveway, and then do you ever think about gansey.

[byoldervine]

Elven Lore in the Byoldervine Series

So I’ve made a previous post about sirens in my writing, but now I want to discuss a fantasy race that are pretty much a staple of the genre; elves

Like almost every fantasy race within this series - with the exception of Tyrions (effectively angels) and Nexus Beings (effectively demons and other creatures of the afterlife) - elves are found in the realm of Paracosm, within which they have been native to the Kingdom of Zeilona for centuries. All elves have lengthened lifespans, with the average life expectancy being ~300-350 years, as well as a natural ability to heal plant life. They can’t accelerate growth or revive dead plants, but they can perk up droopy plant life or set small branches back onto trees where they fell from. It’s nothing major and oftentimes not particularly useful for much other than maintaining a garden, though it does attract a lot of woodland beings tied to nature to seek out elves when injured

Elves are technically part of the fae, but their membership is sort of… the best way I can explain it is that elves are to the fae what asexuals are to the LGBTQ+ community, if that makes sense? Nobody can seem to find an agreed upon reason why they wouldn’t be part of the fae, but there is a little frowned-upon discourse about elves not ‘counting’? Honestly I can’t find a better way to word it but hopefully I’ve conveyed the vibe. And just to be clear, nothing against asexuals, I’m aroace myself, this is simply an observation I’ve made concerning certain people in and out of the LGBTQ+ community

So what about the elves themselves? Well, for centuries the elves lived in Zeilona in relative peace, but one day the ruler was overthrown and King Agnos the Usurper took the throne. King Agnos certainly had the form of an elf, but there are rumours that he was another species altogether, though there isn’t a prevalent idea of what said species might be. Agnos introduced dark magic to the elves, granting those who swore allegiance to him the power to manipulate shadows and darkness, ashes, he even trained his few prodigies in necromancy. All this created a divide between the elves; some viewed these new abilities as incredible, but others saw it as undignified and immoral

Those who were against Agnos’ dark magic began to refer to the users derogatorily as Dark Elves, while they themselves adopted the term High Elves. Agnos’ rule was cut short after decades of High Elves resisting and eventually forming a rebellion to assassinate Agnos, leaving the Dark Elves - many of whom had never truly been loyal to Agnos in the first place, simply pledging a false allegiance - without their leader’s protection against the High Elves. This day is known in elven history as the Day of High Treason

They went for Agnos’ prodigies next, slaying the necromancers before they could have any hopes of reviving their fallen king. Only one was able to escape this massacre - Eilonwy - with the aid of her lover Ivy, an earth Elemental. By combining their powers of dark magic and florakinesis, they were able to raise an enormous thicket that formed a barrier between the Dark Elves and the High Elves, protecting the former from the latter. Ivy was lost in the battle not long after this, and in her sheer grief Eilonwy was able to use every last measure of her power to merge Ivy’s soul to the thicket, which remains sentient with Ivy’s soul to this day, protecting the Dark Elves from harm by devouring any High Elf that should get too close

The thicket, which had morphed into a weaving, creeping plant with dark magic pulsing dimly through each tendril and vine, became known as the Tainted Ivy, the High Elves using this in further cruelty but the Dark Elves using it to praise the sacrifice Ivy made and the display of the very magic ‘tainting’ the Dark Elves being used in such a selfless manner, proving their power didn’t make them inherently evil

Eilonwy declared the land encompassed within the Tainted Ivy to be a safe haven for the Dark Elves, a land now known as Blackwood, with Eilonwy becoming the first Queen of Blackwood and the Dark Elves. When Eilonwy passed at the end of her long reign, it is said that the Tainted Ivy grew stronger and larger than ever, claiming even more land, and the Dark Elves believed the souls of the two lovers had been reunited at long last

Queen Eilonwy’s descendants continue to rule Blackwood to this day, the current Queen being Wink of Blackwood. The war between Zeilona and Blackwood has continued with little fruition, though in the last few years Queen Wink’s only heir, Princess Kynne, went missing mere days after a High Elf spy was discovered in the palace and executed, leading the Dark Elves to believe that Princess Kynne was kidnapped by the High Elves, who are denying such an accusation. The heightened tensions have escalated the war stances and resparked the centuries-old rivalries between the elven factions. The formal military-esque warriors of the factions, known as the Drow, are on high alert, awaiting the orders of their respective rulers to launch a full-scale attack on their enemy

[thechickenmanyouknow]

Nahrog, Nanman God of War [Dynasty Warriors OC]

"I fight to show this world that I am alive!!" Basic Information:

Born in: Nanzhong territory Age: 79 by the time of the Shu Han defeat Favorite weapon: Axe or Great Axe Allegiance: Meng Huo Forces, Nanman Rebel Forces, Shu-Han

Known titles: General who Pacifies Tigers [Meng Huo Forces], General who Pacifies Bison [Meng Huo Forces], General Who Charges the Center [Shu-Han] Detailed Information: (Yellow Turban Rebellion era) Nahrog was born during the Nanman Rebellion during the Yellow Turban rebellion to a Nanman mother and a Han father. Being a single child, the boy tried his best to support his family despite the cultural differences. After his father joined the Han Imperial forces and his mother was taken as a slave by Han soldiers, Nahrog joined the Rebellion during its decline. It would not be long before he wandered Nanzhong and joined tribe chieftains to continue the fight. After leaving King Mulu, he joined a rising chieftain known as Meng Huo. It is hypothesized by Shu scholars that he continued to serve Meng Huo and assisted him in unifying the tribes.

(General who Pacifies Tigers) Nahrog continued to serve Meng Huo and soon the tribes all swore fealty to him. Nahrog, to pay thanks to his new King, continued to serve and mostly trained new warriors for Meng Huo, participating in numerous tiger hunts giving him the title General Who Pacifies Tigers. he would be all for war against Han forces and advised Meng Huo to lend his forces to Yong Kai and Gao Ding's rebellions. (Zhuge Liang's Southern Campaign)

In response to Yong Kai and Gao Ding's rebellions, Zhuge Liang sent administrators and investigators to Yuexi/Yuesui to get a detail on the situation. Upon Zhu Bao killing Qi Xing and soon after joining the rebels, Meng Huo would join the rebellion soon after bringing his host of warriors and chieftains and Nahrog with him. All of the leaders had tribes and land of their own, all but Nahrog who lead a unit of Nanzhong warriors and paid them in the loot that they scavenged from battles. He would join another chieftain in arming his warriors with rattan armor and launch numerous raids onto Zhuge Liang's position, all of them failing due to the Sleeping Dragon's plans. Nahrog would soon find himself being a bodyguard for Meng Huo's retreats after his numerous defeats. Upon the third defeat, he dueled Wei Yan and was believed to be dead soon afterward, only for him to show up and duel Wei Yan again to a stalemate on the 4th. Upon being captured, Wei Yan spoke highly of him and offered him a recommendation to join Shu. Nahrog surprisingly politely rejected the offer, stating that as long as Meng Huo fights, he will fight as well and to the death if needed. By the time Meng Huo surrendered, Nahrog was one of the many Nanman peoples to join Shu not as a politician but as a warrior. He was described during the campaign as a tall wild man wearing rattan armor and skulls of dead animals to scare off Shu forces. Zhuge Liang asks how Nahrog found his main camp to launch his unsuccessful raids, Nahrog replies that he merely followed where the footsteps were going.

(Battle of Wuzhang Plains) Nahrog, growing increasingly older, would pledge his services to Shu as did Meng Huo. He would regularly spar with Wei Yan and trained his troops in a combination of Han training tactics as well as Nanman training tactics. His armor would now be a mixture of his native armor and Shu Han armor to show his allegiance to the now Shu Emperor, Liu Shan, and still to his lord Meng Huo. During the battle of the Wuzhang Plains, he asks Nahrog to defend the enemy's main camp. Nahrog asks if this was a part of his strategy to which the Sleeping Dragon didn't respond. When Zhuge Liang's star fell, Nahrog went to check on the strategist believing that something is wrong. He and two bodyguards checked to see that Zhuge Liang has passed away, leaving command to Jiang Wei. The battle would be indecisive resulting in Shu's retreat.

(Fall of Shu, Battle of Chengdu) Nahrog would be 79 years old at this point and still continue fighting. Even though he would bicker with Jiang Wei numerous times, he still continued to fight for Shu even past its dying days. Nahrog obviously participated in the Battle of Chengdu and fought for its defense. He continued to fight until he and his Nanman warriors broke through the Jin lines and attacked what they believed was their main camp. It was an ambush and Jin soldiers swarmed the empty base. It is said by later scholars that Nahrog's arms were cut off to stop him from attacking, only for him to grab his axe with his mouth and gave one last charge to fight his way through to kill the enemy commander. He would be skewered by 5 ji halberd and shot down by 20 arrows soon after.

Bonus Information: Nahrog is roughly 6'10 and wields either an Axe or Great Axe. When he served Meng Huo, he wore rattan armor and an Elephant skull mask to act as a helmet and to scare his opponents. He is described as having a bloodied firey beard and hair as well as being hot-bloodied in battle. He would enter battle with a flag attached to his armor to act as a cape when he served both Meng Huo and Shu-Han. He would have a somewhat good relationship with both Wei Yan and Guan Yingping, praising their strength when they would reach 100 kills.

[dplusaring]

My Sneaky Brain’s AU

AU = alternative universe WHAT IF :

After Nesta & Cassian are married, they split up - you can say it was because they were put in an impossible position like Helion and the Lady of the Autumn Court OR Rhysand’s war plans with Koschei tear them apart OR something happens that makes Rhysand say F U to Nesta even though he owes her his and his family’s life and yeets her from the Night Court OR you decide

THEN Nesta is cast back to Prythian, but Rhysand isn’t HIGH KING, so he can only really keep her out of ALLIED lands, if that (cause our boy Helion still wants a slice).

SOMEHOW, Nesta and Eris find each other in Spring Court whilst Tamlin doesn’t have himself together and start chatting prior to Cassian or whoever decides to show up for their secret meetup.

The two chat it off and Eris convinces Nesta to head back to the Autumn Court with him, therefore missing his secret meeting (subtly telling the Night Court to piss off by doing this)

Lord Beron MEETS Nesta, and they end up playing MASSIVE court politics during her entire stay there, but she’s fed and clothed

In secret, Nesta and Eris are planning for his take-down BY THEMSELVES, aka without the Night Court and outsiders

Nesta being the “witch” she is, creates a potion to enhance Eris’ powers that can only be made once (obviously)

PLUS, Nesta is still in control of an ENTIRE Dead Trove and steals it from the Night Court's possession the moment Eris sits on the throne as High Lord.

They attack during a ball celebrating their coming union with Autumn Court officials/royals/nobility and SUCCEED

Eris is now High Lord of Autumn Court

High Lord Eris has the entire remaining court’s attention and states his future wife is Nesta Archeron

The marriage ceremony would take place the next day leaving little to no time for interference.

He marries Nesta and announces it to the world AFTER THEY HAVE WED even mentioning that Nesta currently possesses the Dead Trove (it’s politics, after all) - they kept it quiet since everyone in the Night Court thought Nesta was still in Prythian or managed to leave the continent or whatever

Maybe even Nesta becomes a High Lady herself

The two already have Lord Keir and the Court of Nightmares in their pocket

The Valkyries decide to stick with Nesta over the bargain they made or make. #girlpower #alwaysstickingtogether #newfamily

The alliances between the Night Court and other courts would now be vulnerable

Each court must decide which court to pledge allegiance to 

Autumn Court - Risk death by Nesta with the Dead Trove and Eris’ growing flames

Night Court - War from the Night Court

High Lord Eris & (High Lady) Nesta seeing each other as equals in power (you could say the two fell in love or hold equal blackmail on the other therefore never betraying one another), gather allies from across the world without the Night Court, until THEY become THE ultimate power.

Meanwhile, Cassian is fuming about Nesta being with Eris especially after he called the man a coward for not already killing his abusive father (like okay Cas, not everyone can/will do that)

Mor & Cassian get into multiple fights about what he sees in her other than being his mate to the point the entire IC gets involved.

Amren is saying stuff like, “how typical of Nesta to only think about power and herself” but you’d mix in Nesta being poorly treated by the Night Court a month after her mating ceremony - Why? You decide

Elain as a Seer already knows which way this will end, but keeps her mouth closed

Feyre tries sending letters to her sister, Nesta, but after the first few, all letters from the Night Court are burned without regard to their contents (this could be a Lord Beron order or simply out of safety or whatever).

Rhysand is having to plan a hostile take over as his enemies start popping up from all sides of the globe, enemies Nesta & Eris will have to face as well.

Azriel is working himself ill to keep the Night Court as up to date on foreign and domestic issues

THEY BATTLE Koschei or whatever other evil comes up and take him or them DOWN together

End of the war, Nesta ends up PREGNANT! with Eris’s baby (no affairs shall be had here)

Slowly, but surely, the Night Court loses power and crumbles itself from within as the new leaders of Prythian arise (this can be before or after the final battle). 

Epilogue - X years later, Eris & Nesta are a formidable force with a massive kingdom and talented offspring that inherited their gifts (you decide which ones)

HIGH KING AND QUEEN, Eris & Nesta

I think this would be very cool to read.

[pedropascalssimp]

Beauty and the beast

Darth maul x Fem Princess reader

|part 1|may possibly be a 2nd part.

Summary: when maul takes up a job that benefits the sith, he never expected the unimaginable to happen. But here the princess of the backwater planet is, falling for the monstrous Sith. Who's to say maul isn't quite infatuated with her as well?

Warnings: this takes place before the phantom menac! It probably sucks and I once again made up a planet to fit this little idea better! Slight, BRIEF angst. Fluff.

*Not my gif!*

The Sith watched in awe, lips slightly parted in bewilderment at how she flawlessly moved about the room. Floating like a feather among the palace.

Elegant, the first word to grace his mind as he watched the way she moved across the pristine marble floor. Her scarlet dress was made from the finest silk hugging her body perfectly, Gold trimming woven into the plunging neckline that exposed more of her chest to his golden eyes, the slight spicks of crimson like stares alight in the dark sky as he watches from the shadows. She was truly an angel that graced this planet, her beauty incomparable to anything other than the gorgeous creatures on Iego. her smile radiant, voice a melody that rolled off her tongue like molasses. He had only spotted her earlier into the day, but then he was afraid to stare for too long, afraid he'd get caught by the owners of this palace. Why would the king want a monster such as the sith lord gazing upon the princess?

Maul couldn't help but feel the way his hearts practically long to know if her skin were as soft as it looked beneath the chandeliers golden light, wanting to feel her soft ruby painted lips against his in the lightest of kisses. The appending desire to hold her growing into an intense unbearable need the longer he gazed at her while she spoke with people of her kingdom, the ballroom alive with joy and happiness.

This kingdom wasn't as popular as others, rather a backwater planet that the present kings father had built up from the muddy ground, restoring order among the green humid planet. Giving the world law and order like it desperately needed, peace restored to the people who once killed one another over prized possessions or food. The former king built this very palace and hustled enough to earn a wealthy amount of credits to buy the kingdom food, killing no more among this planet. But since this planet, Ethoria was so peaceful and strict on that fact, many people with bounty on their heads sought a secretary here, meaning many bounty hunters came by and broke the law.

So after finding out about a particular assassin, one highly trained to kill the bounty hunters. The present king began bargaining with an old friend, pledging his allegiance to the sith lord count Dooku and aiding him in whatever needs possible if he could just borrow the sith darth maul, the assassin in question. Like say if the king's people ever bear a force sensitive child, Dooku may train the child in the ways of the sith if desired. Of course Maul agreed to help, given the order to do so by his master Darth Sidious.

Maul thought this mission would be quite boring, waiting around all day for the bounty hunters to enter this system to do their killing. But after meeting the king in the throne room and laying eyes on the princess, a gorgeous woman who made even the brightest of stars seem dull. Maul began to rethink his opinion on this mission, it would indeed be intriguing. Especially after the king gave maul the privilege of sleeping in a spare room among the palace.

Her laugh, the angelic sound is what broke his thoughts. Snapped back into reality, Maul is surprised to see the beauty known as the princess stood before him. Her eyes glued to his as she smiles at him. The sight caused his hearts to beat more rapidly, quite literally taking his breath away with one simple look. It was then, he knew she had been trying to speak with him, only to have him gawking like an idiot.

Clearing his throat, Maul bows in courtesy. “Please forgive me princess, my mind seems to be elsewhere” he smiles at her, hands clasped in front of him as the hood of his black cloak covers the horns atop his head, but the golden hue of the ballrooms light shows a glimpse of the ones on his temple.

The princess only lets out a light chuckle, the sound embedding itself in Maul's memory. “No need to worry yourself. I only came by to offer you my company, you looked awful lonely standing over here in the shadows” she said, voice soft. Her eyes roaming his face with a look one could only describe as admiration. It surprised maul to receive such a look from the gorgeous princess.

“I prefer it that way” the words slip off his tongue with no thought to them, her sparkling vibrant Y/E/C eyes seem to deflate, gaze averted to the marble floor.

“Oh, then I'm sorry to have bothered you” she offered a smaller smile than before, but it still held a friendliness to it as the other more brighter smiles flashed his way.

Having realized his mistake, Maul leans forward in the flash of light and grabs her hand. Soft and delicate, a feeling he had never felt before. It sent shivers down his spine, heart swelling with an unfamiliar feeling as he caught her eyes, framed by dark lashes that fluttered in surprise by his haste to keep her in his company. Her lips had parted as she looked as if she wanted to speak, but no words fell from her mouth as goosebumps arose on her exposed skin. Maul knew that he wasn't the only one affected by the touch shared between him and her once he spotted the bumps on her flesh.

“I would like you to show me around the garden” he spoke almost shyly, afraid she'd recoil from his touch in disgust. Afraid of his menacing appearance as a Zabrak while she was a gorgeous human. But the princess seemed to be full of surprises as she smiled at him sweetly before nodding in agreement to his request.

“Of course, follow me then maul” the way his name rolled off her tongue makes his heart go wild, thumping against his ribcage as if begging to escape and have her take them away so they can beat for her and her alone.

And so he followed her, surprised she still held his gloved hand in her own, as she walked him through the palace and out into the crisp night air. Although the mornings on this planet could be humid and hot, the nights were cold. While the princess admired the night sky, gazing at the two moons in the sky accompanied by the stars and planet's hanging in the dark sky with wonder. Maul admired her with the same unfamiliar swelling in his hearts, like a flower blooming for the first time in spring, new to the sunshine that embraced it, surrounding it with warmth in the promise of happiness and life, protection.

Maul stood there like a newly bloomed flower as his sunshine stood beside him holding his hand talking about the stars and moons in the sky while he soaked in her radiance. Perhaps it was love coursing through his veins, embracing his hearts and soul. He knew he shouldn't fall victim to her beauty though, for it were liable he would only be broken once the feelings go unrequited. Why would she love him when her kingdom provides her other souls that can live peacefully while he practices the art of murder?

“What's on you're mind?” she spoke up, yet again breaking his thoughts and snapping him back into reality.

He only sighs and looks around at the garden, many exotic flowers reside in the garden, closed up due to the sun's absence. “It's better left unspoken, princess” he replied to her concern as they walked through the garden. A pond surrounded by stone walls in the middle of the garden cast under a blue hue by the moons above. The princess leads maul over to the pond and they sit on the stone wall keeping the water in.

“Please call me Y/N, there is no need for such formalities out here” she giggled while a burst of wind breezed by, her shiver not going unnoticed by maul.

Ever the gentleman, he takes his cloak off, sadly letting her hand go to do so, revealing his unshadowed face. Crimson skin adorned by inky black tattoos, patterns that make her heart beat quicker by the full view of his face now. Horns small that emerge from his head like a crown, golden eyes surprisingly soft as he offered her his cloak to keep warm. She takes it, slipping it on and wrapping it around herself. His warmth still on it, his scent almost dizzying as she feels her cheeks heat up.

“Thank you maul” she muttered as he offered her a little nod and smile. Nervous under her intense gaze as she admired him, how his crimson and obsidian skin glow beneath the duel moon's light. He was truly a magnificent sight in her eyes, a handsome soul incomparable to anyone else. “Not only a gentleman but a handsome one at that” she compliments him, face flushed.

The zabrak practically snaps his head toward her with a shocked expression. Had he heard her right? Or was his mind playing cruel tricks on him? But one look into her soft enchanting eyes, he saw the awestruck glint in them, how her admiration spills from her own being in waves, detected in the force.

“I think the cold has made you delusional princess -

“I thought we had established to call me by my name?”

“I mean Y/N, and as I was saying -

“Wasn't important because I already know it's nothing but a load of bantha fodder” she cut his words off yet again, already knowing he was about to degrade himself in some form.

“How do you know if you haven't heard what I have to say?” he inquired with an amused smirk, golden eyes sparkling with joy.

“one doesn't need the force to know when someone is about to say something incredibly stupid” she mused with a little shake of her head, her eyes drifting down to her hands folded in her lap. She missed the feeling of his hand in her own, something she didn't know he missed as well.

“Not even known me for an hour and yet you seem to read me well” he lets out a chuckle, “You are quite the character darling” he shakes his head with a fond smile dancing across his lips. His hearts growing attached to her already, despite having only known her for a short period of time.

The wind blew once more, causing fallen leaves to sweep across the garden floor in a swirling dance. Maul watched them but felt the ticklish feeling of one leaf land on his head, his horns keeping the browning thing there. Giggling at the sight, Y/N watches how maul simply gives her a playful glare until his lips tug up in a small grin.

“I'll get it for you, hold still” she slowly leans closer to his side, reaching a delicate hand up to remove the dying leaf from his head. Her fingers letting the leaf go as she kept her hand in place, awestruck by how soft his skin felt beneath her fingertips. Slowly she touched one of his horns as he watched her face display her adoring look, admiring his handsome features as her hand slowly trails down from his horn to press her palm against his cheek, lips parted as she gazed at him with love. The look overwhelming maul almost as he subconsciously leans into her soft touch. The low purr emitting from his chest fueling Y/N to continue, leaning her face closer to his, warm breath gracing his skin, the desire to feel her lips growing stronger as her eyes flutter closed and their noses brush against each other. Lips nearly touch, ghosting over another.

“M'lady Y/N! You're father has been - oh my! I'm sorry to -

Practically pulling away from her faster than a speeder, Maul stood up and glared at the young maid. She showed her fear brought on by his glare as she avoided his eyes. The princess looked disappointed, almost hurt by how he abandoned her side as if she were the most venomous creature in all the galaxy. He ignores her hurt expression and demands his cloak back, brushing off the shatter of his hearts, how they beg him to forget about the kriffing maid and fulfill the need to kiss the princess, to finish what was started. But he gives her one last look, hating how she avoids his eyes and focuses on the younger woman who interrupted the two in the first place.

“Goodnight princess, thank you for showing me around this lovely garden” he bowed and walked away not even awaiting her response. He felt like a fool for how he recoiled from her, how he demanded his cloak back and left in a hurry. But he knew that consequences would be dealt with for the princess if she were spotted kissing the sith assassin paid to rid her home planet of the cold blooded killers destroying the peace her grandfather and father fought hard to keep. Maul knew that he wasn't the right one for her, that he couldn't give in to temptation, it would only break not only his, but her heart as well once he leaves this planet.

But she couldn't help but feel a connection with the sith, her heart yearning to feel his skin again.

His heart yearning to feel her warm delicate touches. The connection he felt growing as he walked away from her, the sight of her eyes already plaguing his mind.

[thebadgerclan]

Long Live

Pairing: Aleksander Morozova x Alina Starkov

Summary: Long live the king and queen...

A/N: Damn I wrote a lot today 😂 (I was motivated, what can I say)

“Long live King Aleksander and Queen Alina!”  Aleksander took her hand, raising it into the air.  The crowd cheered loudly, their support for their new monarchs plain to behold.  Long live was a strange sentiment, Aleksander and Alina would live for centuries, if not for all eternity.  But it was tradition, and traditions must be upheld.  The Lantsovs had, at last, been overthrown, the Grand Palace burned to the ground, along with their legacy.  The Little Palace would now serve as the seat of the Ravkan throne, housing not only the Grisha but their selection of First Army representatives and otkazat’sya representatives.  The lines between the two would stand no longer.

But politics could wait, for now, they would celebrate.  Aleksander pulled Alina into his arms, kissing her deeply, to the crowd’s delight.  “I love you, Alinochka, my queen,” he said so only she could hear.  Alina smiled, the smile that made his heart turn to mush and his knees weak.  “I love you too, Sasha.”  She went on her tiptoes to kiss him, and he bent so she wouldn’t fall.  When she broke the kiss, Aleksander offered her his arm, which she took with a smile.

He led her out of the Royal Chapel and into the ballroom of the Little Palace, which was decorated with black and gold, the sun in eclipse everywhere.  Their court followed, and Aleksander took his seat at the head of the dining table, his queen at his side.  It took a while for everyone to be seated, but when they were, Aleksander stood, and they all fell silent.  

“The age of division in Ravka is at an end,” he began.  “Grisha, otkazat’sya, First Army, Second Army, there will be no more division.  Because we are all Ravkans.  And sure as we need her, she needs us, she relies on us.  We will see this nation rise from the ashes of the Lantsov treachery and damage, stronger and better than before!”  The guests cheered, most booing the Lantsov name.  “With my queen, the beautiful Alina, at my side,” he gestured for her to stand.  “No one will stand in our way.  No nation will dare conquer our power!  To Ravka!”

“To Ravka!” the guests toasted, and the servants began serving dinner.  They were composed of both Grisha and otkazat’sya, willing employees of the crown, both paid equally.  Throughout the meal, toasts and prayers were offered for the King and Queen’s health, for a prosperous reign, all of which Aleksander and Alina received with grace and thanks.  The table was moved aside, and Aleksander led his queen to their ornate golden thrones.  They held court for a while, greeting various ambassadors who had travelled to see them crowned, hearing their pledges of allegiance, Aleksander keeping Alina’s and in his the whole time.

When the quartet began warming up, the king rose, offering his hand to his queen.  “Care to honor me with a dance, my queen?”  Alina stood, taking her lover’s hand.  “Of course, my king.”  He led her onto the floor, the guests making ample room for them.  As they began to dance, Aleksander couldn’t help but take in Alina’s beauty.  Her golden kefta glittered in the light, her hair braided back from her face, crown shimmering atop her head.  She was the very embodiment of the sun, her light illuminating the darkness everywhere she went.

“You look beautiful, Alina,” Aleksander said as they spun around the room.  “My beautiful queen.  “Akin to a Saint, you are.”  Alina laughed, a sound that warmed his very soul.  “I thought I already was a Saint.”  Aleksander bowed his head in faux apology.  “Forgive me, Sankta, I meant no offense.”  Alina laughed again, giggling as he twirled her suddenly.  “I suppose you are forgiven.”

A few courtiers had joined in the dance, their gowns and colored kefta a swirl of color.  When the song came to a close, Aleksander once more pulled Alina to him and kissed her deeply.  He wasn’t afraid of showing his girl affection in front of others, if they weren’t comfortable with it, then they could leave.  “Queen Alina,” Aleksander whispered, his forehead against hers.  “However might I prove my allegiance to you?”  Alina smirked, kissing his chin.  “Well, King Aleksander, I can think if a few ways.”

[zelenacat]

Chapter 1- When We Were Young- An Obitine Story

She was dressed from head to toe in ivory. Her voluminous gown glimmered in the sunlight, emanating a pearly sheen on the marble floors of the palace. The aureate doves and shields on her hem reflected their golden threads onto the shiny golden flats that caressed her heels. Clinched at the waist was a slim glimmering belt that rested nicely on her hips, bejeweled with citrine and opal stones interlocking with pearls. She was slightly uncomfortable with the tightness of her corsetted bust and how it accented the shoulders her maids had rubbed with oil. 

“Your Grace?”

Satine straightened at her title, pushing her shoulder blades back and raising her chin. She stared at her face in the mirror, crystal blue eyes ablaze with righteous fire, slim cheekbones painted a pale pink, and with her hair in a low bun, Satine was about to face her destiny.

“Your Grace?”

Those words shook her from her revelry.

Satine swallowed, addressing the lady that had just appeared in the doorway, “Yes, Fesma?” 

“Your train, Your Grace.”

Satine gasped, Mandalorians were not ones for frivolity, but this cape, the royal coronation train, was the most glorious thing she’d ever seen. Fesma stepped forward, Khaami, her other lady appeared in the doorway just as the purple velvet was draped over her shoulders and tied along her collar bone.

“Your Grace, the carriage has arrived.”

Satine placed her hands on her stomach and inhaled, steadying herself, this was it, the day.

“Let us go then.”

Satine rode in a covered aircraft that slowly crawled through the city of Sundari, headed to the glorious Jaru Cathedral. She’d been nervous all morning, but now it was real. The people, so many of them, cheered as they tried to get a glimpse of her behind the veiled windows. In the car behind her rode four of her coronation maidens, only Fesma and Khaami were with her now.

“You will excel, Your Grace,” Fesma spoke up.

Satine turned to her.

“Are you sure?” slipped out her mouth before she could stop herself.

“Quite,” Fesma answered firmly, “you are the Duchess.”

“It is true, Your Grace,” Khaami agreed, “it is your birthright.”

Satine tried to smile, “I thank you, ladies, for your kindness.”

Fesma and Khaami had been natural choices for her ladies, they were the daughters of powerful counts, and she had known them since girlhood. 

As they arrived at the Cathedral, the trumpets blared. Satine’s sister, Bo-Katan, dressed in light blue with a violet sash, opened the car door.

“Here we go, Bine,” Bo-Katan held out her hand, “it’s time.”

Satine took her sister’s hand and climbed out of the carriage, the crowds roared. Satine looked up at the camera, and it was then she truly smiled, her people, they loved her. 

“Ready, Your Grace,” Khaami whispered from behind.

Satine turned around to check, her ladies were holding the sides of her cape, it wasn’t allowed to touch the ground. Behind them, her coronation maidens were waiting. Steeling herself, Satine walked forward, with Bo-Katan on her right as her coronation maidens fell in line, she looked every bit as regal as she felt.

At the Cathedral entrance, Bo-Katan was given a sword, she held it upright and stepped in front of Satine, the trumpets blared again. Slowly, the nobles in the stands stood and Bo-Katan stepped forward. Satine knew that her sister had practiced for this moment, as she was not one for royal engagements, and for that Satine was grateful. 

As they made their way to the end of the aisle, Bo-Katan stepped off to the side and Satine turned to sit on the grand throne center stage. Her ladies spread her cape around her off to one side, elegantly accentuating her posture.

“The Archbishops of Sundari.”

Slowly, two ancient men made their way from Satine’s sides, one on the right the other on the left. One carried a knife, the other carried a bowl, they stopped in front of Satine and bowed deeply. When they rose, Satine watched as one Archbishop held out his hand to her, Satine tried not to shake as she took the knife. 

“Do you solemnly swear,” droned the other Archbishop, “that you are as pure and as holy as warrior King Korkyrach the First?”

“I solemnly swear.” Satine spoke.

“Do you solemnly swear” began the other one, “that you will lead Mandalore to greatness as the Queen Mara the First once did?”

“I solemnly swear.” Satine said sternly.

The Archbishop held out the bowl, and Satine made a shallow cut on her wrist. Gingerly, she poured some drops of blood into the ancient artifact.

“The Gods have accepted your blood,” the Archbishops stated together, “the Gods have proclaimed you worthy.”

Trumpets blared and the Archbishops moved to stand at her sides. Down the aisle came the High Justice, carrying a scarlet pillow with the most decadent crown upon it. Satine was conscious of her eyes widening, but she didn’t realize the rapid rising of her chest.

“Calm, little one,” whispered the old High Justice when she was in earshot, “this is your birthright.”

Satine straightened. One of the High Justice’s attendants took the pillow from him and the High Justice raised the crown above Satine’s head.

“As Jaru the Divine blessed the first Dukes of Mandalore, she now blesses you, Satine Kryze, as you are officially crowned, Duchess of Mandalore!”

Satine felt the weight of the heavy crown on her head and she closed her eyes.

“Long live the Duchess!”

Satine opened her eyes.

“Long Live the Duchess!”

Straightening, Satine focused on her breathing.

“Long live the Duchess!”

The High Justice and his attendant stepped to the sides of the throne as Bo-Katan walked forward. Just in front of the throne, Satine’s sister got down on one knee and took Satine’s hand in hers.

“I, Bo-Katan Kryze of Clan Kryze, declare myself to be your liege of life and limb, your sister in battle, and your servant in peace. May Mandalore prosper under your reign.”

One by one, the clan leaders came up and pledged allegiance to Satine, their new duchess, declaring that her reign would be a glorious one. When it came time for her to leave, Satine’s ladies and coronation maidens encircled the throne and Satine stood. The crowd surged forward as she appeared on the steps of the Jaru Cathedral, Satine smiled and waved as she got into the carriage. After a few minutes of her ladies arranging her cape, the coachman closed the door.

She made a speech on the balcony of the Summer Palace, facing all of Sundari as she repeated the practiced words she’d been preparing for weeks. The people cheered when she finished, the nobles clapped politely.

“Long live the Duchess!”

Satine didn’t expel the breath she was holding until after their backward march, when the panes of the palace balcony closed.

“Congratulations, Your Grace.”

Satine choked on a giggle.

“Your Grace?”

Satine sighed and turned to face her ladies and coronation maidens, “Thank you all.”

“Come, Your Grace,” Fesma held out her hand, “let us help you to your quarters.”

In her quarters, Satine took off the ceremonial crown and set it down on her toilette, then went her gloves, her diamond choker and pearls, and finally, her cape.

“Fesma, Khaami?”

“Yes, Your Grace?” the ladies looked up.

“Please return the ceremonial regalia and my jewels to the royal treasury.”

“Of course, Your Grace.”

Satine placed the crown in Fesma’s hands and draped the cape over Khaami’s arms.

“Hm,” the Duchess stood back to admire her handiwork, then cracked a smile, “I think you should wear the jewels to transport them, don’t you think?”

Khaami’s mouth dropped open and she coughed on a gasp. Fesma’s eyes went wide, but she recovered.

“Are you sure, Your Grace?”

“Yes, Fesma.”

Khaami squealed. Satine placed the necklaces on her ladies.

“Be back quickly, I have to change.”

After her ladies left, Satine sat down in her toilette chair, staring at herself in the mirror. She’d done it, a proud expression crossed her face, she was the Duchess of Mandalore. Yet, something felt...wrong.

Satine inhaled sharply, she wouldn’t think of him. Satine wouldn’t think about how she felt when he’d taken harpoons for her, or how he made her laugh with her belly, or how she’d given him her body without a second thought. Where was he now? Did he remember her? Had he moved on?

“Your Grace?”

Satine looked up, she hadn’t realized she’d been crying.

Clearing her throat, she answered, “Yes, Fesma?”

Fesma frowned when she saw the Duchess, “We must get you dressed for the banquet.”

“Yes,” Satine wiped her eyes, “I am the guest of honor after all.”

Standing, the Duchess did not miss the look of concern that passed between her ladies.

“Your Grace, are you-”

“I’m alright, Fesma,” Satine interrupted, “but we must get ready.”

The coronation had been held at around 11 o’clock in the morning, but Satine had barely eaten breakfast; she'd been so nervous. So while Fesma prepared a bath, Khaami went to fetch food.

“Fesma,” Satine’s face darkened suddenly, “what was it like the year I was gone?”

The lady froze, swallowed, shook her head, and continued on with her task. 

“Not even us nobles fared well, our houses were raided, food became scarce-”

“I’m sorry.” Satine confided.

“What about you, Your Grace,” Fesma asked, “what was your year away from home like?”

So many memories came back to Satine, dancing with Obi-Wan under a dark sky with stars as their only light, learning how to climb trees just so she could watch her Jedi protectors meditate, and learning how to swim with Obi-Wan’s hands guiding her.

“Your Grace?” there was a curious edge in Fesma’s tone this time.

Satine sighed, “It was an adventure.”

After Satine had washed herself, she ate while Fesma dried her hair.

“You’re late.” Fesma had observed when Khaami returned.

Khaami blushed, “I ran into Yorge.”

Satine grinned, “Is that why there’s extra cakes?”

Khaami returned her smile, “That and because it’s a special day, Your Grace.”

Satine offered some cakes to Khaami and Fesma before they continued getting ready. She never liked painting her face, so Satine waved it off, but Fesma did insist her hair be done the way her foremother’s had worn it, in braids for battle.

“They frame your face, Your Grace.” Khaami observed Fesma’s handiwork.

“Call me Satine,” the Duchess said suddenly, “like you used to.”

Khaami looked down.

“My father said that it's different now,” she said, “because you’re the Duchess.”

“Well as the Duchess,” Satine straightened, “I decree that you shall call me Satine.”

Fesma grinned, “I guess that’s that, then.”

By the time it was four o’clock, Satine was fully dressed. Her gown was a deep royal purple with golden embroidery on the hems. She had a golden belt with amethysts that hummed softly against the dark stone on her bust that connected to her layered pearl necklace. Satine ran her fingers along the navy sash across her body, clipped with all sorts of medals and regal symbols.

Khaami came up behind her, “And to finish it off.”

The Duchess smiled, Fesma took the tiara from Khaami’s hands and placed it on Satine’s head.

“You look lovely, Satine.” Khaami clapped.

“Thank you,” the Duchess turned to her ladies, “now go get dressed yourselves, the reception starts in an hour.”

Squealing, Satine’s friends ran from the room. The Duchess smiled sadly, it had been a month since Obi-Wan left, and it had been a month since she last giggled like a girl. Now, she was no longer a girl, but the Duchess of Mandalore.

Satine sighed, Obi-Wan was like a crushing weight on her chest everytime she thought of him, and her corset currently wasn’t helping. Why did he half to command such a power over her, the charming padawan with his roguish smile and twinkling eyes. He’d said he’d loved her, and she’d confessed the same.

Inhaling and trying to hold back her tears, Satine made her way out of her personal quarters and into the sitting room that adjoined it. There she would find something to do, but bookshelves and a piano didn’t hold any interest for Satine at the moment. Over her year on the run, she’d learned to appreciate the little things, unfortunately, the Duchess couldn’t seem to pull herself out of her sadness.

Finally, after running her fingers along book spines and fiddling with piano keys for an ungodly amount of time, Fesma and Khaami returned to Satine’s chambers.

“Satine,” Fesma whispered quietly as they took their places in the hall, “remember to smile.”

When her name was announced, trumpets blew and the grand double doors swung open, Satine smiled as politely as she could and descended the stairs, arms clasped in front of her. The crowds parted, ladies curtsied and men bowed as Satine walked by, making her way to the throne in the back of the room.

“Your Grace.”

Satine admired her subjects, they all seemed so radiant.

“Your Grace.”

And she was Duchess of them all, a great responsibility.

“Your Grace.”

Satine must earn their respect. Turning, she sat on the throne as Fesma and Khaami took their places beside her. The mingling began. Satine watched for the first five minutes, making connections in her mind as to who connected with who. Then she stood and took a turn about the room, she graciously greeted the clan heads and dignitaries from foreign courts who had come to witness her coronation. By the time it was announced that dinner was served, Satine felt like her brain was melting. So many back-stabing compliments and veiled unpleasantries, the Duchess wasn’t amused.

Satine picked up her spoon and took the first bite, the court followed.

“What a splendid performance, Your Grace.” the man on her left, Tarrei Vizsla commented.

“Thank you, Count Vizsla, that is most kind.”

“Have you considered what your first act as Duchess will be?”

Satine smiled, “Likely it shall be opening the new parliament.”

The Count’s lips twitched, and Satine wondered for a minute which side of the war he’d been on. The New Mandalorians, a peaceful sect, had just taken over the government and were picking their cabinet members, Satine had alluded to being a pacifist in her speech earlier in the day, but she hadn’t outright said it. Count Vizsla was probably seeing where she stood.

The Count nodded politely and returned to his food, Satine wondered if she had just made a huge mistake.

When Satine finished her meal, she allowed the man on her right, an ambassador from Onderon, to lead her into the ballroom. For the first hour, she danced with all the high-ranking dignitaries who asked to take a spin with her. Afterwards, she sat with Fesma and Khaami, claiming she needed a refreshment.

“This is quite the spectacle.” Khaami whispered, leaning into Satine.

“I agree,” the Duchess frowned, watching her people dance, “the last time we threw a ball my father was the Duke.”

“He would be proud of you, Satine,” Fesma placed her hand on Satine’s, “I’m sure of it.”

The Duchess grimaced, “I don’t know if he’d agree with my political views.”

Fesma shrugged, “Children have to rebel somehow.”

The Duchess danced a couple more times in the next two hours before bidding good evening to the guests that approached her before leaving. Finally, when Satine was free to leave the party herself, she practically ran back to her room.

“Thank goodness that’s over.” Khaami sighed.

The Duchess huffed in agreement, taking off her tiara and jewelry.

“I’ll take those downstairs if you like, Satine.” Fesma offered.

“Yes,” Satine smiled wearily, ”thank you.”

As Khaami began to help the Duchess shed her many layers, Satine felt a queasiness in her stomach. She opened her mouth to speak, but then shut it quickly. Just as her dress fell to the floor, she ran to the fresher.

“Satine?”

Expelling saliva infused chunks of her coronation meal, the Duchess began to choke.

“Oh, Satine!” 

  The Duchess heard Khaami run over to her and begin to smack her in the back.

“Khaami, what-”

“Satine’s ill.” Khaami explained to Fesma.

The Duchess regurgitated a chunk of meat into the fresher.

“Well hold her hair up, then!” Fesma ordered.

When Satine’s stomach had calmed down and she was able to speak again, she asked for a cup of water and to be left alone. Fesma and Khaami had shared a look.

“Alright,” Satine sighed, “I need you ladies to do something for me.”

“What?” Khaami wondered.

Satine turned to her earnestly, “Something that you can’t tell anyone you did.”

“It’s not illegal, I hope.” Fesma took a step back.

“No, no, it’s just,” Satine paused, “a lot happened while I was away.”

“Like what?” Khaami asked, still confused.

“I,” Satine’s hands began to shake, “I don’t think I have a cold.”

Fesma crossed her arms, “We should get you down to the medical wing to check.” 

“No!” Satine roared, outstretching her hand.

“Satine?” Khaami questioned.

“I need you to get me a medical droid to examine me, in here,” Satine clarified, “and if my suspicions are correct, then we’ll have to wipe its memory.”

Fesma gave her Duchess a querying look.

“I still don’t understand.” Khaami confessed.

“Duchess,” Fesma began, “are you, I mean, do you think you might-”

“Yes.” Satine answered firmly.

“Khaami,” Fesma turned, “fetch a medical droid from the med wing, but take the servant passageways and let no one see you.”

The lady did as she was asked, and the medical droid confirmed Satine’s worst fear.

“You,” Khaami gasped, “you’re-”

“Expecting.” Satine finished.

“How-”

“The Jedi who protected me,” Satine looked down, “the padawan and I grew close.”

“Satine,” Fesma’s face paled, “Mandalorians aren’t fond of the Jedi.”

“And my enemies could use this against me.” agreed Satine.

“What will you do?” Khaami worried, coming back to herself.

Satine bit her lip, “Do you think I should tell him?”

“Are you going to keep it is the real question.” Fesma frowned.

Khaami covered her mouth.

Satine was silent for a long time, “I want a piece of what I can never have, this baby is my way around the rules.”

“But, Satine, how will, who will-”

“In secret,” the Duchess answered, “and I will.”

[zenithlux]

Tendrils of Regret - Part 3

Read on AO3 Here!

You found out very quickly that it was easy for you to annoy Vergil. In fact, it seemed that your entire existence was enough to do it. But you quite enjoyed pushing more of his buttons. Music in the shower? Check. Typing as loudly as possible while working on the paperwork? Check. Silent treatment? Check. (He did tell you to be quiet, after all). Conveniently forget to wash his clothes despite helping Dante with the laundry? Check. Anything you could do to make his day a little more annoying was free game. 

But you also realized very quickly that Vergil was doing the exact same thing. Buy pizza for dinner but forget that you couldn’t eat it? Check. Read in your desk chair and ignore your (silent) demands to leave? Check (Though he’d quickly given that up when you’d almost sat in his lap just to prove a point). Bring home the stinkiest demons he could find to help with your “condition”? Check. (You wish Trish hadn’t recommended he or Dante do such a thing). And your little game, or whatever it was, went on and on and on. A never-ending dance of increasingly annoying things back and forth, as if one was waiting for the other to crack.

And Dante was absolutely loving it. 

“It doesn't bother me one bit,” he said one day while looking through one of his more scandalous magazines. “It’s lively around here now, thanks to you.” 

You stared at him. “Lively!?”

Dante laughed as he tossed his magazine toward the trash bin. He missed, of course, and just put his hands on the back of his head. “It’s been a long time since my brother and I shared the same space, but things would have been boring between us. You’re like… chaos incarnate.” You scowled at him, but he just kept going. “Verge can’t predict you, and I think that’s good for him.”

“Good for him?” You said. 

“And it’s entertaining,” Dante said as he grabbed another magazine from his desk.

“How many of those do you have?”

“Just about enough,” He said with a grin. “Now go pester my brother some more.”

“He’s not even home.”

“But he will be-”

Then the phone rang. 

Both of you stared at it for a moment. The phone hadn’t rung once since Dante and Vergil had come back from the Underworld almost a month ago. It was Morrison who had taken all of the calls, sending requests their way in a well-coordinated manner. The only reason the phone was even on the desk was because Dante claimed he was “fond of it”. In fact, you hadn’t even realized it was plugged in, as you all had cell phones now. 

“Should you get that?” You said. 

Dante glanced at you, then back to the phone. Finally, he lifted it off of the receiver. “Devil May-”

“Demons!” A male voice yelled. “There’s a swarm of them outside my house!”

Dante frowned, glancing at you. You nodded, more than ready to get out of the store for a little while. “Where are you?” Dante said. The voice was quieter this time, but Dante just nodded. “We’ll be there shortly.” He tossed the phone back on the receiver and grinned at you. “Sure you wanna come, sunshine?”

“Why wouldn’t I?”

“Only one way we’re going to get there.”

You blinked. “But you don’t have a car.”

“Nope,” He said as he grabbed his sword off the wall. 

“What then?” You said. “Am I piggy-backing?”

He laughed. “Something like that.”

-----------

You don’t know what compelled you to get on that infernal bike. As much as you’d come to trust Dante, riding a demon motorcycle without a helmet and an arguably crazy driver was the last thing you should have done. And he made you pay for it, going far faster than the speed limit, turning corners as sharp as possible, and even jumping a bridge with little care in the world. At some point, you’d been forced to wrap your arms around his stomach to keep from falling right off. And once he’d skidded to a stop in front of an old country home outside of Redgrave, you’d jumped off the bike so fast you almost hit the dirt stumbling away. “Are you crazy?” You said, breathing heavily. 

“But it was fun.” He said as he sent the bike away. 

“Fun!?”

“You were perfectly safe, Sunshine.”

“Stop calling me that!”

“And if I don’t?”

You scowled and stormed toward the building. Except a demonic screech from nearby stopped you in your tracks. You wandered to the side of the building, peering around the back. As the man had said, there were numerous demons. They were ones you’d seen before; fat bodies, flowers for heads with nothing but mouths filled with shark teeth. However, most of them were already dead, and a certain blue-coated man was standing in the middle of the carnage. 

“Hey, Verge!” Dante yelled with a dramatic wave. “Surprised you got here first.”

The elder brother swiped his hand through his hair. “Of course I did,” He said. “You should have sensed them yourself.”

Dante snorted. “From Devil May Cry? You give Sunshine too much credit.”

“Me?” You said. “I can’t sense demons.” 

A rumble beneath your feet stopped you in your tracks. Dante moved first, picking you up before you had a chance to react and leaping an impossible distance away. The ground split open, throwing chunks of earth in all directions. Dante slashed a few that came towards you. The others suddenly turned to dust as Vergil clicked his sword back in its sheath. “Show off,” Dante said. Vergil said nothing. 

Your heart pulsed with sudden energy as vines shot out of the ground. In the next second, a blur of purple emerged, slamming down in front of you. Petals unfurled on top of a bulbous stomach, revealing a humanoid figure from the waist up. Her beady red eyes fell on you as a crown of black rose petals formed on her head. “I knew I sensed you.”

Your heart pulsed again. You flinched, grabbing at it. The demon laughed. “How far you’ve fallen, sister.” Vines snaked out toward you, but they too disintegrated. The creature wasn’t even phased as more vines emerged to take their place. “Take a host, she said. I’ll be stronger than even you.” The demon cackled in pure delight. “Look at you now, sister. Nothing more than a useless vine in a useless body.” 

Your eyes narrowed, but it was Dante who stepped forward. “You picked the wrong place to sprout.”

Her eyes flickered between the brothers. “Sons of Sparda,” She said with a dramatic sigh. “How unfortunate. No matter,” The creature said. “You can’t really blame me. My sister and her master in the same place?” Her eyes came back to you. “Both shadows of their former selves.”

Master… 

“This is a waste of time,” Vergil said. “Just kill her and be done with it.”

“Tired of the interesting stories already, Verge?!” Dante said. 

Vergil reached for his sword. “If you won’t do it then I’ll-”

“Who are you?” You said, taking a step forward. You could feel the weight of Vergil’s glare on the back of your head but ignored him. “I remember her thoughts, and she never spoke of you.”

“Of course not, worm,” The demon said. “I was the better of the two and she just couldn’t accept it.”

Dante snorted. “Now that sounds familiar.”

“You’re lucky she’s here,” Vergil said through gritted teeth. 

“What? Afraid of what she’ll think?” Dante said. “That’s funny coming from you.”

“I suggest you…”

“Shut up,” You snapped as you took another step forward. The vines didn’t move, and the demon was giving you a curious look. “You want your sister back, don’t you?”

“What would make you think that?”

“You came to see her,” you said. “And you couldn’t have known she was in my body.”

“What are you getting at?”

“You know how to remove the piece she left behind.”

After a moment of silence, the demon burst into laughter. “Even if I did, I wouldn’t bother now. She got what she deserved, and I do enjoy the suffering of humans.” Vines crawled up around you but you merely flicked your hand and they slammed back into the ground. The demon’s laughter stopped, her eyes wide. “You retained her powers?”

“Guess you’ll have to find out.” You said as you raised your hand, calling to your own plants. But a sharp pain pierced your chest. You cried out, barely able to remain standing as your vision blurred. 

“Poor little girl,” The demon said. “Can’t even fight without your Master’s permission.”

“What?” 

“You probably thought you were free while he was gone from this world,” The demon said. “But you’re not. Not anymore. That pathetic vine in your heart pledged her allegiance to the Demon King. You’re lucky you can even breathe without his permission.”

Furious, you whirled on Vergil. “Stop… whatever this is.”

“I’m not doing anything,” He said. 

A vine crashed beside you.  You pushed it back, but your head felt like it was splitting open. “I was right then,” You said. “You… You can…” You couldn’t finish that sentence as the realization struck you. He can control me. 

You’d never hated the vine in your chest more in your life. 

“I’m done with you,” The demon said as vines wrapped at your feet. “You’ll die here, sister. And I’ll be free.”

“What are you waiting for?” Vergil said. 

“What?”

“You want to fight?” He crossed his arms. “Then do it.”

Your senses snapped into focus. The fog cleared. The pain ceased. And as the vines tightened, you pulled your hands back as fast as you could. The vines split from her body, falling limp around you. The demon shrieked, swinging her arms out. A new pair of vines stretched off her body. You jumped back and touched the ground. You felt your power seep into the soil and you yanked your hand up. Your own plants emerged, their roots growing large enough to block the strike. “How?” The demon yelled, slamming her vines into your barricade again and again. “My sister trained for years. How can you…?”

“I had a good teacher,” You said. Then, you took off into a sprint. Each time a vine swung toward you, you dodged to the side, pulling up more plants to block her path. Her attacks were more frantic, some swinging right over your head. Others missed you entirely. More plants grew; flowers from deep in the soil. Grass that grew and twisted until it was as thick as the vines themselves. As you reached the demon, you slid under her belly, pulling your hands down to your sides. All of your plants surged forward, piercing through the demon’s body. She shrieked, unable to move as more grew, wrapping up around her. You pulled down, straining as you felt her try and fight back. But it was no use. Her own vines wrapped around her, pinning her to the ground. 

The vine in your chest stirred. It was hungry. 

You felt a tinge of excitement, and you didn’t think it was your own. 

You walked slowly as the demon struggled, mentally preparing for what the vine expected of you. You had done this numerous times before, but never on a demon of this size. You remembered the words V had given you when he first taught you what to do. It’s a transference of energy, he’d said as he jabbed his cane into the head of a demon. You’re taking what is rightfully yours. 

How is it rightfully mine?

Strength rules all in the Underworld, my vine. If you defeat a creature like this, its power is yours to take. And if you want to live, you’ll remember that. 

You did remember. You’d hesitated once after he’d left and it had nearly killed you. Now, you promised yourself that would never happen again. 

You just wished nobody was here to see it. 

As you made your way to the front, you shed your shirt, letting it drop at your feet. You were grateful when neither of the brothers said anything, as you fully expected at least Dante to throw something your way. The demon struggled more, but it was useless. “Strength rules all,” You murmured as you reached your hand out toward her body. She shrieked again, trying to dissuade you. But you barely heard it, wincing as the vine emerged from your chest. It was small at first but grew as it wrapped around your arm, heading for the demon. 

“No!” The demon yelled. “You can’t do this.”

“The better sister, huh,” You said. “Not anymore.”

“Human!” She shouted. “Don’t…” But the vine shot upward, piercing her through the heart. Your senses flared to life, even brighter then they had been before. You watched as blue blood slipped through the vine and back into you. You took a deep, slow breath, adjusting to the foreign feeling. You felt lightheaded, but you always did like this. Your body couldn’t handle the blood. It was human. Fragile. But once the vine snapped back, all would return to normal, its magic doing whatever it needed to do to keep you alive. Before you, the demon shrunk, wilting away as her life slipped out of her body. 

After another moment, the vine pulled away, drawing back into you. The wound closed, leaving behind the same, star-shaped scar that you’d stared at for months. For a moment, the demon stood there, mouth agape as she stared up at the sky. Then, she tumbled backward, shattering like a brittle leaf crushed under the weight of someone like you. You felt dizzy as your heartbeat quickened. You reached for your shirt, but stumbled and fell to your knees. You’d never defeated such a large demon. Not on your own. It had always been V to take the power from them, and you’d gladly given it. But now…

You shuddered as nausea swept over you. Exhaustion spread to all of your muscles, threatening to drag you into a deep slumber.  You managed to get your shirt back on, but it was clumsy. You could barely breathe. Barely think. The world felt so small. So constricting. You’d never felt this bad in your life.

Had you taken too much?

Stay strong, V had said the first time you’d absorbed a demon. Its power is yours to keep. 

You felt a hand on your back.  Stay strong V whispered again. 

Yours to keep. 

You passed out, uncertain if you’d ever wake up again.

[lov3nerdstuff]

I Found

*Loki x reader*

Part: 1/8

Words: 3.3k

Warnings: mention of blood, violence, slavery, sexual stuff

Summary: Loki finds himself stranded in Underworld, a kingdom hidden deep inside a desolate planet. In order to survive, he puts himself in the service of the tyrant king, who promises to give Loki his freedom back if he fulfills one simple task. Loki is to set out and bring the mad king his newest toy: You.

~A dangerous, forbidden love. Abduction. Slavery. Tortured conscience. A mad tyrant... Escape?~

Request: A song fic based on 'I found' by Amber Run, requested by @strawberrysandcream 💗 Hope no one minds that I'm making another mini series!

All Parts can be found on my Masterlist!

__________________________________

It had been weeks since Loki had last seen the sky. Weeks since he had felt the wind in his hair, chilling him in the most pleasant manner and tousling his raven locks even more than they had previously been. Weeks since he had felt the sun's warm rays on his skin, a calming comfort bearing the promise of a day yet to come. Weeks since he had crashed on this horrible planet, been stranded in this place that consisted only of ragged rock and stone. Weeks since he had been brought into the caves, the tunnels and catacombs winding through the entire planet like an anthill, the city underneath the surface of all that cold stone. Weeks since he had managed to gain the favor of the king, pledging his unyielding loyalty to yet another ruler. This was starting to become an infestation in his life, really… changing allegiance like others changed their garments.

Yet, Loki was a smart man, to say the least. He knew what it took to survive in a seemingly inescapable purgatory like this, hell, even profit off it if he went about it correctly. And as long as he sensed a personal advantage, he was all for it. At least until he would see a chance to escape this place without drawing any severe harm to himself.

Thus it was no surprise that after a few weeks of flattery, of strategically placed opportunities to prove himself valuable and of some minor felonies, Loki became a highly valued yet not fully trusted member of the royal court of Underworld. That's what they called their kingdom… Underworld. Not very creative, in Loki's eyes. But the king was a nuisance anyway, a brutal and cruel tyrant one shouldn't underestimate; Loki had learned that quite soon. When the king asked for something, or rather demanded for something to be done, one couldn't refuse. Not if they wanted to live to see another day.

And so it came the day – or night? – when Loki was summoned to the grand throne hall. Honestly, he had lost track of whether it was day or nighttime, for life down here went by different rules anyhow. As he strode through the many narrow, torch-lit tunnels leading from his assigned quarters (a rather small cave that at least was equipped with everything he deemed necessary) towards his place of summoning, he wondered what the king might want this time around. Someone to scratch his back maybe? Or to tell another story to keep him entertained while he dined? Loki snorted at his own thoughts.

Yes, life down here was rather easy for him. He had a bed and a fireplace against the insufferable cold of the eternally ongoing stone, food and fresh water in the plenty. But he knew that not everyone was as lucky. He had been outside of the area one could consider a palace a couple times, and he had returned deeply shaken. The people of Underworld suffered, very greatly so. Certainly, there were always some people in every kingdom who suffered, for that could hardly be prevented for a longer period of time. But here, it wasn't merely some people who suffered. It was THE people. Singular form.

Loki may be mostly concerned about himself and his own affairs and well-being, but he wasn't cruel. He still had a conscience, and a heart… even though he wished he didn't, for it made his life down here so much harder to bear. Yet, he knew that there was very little he could do about that and thus the knowledge that he was highly privileged weighed heavy on his conscience at all times. He just couldn't shake it off, couldn't become the cold and heartless man he pretended to be on the outside.

As he entered the large throne hall, he cringed internally. It was stuffed with prestige objects, valuables from other realms that might have excited him in a previous life, but that now only served to him the purpose of proving the king's vanity. Had Loki himself really wanted to be like that at some point…? That version of himself seemed more distant now than ever before.

"Loki, my friend!" The king's croaky tenor voice greeted him a moment later and Loki flashed his most charming, and most fake smile.

"You called for me, your majesty?" He replied politely, bowing ever so slightly while his stomach turned at the action.

"I did indeed. I need you to so something for me, god of trickery." The king started in his condescending, almost mocking manner that Loki had grown increasingly numb to. "It seems I have broken one of my toys. You are to fetch me a new one."

The words made Loki's blood freeze over and the bile rise in his throat. By the norns, why did it have to be him this time around? He had been able to close his eyes to this before, had been able to block it out of his mind… but now he couldn't any longer.

The truth came crashing down on him like a cave's contraction, crushing him between miles deep of stone. Loki felt sick to the stomach. The king's 'toys' were nothing he wanted to become affiliated with. Poor, innocent girls reaped from their families at any age the king saw fit. And now Loki would become the reaper, if he wished not to be tortured to death.

"You see…" The king continued to speak and drew Loki back out of his mind. "...this is a matter of trust. I trust you, Loki, to bring me the girl of my choice unharmed and untouched. If you accomplish your task you will be rewarded with certain… liberties, in this kingdom. Like the freedom to venture wherever you please. But if you fail to fulfill your task, I'm afraid you will breathe your last."

Loki flashed on of his brightest smiles once more, bowing yet again. "As you wish, your majesty." Then he turned around, trying to convince himself that he was NOT fleeing as he walked back towards the exit.

"And Loki?" The king called out to him again, upon which he turned around with as neutral an expression as he could manage. "My head of guards will see you to the destined girl's residence and detail some men for your protection."

Loki nodded once, then turned back around and his eyes fell upon the swarm of men waiting for him at the entrance. Surely they weren't detailed for his protection, but for his supervision indeed. Obviously he wasn't the first person assigned this task who considered choosing escape over obedience. Oh and Loki wanted to escape, now more than any time before. He needed to come up with a plan of how to get himself out of this mess, and off this planet. Underworld was no place for him to stay.

The first step always was to gather some more information. Thus he took the opportunity of the small army of guards leading him out of the palace and towards the city for some questions.

"May I ask, why does this… reaping require my presence?" He started off, hoping that some easier questions would loosen the tongues of the guards and make them warm up to him.

"He needs someone to take the blame." A guard in simple leather armor answered. "If the people have another face to hate, they won't know that we take the girls for the king. And he likes to play games."

"Charming." Loki sighed, frowning to himself. Of course, if someone to take the blame was needed it would always be him, no matter the realm he was in. How truly wonderful that at least some things never change. He rolled his eyes once he knew that no one was observing him too closely. "How often does he break his… toys?"

"Every couple weeks." Another guard shrugged. "Sometimes he does it on purpose though, when he grows bored of them. Or when they… fall ill."

A very much unwanted shiver ran down Loki's spine, but he kept his cool, knowing that he had to. But he wanted to know more, even if he wished he didn't have to. "What happens to them afterwards?"

"You don't want to know." The guard mumbled in return. "No one wants to know."

"And what happens once we… what are we doing again, officially? Once we reach the girl's home?"

"We escort her back to the palace."

"And then?" Loki inquired further, trying to squeeze as many questions into this unpleasant experience as possible.

"Then she won't be your concern anymore, and you'll be better off forgetting about her altogether. The king is very strict about that."

"Strict about what exactly?"

"Anyone who touches what is his, who lusts for what is his will not live to see any trial."

"A bit possessive, isn't it?" Loki commented sarcastically and one of the guards snorted, only to be nudged in the side by one of his fellows.

Loki sighed to himself. These men knew nothing of relevance and even less of importance.

Thus, all he could do was to let the guards lead him through the maze of tunnels and the differently sized caves, until they halted all of a sudden in a rather narrow tunnel. Loki's brows furrowing in an instant, every fiber in his body on high alert. The dim torchlight danced across the stone walls and created deep shadows in the corners of the tunnel, casting illusions on the rough surfaces.

"You will wait here." The guard in the front spoke to Loki, who only lifted his brows in question. "We get the girl, then we're going back."

Before Loki could complain as for why he had to come all the way here just to wait in the shadows now, half of the guards hurried on into the next part of the tunnel while the rest remained watching him. Now… he could easily overpower them, sure, but he also knew that he wouldn't find his way out of the maze of tunnels alone. He only knew his way around the palace, vaguely, not all the way to the surface of the planet. And being lost down here in the tunnels was probably the only thing worse than being a royal prisoner.

Suddenly a loud scream echoed through the damp and chilled air, reflecting off the stone walls like the light of the torches and creating an eerie sound that made the remaining guards jump. It would've made Loki jump too, had he not spent centuries training his body to react visibly only at his will. Yet, he found the deep silence that followed upon the loud noise to be more sinister than the bone-chilling scream had been in the first place. Nothing good ever came out of a silence as looming as the one surrounding him and his guards at the very moment.

Then, finally the silence was broken by approaching footsteps, and Loki was almost glad that the guards were coming back at last. The first thing he saw was the glow of their torches at the curve of the tunnel, then they became visible as they approached quickly. One guard was carrying a limp body in his arms and Loki's eyes fixed on it immediately. The closer they got, the better he could see the outlines of your small form pressed awkwardly against the guard's feeble body. The poor guy looked like his legs might give out under your additional weight any second and Loki rose an eyebrow at them once they joined his guards in the tunnel. What he did not expect however was that the young man carrying you came straight towards him with a relieved expression.

"You will carry her back." He pressed out, looking like he might just drop you any second now.

"Yeah, I don't think that's going to happen." Loki replied with one of his signature breathy laughs reserved for internal moments of utter irritation, as he took a step backwards.

"Oh, you must. It's not up for discussion." Another guard said almost lightly.

"Why couldn't you just let her walk on her own legs?" Loki asked in what sounded more like snapping than he had intended. Luckily, the guards didn't seem to care much for his ways of conversing.

"They tend to make too much noise, and struggle more than necessary. It makes things easier to just knock them out for the way." The guard replied calmly. Loki had to realize that this must be a regular thing for them, a routine almost. The thought made his stomach drop and his head hurt.

"I'm going to drop her if you don't take her." The skimpy guard groaned and his legs started shaking dangerous, as did his arms.

"Fine, drop her then. Whatever. Not my problem." Loki commented coldly, looking at the guard in false indifference. He couldn't allow himself to care about anything but his goal of escaping as soon as possible. Everything, and everyone, else was a mere distraction to his own cause.

A few seconds later the guard's arms gave out indeed he dropped your body in an attempt to keep from breaking down himself. Loki watched you falling as if time had been slowed down just to torture him. Even in the dim light he could see your beautiful face, the dark bruise starting to form on your right cheekbone, the slightly parted lips… you looked so peaceful. So innocent. And for the first time in a decade his body didn't obey his reason as he caught you in his arms, only a broken second before you would have hit the ground. Time went back to moving at a normal speed, and he closed his eyes for a second as he stood upright once more, jaw clenching. Damn his conscience, and damn your stupid angelic face! This only made matters more complicated, and he hated it.

"Look who's not as tough as he always carries himself…" A guard to Loki's left laughed, only to find himself pressed against the wall of the tunnel a second later with a blade of pure ice pressed against his throat.

"Be careful who you speak to, and mindful of the ways in which they can kill you." Loki spoke in his most threatening voice as he tried to keep your body balanced on only one arm while holding the blade pressed against the man with the other. Yet, upon the beyond frightened face of the guard, he let the blade disappear again and hoisted you up higher against his chest with both arms. He wasn't particularly strong for a god, but in comparison to the people of Underworld he was Hercules himself, and thus he found no trouble at all in carrying you. What did trouble him a great deal on the other hand was not to stare down at you while they made their way back towards the palace. And not to let himself care.

"What's her name?" He finally couldn't resist asking, already blaming himself for the first signs of attachment forming in his mind. Gosh, he couldn't let himself get sucked into this.

"Y/n." One of the guards answered him. "She has been on the king's list for a very long time."

"And why has he waited until now to reap her? He does not seem like a man inclined to take pleasure in delayed gratification." Loki was beyond careful in wording this statement, for he knew that an insult to the king equalled a self-imposed death sentence.

"She's been hard to find and even harder to capture. Usually the girls he goes for aren't much of a challenge when it comes to their reaping. But this girl, Y/n… she's killed more guards than the beasts living in the caves below our feet!" The guard mumbled in disdain at the loss of his friends. Loki couldn't feel sympathy at all for the men who willingly stole innocent people away from their lives only for them to pleasure the mad tyrant on the throne. In his opinion, every single one of them deserved death more than most people he had killed himself in the past. But he couldn't be the one bringing them their end this time, for he needed to remain in the favor of the king a little while longer.

When he finally allowed himself to look at you, it left him wondering how a person could look so innocent while obviously being so lethal. Somehow, he felt a sense of pride in that, and a sense of very faint relief at the knowledge that you were a fighter. Maybe you could survive becoming the king's new plaything. He felt sick yet again at the thought, and even more so now that he was the one carrying you towards your doom. But he needed the reward he would get for accomplishing this task, he needed the freedom to roam the tunnels of Underworld to find a way to the surface. Maybe he could offer to take you along with him on his escape, if you lived to see that day. The prospect didn't make him feel any better. What he was doing here was wrong, very wrong indeed, and he was well aware of that.

"How did you knock her out?" He heard himself asking as his eyes remained fixed on the gentle curve of your jaw, the bruises and cuts, the dried blood just below your bottom lip.

"Poison." One man answered easily enough and Loki found himself shivering yet again. "So she doesn't run even when she wakes up. The only possible antidote is safely stored in the palace."

"Didn't you mean to say so that I don't run, with her?" Loki snapped before he could keep his mouth shut. How could these people do such cruel things with a smile on their face? Prior to his stay in Underworld Loki had believed himself to be a cruel man… oh how wrong he had been.

Since running with you wasn't an option, because of the poison, and neither was running without you, because of the tunnels, Loki found himself walking all the way back to the palace with you in his arms. He hoped dearly that he could just drop you off somewhere and forget about you for good, but if he was honest with himself, he knew that he wouldn't be able to forget. Not after spending forty minutes carrying you to the point of his arms going numb, after using his own precious magic and energy to keep you from shivering all too badly, after shielding you from the hungry gazes of the guards. Honestly, Loki didn't know why he was doing any of this… developing a weird sense of protectiveness over you only to hand you over like prey the next moment.

Finally, once they reached the gates of the palace, he realized that to him, you were a warning sign. Reminding him that this place was despicable, that he needed to flee as soon as possible, that the king was not to be messed with. Reminding him that if fate had played him any differently, it could very well be him on the throne. A mad tyrant caught up in an illusion and unaware of what he was doing to the people around him. And for once Loki found himself glad that he still had a conscience, still head a heart. Otherwise he would not be any better than the people bringing your doom upon you. Yet, if his conscience kept talking sense to him, he knew that he would lose his mind. Over you.

______________________________

If you would like to be tagged in this series or on the general tag list, tell me in the comments 💗✨ Hope everyone enjoyed this first part!!! Special thanks to @kthemarsian @beenthroughalot @strawberrysandcream

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[prider-parker-imaginations]

The Protector: Part 22

Previous: Imagine encountering the Hound again after the Battle of Winterfell.

Next: Imagine promising to remain by Sansa’s side.

Imagine supporting Sansa during the war council.

You listened, face stoic as the advisors crowded around the table took stock of the situation. Half of the Dragon Queen’s troops gone in the battle, and half of the Northmen. It could have been much worse, you knew, but the knowledge that the battle could have gone worse did little to assail the concerns for the fight to come. Cersei had the benefit of having not just fought a difficult battle as well as the Golden Company and the Greyjoy fleet. You had the benefit of two dragons.

Sansa stood beside you, your shoulders nearly brushing in the cramped circle. It would have been all too easy to reach out and take her hand in yours to offer some small comfort, but you restrained yourself, keeping your hand firmly on your cane and the other against the edge of the broad table for support. Sansa had asked one of the craftsmen to make you a proper cane, one with a narrow blade hidden within (at Arya’s suggestion) and the pommel carved in the style of Jon’s sword Longclaw. The man had done a magnificent job, so much so that you almost felt poorly for praying you would not need it for long.

“We will hit her hard. Rip her out root and stem,” the Dragon Queen spoke. You tilted your head at her, still trying to get a read on the woman. You had heard the stories. It was hard not to. The Targaryens had a history that had been written in fire and blood over three hundred years long. Their house has seen many rulers, both brutal and benevolent. People spoke of the gods flipping coins. You knew the stories of her house, and you had heard the stories of her. Jon and Tyrion spoke of her kindness, her strength, the great obstacles she had overcome. But it seemed to you as though you had seen little of her kindness since she had come across the sea. She seemed more reasonable than Cersei, that much was easy enough to admit. She had been willing to speak, and willing to help, sacrificing much in the battle against the dead. But still you had your reservations. It pained you. You wanted to believe in her, to see what Jon and Tyrion saw. You longed to feel their confidence in the Dragon Queen, to believe that all that had to be done was to oust Cersei and then everything would be alright once she took the throne instead. 

Perhaps it was the fact that she seemed to expect so much for her so-called benevolence that rubbed you the wrong way. Helping the fight against the White Walkers should have been common sense, not something that needed to be bargained for. Or perhaps that was the stubborn part of you that still wanted to believe the problems of the world had simple solutions.

“The objective here is to remove Cersei without destroying King’s Landing,” Tyrion reminded softly, his eyes on the map spread before you before shifting to Daenerys.

“Thankfully, she’s losing allies by the day. Yara Greyjoy has retaken the Iron Islands in her queen’s name,” Varys said, perhaps to smooth over the moment of tension. “The new Prince of Dorne pledges his support.”

“No matter how many lords turn against her, as long as she sits on the Iron Throne, she can call herself Queen of the Seven Kingdoms. We need the capital.”

You almost snorted as you took the opportunity to speak your mind. “How much does the title alone matter if no one is there to support her? If her people are turning against her, all we have to do is wait. Let her have the bloody title for what, another month? Two? Soon enough it’ll be all she has, and a title does little to stop a sword when there’s no one left to guard it.”

Tyrion’s gaze shifted to you for a moment. “I watched the people of King’s Landing rebel against their king when they were hungry, and that was before winter began. Give them the opportunity, and they will cast Cersei aside.”

“We’ll surround the city,” Jon added, “If the Iron Fleet tries to ferry in more food, the dragons will destroy them. If the Lannisters or the Golden Company attack, we’ll defeat them in the field.”

“Once the people see that Cersei is our only enemy, her reign is over.”

Daenerys didn’t even seem to listen to Tyrion’s words, her eyes only for Jon. You watched some of her tension and anger soften. “Alright.”

Now it was Sansa’s turn. “The men we have left are exhausted. Many of them are wounded. They’ll fight better if they have time to rest and recuperate.”

The hardness had returned to the Dragon Queen’s expression as she turned her gaze towards Sansa. You immediately decided you didn’t like the way she looked at her. You gripped your cane harder and you felt your jaw tighten as you fought the urge to move closer. “How long do you suggest?”

Sansa glanced to you, her gaze pulling your eyes to her. You cleared your throat and straightened a bit, or as best you could given the circumstances. “It’s hard to say. I’d have to discuss it with the officers and maestres. We’re still trying to take full stock.”

You could almost make out the slight curl to Daenerys’s mouth, the faintest hint of a snarl on her lips. “I came North to fight alongside you at great cost to my armies and myself. And now that the time has come to reciprocate, you want to postpone.”

Sansa spoke before you could. “It’s not just our people, it’s yours. You want to throw them into a war they’re not ready to fight?”

“The longer I leave my enemies alone, the stronger they become.”

“With all due respect, that’s not the impression I’ve gotten.” You held the Dragon Queen’s gaze, your own expression hard even as you forced your tone to remain calm. “Believe me, there are few people who would like to uproot Cersei as much as I would, but it seems to me like the longer we wait, the weaker her grip becomes, and the more prepared we are. She’s losing allies. The people will turn against her any day now.” You paused and swallowed, choosing your words carefully. “We’re not suggesting we do not appreciate everything you’ve done in this battle, or that we are not in your debt because of it. We are asking you to consider this calmly, and to focus your anger where it belongs. Cersei is your enemy. The people of King’s Landing are not, and neither are we. We all want Cersei gone. Our best chance of accomplishing that doesn’t involve rushing off to battle unprepared.”

Silence fell for a beat, your gaze locked with the Dragon Queen. Her eyes seemed to burn into you, daring you to look away but you held your ground.

“The Northern forces will honour their promises and their allegiance to the Queen of the Seven Kingdoms.” You turned as you felt Jon’s gaze fall on you and Sansa, a warning in his expression that caused frustration to flare quick and hot in your stomach. You opened your mouth, an argument ready to fall from your tongue but you felt Sansa’s hand brush yours and thought better of it, snapping your jaw shut. Jon hadn’t even noticed as he looked back to Daenerys. “What you command, we will obey.”

The rest of the meeting fell on deaf ears, your eyes darting between Jon and the Dragon Queen as you focused your efforts on not letting your irritation show on your face. He had known this woman, this Dragon Queen for a matter of what, a handful of months? And yet he had still chosen to side with her over people he had grown up beside, people who had known him for most, if not all of his life? Had his infatuation with her made him as unwilling to listen to reason as she was? Part of you wanted to grab him by the shoulders and shake him until he finally listened. It was fine to want to honour his promise. It was fine to want to trust this woman. It was not fine to do so blindly, ignoring the concerns of all those who might disagree. The Dragon Queen clearly listened to him. It was his duty to act as a voice of reason, something you would have to remind him of before he got all of you killed.

Gif Credit: Dany

[clanwarrior-tumbly]

GODZILLA X READER!!! not as in a relationship, but encountering one another!? :D

Oh??? The Big G??? Ahhhh???????

Absolutely! I got a little drabble here that kinda spoils the very end of KOTM so if any of you haven’t seen the movie yet (obviously) don’t read!

………..

Amid the smoke, fire, and rubble, you watched in awe as the Titans surrounded Godzilla, who stood atop crumbled buildings as if they were his throne. But despite the massive beasts converging on him, you knew that they weren’t here to attack, but instead..they came to acknowledge him as the new “Alpha.”

Hearing a familiar croon, your eyes quickly went to Rodan’s, and you felt your heart leap into your throat as he stared at you with blazing orange eyes.

You tried to quietly step away, but fate was not kind to you as your heel got caught on a pipe, causing you to fall onto your back. As much as you tried to silence the yelp of pain that followed, it reached Godzilla’s ears.

He huffed, turning his head in your direction to see Rodan antagonizing you. His snarl made the giant fire pteranodon look to him, and he flinched.

Rodan knew that he had committed great atrocities against humankind and monster-kind, especially after severely wounding Mothra. He found himself shuddering slightly under the rightful king’s gaze. So he turned back and meekly lowered himself, bowing to Godzilla.

The other Titans soon followed, pledging their loyalty to him.

Satisfied with their allegiance, Godzilla let out a roar of triumph that shook the ground. When he fell silent moments later, he stepped off his throne to approach you, crouching down. You gazed up at the beast in amazement.

“H-Hi..um…” Before you could properly think of what you wanted to do next, your hand started moving on its own, shakily approaching his snout.

Godzilla obliged to your silent request and leaned in slightly. You smiled and gently rubbed your hand against the rough bumps and scales on his face. He grumbled softly, closing his eyes for a few moments, before he opened them as you recoiled your hand.

“Thank you..” You whispered, gazing at the other Titans. “He’s your boss now.” A soft chuckle managed to escape your lips as you gestured to Godzilla. “You better listen to him if you know what’s good for you.”

[layer-bloody-sun]

“It’s getting crowded. Here, hold my hand.” for Carnani, please ? ^^

A king and a bandit, they were making quite the pair. Even more unbelievable was their love, born from previous hatred. It still amazed Hernani how Carlos could enjoy spending time with him as a lover; and he had no idea yet of how each of his smiles would light up a burning flame in the older man’s heart. Their current situation was neither a good nor a bad one, they could be together, but at the same time it could never be official. Hernani would always be the bandit that surrendered and pledge allegiance to the king after his newly wed wife died of poisoning. Carlos would end up marrying a princess and he would stay to the side. That was how it would be, there could be no happy ending for them. Not if they kept their position. But today was not the day to reminisce about these sour matters. The both of them where walking in the city’s streets, wearing old common clothing to mix easily in the crowd. It was one of the little moments where they were just the both of them, no king and bandit, just Carlos and Hernani.

He had given up his name, Jean d’Aragon, the moment he heard the cors od Don Ruy that fateful night. Faking his death to join the king before he departed was the best decision he had made. He didn’t want to be him anymore, despite looking to have his titles back all these years. As Hernani he fell in love, he wanted to keep it and cherish it. They were discussing trivial matters, somehow coming to discuss their first meeting.

“I never told you I think, but the very first time we lock eyes, my heart jumped. I though it was hatred for someone else that was trying to serenade Dona Sol, now thinking back I had probably already started to fall for you.”

“You’re always trying to make it sound like we didn’t hate each other’s guts. When I saw that ridiculous hat of your I just wanted to throw my sword through it.”

“I would have thrown you on the ground in an instant.”

“Yeah sure, because mister is sooo strong compare to poor little Hernani…”

With a playful smirk the king grabbed him and held him flat against the wall, towering above him as he was a few inches taller. Carlos was indeed stronger than him, he was older and had had proper training as royalty as well. After a few seconds of silence, the little tension broke and Carlos tried to plant a kiss on his lips, making the younger laugh as he evaded the man’s pursuit. It was good to be able to relax like that, no animosity left from the older days, just them. Carlos let go of his wrists and gently took his face in his palms, kissing him tenderly. Hernani gave it back of course, smiling into it. It was madness to do such a thing in the streets, anyone could see them, even in the deserted alley they currently stood in. but the thrill only made it feel better, made them savor every instant of it.

Noise came to them, laughter and echoes of mondain talk traveling between the walls of the city. Excitedly, the older started to get down the steps leading to the market, giving a glance back at his lover, a smile spread from ear to ear. The former bandit could only smile at how easy it was for him to enjoy such things, he had an adoration for the common people, once told him he wanted to be a great Emperor as to lead the populace to a better life. He loved that soft side of him. He followed him and they brought their hood back on their head, there should be no news of the king of Spain in the paved streets. Soon enough they were surrounded by a lively crowd, merchant and commoners living their day to day routine. Even for him who had lived as a paria for long, it was a nice feeling, to be part of something so big and wonderfully strong when given the opportunity.

He got hit by a passer-by who apologized quickly as he kept on his way, almost loosing Carlos in the crowd. He thankfully noticed and helped him back on his feet, gently dusting off his cloak. He kept his hand in his, smiling

“It’s getting crowded, better not let go of my hand.”

Hidden behind his now long black hair and hood, Hernani’s cheek turned light pink. Even now after so long, small intimate gestures were making him nervous, especially in public. But there were so many people here, no one would notice two guy holding hands if they didn’t make it too obvious. He couldn’t help but smile when seeing Carlos leading the way, stopping at some shops to buy food or trinkets. He offered a scarf to his lover, almost as a joke, the fabric was of a dark red, and they both knew it was because of Jean’s old outfit. He playfully smacked his shoulder and kept going on. They spent most of the morning between stalls, before climbing up the streets again, resting on their way back to the castle. They had to go back before noon or they wouldn’t be able to hide their little escapade no more. Sitting at the top of a low wall, on the rim of the road leading up to the palace, they looked down at the city. It was so full of energy, it was beautiful.

Carlos took his hand and kissed his fingers, earning a smile. He took something out of his pocket and to his lover’s surprise, handed him a wristlet made out of precious stones, a mix of jade and ruby. Hernani frowned

“That must have cost you a fortune!”

“It ain’t that much for the king…plus look, it’s our colors!”

It was indeed, the colors most associated with them. He let the Emperor put the jewelry on his right wrist, even though he felt it was too much. The older man seemed pleased with the sight. They stayed like that a bit longer, fingers barely touching on the warm stone, as they couldn’t intertwine them in fear of being noticed by passers-by.

“We really should go.”

And yet neither moved. They could allow themselves just a few more minutes, couldn’t they?

[morethanaprincess-a]

@b-erserk​ said:  ‘’ Hmm. . . ? ‘’ Could they see it? Could the vast crowd witness how a mere fourteen year old entered the ring? From all across the world, men gathered for the sole purpose of serving the Empress as her new mercenary. Promise of silver fanned the flames of greed, and she too has seen far too much bloodshed; a child though? It would be a wonder if she could stomach the fact that this ‘child’ was about to face a giant. Guts nonchalantly fixed his helm, whilst staring at his towering enemy.

"Please Sonia, I beg of you, pay attention to each and every one of the candidates. Whichever one that's chosen, they'll lead your personal security!"

It wasn't that Sonia hadn't heard her mother's request as they sat, side by side, on two thrones beneath a tent to block out the harsh light of the midday sun. It was that after days of tournaments, the amount of bloodshed was beginning to wear on her. Naturally, it wasn't nearly as gruesome as what her father must be facing: when King Alexandre himself  left the capital to help lead the defense for Novoselic's borders, that had left his wife in name only, Queen Valentina, as regent to the 17-year-old princess. Sonia sighed: her birthday couldn't come soon enough in autumn, though she felt sure that her mother would find something new and altogether more vain and shallow to focus on regarding her only child.

"I'm paying attention," She insisted. It was half-true: she did eye up each and every candidate who entered the ring. But she tore her blue gaze away from the action each time one of them fell or worse, succumbed to their injuries. This hadn't escaped her mother's notice either, the older woman's elegant face curling into a smirk as she eyed her daughter, appearing every inch a beautiful, eligible princess in her sage green silk gown, grimacing whenever one of the men lost a limb.

"And I thought this would be enjoyable for you, considering how much you're fascinated by the torture chambers in the underground passages," Valentina settled back into her throne, satisfied. The public saw their future Queen but she could, perhaps, finally stamp out her daughter's ridiculous obsession with gore, murders, and witchcraft. None of which were suitable for a princess.

"That is different," Sonia replied sternly, shooting her mother a glare. "The sort of medical education and disciplining of criminals are both performed on those who either cannot feel it or have been sentenced to it. These men have yet to pledge their allegiance to us, much less be convicted of a crime or dead!" In the heat of Novoselic's summer, the silver circlet she wore felt heavier than usual as she began to wring her hands that had previously remained folded politely in her lap. Pursing her lips and returning her gaze to the ring, Sonia could only think of so many other things she'd rather be doing: visiting the capital and other towns across the country and listening to the worries of her people, sneaking into another tutoring group supposedly limited to the male heirs of Novoselic nobility, going for a ride or reading a book, or perhaps most important, writing her daily letter to her father with the goings-on of Novoselic Castle and how much she missed him. At least with the King around, it left her mother with two people to bother. Though she wished that, for once, her parents might treat one another like the happy families she'd read in stories meant for children, full of love and support for each other and their children. The Novoselic Royal Family only engaged in the latter.

"Your Majesty, the next contender is here. A lad of fourteen," The Royal Family's leader of the guards spoke gently to her mother as Sonia kept her eyes on the shouting crowd below. He was a kind man and Sonia didn't have any grievances with him, save for the fact that he was in love with her mother and she returned such affections.

"Wonderful, they may begin at your command." Valentina smiled gleefully, looking forward to the fight ahead. She didn't believe someone so young really had a fighting chance, but it would keep the crowd in high spirits once he was defeated. It was as much for the spectators' morale as it was to choose a suitable mercenary for Sonia.

"Mother, you allowed this!?" Sonia gasped, gripping the arms of her throne with pale, slender fingers as she stared at the Queen aghast. "That's far too young! He'll be defeated in no time! Did this young man even consent to participating in such a tournament?"

But Sonia's concerns were dismissed with a wave of her hand, a giant emerald ring flanked with diamonds sparkling on the Queen's finger as she did so.  "He's already entered the ring, shall we not give him a chance?"

"Not if he isn't adequately prepared in skill or age to even face his opponent!" Sonia cried, her face twisted into both shock and disgust as she rose to her feet, approaching the barrier to the royal platform for a closer look. As her hands gripped fistfuls of the banners that bore her family and her father's crests, the princess chewed at her lower lip as she glanced from her mother, to the guards, to the ring. Not one of them made any move to call off the current fight despite her pleas.

[ironforgedrp]

♛  LYSARA SEAWORTH

↳ details; female, twenty-five, ↳ date of birth; 20th november, 480ac

↳ status; heterosexual, unmarried, no children. ↳ faceclaim; ana de armas ↳ hails from; sea dragon point, the north ↳ loyalty; house seaworth of sea dragon point & house stark.

↳ title; ruling lady of sea dragon point. ↳ religion; the old gods of the forest. ↳ spoken languages; common tongue. ↳ reason for being in sunspear; attending with the north.

♛  PERSONALITY

↳ type; enfj-a (the protagonist). ↳ alignment; neutral good. ↳ star sign; scorpio. ↳ positives; apt, munificent, sanguine, audacious, dexterous. ↳ negatives; chary, unforthcoming, impatient, guileful, covetous, vengeful.

♛  BIOGRAPHY

↳ family lineage.

the origin of house seaworth tracks back to flea bottom, the poorest slum in king’s landing, and the birthplace of davos seaworth. davos seaworth was not destined for the district he hailed from, but much greater, as he would prove in the years to come, continuously advancing and making more and more of a name for himself and the family that would follow. starting off he was davos of flea bottom, whom ran with orphans and beggars, but later became davos the smuggler, received by merchants and lords. though not an honest living, he near made enough to do the wife he married, the three sons they bore, and himself good for years to come. just one last smuggle was all he needed when the storm lord, robert baratheon, revolted against the iron throne, the seas filled with blockades and pirates paid by each side to prey on the other. the war would ruin him, so he knew, but it was the thought of stannis and a small guard holding storm’s end against mace tyrell’s march, that would further him again. to prevent famine he snuck onions and salt beef past the tyrell galleys. once aerys fell and the siege was lifted by lord stark, he was granted a knighthood, keep of his own, and his sons taken into stannis’ personal service for his salvation of storm’s end. from davos of flea bottom, to davos the smuggler, and finally ser davos of house seaworth.

ser davos followed stannis in his pursuit to claim the throne until his death and then joined an alliance with jon snow. his pledged allegiance in the north led him to lose cape wrath and obtain northern lands at sea dragon point by the wolfswood in their replacement. the battle of blackwater bay took four of his sons lives leaving him with only devan, stannis and steffon once all war seized. ser davos would make a tradition for his remaining sons to travel east to see the wonders of the world, learn of the different cultures, religions, and trade routes to be educated and experienced with the world that made up their everyday lives. the tradition would carry on through upcoming generations.

when davos would pass, devan took over in his father’s place as ruling lord of house seaworth, and then his eldest son, and his. three generations later, in 470 bc, the sun of the north join the sea, ruling lord maric ii seaworth marry alysa karstark, second eldest of three daughters to the ruling lord of house karstark. maric and alysa would struggle for near eleven years to consummate before she finally gave birth to a blue-eyed, blonde-haired baby, their first and last. many would whisper about the baby’s hair, light as day, when her father’s matched that of salt and pepper and her mother’s black as night. she had her mother’s eyes and fair skin, but the remaining of her features . . unknown. lysara would also break a tradition of firstborn males for the seaworth family, but she would prove to be just as intelligent and strong as the many, leaving her father not the least bit displeased or wary, in his heart he knew the girl was his and even if any doubt raised, he would love her the same. woefully, precariousness would carry rumors of the girl’s “true father” from ear to ear as the days, months and years would pass.

as a young girl she grew up picking up new lessons and skills swiftly. whether it had been from the teachings of the maester, the embroidering of her mother, or the swordplay of her father. though, nothing quite suited her and led her to excel like learning of the world’s history. the idea of the world once being solely made up of children of the forests, giants, dragons, and so much more amazed her. many years of her life were devoted to learning of westeros and how it came to be, but it was essos that excited her. there, a land comprised of the free cities, the dothraki sea, the jungles of yi ti, and the thousand isles claimed to have hairless green people that pray to fish-headed gods; all the imagination and tales, she couldn’t get enough of.

what fascinated lysara and what she wanted for herself were at odds. everyone would tell her that what she wanted was to further their house, better it and heighten it, just as ser davos did. it got to the point where she believed that what everyone was telling her repeatedly, was really what she wanted. she would tell herself that she wanted to make house seaworth a great house like the stark’s or the targaryen’s. deep down, however, she would think to herself how ser davos sailed the seas and met pirates and people known to other worlds, exploring regions he would have never dreamed of. the sea carried him in his ventures, always, giving him a name, his family a name, and so much more. she wondered what the sea could do for her and if that was her true calling, to get out and explore.

lysara’s dreams tittered only in the slightest as she grew older. she spent many of her days praying for her family’s steady success by the weirwood circles that made up the highest hills of sea dragon point. but still, she would play in the many hidden coves and pine forests while the men built ships, and she would imagine sea dragons filling the entirety of and rising from the neighboring sea, taking her away. if daenerys could have dragons, then why couldn’t she?

she was always one for make belief and thrill, yet it wasn’t until her seventeenth name day that she would bring up and beg her father, maric ii, to allow her to go on the traditional voyage to essos to even capture a glimpse of the part of herself that screamed to be recognized. lysara figured if she spent only a few years away, that it would be enough for her to get the way intended for her and the way she truly wanted. her father was still young, after all, he had many years ahead of him, giving her plenty of time to venture out and come home to catch up. he sent his most trusted man with his daughter to keep her safe and out of trouble.

they began lysara’s trip to essos in braavos, there she would learn of the history of escaped slaves who went on to find the many bijou islands that formed the one, and adapted it into the wealthiest and most powerful of the free cities. she would take with her the memories of beautiful music, charcoal grey and purple dresses, and the ability to water dance. from braavos they would travel to pentos and end in lys, where she tasted fine red and white wines and learned some basic skill in creating draft and concoctions. in lys she would also witness slavery causing her to feel sympathy for the many and fueling her disappointment in the world, leading her to give more credit to where her family stood today.

when they ventured home she was about the age of twenty. a raven was sent to her while away stating that her father had grown ill, from what, no one had known, and his time was becoming short. he ended up passing days before lysara returned to seadragon point. lysara got on the boat, leaving home a little girl who fantasized immensely and had goals bigger than she was, but she got off the boat a ruling lady, with only the mere longing to make her father proud by keeping her house intact after spending many years away and unknowing of what was becoming of westeros. not the least bit prepared to take on the responsibility entailed and for the loudening of doubts from the people that did not believe she was rightfully intended to take over for the house, as they thought her illegitimate. a doubt she never had thanks to her mother and father always assuring her, but a doubt that left her prudent now.

↳ personality.

lysara was always a bright girl, thanks to her lessons, but she was also quite the idealist. her parents would watch on from the cliffs, as she ran along the ice-covered sands, around the men at work, wary that lysara would allow for her daydreaming to get the best of her. fortunately her daydreaming would only lead her to inquire what was accustom for the seaworths and the adventure she was able to pertain would lead to a perspective more pragmatic.

lysara has always been a generous spirit, putting others before herself and giving to those who had less. she has spent many of her days thinking about how she could make the world a better home for the lesser fortunate from her place of power. she would never fail to forget that her family started off in the slums and by luck, they became lords and ladies. not everyone was able to follow the same path as the seaworths.

though, now that she has lost her father, her closest companion, and has returned to a home she has parted from for so long, she is struggling to maintain the same views and confidence she once possessed. she understands that she needs to be a leader and to be a leader you must set a good example, be driven and accountable, but she questions if she had what it takes. when she saw slavery in lys, it was much different than just hearing about it, was that how it would be being in charge and having to be lawful? would she constantly be left in an eerie, troubled frame of mind that would ruin her innocence and turn her somber?

↳ the splitting of the kingdoms.

lysara is skeptical that history may repeat itself and that this time her house may not end up on the right side. the idea of the north being one of the few to stay devoted and not branch off leaves her perplexed considering the history of the lannisters. aye, they always pay their debt and they have been known to look after their supporters, but not without the uproar of chaos first. they had been proving themselves in most recent events, at least. she has no trust nor faith in anyone, but house stark, and will lead her house to follow in their steps and by their decisions. she is hopeful for the summit. at least they meet in the land of warm weathers and silks, she think, attempting to find bliss in a desolate time. she also hopes to offer her house to assist in trade considering the boats, docks and goods they worked on building and obtaining throughout her first few years as ruling lady.

    ♛   STATUS:  TAKEN.

[lucidpantone]

Visitations Preview Chap 4: Chernobyl(s)

Not one for previews but I know some of you are locked inside and ravenous for content. It’s gonna be a few more days til chap 4 is finished but here’s a couple of puzzle pieces to keep you going. Same rules apply. Italics is the Past. If not, it's August 15th at any point in the day I chose to drop you into.

Stay safe friends! I hope this helps.

The brass beads caressed the palm of his hand with velocity.

Until the pull chain cranked the lever.

They laid there, enlightened.

The sulfur vapor bulbs color-washing the walls of their habitat in an amber glaze.

It was painfully small. Pre-war, old but in Belgium’s highly regarded art deco style. The schematics laid it out as a 1/1 with a  ¾ lavatory. It had good lighting though (a prerequisite for the artist) mainly due to the fact that it was surrounded by a couple of those ghastly mid century modern blocks with those hideous matte shine finishes that would double up as a sun ray reflector into their new apartment. Engulfing the space in a celestial limelight. They took the place on the spot because the artist said it “spoke” to him.

Their move-in date was five days after Robbe’s eighteenth birthday.

It was Sander and Robbe’s first night there.

They had spent all day moving and they were exhausted as they lay on the floor of their new apartment surrounded by cardboard boxes and some scented candles in attempt to clear out the smell of mildew. Their furniture wouldn’t be arriving till tomorrow.  

“I like these floors. What kind of wood is this?” Robbe asked curiously.

Sander turned his cheek in the opposite direction as he was laying on the floor on his back and took a guess.

“Mahogany maybe”

Sander turned back to meet Robbe’s eyes.

They had been laying like this for what felt like an eternity. Both lovers drape out on the floor in opposite directions. One with their feet facing north and another pointing south. Both finding a home in the curvature of the other’s arm as they nuzzled their heads onto the others shoulder.

The music had stopped.

“Fuck, I have to change the disk” Sander noted.

Both lovers turned their focus to their Crosley turntable in the corner of the room that was begging to be refreshed spinning aimlessly.

“Do you not want to get up?” Robbe asked Sander sweetly as he twirled his albino hair through his fingers.

“I have zero desire” Sander stated in worned out fashion.

Robbe placed a kiss on Sander’s forehead and began to collect himself off the floor to walk over to the record player. He rummaged through the vinyl case with an effort of determination. Clearly looking for a particular record. Sander was rustling in the background but Robbe wasn’t paying much attention as he thumbed passed vinyl after vinyl sleeve until he located it.

“Ahhh ha” Robbe emoted.

“What are you playing?” Sander asked.

“Wait for it” Robbe placed the turntable arm onto the disk. The lyrics surfed through the sulfur vapor.

[I, I will be king. And you, you will be queen]

Sander laughed a little and then he said, “Our song”.

[Heroes by David Bowie]

Robbe scooted back dragging his knees on the floor back to where Sander laid. His body faced north as Sander faced south. He hovered over Sander and placed a kiss on his opposing lips. The kinda kiss you only ever see in comic book movies inspired by 8 legged creatures. The one where the hero impresses his lover with the ability to find their mouth even when the world is upside down.

Sander reaches up to grab Robbe’s head and pushes his upper body off the floor without breaking the bind of their lips. Both boys are now sitting up. Sander digs his hand into Robbe’s locks and begins to navigate his body towards the wooden surface as Robbe kicks his feet from underneath him to straighten out. Sander guides Robbe’s body back onto the hardwood placing his hand behind his head to protect his skull. The lyrics of Heroes whirlpooling around the room.

Once Robbe finds the floor safely Sander breaks their kiss and says.

“In how many universes are we laying like this right now?” Robbe runs his hand through Sander’s fringe and replies.

“In infinite ones”

“Nowhere as happy as we are” Sander says as his eyes dart all over the room confirming to himself that this feeling he is feeling at that very moment is not a delusion. It's real.

“Close your eyes” Sander whispers as he places himself between Robbe’s thighs. Robbe squeezes his eyes shut but Sander places his hand over his eyes to make sure he isn’t cheating. Sander pulls out a gold ring box wrapped up in red string with a bow tied to the top and hovers it over Robbe’s head with one hand still firmly placed over his vision.

“There is something right in front of you. Try to find it”. Robbe moves his arms up scanning the air for a possible object. Sander teasing him as he moves the box in and out of his direction until he finally places it in Robbe’s hands freeing his vision. Robbe’s beautiful coffee lashes pop open. He stares at the red string box unsure what to say….

“Are you asking me to mar--” Sander shook his head side to side. Then he spoke.

“No...I mean I don’t know. Maybe…. I'm not sure. I’d be missing a Tesla if I was. All I know is I wanted you to have it and keep it safe. It belongs to you.”

Robbe pulled on the red string and the top of the box fell open Sander’s silver ring landing right over his heart. Sander grabbed the silver and slid it onto Robbe’s ring finger and once placed safely onto Robbe’s hand he kissed the top of his finger where the silver ring belonged.

“What did the artist know under the moonlight” Sander queued Robbe.

“That he was the one”

“And what did the Skater boy do in return” Sander added on.

“He stayed” Robbe deeply suspired.

Sander massaged the tip of his nose against Robbe’s in a touching display of vulnerability. He pulled back and whispered nervously.

“If you're ever scared, or you doubt me or us for any reason. Tell me that story and we’ll come back to this moment. We’ll come back to our safe place together and I’ll do the same. Promise?”

Robbe nodded and Sander proceeded in reverence to kiss Robbe’s cheek, forehead, nose, lips, every inch of his face.

“I love you”

“I love you too” Sander said leaning into Robbe's neck and kissed the new tattoo on top of Robbe’s shoulder. He giggled a little to himself.

“I still can’t believe you stole my design and used it to get your first tattoo. It was my idea. ” Sander teased.

“I didn’t steal your design. I was inspired by it and made my own custom design as a birthday present to myself” Robbe let out in a machiavellian style.

“I still can’t believe you beat me to our first tattoo.” Sander shook his head in amusement.

Robbe’s eyes widened like he just remembered something important.

“Oh I forgot to tell you that the tattoo shop was looking for an apprentice. You should go in and talk to them about it.”

“I know nothing about tattooing and I have no experience” Sander enforced.

“That’s why it's called an apprenticeship and half of it is design anyways and we both know you have the best designs.”

Sander looked up to the ceiling in a pensive gaze and then relaxed.

“Ok I’ll go tomorrow” he shrugged out lazily.

“But I guess I just never really thought of myself as someone who would enjoy tattoos. Maybe one or two but not much more than that”. Sander rattled off this thought as if it was meant to be for the withholdings of his mind but he said it out loud.

“Anyways we’re were we at…. Oh yeah the skater boy stayed.” He shot his lover a schemy smile.

Sander had been supporting himself on his elbows this entire time hovering above Robbe. They were starting to burn so he finally collapsed onto Robbe’s chest and just laid relaxed on top of him. He placed his head on the side of Robbe’s so as Robbe turned to face him they were forehead to forehead.

“And what do we say?” Sander questioned Robbe knowing he already knew the answer.

Robbe took this opportunity to wrap his arms around Sander’s neck grabbing each one of his elbow’s with the opposite hand and squeezing Sander painfully tight just like Sander loved it.

“He stays…. and” Robbe continues the story.

They say the next part of the tale in unison.

“We stay”

“If he goes” Robbe adds on.

They marry their voices together again.

“We go”

Robbe looks into Sander’s gaze for the last part. They are bound so close together at this moment their nose, mouth’s and chin’s are millimeters apart.

“If he has to fight for it” Sander asks with hesitation.

Robbe and Sander take a moment to acknowledge the importance of this final vow.

“We fight”

The lovers seal their pledge towards allegiance with a kiss.

As the embers of the candles surrounding them flicker in and out while the lyrics to heroes linger overhead like a protective halo over their union.

************************************************************************************* The strobe lights flickered in and out as the walls around him began to pulsate. The deep base trembling underneath him.It was making him nauseas or maybe it was the bottle of whiskey infiltrating his blood stream. It was beginning to ravage his body and psyche all at once. The proof torpeding into his personal yellow submarine incinerating him from within. God he was so hot, sweltering even. A heat that could only be found during the times of antebellums when white buds were king and sunburnt subjects were priced by the quick grasp of their hands. It was raw, punishing, a worn out type of heat. It reminded him of India. He wanted to go back there so badly. He hated it here. He had only been back in Antwerp for six weeks and his entire life had gone nuclear.

Robbe and him had broken up, or were on a “break” and Sander was in full blown meltdown. Taking every opportunity to get black out drunk at whatever available college party he called “fun” for the night or dive bar that didn’t attempt to cut him off whenever he got too lethargic. This was day seven in a row into Sander’s deranged journey into piety. The reactors of his mind on the precipice of nose diving into the ozone barely tethering reality but tonight would go down as the night when the bottom finally fell out. He can’t quite recall the night in its entirety but luckily the age of modernity allowed others to document its happenings for him and upload them onto various social incubators. It all started innocently enough with a game of truth or dare like all fool’s tales do. Sander being the self declared maverick tiptoed outside the lines of safety and went with a dare. A pretty blonde that had been sizing him up since he walked in dared him to kiss her and not one of those cutesy pootsy smooches but a real deep kiss. Why Sander went ahead and agreed to doing this he still doesn't really know probably a symptom of his debilitating acumen but he did it, and then he did it again, then with another girl, and then a guy. All whilst these regrets were being time capsuled  by the crowd around them and uploaded for later revisits. Sander doesn’t remember the bust up with Jens who was at the same party and witnessed all of Sander’s antics but he was told they fought and it was bad.  Well to Sander’s luck the event had been captured for him and on video. It was only a few seconds long but it was a clear take by take splice of Jens’s being pulled off Sander’s body who he had pinned to a wall while he gutted Sander out verbally for embarrassing his friend. Last thing you can hear as the filmed rolled to black was Jens screaming at Sander saying “how could you embarrass him like this”. Once again Sander will remember none of this. These parts of the night will become blind spots in his mind. All these moments will become images wrapped up in frosted cellophane. All a bit muddled, lacking in clear demarcations for identification.  The next real moment he clearly remembers is one he wishes was a blind spot. He recognized his surroundings immediately; it was a place he knew but he was there with someone he didn’t. The blonde from the party, she was sitting on top of him in the driver side backseat of his car with her shirt off as they were tangled up in a steamy makeout session. Lightening struck Sander and he shudder making him come back to himself, making him realize what the fuck is he doing. The blonde starts to grind down on him and ups the pace as she reaches for his belt when she whispers in Sander’s ear “Keep touching me, I’ve never felt something like-”. Sander violently flings her off him and opens the backseat door as the heat of his body finally tackles him to the ground and the dregs of his stomach pour out his mouth. The taste of disgust encircling him. He faintly hears the blonde mutter a ton of hate towards his direction as she slams the backseat passenger side door closed.

Sander manages to step out of the car. His motor skills in complete disarray. Barely able to stand. He finally holds himself up by holding out both arms out onto the car for support as his body convulses in dry heave after dry heave as the contents of his stomach spew out. He needs to lie down, he thinks to himself. He lays out on the grass like some fein off a high in need of resuscitation and looks up at the sky. The star surveillance looking down at him in shame and disdain. A sob begins to originate from his chest and once it starts it doesn’t stop. He thinks of Robbe and what this night is going to cost him. He rolls onto his side as he feels a gut punch to his insides as the guilt defiles him.

 Sander asks himself, was this really worth it? 

Even if Robbe had lied to him Sander had only made the situation worse. Robbe also didn’t know that Sander knew he lied but he found the paperwork. It wasn’t the lie that hurt their relationship, it was the reason why Robbe was lying to him. He kept secrets. Sander understood that the last year of Robbe’s university life was hell. Sander had been sick a lot and Robbe’s mom was also suffering so a dark shadow came over Robbe. He was quick to anger and snap at those who dared to harm Sander with their judgements. He started to keep things from Sander. Secrets. The day university decisions came out for certification programs Sander knew Robbe had applied to the best architecture programs across Europe but his heart was set on London or Italy. Decisions came out and Robbe told Sander he didn’t get into those programs but that he did get into Brussels and that he was more than happy to go there. However, Sander found the acceptance letters in Robbe’s backpack as he rummaged through it for a lighter. He did get into both programs he had just lied to Sander about it. Sander could be quick to get paranoid so he gave him the benefit of the doubt and during dinner he asked Robbe why he thought he didn’t get into those other programs. Robbe looked straight at Sander’s face and lied to him again saying he didn’t know. His renderings probably weren’t good enough. Sander put this instance in the back of his mind and thought they just needed a break from Antwerp and booked them a trip to India as an early 22nd birthday present for Robbe.  India was perfect. They were so happy there. Sander totally forgot about the lie but then they came back to Belgium and Robbe started certification in Brussels. He came back to Antwerp after his first week of school mentioning that candidates were allowed to go to London on Eramus (european study abroad) in their 2nd semester but that he had no interest in going. This sounded strange to Sander, all Robbe could talk about before is how much he wanted to go to London. So when Robbe went to shower after one of their bedroom sessions Sander looked through Robbe’s things and sure enough Robbe had filled out all the Eramus paperwork to go to London. Another lie. Sander gave Robbe the benefit of the doubt again and during breakfast he told Robbe that he should apply to go to London that it’d be good for him. Robbe looked at Sander again and lied to his face saying he just had no interest in going anymore. A lie on top of a lie. This brought forward a dark cloud of distrust over their relationship. One Sander simply couldn’t ignore, especially because he gave Robbe several opportunities to come clean and he never would. Robbe had taken it upon himself to make decisions about their relationship without discussing things with Sander. In attempts to control him.

Sander had never planned on breaking up with Robbe. The break was just to give Robbe time to think until Sander would eventually come forward and tell Robbe that he knew about the lying. That he didn’t need to hide things from him to simply protect Sander from whatever he thought he was protecting him from. Well it didn’t work out that way. Robbe was pissed and would call Sander every night in tears asking why he was doing this to them, that Sander was being selfish and just rage down the phone making Sander even angier. He wasn’t the selfish one. Sander would drink to ease his anxiety so he could build up the courage to confront Robbe but he never got to do it in the end. Day seven beat him to it.  

Sander’s sobs pulled him out of his own memories. The arrival of his lungs wheezing for air shocked his system. Sander was struggling to breathe. He sat up on the grass and a wave of guilt hit him. He was shaking and sobbing uncontrollably in between heavy wheezes. All he could think of is that he needed to hear Robbe’s voice. He stumbled back into the driver seat of his car and picked up his phone and called Robbe.

“Hello” Robbe picked up sounding sleepy.

Sander didn’t say anything as he held back sobs in the back of his throat rocking his body back and forth in the chair. Finally leaning his forehead forward on the steering wheel for support. The palm of his free hand rubbing his temple as he tried to muster up words.

“Sander….” Robbe responded again.

Sander steadied his voice as much as he could and suspired in attempts to compose himself and finally spoke.

“I miss you. I love you so much.”

“I love you too”

These words would become ingrained in Sander’s mind. This would be the last time Robbe would say I love you to him. The next time he would hear those words again from Robbe would be five days before Robbe’s 26th birthday. Four years later.

“I don’t deserve you. You’re the best thing that has ever happened to me.” Sander starts to unravel as he continues to speak, wet snot dripping from his nose now. A range of high pitch sounds generating from the back of his throat as he manages to mutter out his confessions.

“I love you [a sob breaks through], Am so sorry” The last part barely audible as he cries into the steering wheel.

“Sander where are you?” Robbe’s voice is in full blown panic on the other end.

“I love you. That's all that matters” Sander is forecily coughing out all these words as tears flood out, “Don’t let anyone tell you otherwise. Promise me?”

“I promise. Where are you right now? Talk to me please.” Sander can hear Robbe welling up on the other end. His voice breaking with concern.

Sander can’t hold onto his consciousness any longer and he finally lets his eyelids give way and passes out. The phone falls to the ground as Robbe’s voice can be heard screaming out for Sander as his face slumps onto the driver's side window, the after taste of his stomach acids doused all over his mouth and shirt. Sander’s body loses slack and his hand grazes the hazard lights on. A signal to the outside world that he was in need of rescue but it went unnoticed. The streets were hollow.

Dank.

Still.

Lifeless.

Sander doesn’t know what happened the rest of that night but as Robbe hung up the phone to call Jens to go find Sander . He saw the social notifications. His friends tagging him on videos of Sander making out with randoms but the worst of it all was the video of Sander and the blonde getting busted in the bathroom half naked about to dial it up a notch. Robbe’s heart shattered instantly. Hot tears poured out of him as he called Jens to go find Sander because he was worried he would do something stupid. Jens found him eventually and took him home to recover. The morning after would be the last voice conversation they would have for over a year. Robbe would ask if he was okay, Sander would just cry and tell Robbe how much he loved him. Robbe would say nothing more then he needed time and to please not attempt to come to Brussels he didn’t want to see him but he also made Sander promise he wouldn’t do anything stupid. Sander agreed. Robbe hung up and that's the last time they spoke until Robbe showed up at the hospital. Robbe would end up going on Eramus to London a couple of months after this incident. He wouldn’t even go back to Antwerp for Christmas break he would leave as soon as the winter semester wrapped up. He would use his time in London to rehabilitate his heart extending his stay up until the end of summer and the start of his new school year. Keeping him away from Belgium for almost ten months.

Sander would plummet into a tour of self induced atrophy that would last for a little over a year. Finally culminating into one of the worst depressive episodes of his young adult life. He would end up hospitalized for one of his longest stints yet. He didn’t know it as he hung up the phone to Robbe and wiped away his tears but his hospitalization would bring forth the miracle of his desire. His next of kin (emergency contact). Robbe would come back for him. He’d go and find Sander in the depths of his psychological warzone and drag his body out of the open field and into the tranches for safe keeping. He’d save Sander from himself, Robbe’s touch finally stabilizing him and stopping the harmful spread of radiation that emanated from within him. Robbe would nurse Sander back to health by transporting him back to their safe place for purification and healing. A rebirth of sorts. This and only this would finally bring Sander back to himself, and finally back to Robbe. Preview done for now (this is only a quarter of the chap).... read the rest on AO3 in a few days. Chap 4 is currently at 11k so its a mammoth of a chapter. See you there!

[hotheadhero]

Burn It Down || Caspar & Dimitri

Starter for @princeblaiddyd . Bad end Azure Moon AU. May be spoilered for violence later on.

------ You told me ‘yes’; you held me high; and I believed when you told that lie ------

“You know, Caspar, you’ve always impressed me. Dealt such a poor hand by modern society, yet still you never falter and even smile. Always treating others equally, no matter their station. I admire that. Why don’t you join me in the Blue Lions? Together we could make this world a better place—one where one’s Crest or station of birth, one’s lineage or faith, race or ideology, matter not. Where haves and have-nots learn to acknowledge the other’s strengths and respect each other based on personal merits. If we could just accept each other and make mutual concessions, one step at a time… Perhaps—!”

It’d brought a smile to his face to think that someone like him—crown prince, heir of a country!—admired him in turn. That someone so privileged could share his same dream of a world in which all were equal, no matter the cards they were dealt. Even though such a world would only diminish his standing, Dimitri put his all, his privilege and his power, into making that world a reality. He had the strength to enact real change in the world—and Caspar admired him for that. It hadn’t been an easy decision to come to, transferring houses, not with poor distraught Linhardt still standing by the Eagles nor with skeptical Hubert dogging his every move for a week from Edelgard’s side. But Caspar had done what he thought was right, as he was wont to do. He’d never thought he would find cause to regret his choice. But regret he did, that day in the Holy Tomb when he first saw the Faerghus prince’s mask crack, that chilling laugh, the savage way he'd dispensed of all who opposed him, be they aligned with the Flame Emperor or not. There for the first time, he who knew not the meaning of fear felt truly afraid. That was not the Dimitri he knew—but then, which was the real him, and which was the mask? Caspar didn’t know, and none of the other Lions seemed willing to tell him, not even as he worked closely with them in the years following Adrestia’s declaration of war on the continent of Fódlan, when they’d all thought Dimitri and Byleth were dead. Everyone had been so overjoyed when they discovered their king and professor were alive and alright… or at least one of them had been.

Alright. Hah. How naïve they’d been to hope that a murderous vagrant who'd finally shown his true colors could ever go back to the way he’d been before the Holy Tomb.

Where now have your dreams of equality gone? he wonders when he looks at him, raging and frothing at everything and nothing. The only such thing you offer now is death for all who stand in your way.

------ I played soldier; you played king; struck me down when I kissed that ring ------

He’d rejoined the Lions anyway in honor of what Dimitri once was; and besides, this was where his friends were now, not the Empire. He had little doubt in his mind that there was no longer a place for him there after the crimes his new house leader had committed against them in the interim, that he by mere absent unknowing had unwittingly condoned. Perhaps in another time and place, another world, he could have reconnected; but it was just as true that Caspar didn't want to. Not after what Edelgard had done to Lady Rhea, to Dimitri her stepbrother. Yet looking at what the prince had become after that revelation, how his own childhood friends stood by in damnable silence… Could he truly say that he belonged here, either?

He’d been hoping it was all some kind of phase, some kind of twisted joke that would the sands of time be washed away. Then came the assault on Garreg Mach—led by Uncle Randolph, who was now no more.

He’d had it in his power to save him when they met alone on the ruined monastery grounds, opposing sides and mirrored stance. Seeing his own axe style turned against him hurt—he could scarce believe his uncle had chosen to side with an enemy who’d taken countless innocent lives for the sake of Edelgard's wicked future. But even so, Caspar couldn’t bring himself to take the head of his uncle, his own blood, he who’d first taught him how to smile…

(A fat lot of good that had done him, in the end.)

Powerless. Weak. Incapable of more than looking on as the last living relative he knew was cut down right before his eyes. Some kind of hero he is—but then again, he knew that already. He has always been weak—too weak even to save his last living relatives from the eternal flames.

He remembers meeting them for the first time in Enbarr, both strong and kind in different ways. Uncle Randolph had traveled to Enbarr from Merceus to formally take his place as a colonel of the Imperial army, Aunt Fleche ever by his side. Though he hadn’t any time to chat, he remembers his uncle finding him after yet another ill-fated tutoring session, slinging an arm over his shoulder and tousling his hair. “A hero never falters!” he’d told him with a smile. “You’ll help no one moping around like that. Now up and at ‘em! That’s it!” He’d had every reason to hate Caspar and Julian, who through their father had stolen from him inheritance of their family’s coveted title. And yet, neither he nor Fleche had harbored Caspar any resentment at all. They’d offered him a glimpse into the kind of life he wanted to lead—treating others equally and always helping those in need.

Two very kind people, both ruined by war. Randolph had lost his life, and so too had Fleche, who’d journeyed alone into the lion’s den, pledging allegiance to her brother’s murderer whilst plotting revenge. He’d known the moment he saw her just what she was here for; yet still he’d held his tongue. For all his talk of justice, Dimitri had not spared any for Randolph the day he died—even delighted in it and dragged it out for nothing but sick joy! To him, Aunt Fleche had been fully justified in doing what she did in the aftermath of Gronder… Yet in the end, she too was slain, while the one at fault still lived.

What hurt most was not the names of they who’d done them in, nor of the ones who’d stood by. Nay, that honor fell to the one they did it for. Dimitri Alexandre Blaiddyd, oh-so-holy king of Faerghus. Laughable. That man was little more than an empty husk, a walking coffin filled with promises long dead, and Caspar knows not whether they’d died before the war or in between.

All he knows is that the man he’d once called friend is gone. He’d said as much himself, the day Randolph fell. “If you do not approve of what I have become, then kill me,” he’d proclaimed, with all the defiance of a man who knew that none who heard his demand would comply. “Lest I continue to use you and your friends until the very flesh falls from your bones.”

And what of justice? he thinks to himself. To where have your dreams of equality fled? I chose to follow you because your vision seemed best for people like me. But your vision is twisted, mangled, as surely as your true sight is beneath that patch. And now the only equality you offer is death for all who stand in your way… no matter what they are trying to protect. And now you’ve taken the only family I have left.

If even Byleth won’t rein you in, then I will. I won’t stand to be used for your twisted sense of justice anymore.

Armored boots snap upon the ground, swiftly, furiously—but even enraged as he is, he knows well to muffle his footfalls. Hubert had taught him as much, before… everything had happened. He doubts anyone is paying attention in these forlorn halls, but regardless—it is just as well that it is raining tonight, as it had been in the monastery every day since they’d come together as promised, and rediscovered Byleth, their old professor.

(It was supposed to be a happy occasion, a cause for triumph and reminisce. Why then did the goddess upon them still shed her tears?)

Before long, snaps give way to shuffles as he departs the monastery; tile transitions to grass as he makes for the fields of Gronder. His childhood home. There is little reason for he who abandoned his homeland to be here, but somehow Caspar knows this is exactly where he needs to be. Call it the fresh night air, untainted by the smog of Enbarr or the chill of the north. Call it… destiny. For there ahead of him, striding down the same dark path, is his target, tall and dark, almost blending with the night if not for the azure cape billowing behind him like a tempest lost.

Pale lips pull back to a wild grin upon sighting the target. Eyes shine with near-manic light.

He closes the distance, softly, silently. The rain hides his movements until it is almost too late.

------ You lost that right to hold that crown; I built you up, but you let me down ------

“YOU!!!” The word tears from his lips in a brutal roar; Caspar gives his foe no time to react as his axe whips about, razor edge screaming for his neck. Nothing more needs to be said. The boar prince should know full well why he is here.

------ So when you fall, I'll take my turn and fan the flames as your blazes burn ------