#hot ashes for trees!! hot air for a cool breeze!!!

[roxannepolice]

Speaking of the Master or thoschei and 70-80s rock, I again have to make it clear just how freaking much Pink Floyd's Wish you were here album fits these two freaks. Like, The Wall, the story of a sensitive man turning into a fascist leader because the safest place you can be is behind your wall, that's the Master's ultimate album. But Wish you were here? with its sorrow and longing for a connection in a lonely crowd, inspired by the friend you watched collapsing into madness while you chose your own path? That's just too insanely freaking fitting. Like, fuck's sake, tell me this is not the summary of everything the Doctor tries to tell the Master:

Remember when you were young, you shone like the sun (You could be so much more. You could be beautiful). Shine on you crazy diamond. Now there's a look in your eyes, like black holes in the sky (fuck's sake RTD you could have given the Master ANY scary sounding toy but you went with BLACK HOLE CONVERTER, as, in the largest stars collapsing in on their own gravity and creating goddamns rifts in time and space that we just figured out must be there even if they mean God is indeed playing dice). Shine on you crazy diamond. You were caught on the crossfire of childhood and stardom, Blown on the steel breeze. [...]

You reached for the secret too soon, you cried for the moon. Shine on you crazy diamond. Threatened by shadows at night, and exposed in the light. Shine on you crazy diamond.

Well you wore out your welcome with random precision, Rode on the steel breeze. Come on you raver, you seer of visions, Come on you painter, you piper, you prisoner, and shine! [...]

And we'll bask in the shadow of yesterday's triumph (remember the Axons? And the Daleks!), sail on the steel breeze. Come on you boy child, you winner and loser, come on you miner for truth and delusion, and shine

and on the other hand,

And did they get you to trade Your heroes for ghosts? Hot ashes for trees? Hot air for a cool breeze? Cold comfort for change? And did you exchange A walk on part in the war For a lead role in a cage? (tell me this isn't what the Master did when he ran away from the time war and instead tried to create the new Time Lord empire

How I wish, how I wish you were here. We’re just two lost souls Swimming in a fish bowl, Year after year, Running over the same old ground. What have we found? The same old fears. Wish you were here.

Here's the full album on YouTube and also for your gazing pleasures two men shaking hands while one of them is freaking on fire

[lilyliveredlittlerichboy]

me playing landslide: this is about grief

me playing wish you were here: it's about grief

me playing angels: this one's also about grief

me writing my own songs: yeah at the core really all of these are about grief

me playing the guitar in the first place: yup, grief again

me, just going through life: yeah this is really just about grief isn't it. we live and we breathe and we experience and we must die and all things must come to an end. really all of life is just about grief and grief is really about love and how finite it all is. it's all grief. all of it

...... lads i may have gotten myself a grief shaped hammer or something 😶

[a-simple-imagine]

Don't They Know a Rabbit Can't Cry

Synopsis: while travelling the witches' road you're forced to confront the two witches who left you centuries ago without an explanation.

Pairing: Agatha Harkness x fem!reader x Rio Vidal

Words: 2.3k+

WARNINGS - swearing, choking, knives, nightmares, brief mentions of burning and being buried alive and playful use of 'mommy'

It's a quiet evening as you pluck wildflowers in the wake of the setting sun. You would have to head home soon; to avoid the danger of navigating your way back in the dark. The older witch did not like you being out alone at night but you weren't quite done yet. The bouquet had to be perfect. Not that she would ever say otherwise. not to you anyway. Too soft. Too sweet. She had a soft spot for you. They both did. You twist the delicate stem between your fingers. Lavender. Beautiful. Intoxicating. And... hot. Sizzling against the pad of your pointer finger and thumb. And searing into the skin. You drop it quickly. Flames swallowing the single flower. Bizarre. You take another. plucking it from its spot. Flames shoot up from the ground surrounding you entirely. Red hot and roaring as the flowers make way for beautiful flames that dance in the breeze. Creeping closer and closer. Quicker and quicker. Until you feel it burn against your skin.

You jolt up. Sweaty and warm in the night's cold embrace. You're safe. Right now at least. No fire. No nothing. You rub your temple. Just a nightmare. They'd been more frequent as of late. Little flashes of the past engulfed in fiery fury. Fitting. The makeshift campsite was still. The ashes of the small fire dance in the breeze. Witches litter the ground in a moment of respite. You didn't know them but you imagine they're quite desperate. Most weren't brave enough to even dare travel the witches' road anymore. Pushing up you decide to go for a walk. Not far just enough to feel the cool air and calm your heart. Away from prying eyes. There wasn't much around here anyway.

"can't sleep?" it's a startling thing. To hear such a familiar sound so abruptly. It brings with it a quickened heart. A look of surprise. that voice. An unpleasant reminder of the past. That's all this trip seemed to be. A constant trip down memory lane. In many ways, you wish you had never agreed but maybe your darkened heart may still hold a few soft spots.

"just needed a minute alone,"

"That's a dangerous game around here," there is a playfulness to her tone. one that makes your jaw tense.

"can you just go away?" you ask. "I can't- I can't deal with this right now."

"playing hard to get?" just as playful but different. Still familiar. Annoyingly so. "what happened to that sweet girl who brought me flowers every day."

"don't," a threat. You wished not to relive the past right now. Not with them. They didn't deserve to remember you so fondly.

"made us little flower crowns." her voice travelled the woods. Surrounding you from all directions. Trapping you in your spot.

"stop."

"used to bring us fresh bread."

"fuck off," you bite back with an equally sharp turn. Subdued anger began to rise at the mere sight of them. Agatha Harkness. The harbinger of your nightmares. The years had been kind to her appearance but if rumours are to be believed she had a dark reputation. Evil. Soulless. Murderer. Maybe in another lifetime, you would have disagreed. A green witch stood to her side. Far enough away for you to know they weren't on good terms either. She sported a signature smirk you wanted to slap away. Rio Vidal. Infuriating in every conceivable way. They both brought different feelings. Similar but still different. "why can't you just leave me alone?

"we're only checking on you, dear,"

"After such a scary nightmare." Rio teased. "do you need to get in mommy's bed tonight?"

You take a deep breath. Don't raise to her level. Don't give her the satisfaction. It's not quite admitting defeat but you're tired. Falling against a nearby tree. "please leave." you let your head fall back against the bark.

"I'm sure Agatha won't mind,"

"leave the poor girl alone," as always Agatha comes in to mediate. It's always just a little misleading. The woman crouches down before you. Glassy eyes bore into yours and for a moment you're that girl again. The one they remember. Who picked flowers and planned picnics? Ran in the meadow and liked to sit at the edge of the lake. Who held on tight to Agatha's hand as she walked you home. You didn't have much back then. Lived in a small cottage in the woods with your family. The older witch came into your life so abruptly. Looking back on it now she probably just saw a naive girl she could play with. "are you okay?" her question brings you back to reality. The here and now. Stuck on the road with a bunch of washed-up witches and the two people you hate most in the world. Stuck in a never-ending cycle of reliving the past. The end seemed so far away. Who knows if you'll even make it that far with this useless bunch. "do you wanna tell us about it?"

"Agatha," said softly.

"yes, dear?"

"fuck. Off." quiet but firm. You can tell she wasn't expecting it. A little chuckle sounds from behind her. The witch raises.

"fine." Agatha answers. "forgotten how stubborn you can be." your eyes trail after her as she begins to walk away, Rio takes a moment before following. And the question that has been bubbling in your chest for centuries finally comes up.

"Why did you leave me?" they slow to a stop. Yet to turn back. Did you even really want to know the answer? Perhaps it was a question best left unanswered. Years of bitterness already seeped into your bones. Little to be said to make you less angry at them. Less murderous rage. "what did I do?"

"Nothing," Agatha urges. Short and simple. No explanation needed apparently. "don't stay up too late,"

"then why?" you asked again. a little louder. A little firmer. Why was she acting like this? Pretending she cared. It was infuriating.

"Just tell her," Rio presses, turning back to you.

"don't," Agatha places her hand on Rio's shoulder but that doesn't stop the green witch from sulking towards you. A malicious little smile.

"come on, look at her," a knife pointed in your direction as she makes her way over. "just as pitiable as she always has been." she crouches down in front of you much like Agatha had before. But you don't see that girl you once were. Her eyes fill you with anger. It's strange to think you used to admire her so. Used to put flowers in her hair, and she let you. The tip of her blade forces your head up ever so slightly. "A pathetic little girl. Scared of the world," a sharp pain. You swallow hard  "scared of anything real."

"Rio," Agatha walks up, towering over you two. "put it away,"

"Why should I?" she wonders. Pressing a little harder. "tell her."

"What happened to you?" Agatha questions. Your eyes flicker up to her. Did she really want to know or was it diversion. "where does this hate come from?"

"you left me," you reply. A loud bark of laughter from Rio as her blade lowers.

"no," the woman shakes her head slowly. "that's... not it."

"boring," Rio groans loudly. "I didn't lie, y'know? I know you don't want to believe me but it's true. Isn't it Agatha?" the woman rises to her feet. Patting the other witch on the shoulder. "we left because you were weak."

"it... it wasn't quite like that," Agatha offers out a hand. You brush it off, standing up. "we thought you'd be better off."

"alone?"

"without us." Agatha corrects. "you were so..." her eyes trail over you. "different back then. You didn't know you were a witch. You were just so..."

"innocent," Rio insists.

"no- well, yes but not in the way you might think. You just needed a push and we were being so careful,"

"soft," Rio interjects once more.

This little game of back-and-forth was cute. But you didn't care. Rio was using it as an excuse to get some sick sense of pleasure from throwing in insults while Agatha was doing anything to avoid saying what she thought. You knew Agatha. She could be just as mean as Rio. "can you get to the point?"

"you already know," you ignore Rio, looking straight at Agatha.

"We wanted to protect you," you can't help but roll your eyes. That was the best excuse she could come up with. Some fairytail bullshit. "felt easier to leave." you glance at Rio who looked just as over it as you did.

"Agatha thought you'd be better off without us. That we shouldn't be dragging you into a world you weren't ready for. Blah blah blah. Too weak to come with us. If we left you wouldn't get caught up in anything bad,"

"Rio was actually the one who didn't want to go,"

"Whatever," she huffs. Her gaze down at the knife in her hand; twisting the edge against the tip of her forefinger. "I thought it'd be worse if we just left you. that it'd fuck with you- we just needed to be harsher."

"but I was right,"

"you were wrong," Rio answers.

"How? I mean look at her," Agatha ushers towards you. "a full-fledged witch. Survived centuries. That's something. You didn't need us."

"do you wanna tell her or should I?" you wonder if Rio is genuine in her question or if this was just another attempt at teasing. This conversation had mainly been between the two of them.

"Tell me what?"

"I wasn't... okay, Agatha," you admit for perhaps the first time ever out loud. Only Rio knows what happened to you in the years between them leaving and the last time you saw her. You made sure of that. The two of them had grand legacies but you wanted to be forgotten in history. Like the legend of Bloody Mary. Not a sole dare speaks your name anymore because who knows what'll happen if you show up.

"oh bunny," a pet name you hadn't heard in a very long time. It almost seemed childish now. Pathetic. "just talk to me."

"you don't care,"

"god do I have to do everything around here," Rio complains. "she was tried as a witch, Agatha. Use your head for once."

"Rio," you huff.

She rolls her eyes. "burned at the stake."

"Rio," you snarl. "stop. I don't wanna talk about it."

"yes you do," she responds sharply. "you want nothing more than to make Agatha Harkness feel guilty for leaving you. Hurt her the way she hurt you." you dart for her in one swift motion. A hand around her neck. The teasing just becoming too much, and you were sick of hearing her talk.

"you hurt me too," you bark, shoving her against the nearest tree. What should be fear is instead a small smirk and dark eyes.

"fiesty," she quips. She knows you won't kill her. You can't.

"you're the only person to ever leave a mark." you resume. "an ugly scar that my body just refuses to heal."

"come on sweet one." you drive a little harder. "make it hurt."

"do you know what it's like to be tied up and buried in a coffin? To slowly suffocate to death over and over and over again," fingernails dig into the skin of her neck. You can see it's having an effect. The wobble in her smile. "the way your body screams for oxygen. Your insides burning with desire but there is nothing you can do?"

"drop her," Agatha's hand reaches your shoulder and your powers kick in. Your free hand waves her away. Energy blasts her backwards and she stumbles to the ground. A lesser witch wouldn't know of Agatha's ability to drain magic but you were smarter than that. careful in your use despite the speed. control what's around her rather than directly blasting her.

"don't touch me," you growl.

"our... little girl... is all grown... up," choked out of Rio's mouth. You watch her grow a little paler. A little more starved for breath. And then you drop her. She crumbles to the floor. "and filled..." she coughs. "with... murderous rage... apparently."

"calm down," Agatha tries from her place on the floor, as she tries to get up. You use your magic to help her up. Leaving her hovering just a few feet off the ground.

"y'know, when they dragged me from bed and burned me at the stake all I could think about was you two. Surely, they didn't just leave without a word. They'll... come back and help me." you can still picture that night. The confusion. the heat. The pain. "you left me," you walk towards Agatha. "and look at you now. The great Agatha Harkness is completely powerless."

"we're sorry, okay- aren't we rio?" rio shrugs a little. With a heavy sigh, you drop Agatha to the ground. "you've come a long way bunny."

"wasn't really a choice,"

"Can we just backtrack a little," the older witch requests. Brushing herself off as she stands back up.

"immortality looks good on you," Rio teases. You hold up a middle finger.

"you're immortal?"

"for the longest time, I thought one of you cursed me with it. Some fucked up way of protecting me. But then I went looking for you. Heard all about your extra circular activities. Witch killer, hiding behind dark magic," Agatha just looks back as you turn to Rio. She knew the story. "Rio was easier to find,"

"should have stayed dead," Rio insisted, the cold metal blade dancing across the scar on your neck. "how easier that would be," you shove her away and she just chuckles. "oh how I missed this," she wonders over to were Agatha is stood.

"I'm going back to sleep," you announce. "let's just leave it at that,"

"Why did you come," Agatha asks. You wonder if it's worth the conversation. The headache of continuing to engage with them. "if you hate me so much?"

"to die," you say eventually as you head back to camp.

// NEXT

[fio-renze]

November DWC 2024 Day 1 - Haze/Sexy

Dornogal was gorgeous at night. The firelight flickers of the lanterns strung up in the great trees that grew on the crags in between the boxy homes and buildings contrasted with the street lamps and distant glow of crystals in the Foundation Ward. People milled about at all hours, even this late. Quiet laughter passed below the little balcony of her inn room, enough that it had drawn her out to enjoy the cool air ambiance of the strange city. 

Fiorenze flicked the end of her second cigarette, the bite of the thistle lingered in the back of her throat while she watched the ashes dance on the breeze. Multiple glasses of bourbon at After Dark and hours of dancing on a table with dear friends had left her flushed and uncomfortably warm, but not tired. She braced her arms on the cool, artfully worked stone railing that overlooked the hewn city below and embraced the solitude. 

In the past she would have considered ending the night alone a failure. What was the point of dressing to the nines, flirting and being charming all evening if there was nothing to gain from it? 

The evening, even if she was here alone, hadn’t been a failure in the least. She’d had fun, the performances had been enlightening and engaging, the after party a wonderful time in its own right. Here she was, alone, not minding her own company for once. 

It certainly would’ve been nice to fall into bed with someone familiar, especially after a show as hot as that one had been, but when would that stop being a rebound? And wasn’t it a little unfair to any potential someones familiar to simply be a distraction? 

Perhaps a bit. 

There was no shame in wanting. She wanted to be adored, coveted, desired. Loved, and lusted after. She’d come to terms with all that — and that the future was long and yet unwritten. What was the saying again? Another year older, another year wiser. 

Fiorenze took another long drag and smiled to herself as the subtle glow of dawn began to threaten the dark at the edge of the horizon. A new day, bringing with it endless possibility — what a wonderful thing to behold.

[delicatuscii-wasbella102]

“So, so you think you can tell heaven from hell? Blue skies from pain? Can you tell a green field from a cold steel rail? A smile from a veil? Do you think you can tell?… Did they get you to trade your heroes for ghosts? Hot ashes for trees? Hot air for a cool breeze? Cold comfort for change? Did you exchange a walk on part in the war For a lead role in a cage?… How I wish, how I wish you were here We're just two lost souls swimming in a fish bowl Year after year Running over the same old ground, what have we found? The same old fears, wish you were here.”

[scoobydoodean]

At the end of Swan Song when Sam starts to regain control from Lucifer and all those memories with Dean are flashing through his mind, there's this continuous sound of rushing wind.

Has anyone else ever been reminded of the outro to Pink Floyd's "Wish You Were Here" in that moment or is it just me? That song ends with like a minute of rushing wind as the guitar fades out, and it sounds very similar to this bit in Swan Song, though the sound in Swan Song is lower pitched.

I'm not sure it's an actual sample, but I do kind of wonder if that track was something they had in mind.

So, so you think you can tell Heaven from Hell? Blue skies from pain? Can you tell a green field from a cold steel rail? A smile from a veil? Do you think you can tell? Did they get you to trade your heroes for ghosts? Hot ashes for trees? Hot air for a cool breeze? Cold comfort for change? Did you exchange A walk-on part in the war for a lead role in a cage? How I wish, how I wish you were here We're just two lost souls swimming in a fishbowl, year after year Running over the same old ground, what have we found? The same old fears, wish you were here

I gotta say the lyrics really invoke a lot of the themes within season 4 and 5 to me, from heaven and hell having the same ultimate horrible goals, to Dean and Cas's fight about false paradise in 4.22, to Sam and Dean's assigned roles as vessels, to Sam's despair leading into the demon blood arc.

I mean—"A leading role in a cage"??? Come on.

[oscartwofoxtrot]

Did they get you to trade your heroes for ghosts? Hot ashes for trees? Hot air for a cool breeze? Cold comfort for change?

A gift for my dearest Secret Santa recipient, @jenkil

[asumofwords]

Smoke, Fire and Ash

Warnings: This fic includes noncon, dubcon, manipulation, violence and inc3st. Tags will be added as the fic goes on.

This is a dark!fic. 18+ only. Read at your own discretion. Please read the warnings before continuing.

Summary: You are the eldest daughter of Rhaenyra and Daemon Targaryen. You are forced to navigate the difficult surroundings of your upbringing and the eventual disintegration between your family and the Hightower's relationship. What will happen when your older and estranged uncle suddenly takes a more sinister interest in you? (Dark!Aemond x Reader)

Characters: Aemond Targaryen X Reader, HOTD characters.

Note: The more I write, the more I wish that this man would snatch my ass up

Chapter 11: Godswood

You finished your dinner quietly with your parents, excusing yourself for a walk. You could feel the anxiety pouring off of your mother in waves, causing thick tension in the room.

You had sensed your father wished to be alone with her in order to calm her, and so you left them both, bidding them a good night. You did not miss the way your mother relaxed when Prince Daemon held both of her hands turning his body completely to her as you left.

You walked along the dark corridors lit by flames aimlessly. It was your first time out of your room in many days, and it felt good to not be confined in your chambers.

The evenings air was neither cool nor hot, but a perfect temperature so that you weren’t needing a cloak, or your dress to be something more lightweight. Though on occasion a small breeze would roll through the Keep, its icy tendrils caressing the skin that was bare.

As you walked, you let your thoughts run away from you. If your mother was right, Alicent was readying to question you and your brother's claim again, and a war would surely break out.

Yet, if your father was right, that means that King Viserys would keep you all safe. Though you could not rely on your Grandsire for long, his illness sadly starting to take him closer to meeting The Stranger.

In all your life you did not think that Alicent would ever question you, but your mother must have a good reason for doing so. If Rhaenyra’s claim to the throne was challenged, then Aegon would be crowned King, and that would surely doom all Seven Realms to be ruled by a drunken and violent fool. Your mothers supporters would need to advocate for her, and do it quickly. The thought of this made your stomach tie up in knots. 

Your anxiety seemed to guide you to the Godswood, a place where you could feel at ease. You walked lightly towards the tree, brushing your hand gently against it. Leaning forward you pressed your forehead against the bark and exhaled a deep breath, asking it to take your worries from you.

You looked up through its branches and leaves to the night sky, stars glittering high above you, providing natural light alongside the moon. You prayed to the Old Gods, begging they protect your brothers and mother. Asking them to not let Alicent and the Hightower's win their war upon you. 

Walking along the trunk you sat down in your favourite spot, curling your legs up towards you and resting your head against your knees. A headache began to form. You wished to be back on Dragon Stone away from this all. You longed to be on Sȳndor’s back, high above the ground feeling the wind rush past you. 

He was the third largest dragon known, and one of the oldest. You had claimed him at a young age, singing the song your father Daemon had taught you. He resided on Dragon Stone and had kept to himself, the ever elusive pitch black shadow, hence his name.

Sȳndor had never been claimed before you nor ridden, but bonded with you quickly. The dragon keepers said you had a gift, but you believed that no-one had given him the respect he had deserved. He was large, almost the size of Vhagar and completely black. His eyes were like flames, and when he flew it was almost impossible to see him at night. The love you held for your dragon was not easily explained, he was you and you were him.

Leaning back against the wood you shut your eyes and breathed deeply. Thinking of Sȳndor had lightened your mood, and you felt your anxiety slowly drift away from you. You began to hum the song again, playing gently with the sleeve of your dress, the repetition calming your nerves.

You remembered as a child of how proud your father had been when you had bonded with Sȳndor. Daemon claiming your voice to have magic unknown to mortal men. A siren he said.

The hair on your arms raised as you felt eyes on you. That slimey feeling of being watched making your feet twinge. You had a visitor.

Not bothering to open your eyes, you called out to the darkness,

“I know you are there. I can feel you watching me.” You spoke calmly as if bored.

“Aōt vāedan, Hae mērot gierūli, Se hāros bartossi, Prūmȳsa sōvīli, Gevī dāerī”  (To you I sing, As one we gather, And with three heads, We shall fly as we were destined, Beautifully, freely) A low timbre sang back.

Stepping out of the shadows your uncle moved into the light.

“A dragon's song. Tell me niece, who are you attempting to tame?” He drawled, eye dragging up your body. 

Untucking your legs, you stretched them forwards leaning higher against the tree. 

“There are no dragons here to tame, uncle.” You state, softly brushing your skirts down your legs.

“Here? Perhaps, but I can think of at least one.” His eye followed your movements, travelling slowly to your face.

“You’ve already claimed Vhagar, there are no others.” You spoke dully.

“I speak not of Vhagar. She was claimed a long time ago. But there are many dragons waiting to be tamed,” He hummed, “and claimed, but they’re out on Dragon Stone.” 

He walked forward towards you keeping his distance, hands tucked neatly behind his back.

“Ah, then you must be referring to The Cannibal,” You tucked hair behind your ear, “you have so much in common.”  

You knew you should not goad him, but it was too easy. everything about him made you want to lash out, cutting him with tiny blades. A death of a thousand cuts.

“And why is that zaldrītsos?” (little dragon), He pronounced slowly, taking another slow step forward. 

Light cast across his face. He wore his patch and his hair was completely loose of braids, the front tucked behind his ears. He wore another set of dark black leather pants and vest, his coat firmly on his shoulders.

Tonight he did not have his sword with him. 

“You are both monsters.” You said flatly, as if you were stating a mere fact, something that you had read in a book.

“Hmm. Because of my eye? Your brothers gifted me this.” You could see his anger begin to simmer. 

“You mean to kill other dragons.” You rushed with anger, and with this you saw his lip curl up in a smirk. 

“I don’t wish to kill any dragons,” He took another step closer this time, tongue darting out to wet his lips as he watched your face, eye flicking down to your lips then back up, 

“but I may just devour you.” He finished, smirk travelling higher up his face.

You felt your heart beating against your ribs, the feeling of ice cold water running down your head and body. You breathed heavily, thinking of how to reply.

“Are you here to take my eye again?” You sarcastically spat at him. A full smile gracing his face.

Looking at his lips you realised you had never noticed just how sharp his teeth looked. Your mothers words echoed in your head.

“Hmm.” No reply, just his irritating hum.

“Are you just going to hum?" You sighed.

“Aōha laes iksis ȳgha, zaldrītsos” (Your eye is safe, little dragon) He replied flatly, his smirk slowly disappearing from his face.

“Pār skoros gaomagon jaelā hen nyke?” (Then what do you want from me?) You hissed, leaning forward.

“I am merely trying to spend time with my niece. It has been years after all,” He began, voice thick with false offence. The One-Eyed Prince stepped closer once more as he finished, 

“and I have missed her.” 

“You taunt me.”

“On the contrary niece, you taunt me. When have you met my questions with answers that did not mock?” He had you there.

“You have terrorised me and expect kindness? You call me bastard and expect smiles?”

“Have you met future suitors?”  The change in conversation was abrupt and had your mind reeling.

“Suitors?” 

“Yes,” Aemond replied, coming close enough that his shoes touched the edge of the tree's roots. The older man looked up into the branches, long neck stretching as his sharp face was illuminated by the moons glow.

“Suitors are men who come to-“

“I know what suitors are.” You snap,

“Gīda aōla, byka mēre,” (Calm yourself, little one,) The Prince tucked his head to look back down at you, his height towering over yours, 

“You are of an age now where I believed suitors would be lined down Dragon Stone for the chance at your hand.” He scoffed.

“Whether I have or have not suitors is no concern of yours, uncle.” Your thread was fraying.

“T'was merely a question. My sister and brother having married already and your two younger brothers being betrothed, I assumed there was someone back at the Dragons Den waiting for you.”

It was your turn to scoff, arms coming to cross in front of you.

“Perhaps not a man then….” He trailed off.

“Neither a man nor a woman are waiting for me at home, uncle.” You sigh, perhaps this was Aemond trying to have a conversation after all. You truly did not know the man before you, his actions and motives were a mystery.

“Have you ever kissed a man, zaldrītsos?” (little dragon).

Huffing a breath you respond, “Have you?”

“Hmm.”

He looks down at your lips once more, tongue wetting his lips once more and leans into your space. Eye trailing over your body, his lip twitching as though he was to speak once more, but then leaning back he hums again. 

You search his face, looking for answers for his sudden shift.

“Sleep well, Princess.” And with that he turned and walked back into the shadows.

Thanks so much for reading along with me, if you wish to be added to the tag list please let me know :) Likes and reblogs are greatly appreciated ! Enjoy <3

Tag List:

@izzicle @ej-shitchats @may-machin @alegria1580 @witchy-jadda @videovampire @inkdelicious @queteimporta39 @virtualsweetsqueen

[secret-third-thing]

@erisweek2023 Day 1: Family

Rated T - Implied Abuse; Potentially Triggering Images | Words: 2k

Read on AO3 or on Tumblr below the cut

"When you've finally overthrown me... when your ambitions bloom, and all your schemes are fulfilled, What will you do then, Eris?"

Summary: After many restless nights, Eris has a difficult conversation with his mother.

A/N: This is a tough one, folks. Please take care of yourselves.

"When you've finally overthrown me... when your ambitions bloom, and all your schemes are fulfilled, What will you do then, Eris?"

--

Most nights, Eris wakes up in a cold sweat, body twisted in silken sheets stained with fear. For a moment, he cannot breathe, and his hands grasp his throat, intending to claw away at the skin there until he can feel the cool night air of Autumn. He chokes on the darkness, the deep despair that lingers within him until his lungs remember how to breathe and his chest heaves with relief.

Tonight, he reminds himself his father is dead - the severed head of the former high lord hoisted and burned on a massive pyre, the body laid waste and tossed into the sea. Beron would never appear again, ire brandished like a red-hot sword poised to strike. Eris had made sure of that.

Yet, his father's final words echoed in his head as he slipped from the bed, hair tusled with restless sleep. Eris didn't dare catch his reflection in the bathroom, instead cupping the water of a running facet in his hands, watching the liquid leak from the cracks in his fingers as he prepared to splash the cooling liquid onto his face.

He was safe, and yet…

In the days leading to his coronation, sometimes in the middle of holding court, Eris' mind would twist and would see the sneering grin of his father in the crowds of commoners. The former high lord's head cocked to the side in false curiosity at his son finally playing leader. With him gone, would Eris finally craft Autumn to fit a new vision?

Wrapping a cotton robe around him, Eris steps out into the private balcony of his bedroom. The night air curls around him, and he relishes how it feels against his heated skin. It was halfway to winter, and soon, it would be too cold to set foot outside without a wool coat.

In the distance, he can see the Forest House guards make their rounds through the estate, paths weaving in and out of the trees, through the gardens, and up the main entry. Eris had stationed them there, just in case his father's sympathizers bore ash and iron to cross him. So far, however, his imminent reign is met with ambivalence. Eris knows that, like his father, he is a near indomitable force. He feels all of Autumn, the frenetic life of the fauna, the aching of the rot in the woods, the thrumming of all the magic his court possessed.

As he watches the trees shift from the nighttime breeze, he sees a head of red hair walk to the gardens, flames entangled in her hand. She opens the gates and settles herself on a bench. Unusual at this hour.

Eris slips on his shoes and wanders into the empty hallways of the Forest House, eyes darting to every shadow as he makes his way to the entrance. Very rarely did Eris seek out his mother. Only under her gaze did the guilt and shame begin to eat away at him. He remembered the first time he had lied. Or the first time he had hurt his brothers. He recalled the disappointment in her face. The way the corners of her mouth turned ever so slightly down when she realized that despite all the love and care she showed, Beron had won.

Sometimes, Eris swore his mother wore that expression when she knew he was the only one looking at her. How exhausted she seemed. Her sons, the lights of her life, burning so violently under their father's gaze that they could only consume the world around them.

These days, Eris felt like he was going to burn out of control. Beron had been ruthless, his schemes unending. It had been challenging to keep up with what was running through his father's mind. So much so that Eris wondered if it would be worth being high lord at all. Could Autumn be salvaged? Was it even worth it? His father's legacy of cruelty was planted in every corner. Eris wasn't sure he would be able to uproot it, being born of that pain himself.

When he reaches the garden, he is startled by the vision of his mother lounging on the bench, head leaning back, eyes closed, and face relaxed. She is wrapped in a worn robe, her legs thrown over the arm of the bench, shoes dangling from her feet. In this moment, he remembers she is not much older than him. With her eyes still closed, she addresses him.

"It is not often my eldest comes to me," she says. She tilts her head and opens her eyes just enough to see him standing there. It makes him feel small. They both know he avoids being alone with her, the burden of his shame always laid bare before her.

"You're up late," he counters, voice sharper than he intends. His hands slide into his pockets, a habit that he picked up as a child. He worries she remembers this, too.

"I'm enjoying the quiet," she finally says. Eris can read between the lines, can sense the ease with which she speaks, her taking solace in her husband's demise. His mother pulls herself up and sits cross-legged on the wooden bench. She pats the wood next to her.

"Come, sit."

Eris finds himself obeying, sitting next to her, staring back at Forest House. He can see the many rooms, mostly dark save for a few late-night readers or schemers who dared defy the night.

"Today is a big day," she says when he sits in silence. She faces him, smiling, soft and genuine, face framed by her unbound hair, just as brilliantly red as his own. "Are you excited for the coronation?" The way she says it, the tone of her voice, and the melody it carries make him feel young again. He recalls how, long before his other brothers were born, he would tug at her skirts until she lifted him onto her lap, and they watched the fae working the gardens around the home, how she would sing him to sleep when he wouldn't rest alone in his room.

"Relieved," Eris simply replies, ignoring the churning of his stomach.

"I am, too." she says. They sit in comfortable silence for a while until Eris can feel his chest tighten, can feel his lungs seize. He swears he can see his father standing on a balcony watching them both, waiting until-

"Care for a drink?" she says to him suddenly, resting a hand on his shoulder, drawing him back into reality. Now he is back in the garden, alone with his mother. No remnant of his father to be found. The light of her faefire flickers, and she rubs her thumb against him in circles.

"At this hour?" he asks. She laughs at this, her hand pulling away from him to cover her mouth as she tosses her head back. When her laughter subsides, she smiles.

"Whiskey would be good, but I meant to help you sleep."

"I never said I couldn't sleep."

"You never slept well, even as a child," she counters.

Carefully untangling her legs, she stands, holding out a hand. He stands in turn and allows her to wrap her arm around his as he escorts her back inside.

Their walk to the kitchen is long. His mother winds through Forest House, leading him down halls, through rooms he nearly had forgotten existed, past portraits of relatives whose names he never learned. His mother's world is so different from his, yet they had coexisted this whole time. How much had he missed of his mother by serving his father?

In the kitchen, she finally withdraws her arm, giving him a gentle squeeze with her hand, and walks to a cupboard. She seems to float like a ghost, robe dusting the floor. In the dim faelight, the dark circles of her eyes are pronounced, her face thin and angular. She looks so frail, the widow of the high lord. During the day, she wears gowns the color of ash that wash her out, making her into a living corpse. As far as Eris knows, she has shed no tears for her loss.

His mother turns and gestures for him to sit at the table in the corner. She takes her time pulling a clay mug from the cupboard, placing it reverently on the counter. She flits to where the milk is stored and pours a generous amount.

"Why are you here still?" Eris asks, watching her pull a honey wand from the jar and drizzle it over the milk.

"Here?" she asked, brows furrowed as she maneuvers the wand back into the jar without making a mess of the counter. She places the honey back and searches for spices.

"In Autumn. Why aren't you in Day by now?" he clarifies. She knows what he's talking about. Eris watches her closely now, noting the way her eyes widen just so slightly, how her mouth twitches in denial, how she can't look him in the eye.

"Why wouldn't I be here?" She heats the mug with her hands.

"We all know, Mother," he says too calmly. The rumor of her affair was the worst kept secret in their family.

Eris had found out when Lucien was not much older than an infant. He had brought his younger brother to the Kennels to pet his dogs when his Lucien had glowed, a flickering beacon of hope in the dim rot of Autumn. And Eris had crushed it, startled Lucien into crying, and carried the wailing child to his mother. Eris had seethed, had never been so angry at her before. He warned her, accused her of betrayal. How could she have found such joy in abandoning the rest of them?

His mother stops heating the mug with her hands and sets it down before the milk can curdle. Her mouth is pursed as though the unspoken agreement to never mention her infidelity again is still meant to be honored. Eris only complied for her sake.

"You all are my children," she says. When she finally dares to meet his stare, he sees the fire that burns within her, the same that burns in him, in Lucien. "I don't know why you seem to forget that."

"What did you ever do when he hurt us?" he spits out. He's gripping the chair until his knuckles are white.

"You have no idea what I've been through, Eris. I did the best I could." Her flushed face twists into a frown. She's right, but he does have an inkling of what she went through and the scars to prove it. His mother has seen them, saw when he earned them. Did nothing to soothe him. But he drops the subject and gives a long, defeated sigh. He is tired, and it's early in the morning.

Sensing the shift, his mother finally hands the mug to him, and he takes it—a peace offering.

"I love you," she says, barely above a whisper. "I'm sorry."

"I'm sorry too," he says. He sips the drink and savors how the warmth of it seeps into him, the closest thing to a hug he's had in centuries.

"Are you happy now?" she asks him, choosing her words carefully. He hates how he makes her nervous like he's a monster too.

"Yes," he lies. She nods, knowing. She leans over the counter, eyes bright and a rueful smile upon her lips.

"I am here for you," she says. A lie, Eris is sure. "You are going to do great things. Don't let the memory of him stop you." She gives that feeble half-grin he has come to loathe. Her wise words are lost on him.

"Good night, Mother," Eris says. He returns the mug to her and walks back to his room, steps echoing in the silent gulf between them.

His mother stays for his coronation. She leaves the next day.

--

Notes:

Phew - that was hard to write. I'm a DV survivor and so is my mother. The conversations we had after the abuse had ended were very, very difficult, and this fic was inspired by that. I'd like to think that even though this piece ended on a sad note, what happened is the first step to longer journey of much-needed healing. My mother and I took years to be able to talk about what happened. I suspect Eris and the LoA would need the same time and space. As always, thanks for reading! Let me know what you think and be sure to check out the rest of the @erisweek2023 fics. <3

[scarecrowandsunflower]

So, so you think you can tell Heaven from Hell Blue skies from pain Can you tell a green field From a cold steel rail A smile from a veil? Do you think you can tell?

Did they get you to trade Your heroes for ghosts Hot ashes for trees Hot air for a cool breeze? Cold comfort for change Did you exchange A walk on part in the war

For a lead role in a cage?

How I wish, how I wish you were here We're just two lost souls Swimming in a fish bowl Year after year Running over the same old ground What have we found? The same old fears Wish you were here

[cityandking]

daichi/zaref + trembling. 1.1k. for @forcekenobi // angst prompts

He wakes with the sour tang of ash under his tongue and the copper smell of blood thick in his nose, and for a wild minute he doesn’t know who or when he is. His heart—has he got one of those?—pounds and his breathing—does he need that?—comes sharp and erratic, and he reaches for the red-hot metal searing against his cheek with bloodied hands and finds nothing but cool, sweat-clammy skin and his own open, gasping mouth. No blood, no ash. No burning.

Daichi opens his eyes and slowly pushes himself to sitting. The blue-dark familiarity of a Selto bedroom greets him, cool and still save for Zaref huffing quietly on the far side of the bed and the bleed of the city pressed against the window. He glances down at his hands, but they're clean, bare, dark skin cut through with faint scars. In the dim of the night they look more silver than gold, and he runs a finger along the line of one, from his third knuckle up and around his forearm, snaking like a vein. His heart pounds in his chest, flitting like some small, caged creature. His hands won't stop shaking.

It must be late, or early, or that spot between where it is both at once. There is no clock in the room, but the night is deep around him, held like a breath. He should go back to sleep, catch what rest he can before dawn. But when he closes his eyes, he's met with a wash of vertigo and the lurching fear that he will open them somewhere and somewhen and someone else, a sense so strong he swings his legs out of bed and presses his feet to the cold floor.

So— No. He will not be returning to sleep just yet.

He rises unsteadily, untangling himself from the sheets. His shirt sticks unpleasantly to his back, sweat all the way through. The walls squeeze around him, room small and growing smaller, and he needs air, needs space. He needs the sky.

When he steps out into the hall, there's a faint glow of light coming from downstairs, though he can't imagine who's still awake at this hour—Kallux maybe, or Lyn, or Abraham doing whatever it is he does when left to his own devices. He turns away from it, picking his way as silently as he can up the stairs. He must manage passably, because no doors open and no one interrupts him as he makes his way to the roof.

The first breath of fresh air fills him, quieting some of the clamor in his head. The night is warm, but the breeze is cool when it catches the loose edges of his shirt, tugging at the ties and wicking away the lingering heat of his nightmare. He half expects to run into someone else, but the roof is empty save for the arching boughs of the tree.

He picks his way across the rooftop, past the tree to the furthest edge of the building, and eases down. Everything has settled into a lull so late—a few cars buzz past in the distance; a smattering of lights glow golden between the spilling green of lower Isan. The street below is empty. All around him, the city breathes, and Daichi breathes with it.

He can't say how long he's been out here—long enough for his heartbeat to settle, long enough for some of the golden windows to wink out—when the door creaks and footsteps approach behind him. The breeze rustles through the tree, and Daichi holds himself still as Zaref sits next to him.

"I'm sorry if I woke you," Daichi says. Zaref makes a low noise, barely more than a hum.

"You did not."

Daichi knows he's not the only one who sleeps poorly some nights. "Bad dreams?"

Zaref shrugs—a yes, then—and says, "You were gone."

Guilt, or maybe grief, wraps around his throat. It makes speaking difficult. "Zaref—"

"When I woke up," he clarifies, and the words die on Daichi's tongue. The silence sits heavy between them.

"I'm sorry," he manages eventually, thin and faltering. He presses his palms against his thighs to hide their shaking. "I'm here. I just— needed some air."

"Have you been out here long?" Zaref asks, and Daichi wonders what he found when he woke—has the bed cooled in his absence? Were the sheets a tangled mess, an echo of his nightmare?

"Not too long," he says. He has no idea if it's true or not. "You don't need to stay. You should go back to bed. Get some sleep."

“No,” says Zaref in that firm, measured way of his. "I am not leaving you alone."

"I'm alright."

It's a terrible lie. He has no idea who he's trying to convince—Daichi wouldn't believe himself, and it's clear Zaref doesn't either if the snort is anything to go by. He presses his fingers harder against his legs.

"You don't need to stay," he says again, quieter. Zaref shifts next to him.

"Do you want me to go?"

Yes, he should say, but it sticks in his throat. If there is any one thing he owes to Zaref, it is the truth.

"No," he says. It crawls up from inside him, small and wanting, and he feels small with it. Surely it has not always been this difficult to say what he wants, what he means. Surely it did not always feel like digging his fingers into his gut and pulling something ugly and messy out in offering. He takes a breath, bracing. "But you should rest—"

"Daichi." Zaref catches his hand, his trembling hand, and for a moment Daichi wants to say Don't, don't touch me, this will stain you too.

Zaref laces their fingers together, quiet. Daichi takes another breath, full up with things he doesn't know how to voice—how his sleep brings him back there; how even awake he fears forgetting; how the fear is a relief if only because he never feared there, and at least it reminds him that he is still himself.

But he doesn't know how to say that, so instead he says, "I didn't mean to worry you."

"I know," says Zaref—though that doesn't, Daichi knows, mean he won't worry. Quieter, barely a murmur, Zaref adds, "You can wake me, you know."

"I know," Daichi echoes—and knows Zaref knows that doesn't mean he will. On another night, at another time, it might almost be funny how little the knowing changes things. Here, now, Daichi only aches. "Give me a few more minutes?"

"Of course." Zaref shifts, and then comes the press of lips against his temple. Daichi closes his eyes and leans into Zaref's touch, waiting for the lingering dregs of his nightmare to be swept up by the breeze.

[attic-saltsz]

alright

here it is

what will be my longest post ever

A LYRIC BY LYRIC analysis of wish you were here

as a Tadejonas song

(with some exceptions, im not soing the weird part at the beginning, repeating lyrics are only mentioned once)

Lets begin (rest under the cut)

"So you think you can tell, heaven from hell" - As a tadejonas song, how tou love to see him win but you hate to see him beat you

"blue skies from pain" - This one feels more like a lyric about the inherent masochism of cycling, how you have to love the pain, in a way the blue skies are bad, Tadej has talked about hating the heat

"Can you tell a green feild from a cold steel rail" - I think this one can be interpreted as how they get so focused, they forget their surroundings, they only focus on each other

"A smile from a veil" - AH yes i was excited for this one, it honestly makes me think about how people call Jonas closed off and stuff but between the two of them bes more likely to speak his mind or say what he really means, whereas Tadej just smiles through whatever people throw at him

"Did they get you to trade tour heros for ghosts" - Tadej having these heroes and then becoming on of the greats, possibly the greatest, can a hero have heros

"Hard ashes for trees, hot air for a cool breeze" - i dont have anything for these two, hence they are together

"cold comfort for change" - how these two would rather be in absolute pain and chaos as long as they are together and everything else becomes boring and "cold"

"did you exchange a walk on prt in a war for a lead role in a cage" - Kinda how Jonas wasnt aupposed to be a GC competitor, he was just a side person in this war and now hes one of the best in the world

"How i wish you were here" - LOOKING OVER THERE SHOULDERS WHEN THEY ATTACK, So disappointed wheb the other cant match, Tadej wanting to race classics with Jonas, saying the tour would be boring without him

"Were just teo lost souls swimmin in a fish bowl, year after year" - circling each other like vultures, Again and again and id do it again for you

AND THATS IT, i hope you enjoyed, pls give thoughts

pls

[lilyliveredlittlerichboy]

okay but did they get you to trade??? your heroes for ghosts??? hot ashes for trees??? hot air for a cool breeze??? cold comfort for change??? did you exchange a walk on part in the war, for a lead role in a cage???

[halloweenvalentine1997]

Lyrics to "Wish You Were Here" by Pink Floyd

So, so you think you can tell Heaven from Hell, blue skies from pain Can you tell a green field from a cold steel rail? A smile from a veil? Do you think you can tell?

Did they get you to trade your heroes for ghosts? Hot ashes for trees? Hot air for a cool breeze? Cold comfort for change? Did you exchange A walk-on part in the war for a lead role in a cage?

How I wish, how I wish you were here We're just two lost souls swimming in a fishbowl, year after year Running over the same old ground What have we found? The same old fears Wish you were here

[breezingby]

Wish You Were Here ~ Pink Floyd

~ ♫♪♫♪♫ ~

So, so you think you can tell Heaven from hell? Blue skies from pain? Can you tell a green field From a cold steel rail? A smile from a veil? Do you think you can tell?

Did they get you to trade Your heroes for ghosts? Hot ashes for trees? Hot air for a cool Breeze? Cold comfort for change? Did you exchange A walk-on part in the war For a lead role in a cage?

~ ♫♪♫ ~

How I wish, how I wish you were here We're just two lost souls Swimming in a fish bowl Year after year . . . Running over the same old ground What have we found? The same old fears Wish you were here ~ ~ ~

~ ♫♪♫♪♫ ~

[eyrliss-camille-rogers]

Did they get you to trade

Your heroes for ghosts?

Hot ashes for trees?

Hot air for a cool breeze?

Cold comfort for change?