#i am a mature scholar

[shredsandpatches]

One thing I love about my job is that part of it involves processing, cataloging, and describing new manuscript acquisitions. A lot of what we get comes in the form of individual detached manuscript leaves so doing this involves a lot of research in order to identify them, and that's a lot of fun. I'm working on a couple of new items right now and loving it (this is the first time I've had to do it since I've only worked here a couple of years).

Also sometimes it requires me to read up on abbreviations in Iberian gothic hands and then I find stuff like this:

[earthtooz]

baby, would i still be your lover?

fluff with angst, 1k words, gn!reader celebrates their bday bc it's my bday today, reader likes pearls, childhood friends to lovers (?), ooc!al-haitham, conflict and resolving it, al-haitham's grandmother is featured.

The best way to describe yours and al-Haitham's friendship is... unusual.

Having known him since childhood, you cannot say that he has changed much over the years. When your parents brought him to his grandmother's house to hopefully give the young boy a chance to socialise with something other than academic journals, befriending him was not easy.

He dodged all conversation you tried to make, ignored all attempts you made to play tag with him, completely evaded your childlike innocence. He always was more mature than everyone else his age, or rather, always acted like it.

Most unusually, he had an uncanny streak of pushing everyone out of his life, and you were not immune to the imaginary lashes he strikes, eventually removing yourself from his life too out of frustration.

At seventeen, when an unforeseen tension had lodged itself between you and al-Haitham, it deteriorated your friendship. One day, he had taken his opinions too far and sharpened his words too much, you left the House of Daena tearful and too wounded to see him for a while. It creates a distance between you two, one that lasts for three years.

At twenty, you visit al-Haitham's grandmother for the last time, and she makes you promise something. She pleads you to take care of her grandson, that for years, he has been hoping for the rekindling of your friendship, and she asks of you to make his wish come to fruition.

You reach out to him a month later on impulse. He invites you to dinner and drinks at Lambad's Tavern, and for the preceding week, it mentally drains you to think about being alone with him again.

He is already there when you arrive, sitting with crossed legs and arms at an empty booth. Showing up later than him gives you time to admire how he has grown. Now freshly turned twenty-one, time has served him well. He has grown into his sharp, taut features, and the way his grey hair falls accommodates his features well, and his build is impressive for a scholar. You've heard from others that he's graduated with the highest honours, and has already been offered a job at the Akademiya.

When the conversation begins, you're relieved to find out that nothing has changed from when you were both seventeen and fumbling teenagers.

As the only person who has stayed in his life since his youth, there is a bond that somehow cannot be severed. You apologise for what happened at seventeen, he does too.

As dinner passes, one thing becomes abundantly clear: al-Haitham does not need someone to 'take care of him' like his grandmother asked. What he did need, however, was his childhood friend that always knew how to push his buttons, and perhaps that was your way of 'caring' for him.

"Y/n." al-Haitham's broad figure looms over your desk, causing you to pause the scribble of words and numbers that you were in the midst of writing. "With your birthday coming in less than a month, I went to review our personal channel for gifts you'd like."

"Have you now?" You rest your chin on your hand, looking up at him through your lashes.

He completely ignores your question. "A sango pearl necklace? From Watatsumi Island? Is that your only desire?"

"I am easy to please," you shrug.

"Perhaps you misunderstand me. Is there no other gift that you'd appreciate?"

"Is a pearl necklace not possible?"

"One from Fontaine would be more achievable. Watatsumi Island, however, given our geographical distance and the fact that Inazuma is only just beginning to open up its transnational-"

"-So it's not possible? Even for the Grand Sage?"

"Acting Grand Sage, and whilst it is not impossible, I came to review with you possible alternatives for gift ideas that would provide the same marginal benefit."

"I suppose I could think of something else," you tap your chin. "One day I'll get my hands on those pearls, do you see the way they shine so clearly? You could use them just to fix your makeup! Cold to the touch and a clearer reflection are what make pearls high quality."

"How fascinating," he responds flatly and you pout. "In other news, it's lunch time now, and you promised you'd pay for my next meal at Lambad's."

You huff, compiling your papers together and clipping them together. "I was hoping you'd forget."

(As always, when the meal is said and done, he doesn't actually allow you to pay.)

A month later, when the clock strikes midnight on the day of your birthday, there is a series of knocks at your door. Unsurprisingly, you're greeted by al-Haitham's handsome face, now softer without the makeup he wears to enhance his features, but still beautiful nonetheless.

In his hands, he holds a gift.

"Happy birthday, Y/n." He declares, straight to the point, and hands you the box. "I hope it is to your liking."

The unassuming packaging only adds to your shocked delight when you see the contents inside.

"Sango pearls, from Watatsumi Island! You got me a necklace and bracelet set!" You squeal in pure excitement, treating the jewellery like fragile little things when you feel them. Cold to the touch, and you can see your reflection in them.

Pride shines in his eyes and a small smile pulls at his lips. He doesn't say anything except watch you freak out, satisfied with the hoops he had to jump through for this present.

"al-Haitham, I am so happy I could kiss you."

"I'd be happy to oblige."

The best way to describe yours and al-Haitham's relationship is unusual. You would do anything to get on his last nerve (without overstepping), and he would do anything for you.

© EARTHTOOZ 2024, do not steal, translate, repost my fics and do not recommend my fics onto any other site.

[novaursa]

The Dragon's Right (8)

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

- Paring: male!reader/Rhaenyra Targaryen

- Note: For all the chapters visit my blog. The list is pinned to the top.

- Rating: Mature 16+

- Word count: 5 400+

- Previous chapter: 7

- Next part: 9

- Tag(s): @sachaa-ff @alyssa-dayne

The next day, the sun was already setting when you returned to the Red Keep, your muscles sore from the long flight on Silverwing. The day spent soaring through the skies had provided you with the solitude you so desperately needed. The wind, the open air, and the distant landscape below had been a temporary balm for the weight pressing on your mind. Yet, as you dismounted Silverwing in the Dragonpit and made your way back to your chambers, the problems that you had left behind now felt even heavier.

The familiar smell of ash and dragon musk clung to you as you opened the door to your quarters. The moment you entered, you saw her—Rhaenyra—waiting for you. She was seated near the hearth, her arms crossed, and though she said nothing at first, her silence spoke louder than any words. The anxiety in the room was palpable, and you immediately sensed her anger simmering just beneath the surface.

You paused by the door, watching her, trying to gauge her mood. She didn’t look at you when you entered, and it was clear that this was not going to be a pleasant conversation.

The silence stretched, thick and uncomfortable, and you finally spoke, your voice calm but cautious. “Rhaenyra,” you said, stepping further into the room, “I can see you’re upset.”

She turned her head slightly, her lips pressing into a thin line. “Upset?” she echoed, her voice sharp with bitterness. “No, dear brother, I’m not upset. I’m furious.”

You let out a quiet sigh, understanding the source of her anger but unsure how to respond. “I didn’t mean for it to come across that way,” you began, keeping your voice steady. “But I needed to clear my head.”

“Clear your head?” Rhaenyra’s voice rose as she stood up, her hands balled into fists at her sides. “How convenient for you. You can fly away whenever the problems here become too much. But I am left behind, stuck with all of it.”

You frowned, moving closer to her, though you kept your distance, allowing her the space to speak. “That’s not what I intended,” you said softly. “I didn’t mean to leave you to deal with it alone. But… I don’t know how else to handle this right now. I needed to think.”

Rhaenyra let out a harsh, disbelieving laugh, her eyes narrowing as she crossed her arms over her chest. “And what did you think about, then? Did you come to any great revelation while flying above the clouds?”

You shook your head, running a hand through your hair. “No,” you admitted, your voice quieter now. “I’m still not sure. But I know I have to do something. We can’t keep going like this.”

Her eyes flashed with frustration, and she took a step closer, her expression filled with both anger and a deep sense of hurt. “When, then? When will you do something? After they’ve married us off to people we don’t even care about? After we’ve been torn apart and used as pawns for alliances?”

You felt the sting of her words, and it only fueled the fire burning inside you. You had thought about this endlessly, turning the problem over and over in your mind, but the answers were elusive. The weight of your responsibilities to the realm was crushing, but the thought of losing her—of losing what the two of you shared—was unbearable.

“I won’t let that happen,” you said, your voice firm with resolve.

Rhaenyra scoffed, her frustration evident. “How can you promise that? Do you even know what you’re fighting against?”

You stepped closer to her, the distance between you closing, and before she could pull away, you reached out, gently cradling her face in your hands. Her skin was warm beneath your touch, and though she stiffened at first, she didn’t pull away.

“I know what I’m fighting for,” you whispered, your eyes locking onto hers. “I’m fighting for you. For us.”

Rhaenyra’s breath hitched slightly, the anger in her eyes softening, though the frustration still lingered. She wanted to believe you—needed to believe you—but the uncertainty of the future weighed heavily on her heart.

“You can’t make promises you can’t keep,” she murmured, her voice faltering slightly.

“I can,” you insisted, your thumb brushing her cheek gently. “And I will. I won’t let them marry us off to others. I won’t let anyone take you from me.”

Before she could respond, you leaned in, pressing your lips to hers in a deep, lingering kiss. The tension in the room seemed to dissolve as your mouths met, the heat between you reigniting the bond that had been tested by the pressures of the realm. Her arms uncrossed, and she slowly melted into the kiss, her hands finding their way to your shoulders, holding onto you as if grounding herself in the only thing that felt certain—this moment.

When you finally pulled away, your foreheads rested together, your breath mingling with hers. Her eyes fluttered open, and for a moment, the fire in them was gone, replaced by a vulnerability that she rarely showed.

“You’re all I have,” she whispered, her voice trembling slightly.

“And you’re all I need,” you replied, your voice steady and full of the conviction you felt.

The silence that followed was not heavy like before. It was filled with understanding, with the unspoken promise that, despite the forces trying to pull you apart, you would fight for each other.

The sun streamed through the narrow windows of the small council chamber, casting long rays of light across the polished table where King Viserys sat, surrounded by his closest advisors. The atmosphere was lively, a stark contrast to the usual tension that filled the room during discussions of politics and war. This time, the subject at hand was one of celebration, as the annual festival of The Maiden's Day approached—a cherished tradition that honored the Maiden, one of the Seven, with grand festivities throughout King’s Landing.

Viserys leaned back in his chair, a rare smile tugging at the corners of his lips. He always enjoyed the planning of this festival. For a few days, the court could set aside its burdens and enjoy the excitement of tourneys, feasts, and pageantry. The people of the realm, too, celebrated with dancing, music, and markets that filled the streets.

“This year must be grander than the last,” Viserys said, tapping his fingers against the table in thought. “The people need a celebration to lift their spirits. The war in the Stepstones has dragged on, and with the tensions rising in the realm, we must remind them of the peace and prosperity we still have.”

Tyland Lannister, ever the pragmatic voice on the council, leaned forward slightly. “Your Grace, if I may suggest… the people are fond of displays of power and grandeur, particularly when it involves dragons. Perhaps the prince could open the festival with a flight on Silverwing? It would be a grand gesture—one that would certainly captivate the smallfolk.”

The suggestion hung in the air for a moment as the other council members considered it. Viserys’s expression shifted into one of contemplation, his fingers still tapping lightly against the table. The thought of you, his son and heir, leading the festival’s opening with a dragonflight was certainly an idea he hadn’t considered before. The people of King’s Landing adored you, as much for your strength in battle as for your dragon, Silverwing, whose presence alone inspired awe.

“The prince,” Viserys mused aloud, glancing at Tyland. “Yes, that would certainly appeal to the people.” He turned his attention to Otto Hightower, his Hand. “What say you, Otto?”

Otto, ever cautious, stroked his beard as he considered the proposal. “Your Grace, it is an idea with merit. The smallfolk have always been drawn to the spectacle of dragons, and the prince is well-loved. Such a display could certainly bolster the morale of the people.”

Viserys nodded thoughtfully, turning the idea over in his mind. “And what of the safety concerns? A large crowd, dragons in the air… we must ensure nothing goes amiss.”

Tyland waved a hand dismissively. “Your Grace, the people have seen dragons fly overhead before. As long as the proper precautions are taken, it should be perfectly safe. And besides, the sight of Silverwing soaring over King’s Landing would remind everyone of the power of House Targaryen—an image the realm could use right now.”

The other members of the council murmured in agreement, the idea of a public display of dragonriding growing in appeal. Even Lord Lyonel Strong, known for his measured and careful approach, seemed to nod his approval.

Viserys looked around the room, gauging the mood of his council. It was clear they all saw the potential in Tyland’s suggestion. He leaned forward, folding his hands together on the table. “Very well. If my son is agreeable, I see no reason why we shouldn’t proceed with this plan.”

There was a general murmur of approval around the table, and the meeting continued, with various plans being discussed for the festival—jousting tournaments, feasts, and the unveiling of new sculptures in the royal gardens. But as the conversation flowed, your presence became the centerpiece of the event, your flight on Silverwing the crown jewel of the celebration.

Later that day, you were summoned to your father’s chambers. As you entered, the familiar scent of parchment and ink greeted you, along with the sight of Viserys poring over maps and scrolls detailing the plans for The Maiden’s Day festival. He looked up as you approached, a warm smile breaking across his face.

“Ah, my son,” he said, setting the papers aside. “Come, sit with me.”

You took a seat across from him, sensing the excitement in the air. “What is it, Father?”

Viserys leaned forward, his eyes bright with anticipation. “We’ve been discussing the plans for the upcoming festival. The small council has proposed that you lead the opening ceremony with a flight on Silverwing. A grand display for the people.”

You raised an eyebrow, the suggestion catching you off guard. “A flight?” you asked, considering the implications. “You wish for me to fly over King’s Landing?”

Viserys nodded enthusiastically. “Exactly! The people love you, and they love dragons. You flying Silverwing over the city to open the festival would be a spectacle like none other. It would remind everyone of the power and majesty of House Targaryen.”

You could see the appeal of the idea. Dragons had always been a symbol of your family’s dominance, and with Silverwing’s grace and power, it would certainly be an unforgettable moment for the people. But there was also a weight to the responsibility—flying before the crowds, representing the strength of your house, was no simple matter.

“I’ll admit, it’s an intriguing idea,” you said after a moment, leaning back in your chair. “But have the safety measures been considered? Large crowds, a dragon in the air… It’s a dangerous combination.”

Viserys waved his hand dismissively. “The small council assures me it can be managed. You’ve flown Silverwing over the city before. This will be no different, only with more eyes on you.”

You sighed, considering the proposition. “I trust Silverwing, but this is no simple display. If anything were to go wrong…”

“Nothing will go wrong,” Viserys cut in, his tone reassuring. “I know you. I know your skill, and I know Silverwing. The people will adore it. And more importantly, they’ll adore you.”

You hesitated for another moment, feeling the weight of his words. You had always felt the eyes of the realm on you, but this would be different. This was a public display of your strength as the future king, a reminder to everyone that the power of dragons was still very much alive.

Finally, you nodded. “Very well. If it pleases the realm and strengthens our house, I’ll do it.”

Viserys beamed, pride shining in his eyes. “Good. It will be a sight to remember, I’m sure of it.”

As you stood to leave, Viserys reached out and clasped your shoulder. “You are the future of this house,” he said softly. “Let them see it with their own eyes.”

You left the room with your father’s words echoing in your mind, the weight of expectation once again settling on your shoulders. The festival, The Maiden’s Day, loomed ahead, and with it, the eyes of the realm would once more be upon you.

The early afternoon sun bathed the gardens of the Red Keep in a soft, golden light. The scent of fresh blooms filled the air as Rhaenyra and Alicent sat together under a large tree, shaded from the warmth of the day. They were surrounded by a few of Rhaenyra’s handmaidens, who busied themselves with sewing and idle chatter. But despite the peaceful scene, there was an undercurrent of tension between the two friends that even the handmaidens could sense.

Rhaenyra was lounging on a cushioned bench, her body relaxed but her mind anything but. She cast a glance at Alicent, who sat more upright, her expression calm yet distant. It had been some time since their last argument, but the lingering awkwardness still clung to the air between them, despite their best efforts to appear unaffected.

“So,” Rhaenyra began, breaking the silence that had settled over them. Her tone was light, but there was an edge to it. “The preparations for The Maiden’s Day festival seem to be progressing well. I hear they’re planning something grand this year.”

Alicent nodded, her fingers absently smoothing the folds of her gown. “Yes, the whole court is buzzing with anticipation. I imagine it will be quite the spectacle.” She glanced at Rhaenyra, her expression neutral, though her mind churned with conflicting emotions. Spending time with Rhaenyra like this used to feel easy, natural, but now… now it felt like walking on a tightrope.

Rhaenyra forced a smile, watching Alicent carefully, noticing the guarded tone in her voice. It had been like this since the council meeting, since the proposal she and her brother had brought before the king. There was something unspoken between them, a silent competition that Rhaenyra couldn’t quite shake. Even though she knew it was her who held her brother’s affection—who shared his secret moments and desires—she couldn’t ignore the way Alicent hovered around him, even if it was under her father’s orders.

She wasn’t blind. She had seen the looks, the subtle glances between Alicent and her brother. And though she trusted him, the knowledge still stung.

“Yes, a spectacle,” Rhaenyra echoed, her voice carrying just the slightest hint of sarcasm. “I hear there’s even talk of my brother flying Silverwing over the city. It’s all anyone seems to be talking about.”

Alicent smiled faintly, though it didn’t reach her eyes. “The people adore him,” she said softly, her gaze shifting toward the gardens, avoiding Rhaenyra’s piercing look. “It makes sense they would want him to lead the festival. He’s… well-loved.”

“Well-loved indeed,” Rhaenyra replied, her tone sharper than she intended. Her eyes narrowed slightly as she studied Alicent, catching the underlying meaning in her words. “But it’s not just the people who admire him, is it?”

The comment hung in the air, and one of Rhaenyra’s handmaidens shifted uncomfortably, glancing between the two women. Alicent’s face remained carefully composed, though her fingers stilled on her gown.

“I don’t know what you mean,” Alicent said, her voice soft but firm. She met Rhaenyra’s gaze, holding it with a quiet intensity. “He’s the prince and the heir to the throne. It’s only natural that people admire him.”

Rhaenyra smirked, leaning forward slightly, her voice lowering so only Alicent could hear. “Oh, I’m sure. But let’s not pretend you’re not among them, Alicent.”

The jab was subtle but pointed, and Alicent’s grip tightened briefly on her skirts before she forced herself to relax. She wouldn’t rise to the bait. Not here, not now. “I have great respect for your brother, as I do for you, Rhaenyra,” she said, her tone measured, carefully choosing her words. “But my admiration for him is no different than that of the rest of the court.”

Rhaenyra raised an eyebrow, sensing the shift in Alicent’s demeanor. “Of course,” she said, leaning back again, though the challenge in her gaze remained. “I just find it curious how often you seem to be in his company lately. Surely it must be exhausting to spend so much time ensuring his comfort.”

A tense silence followed, the atmosphere thick with unspoken tension. The handmaidens exchanged awkward glances, clearly feeling the weight of the conversation but unsure of how to respond. One of them coughed softly, trying to break the silence, but it only added to the uncomfortable mood.

Alicent, keeping her composure, straightened in her seat. “I am his sister’s friend,” she said, her voice cool. “It’s only natural that I would be close to your family.”

Rhaenyra’s eyes narrowed again, though she kept her smile in place. “Yes, you are my friend, aren’t you? It’s comforting to know that.” The words, though seemingly kind, held a subtle edge to them, one that Alicent didn’t miss.

Alicent nodded once, accepting the veiled barb for what it was. Her own emotions remained carefully guarded, though inside, she felt the sting of Rhaenyra’s words more deeply than she wanted to admit. The two of them had always been close, but since the prince’s return, things had changed. She knew that Rhaenyra was aware of her father’s ambitions, of Otto’s constant push for her to win the prince’s favor. But it wasn’t just Otto’s desires that drove her. There was something more, something she hadn’t even fully admitted to herself yet.

“You know,” Alicent said after a long pause, her voice softening, “I sometimes miss the days when things were simpler between us.”

Rhaenyra’s gaze flickered, the tension in her posture easing just a little. “Simpler?” she echoed, her voice quieter now. “Yes… I suppose things were simpler then.”

For a moment, the two of them sat in a rare silence, the weight of their words settling over them. It was a brief return to the friendship they once had, a fleeting memory of a time before duty, ambition, and jealousy had driven a wedge between them.

But the moment passed as quickly as it had come. Rhaenyra, ever proud, wasn’t one to let her guard down for long. She smiled again, though it didn’t reach her eyes. “Well, we must look forward, not back. The Maiden’s Day will be a grand occasion, I’m sure. And we both have our roles to play, don’t we?”

Alicent smiled faintly, though the sadness in her eyes remained. “Yes,” she agreed quietly. “We do.”

The soft clinking of metal filled your chambers as your young squire, Trystan Tyrell, worked diligently to prepare your gear for the upcoming events. His small hands moved with precision, fastening the straps of your armor and ensuring that every piece was polished to perfection. You watched him absently, seated in front of the hearth, your thoughts drifting to the constant pressure that had been mounting over the past weeks.

The Maiden’s Day festival loomed ahead, a grand spectacle that demanded your presence, both in the tournament and in the ceremonial dragonflight over the city. But the weight of it all felt suffocating, not because of the duties themselves, but because of the constant dismissal of your true desires by your father and the council.

You let out a quiet sigh, running a hand through your hair as you stared into the flames. The fire crackled softly, but it did little to ease the frustration gnawing at your mind. The preparations for the tournament were nothing new—polishing armor, sharpening swords—but the festival itself, the spectacle of flying Silverwing low over the city, felt like a show, a display meant to dazzle the smallfolk while ignoring the real issues that pressed against you like iron chains.

Trystan, ever focused on his duties, was silent as he worked, but you could sense his presence beside you as he finished with the armor and began laying out your dragonriding gear. The boy had proven himself capable and diligent, qualities you appreciated, though at the moment, your thoughts were too consumed with other matters to engage him fully.

The ceremonial dragonrider gear glimmered as Trystan laid it out piece by piece. The polished leather and intricate silver embroidery (to honor Silverwing) marked your status as heir to the Iron Throne, the sigil of House Targaryen woven into the fabric with precision. Each piece was designed for both protection and spectacle, ensuring that when you flew over King’s Landing, the sight of you on Silverwing would be unforgettable. But the thought of it only served to deepen the knot of frustration in your chest.

Trystan, sensing the tension in the room, finally spoke, his voice quiet but filled with the curiosity of youth. “Your Grace, is something troubling you? You’ve seemed… distracted lately.”

You glanced over at him, his wide, honest eyes searching your face for an answer. You appreciated the boy’s directness, though you weren’t sure how much to share with him. He was still young, after all, and your burdens were not easily explained.

You let out a long sigh and leaned back in your chair, crossing your arms over your chest. “It’s just… this festival. These constant celebrations,” you muttered, the frustration evident in your tone. “Every year it’s the same. Grand displays, feasts, tournaments. And for what? To keep the smallfolk entertained while real issues are brushed aside.”

Trystan blinked, clearly taken aback by your bluntness. “But… the people love the festivals, Your Grace. They admire you. They’ll be excited to see you fly Silverwing over the city. It gives them hope.”

You couldn’t help but smile faintly at the boy’s innocence. He saw the festival for what it appeared to be on the surface—a celebration of joy and unity. But there was so much more beneath it, layers of politics and expectations that weighed heavily on your shoulders.

“Yes, they love the spectacle,” you admitted, your voice softening slightly. “But that’s all it is, Trystan. A spectacle. A distraction from the real problems.”

The squire looked thoughtful for a moment, his hands pausing over the straps of your gear. “You mean… the council?”

You nodded, leaning forward and resting your elbows on your knees. “The council, my father, all of them. They talk of unity, of strength, but when I speak—when Rhaenyra and I offer solutions that could actually benefit our House—they dismiss us. As if we’re children playing at being rulers.”

Trystan frowned, his brow furrowing in confusion. “But… you’re the prince. They should listen to you.”

A bitter chuckle escaped your lips at the boy’s words. “You would think so. But being a prince means more than just having a voice. It means living under the constant weight of duty. My father… he believes in tradition, in keeping the realm at peace through alliances and displays like this festival. But he doesn’t see what’s really needed.”

Trystan’s eyes widened slightly, and he stood a little straighter. “What is needed, Your Grace?”

You stared into the flames for a long moment before answering, your voice low and filled with conviction. “Change. We can’t keep pretending everything is fine while the realm simmers with threat from all sides. The war in the Stepstones, Dorne’s constant provocations, the internal strife between the great Houses… these are not problems that can be solved with tournaments and festivals.”

The boy remained silent, clearly absorbing your words. His innocence was endearing, but you could see the wheels turning in his mind. He had always been a bright lad, and though young, he had a keen sense of observation.

Trystan finally spoke again, his voice hesitant but thoughtful. “Do you… do you think the festival is wrong, then? That it’s not worth doing?”

You shook your head, offering the boy a small, reassuring smile. “No, the festival has its place. The people need hope, and they need to see that their leaders are strong. It’s just… it’s hard to focus on such things when I feel that we’re being kept from what truly matters.”

Trystan seemed to understand, nodding slowly as he continued adjusting the gear. “I’m sure the people will appreciate seeing you fly, Your Grace,” he said softly. “They look up to you.”

You sighed again, running a hand through your hair. “Perhaps. But sometimes I wonder if that’s enough.”

The room fell into a comfortable silence as Trystan finished preparing the gear. The ceremonial leathers, embroidered with dragons and silver thread, sat perfectly arranged on the bench beside your armor. The festival, the tournament, the dragonflight—it was all set in motion, and soon you would have to play your part.

As the flames flickered in the hearth, you rose from your chair and walked over to the window, staring out over the city below. The sight of King’s Landing stretched before you, bustling with life and activity. It was a city that depended on you—on your House—to lead. And though you would fulfill your role in the festival, the weight of responsibility and the need for change still pressed heavily on your mind.

Trystan, ever loyal and attentive, stood quietly behind you, waiting for your next command. You turned to him after a moment, your expression softer but still marked with determination.

“Thank you for your help today, Trystan,” you said, your voice filled with gratitude. “I appreciate your hard work.”

The boy bowed his head respectfully. “It’s my honor, Your Grace.”

As Trystan gathered the gear and prepared to leave, you found yourself staring into the fire once more. The festival would come and go, the spectacle would dazzle the people, but the real battles—the ones that mattered—were still to be fought. And you would not let them be ignored any longer.

The sun had barely risen when the streets of King’s Landing came alive with the energy of The Maiden’s Day festival. The morning air was cool but filled with the sounds of bustling crowds, laughter, and the vibrant notes of musicians who had already set up along the cobbled streets. Stalls selling food, trinkets, and colorful garlands lined every avenue, and children ran freely, their faces painted with joy as they darted between groups of excited adults.

The city had transformed into a sea of celebration, with banners hanging from every building, their colors catching the light as they fluttered in the gentle breeze. The smell of roasting meats and freshly baked bread mingled with the scent of flowers being handed out by smiling vendors. The mood was infectious, and even the most serious-faced guards allowed themselves a moment to enjoy the spectacle.

But it wasn’t just the music and laughter that had the people excited. A ripple of anticipation spread through the streets as word began to pass from one group to the next: the prince would be flying Silverwing today. People began craning their necks, eyes scanning the skies, waiting for the moment when they would catch sight of the dragon’s mighty wings.

Suddenly, a shadow passed overhead, casting a brief darkness over the marketplace. Gasps filled the air, followed quickly by cheers as people looked up to see the enormous, gleaming form of Silverwing soaring above them. The dragon’s wings spread wide, catching the morning sun and reflecting a brilliant silver sheen. And there you were, perched atop her back, your figure a regal silhouette against the clear sky.

The crowd erupted into applause, and shouts of excitement rang out as Silverwing dipped lower than expected, gliding gracefully just above the rooftops. The sight of the dragon, so close to the ground, left the people in awe. Mothers clutched their children close, while men raised their mugs in salute, shouting praises to their prince.

“She’s flying so low!” someone in the crowd exclaimed, their voice filled with wonder.

“The prince is showing us his mastery of the skies!” another shouted, their eyes wide with admiration.

Silverwing’s massive wings beat steadily, creating gusts of wind that ruffled the banners and sent hats flying from the heads of those too close. The dragon’s descent over the crowded streets was so precise, so controlled, that it was clear to all just how skilled you were as a dragonrider. The people of King’s Landing had seen dragons before, but never like this—so close, so tangible. It was a reminder of the power and majesty of House Targaryen.

As you guided Silverwing through the city, you could hear the cheers and gasps from below, feel the energy of the crowd pulsing up toward you. Silverwing’s eyes glinted with intelligence, and you could sense her excitement as well. She was always at her best in the air, her wings cutting through the sky with ease, her every movement precise and graceful.

You circled the city twice more, performing a series of slow, sweeping turns. Each time you passed over the main square, the crowds erupted into fresh waves of cheers. Children pointed excitedly, their eyes wide with amazement as they watched the dragon glide effortlessly through the air. You brought Silverwing lower still, her massive tail skimming dangerously close to the rooftops before she ascended again, soaring high above the streets to the delighted roars of the people below.

From your vantage point, you could see the entire city stretched out beneath you—its winding streets, its towers and keeps, the narrow alleyways filled with life and color. But your destination was now clear: the ceremonial pyre that had been prepared in the heart of the city.

Silverwing banked gently to the left, her wings adjusting as you guided her toward the center of the festival grounds. The pyre stood tall in the middle of the square, stacked high with wood and kindling. It was the traditional signal that marked the official opening of The Maiden’s Day festival. Once the pyre was lit, the celebrations would begin in earnest.

As you approached, you whispered softly to Silverwing, feeling the familiar bond between you and your dragon. She let out a low, rumbling growl of understanding, and her chest began to glow with the faint light of dragonfire building within her. The crowds below watched in breathless anticipation as you brought Silverwing lower, her wings barely a few feet above the ground.

And then, in one fluid motion, Silverwing opened her maw and released a torrent of brilliant, orange-red flames. The pyre below was instantly engulfed in dragonfire, the wood crackling and sparking as the flames roared to life. The crowd erupted into cheers, their voices rising in a deafening roar of approval. The sight of the flames, the heat radiating from the pyre, and the presence of the dragon overhead—it was a moment of pure spectacle, one that the people would speak of for years to come.

You urged Silverwing upward once more, her wings beating powerfully as she rose above the flames. The fire blazed brightly, a symbol of the festival’s beginning, and the sound of trumpets echoed through the streets, signaling that the festivities had officially commenced.

As Silverwing soared above the city, you glanced down at the faces of the people below—men, women, and children alike, all looking up at you with awe and admiration. The sight filled you with a strange mixture of pride and frustration. Pride for the strength of your House, for the connection you shared with your dragon. But the frustration remained, lingering beneath the surface, because as grand as this display was, you knew it was just that—a display. A performance for the smallfolk, meant to distract from the real issues that weighed heavily on your mind.

You took a deep breath, trying to push the thoughts aside as Silverwing carried you further from the square. For now, the people were happy. For now, the celebrations were enough to keep them content. But you couldn’t shake the feeling that all of this—the pageantry, the spectacle—wasn’t enough to solve the deeper problems facing the realm.

As Silverwing glided effortlessly above the city, you made your way back toward the Dragonpit. The cheers of the crowd slowly faded into the distance, but their energy remained with you, a reminder of the power you held—and the responsibility that came with it.

The festival was in full swing, the city below a riot of color and sound. But your mind was already turning toward the future, toward the battles that lay ahead, both on the field and in the halls of power. Today, the people had seen their prince soar above them, a symbol of strength and unity. But tomorrow? Tomorrow would be a different story entirely.

[fellshish]

just felt like letting you know im makin my way through your spn bookmarks on ao3 and its saving my life 💚 do you have an ultimate-nothing-compares destiel faves from the bunch?

YES omg these are the fics that rewired my brain changed my life etc:

And this your living kiss (M, 56k): au where dean is a self deprecating former poet who used to write anonymously under the pen name jack allen. Now he’s finding his way back to loving poetry by taking a class at a college taught by professor novak… only he doesn’t know professor novak happens to be the number one jack allen scholar in the country. Amazing. Inspiring. I’ve reread it several times and it’s probably my favourite fic of all time

The cheapest room in the house (E, 89k): one of those fics whose writing i’m jealous of, it’s mind bogglingly good. And hot. The destiel grindr fic — cas downloads grindr and dean helps him. The rituals are SO intricate. But really, nothing i could say could do justice to how good this is.

Fenario (E, 47k): cas empty rescue fic. Certain paragraphs and scenes are just seared into my brain, amazing writing. I still think about “Cas’s legs give out and he pitches forward, falling the rest of the way into Dean’s lap in a mockery of a pieta” — that’s the point where i knew this fic was gonna become a fave

Right where you left me (E, 93k): cas comes back from the empty but it’s years later. He rings the doorbell and finds dean married. This fic was an event while it was still updating. Supremely well written and with an emotional maturity needed for the theme

Am I a man or am I a muppet (G, 7k): one of the funniest fics i’ve ever read. Dean wakes up as a muppet. Just roll with it! It’s crack, sure, but so good?? This inspired a scene in one of my gomens fics even

Burn this into your brains forever (E, 10k): to me this is an underrated fic for how funny it is. Fake dating between dean and garth but don’t worry, it’s a destiel fic

Half empty (M, 37k): more of a dean study. Reads like you’re dreaming and nothing makes sense. Dean is confused about everything. Kind of a mysterious vibe, excellent writing

There is rest for the wicked (G, 14k): sleepy, domestic dean. The destiel happens so…. Idk. Naturally. It’s a fic that really stays with you for a long time

Ninety one whiskey (E, 401k): one of thee destiel fics of all time. It’s famously a must-read and for good reason. A war fic, so quite heavy and not for everyone. But an absolute experience. I read the last few chapters in bed middle of the night tears streaming down my face. Simply iconic

A winter’s tale (T, 64k): this fic forever changed the way i see cas’ human arc on the show. Not super destiel-y but can be read that way. Again quite heavy. Northernsparrow is an excellent writer.

The dean winchester beat sheet (E, 144k): au where dean is in college and in complete and utter denial about his sexuality. So supremely funny. I will say this dean is not for everyone. But to me he is iconic and i think about certain scenes still. Forever changed the song i want to break free for me.

What has eight tentacles and isn’t allowed to eat pie? (T, 16k): basically uhhhh dean gets turned into an octopus. HEAR ME OUT. This fic will change you fundamentally as a person. It’s funny but also smart. A classic!

Maybe it really is the end (M, 2k): it’s short but there’s not a word out of place. Basically, belphegor taunts dean and cas while in the body of jack. It’s so good and so underrated. I think about it all the time

How a grocer watches dean pull his head out of his ass in seven days (E, 51k): destiel written from an outsider pov, a christian lady who’s easily scandalised and whose narrative voice is SO hilarious. One of the funniest fics i’ve ever read. Fake dating too!

[plusvanity]

Yesterday, I wanted to say that people who blocked me did the wiser thing, but today, I want to touch on a recent issue, a hugely (intentionally) misinterpreted and degrading problem.

The controversies that people started to spread about me literally make me sick to the stomach.

They don't give a fuck about my countless explanations of how this ship is my comfort ship, designed to help me heal from severe abuse, self hatred, body dysmorphia, depression and anxiety.

I try to switch from unhealthy coping mechanisms to something that is both productive, helpful and most of all, harmless (because it's imaginary).

They felt the need to turn something that I created as my own personal fictive escape into a gross sadomasochistic, abusive and extremely toxic 'excuse' for 'why is this ship and not that?'. My guts twist for seeing such cruel assumptions when I have one thing that makes me happy (a story, a healthy narrative) viciously turned into a gruesome scenario that is not what it is at all.

The fact that they accuse me of shipping fair-skinned, blonde people is also the biggest hypocrisy that they could come up with when they themselves forget that Øystein's natural hair is blond and his eyes are blue in their own double-standard ship.

The fact that accuse me of romanticizing self-harm while they themselves 'like' (I have proofs) and approve art of EuroDead self-destructive romanticism shows their duplicitous and impostor nature. This is not to be taken as an insult, but an obvious fact concluded by their behavior.

My ship has little to do with physical looks and everything else to do with the in-depth psychology. It's not me, PlusVanity who says that there's a gigantic overlap between highly-autistic traits and trauma response (in personality disorders), it's Freud, Jung, Lacan's teachings and many other's scholars, neurologists and psychiatrists came to this conclusion many many years before you and I were even born. If you, dearly-opinionated friend, think that you can prove to these honorable psychoanalytical figures (and me, of course) otherwise with credible and well-documented research and not your 'I don't like that just because' synthetic opinion, I will gladly listen to what you have to bring up. I am well-versed in the philosophical and psychological domain, and I can provide solid arguments to everything I claim.

It's more than just unfair to point the finger at me, accusing me of a ludicrous sadomasochistic and 'subliminal racial element' in my art just to satisfy your late frustration with an ' good-enough explanation' for something that you never even bothered to look into because otherwise you would know that you are wrong. I'm not spiteful, I'm just pointing your flaws in logic as straightforwardly and inconsiderable as you seem to point mine, but it's not like you will actually try to understand what I'm saying because this must imply 'admitting defeat' and a kick in the ego, so you don't even bother with my transparent explanations. That's alright.

This message is for the people who are open and mature enough to read the motive behind my art and writing. This monologue is not for the ones who blindly accuse me of horrible things or a hidden agenda that I don't have or try to promote.

If you think that you know better than me, you simply don't. Why might that be? Because I am the author, because you don't think with my brain and you have no access to what I stand for, other than my words and actions and neither my words or actions stood for any type of abuse or political extremism.

You also put words into my mouth by calling me a fan of Varg, when I'm most certainly not, but I mean you hate me, of course you will say such things. Everyone who's following me knows that I not only hate Varg, but mock him daily for his spiteful persona.

I do not engage in any drama, I am not here to fight anyone.

I will only have civilized conversations (if openness exists). I am here to be and share with my friends the one thing that makes me happy. To subjugate me for simply having a different view than yours is tyranny and black and white extremism.

Pairing real people is morally bad, but this includes all real people. Not just Varg and Pelle, but Øystein and Pelle too. Doesn't sound fair now, does it? I understand why.

Anyone is free to believe anything, but a conspiratorial opinion will never compare to the ultimate truth that only the author can provide.

Please block me if you wish for. This is a far more mature approach than lurking here or sending hate. I hope this is constructive.

To sum it up, I'm beyond hate and ingoing frustration. I will gladly wish my late-proclaimed haters a wonderful day even if they roll their eyes. 🖤

You cannot change options, you can only provide your insight.

Be kind, be open, be alright 🖤

I wish this post can be shared so a lot of people can read this 🙏

[suzannahnatters]

I've cranked through the first half of Love Like the Galaxy in under a week and I REGRET NOTHING: how fast can I put myself outside this gloriously mature and well written Jane Austen style comedy of manners with intermittent murder. Reactions to the first 12 eps under the cut because wow I verbose when I happy

I'm 3 eps into Love Like the Galaxy and while "becoming thoroughly absorbed by Chinese Jane Austen" was not on my bingo list I'll take it.

I have trust issues with cdramas after watching GOODBYE MY PRINCESS which was the drama equivalent of the kind of dude who says 'heh heh I like a girl with spirit' but I do really love what they're doing with Niao Niao and how she's had to survive her awful aunt and grandmother (who are like Mrs Norris and Mrs Bennet, respectively) by becoming calculating, distrustful, selfish and utterly devoted to her own cause

LOVED the moment in ep3 where she tries to show her mother, who's this strict Confucian parent, the sort of nonsense she's had to put up with for years by subjecting her to the evil wiles of Aunt Norris and Grandma Bennet, she just outright pointed out the double standards her mother is operating by

anyway we shall see how things turn out! I'm finding the grounded visuals very nice too - everyone's not caked in makeup and jewels all the time, they look very comfy and believable.

oh my the softly besotted look on Torture General's face when he sees her carriage going by

he hasn't seen her face yet, he just knows she's cold, unfilial, and utterly calculating and he's fallen for her for all the reasons that everyone else reproaches her for

episode 6 of LLTG: a dispute over a writing desk has made me cry. what

This whole scene with the dreadful mother holding court and Niao Niao defending herself - so ably that she beings her brothers and cousin to take her side against her mother - GAH this is AMAAAAAZING

I adore that they don't have anyone fingerwagging at our girl to tell her that actually her mother is doing these toxic things because she deep down cares about her (aHEM, My Journey To You) - they're just being really clear that it's all dreadfully unfair.

I also love that the toxic mother is a sword-wielding warrior woman. She's so heroine-coded??? while also being a terrible person? amazing! I love the unexpectedness of it!

snerk I love this celebrity scholar deciding to Bestow a Mark of His Favour upon our girl and she tosses it right back at him

this Prince Xiao enters twirling moustaches he doesn't even have, wow

laughing my head off at the Big Romantic Rescue complete with cape SWOOOOOOOSH

this is great. I feel like I'm watching a faintly swoony BBC adaptation of a lost Jane Austen novel

also I take it back, Niao Niao isn't selfish at all - she's just realised that if she doesn't fight for herself then no one else will.  But she's not making it an excuse to be unfair or horrible to her perfect cousin, even though it would be the most understandable thing in the world

I love her, she deserves the world

ep7: I've only known Wan QiQi two minutes and I would die for her

is it just me or is this smug scholar precisely the type of man we've all come across??? NN not giving him the time of day is EVERYTHING

Third Aunt giving Third Uncle a shave: what a scene. God bless cdramas. Also, the extent to which there is a whole epic romance cdrama happening somewhere in the backstory here is AMAZING

Also: QiQi is a showy kind of BFF to have - showing up late to the party in a bright red dress and instantly pillaging the birthday gifts she brought the princess to deck you out in earrings? chef's kiss - but I'm also SO appreciative of how they're treating Yang Yang! That moment at the banquet early in the episode where Niao Niao, who can't even read, says, somewhat hurt and pettish, "I don't need to learn ANYTHING! I'm good just as I am!" and Yang Yang says, "Yes, you are!" despite being a bookworm since birth? I LOVE THEM

ahaha NN gives a speech shaming the snobby aristocratic girls for looking down on the daughter of a general, and being extravagant, and don't they know all this bounty is due to the emperor and his generals? feels like the show is buying the right to critique filial piety by kissing up to the state

the statism is the one thing I've disliked about the show so far (also didn't think much of NN snitching on her great-uncle) but that's pretty much a constant in Chinese media except for one wuxia novel I read years ago (BaiFa MoNu Zhuan/Legend of the White Haired Maiden), so onward…

"I'm Eleventh Young Master who has admired you for a long time" sHriEKing

he looks so happy too

GO NIAO NIAO BITE HER

Deeply enamoured of the way General Wan has the features and mannerisms of an animated Disney villain

"why is that unlucky person still here? he seems like a lingering ghost" impeccable "Lizzie Bennet wonders why she keeps bumping into Mr Darcy on her daily walk, after she specifically told him this was where she walked daily" energy

well I did not think the show could make me sympathise with the toxic mum, but it did, by dint of showing that the dad is intentionally playing good cop so he can enjoy his daughter's adoration while he encourages her mum to beat her???

I really hope the cruddy dad experiences the consequences of his actions here but even more than that, I'm amazed that the show has found a way to make us sympathise for the bad mum as a person without trying to make her less bad

I'm just in awe of the writing here - it's SO deft and able.

ah, this must be the bamboo forest where they store action scenes - and I LOVE that the band of lady bodyguards gets to stomp the bandits when a lesser show would use this opportunity to bring on the hero and his army of goth henchmen

aw yess! our girl is strategising their way out! It's so delightful to me - this is precisely the kind of leadership/strategy role asian dramas rarely allow to their female characters

now she's getting to command a siege!?!?! all on her own?

and then castigating herself for not being able to save everybody! BABY

on to ep12, which I have heard people cite as the Point Where The Show Gets Good, and given the fact that I've already been elmo on fire dot gif for eleven episodes I'm not entirely sure what everyone else has been drinking but sure! let's see what lies herein

oh this is the GOOD stuff

yes yes, the big rescue, the arrow pulling, all good…what really gets me is that when our girl wants to see the mass execution and Murder General holds her back, it's not bc he's patronising her, it's bc he knows she needs to hear that AhMiao's death was not her fault

this show is justifying tropes I didn't even know COULD be justified…inCREDible

Third Uncle has two braincells and my whole heart

the only thing better than the look of sheer naked yearning on Murder General's face every time he sees Niao Niao or anything tangentially related to her is his determination never to let on how he feels to his two henchmen, who have known since episode two and are eager to help

Murder General hoarding hankies, bits of string, and pencil-ends that belong to Niao Niao like Harriet Smith hoarding Mr Elton memorabilia in EMMA

[loquarocoeur]

overwhelmed question anon here

i meant in the too many sponsor events, too many meetings, too many people trying to talk to him kind of way

Ah okay, well, just to note that I am less of a scholar of lestappen than an inventor of lestappen persona's that are possibly totally out of congruence with irl max and charles, just as an aside, but from my perspective here goes:

I feel like of course it's natural for anyone to get overwhelmed and just socially exhausted after these things, but it's part of the job and they did sign up for it and are used to it, and Max is an adult, he'd be mature about it and do his duties to the best of his ability

But I think if he ever came home just absolutely exhausted from too many people and too many events and stuff he'd honestly just fall straight into Charles' arms

And I feel Charles would just let him vent about whatever is overwhelming him if he needs to or he'd just shut up and hold him and kiss him and let him recharge, and I think Max would absolutely use Charles as a human weighted blanket to lie on top of him as well

I think in terms of getting overwhelmed socially Max isn't the kind of guy to cry about it, (I don't mean to say this in a way implying that would be bad at all, I personally, would in fact cry about it) I think he's the kind of guy who's two seconds away from absolutely ruining a sponsor relationship by telling someone he'd rather eat glass than hear about their violin prodigy child who'll take over their company one day any more and if he came and found Charles and told him that Charles would immediately know he is not kidding and go like whoa okay maybe let's take a break and find somewhere quiet where he'd let Max say all the rude things he wants to say to the sponsors to Charles instead and they see if he feels better afterwards or if he's done and he doesn't care about who he's in trouble with, he's going home

[neonlight2]

Jaehaera Targaryen (oc)

Masterlist

Warnings: smut mentions, sexism, touch of homophobia, and mentions of incest (and step-cest)

Again— it’s the Targaryens, what do you expect.

(Only the older parts of the family cause… the younger ones don’t know the difference)

What we’re their relationships like as she got older?

Viserys

First off— Absolute pushover.

Shouldn’t be a surprise with how he treats Rhaenyra. Man will literally break all tradition, with the justification of “I am king”.

Jaehaera wants to wear pants instead of dresses. Done, without a second to waste. And if she did want to wear a dress, you best believe it was the best money could buy.

His darling daughter wants to study with high scholars— only the best teachers of course. Anything she wished to know or learn she’d be taught. Books would be imported from the farthest edges of Westeros. Oh— and best believe he built her a private library. He knows how she loves her privacy, how she detested the public and fuss of events. He’d catered to her every need as she grew.

Even when he didn’t necessarily agree— like with swordsmanship. Viserys would be so freaking worried at the beginning, not wanting his little girl to get hurt. But he lets her anyway.

And even though it’s “against the rules”, Jaehaera could compete in tournaments whenever she damn well please, and he was always there to watch with pride.

There was not a price in gold that would hinder her requests. If the girl has asked him for a fucking castle bigger than king’s landing, it would have been made— and he’d put every man he could to work in order for it to be done quickly. Amazons quick delivery service would have NOTHING on this man’s will.

However, she was never extreme in that fashion. The kingdom was honestly lucky that she was far more rational and conservative with money, or else they may be in poverty.

So as she got older, matured, and got around to marrying age— all suitors of all ages came in like filthy vultures. And of course, no one was ever good enough.

He thought the same for both his daughters, the only reason why he made Rhaenyra marry was in order to secure he claim to the throne— heirs. Jaehaera on the other hand…

Jaehaera at 14/15: Father I don’t wish to marry—

Viserys: GREAT ITS SETTLED THEN

Of course if she did fall in love or wish to marry, he wouldn’t be able to say no. It’s damn near impossible. I swear to god this man would actually rather die than say no to her.

Jaehaera would DEFINITELY become more of an adviser to Viserys as she got older. She was already like his own little personal spy, so as she got older, made more connections, and was actually able to stir the pot without being harmed (because now she’d love for a bitch to try—), that relationship only grew stronger.

Most people when they watch the two together could get mental whiplash I’m not even gonna lie. One moment Jaehaera is kneeling before Viserys calling him “my king” or “your majesty”— basically going through ALL the damn formalities even though viserys has told her a thousand times she doesn’t need to— just to act like a child the next minute. Sure, if she has something political or otherwise important to tell him, Jaehaera stays more calm, professional even. But the moment the formality is over and done she like, “Hi dad! Wanna watch me dual? Oh! I learned a new trick on Shkros!”

She’d also just tell him the most random shit and facts she learns, probably rant about stories or things she’s gotten insanely fixated on. Viserys would EAT THAT SHIT UP. He could listen for hours and smile or laugh at the girl.

Oh, and Viserys literally became deaf at some point to all slander toward her, even if it came from Otto. Man would not hear of any of it.

In his mind Jaehaera did no wrong. So when anyone questioned her innocence or reputation��

“All of these are mere, petty rumors from jealousy for my daughter’s brilliance.”

“I will not hear of it, next person to say such a thing will lose their tongue.”

“Jaehaera would never, and even if she had you have no proof.”

“Who are you to question the princess? My daughter?”

To the day until she inevitably starts leaving more frequently, they would meet almost every night in the kitchens, sharing bread and milk like the day they first met.

Sadly, around the time his sickness gets really bad, she would be gone even longer. He knew why.

She had spent months before trying to heal him, and she did a better job then the scholars and maesters could ever dream. But they both knew that it was only slowly his demise. There was no cure for time, as it was fast on viserys heels.

A lot of people thought they had a falling out during this time because of her absence, but the truth of it was that they had an agreement. Jaehaera had made a promise to secure and protect their family. Not just Rhaenyra’s claim to the throne, but the state of it all.

She went to every kingdom to make alliances, or to strengthen old ones. She made deals to compact no army could penetrate them. And she would be damned if she failed.

Jaehaera had barely the idea of what love felt like before she became Viserys’ daughter. So with all her being she’d protect her home, her life, his legacy, her family.

Daemon

Two words— Teddy Bear.

He’s an absolute simp.

Would and does worship the ground she walks on.

If you thought he was insufferable when she was younger, following her around, constantly seeking her attention, giving her anything she stares at too long, and talk about protective— times that by a million.

The moment he came back and saw how she had…matured. Daemon went feral. I’m talking glaring at every person who so much as glances Jaehaera’s way that wasn’t family. He even had a small bit of beef with Sir Harwin because of how close he had become to her. It was only until she told him to back the fuck off that he calmed down.

He’d also use every excuse he could muster to be close to her. And Daemon likes to be sly, or try at least, so it would start innocent.

*walking literally anywhere, even around the castle, and he hold her hand* “Don’t want you to get lost my little wanderer.”

*Leans against her: arm around shoulders, or wrapped around her waist to rest his head in the crook of her neck.* “I’m tired.” Or if your at an event, “You soothe the throbbing in my head, love.”

Then this bitch would push his luck.

He’d slowly slip his fingers up her shirt or any bare skin he could get his hands on— and being that she didn’t normally like to wear much, he had so many places to choose from.

“My hands are cold!” *it’s literally like 100 degrees out*

He also has a weird obsession with her hair. Like he’d dimly admire it at first, wondering what it feels like. Was it was soft as feathers? Or smooth as silk?

Well one day he impulsive touched it. Of course he made it seem as if it were a normal interaction— brushing it away from her open shoulders to show off the dip in the heavenly dress she wore to some banquet he couldn’t even remember the occasion for.

All he knew was that he instantly became addicted to the feeling of the strands between his fingers.

They’d be talking underneath the trees of the gardens and he’d randomly start petting her head. At first Jaehaera would tense up because of the foreign feeling, but after a few seconds and Daemon asking her permission, she’d let him to it again. Oh he’d be jumping for joy in his brain.

Especially loving it when her eyes would flutter shut when he’d start to scratch her scalp and massage her temples.

And however wholesome this man could be at sometimes, he’s mind would definitely wander. He’d start to wonder what it’s be like if she were underneath him, hair and body sprawled out for him to play with. To make her feel good.

Or perhaps if she were to ride him and as she leaned forward, her hair would drape around them, all while tickling his thighs, arms and face. Oh how pretty she would look.

Oh and don’t get him started about how hard he gets when she pulls her hair into a ponytail or high braid. All he could think about was taking her from behind, pulling on her hair so that her back would be flush with his chest.

God she drove him crazy.

So the infamous Prince, know for being I’ll tempered and cruel, would be siting with the girl in her free time, taking turns braiding each others chair.

What he doesn’t know is that she’s not as oblivious as he thinks. It wasn’t hard to notice how he’d have to shift in he seat around her, or the growing bulge in his pants as she laid her head in his lap— letting out shameless moans as he kneaded her scalp.

Jaehaera just thought in rather fun to tease him, and to make him think she was totally innocent in her acts.

But besides the obvious sexual tension— Dameon would respect Jaehaera a lot. Of course he’d still be hot headed, crazy, and rebellious. It was his nature. And it also happened to be hers in some cases.

It was almost like putting two delinquents in the same room with some gunpowder a few matches.

The only difference was that she was more rational when it came to future consequences. She actually looked ahead. Dameon… not so much. He’d rather jump into battle or war, only depending on himself and his sword “dark sister”.

But.. if he had to, the person who’d he’d listen to was Jaehaera. And that’s because in his eyes, she was always right.

And that was not to be disputed.

Rhaenyra

She’s spoiled. We all know that. So she’s definitely get more possessive of Jaehaera.

When she married Laenor, it was hard because she longed for intimacy that he could not give her. But she was content with him because she thought she had at least evaded being married to an imbecile.

So even though it was unheard of, Rhaenyra still insisted on sharing a bed with her almost every night. Both girls were always close, and comfortable with each other physically. Rhaenyra had been the second person to bless her with gentle affection through touch. One might say that other than herself, Jaehaera trusted Rhaenyra with her body the most.

They would cling to each other in the night, bodies intertwined, grazing each other carefully, or tenderly squeezing flesh. All of it was natural to them. And to Jaehaera it was all she’d ever known when it came to the pair. It was only after their incident at the brothel that caused a shift in their behavior.

Rhaenyra had only heard of what had happened with Jaehaera because of her fathers reprimanding. It was light compared to what she faced, but she still felt something brewing in her stomach. She couldn’t quite place the emotion, it resting somewhere in between jealousy and curiosity. And it scared her.

Soon she found herself growing paranoid and angered at everyone Jaehaera looked at fondly. Especially a particular maid of hers…

Soon Rhaenyra would lie awake at night, Jaehaera sleeping soundly beside her, and she’s let her mind wander to what she thought the girl may have been doing with other women.

Soon she’d been touching herself at the thought of it being her who received such attention from Jaehaera.

And later as she noticed Daemon’s actions toward them both she couldn’t help but dwell on the thought of having them both. Even after Daemon married Laena. She’s simply add her to the equation too; she knew how much Jaehaera fancied her.

However, as the drift between her and Alicent grew even larger— especially after the whole air Criston cole situation— she became more worried that Jaehaera would leave her.

She had no reason to worry, I mean Jaehaera absolutely adore the girl. She would do practically anything for her. And the two princesses were almost attached at the hip at some point.

Yet as Jaehaera began to venture farther out, her time away from home increasing every voyage, Rhaenyra would make sure to claim whatever time Jaehaera had to spare when she had returned.

Of course, she didn’t mind sharing this time with other people she loved: Viserys, Daemon, Laenor, Sir Harwin.

Jaehaera knew. Anyone could tell that her children were not sired by Laenor, but Jaehaera knew that they were his kids.

And that’s because she walked in on them fucking once.

To this day she’d tease Rhaenyra about it, occasionally praising her for how quiet she could be with such a large prick inside her.

(She would also confirm to anyone that asks that Sir Harwin is hung— because let’s be honest he is.)

And after Rhaenyra had Jace, she’s notice that happened to grab even more of Jaehaera’s attention. More of her protection. Jaehaera would visit more frequently, ask if she was being properly taken care of, if anyone had disrespected her, and constantly hovering around her and Jace when she was at home.

As much as Rhaenyra loved Sir Harwin, she couldn’t deny that Jaehaera was a huge reason for her having more children. For the more she had, she more of Jaehaera she got.

Alicent

Obsessed and paranoid.Gonna be real— we all saw this coming.

Alicent would definitely be giving yandere, but she would never tell Jaehaera when she could or could not leave. (Like shed be able to in the first place.)

At first, when they’re in their later teens, Alicent really just wants to keep Jaehaera in her life. So she sees Rhaenyra as a threat, because they’re at all odds.  She gets extremely worried whenever Jaehaera starts to pull away because of her marrying Viserys, and a little scared. Alicent really didn’t like lying to her, but she was as equally as scared of her father’s backlash. So when Jaehaera started to catch on with the whole scheme, Alicent didn’t know what to do or think.

Jaehaera was never actually cruel to her in anyway. In fact, the rather opposite. She’d still join her for tea or visit her whenever Rhaenyra was busy with her duties. But there was always a nagging feeling in the back of her mind that made her need validation.

“You’re not mad at me are you Princess?”

Glancing up intently at her, Jaehaera would answer, “No, Ali. I just hate your father insists on hurts those I care for.”

Hitching her breath, there was a small flutter in the pit of her stomach. Jaehaera made it sound as if she were included in the category. That sent Alicent’s heart on fire.

“And don’t think of defending him darling,” Jaehaera snipped, standing up to grab ahold of her chin. “It’ll just make me hate him more.”

Would definitely become paranoid later on as Rhaenyra has kids because well… Jaehaera increasingly becomes more attached to her as she does. Not that Alicent’s children don’t get enough attention as is. Jaehaera spoils every single one of them. But Alicent doesn’t see it like that, so what does she do? Talks shit.

She’ll start sneaking in comments or rumors of Rhaenyra’s children’s the obvious hair color difference, and other features. How they’re “growing in to very clad, dark handsome boys” and how she “adores their curly brown hair”.

Then, on top of it all is— she thinks she’s getting away with it at first because Jaehaera will laugh occasionally and say something back. Soon she becomes unaware of the warning stares being sent her way. Her growing audacity eventually leads to a more intense reaction after she questions their birthright.

“I’m not sure if they would be given the thrown that easily.” She’d say calmly with a soft smile while pouring Jaehaera a drink.

She’s hear the princess hum and ask, “Why’s that?”

“Oh you know, their features are rathe strange for a Targaryen. Some might question if they are truly—,”

Alicent would be cut off quickly, and the bottle of wine would have slipped through her hands from shock and broke into pieces by their feet if it weren’t for Jaehaera’s quick hand. With one hand setting the bottle aside, the other held Alicent’s jaw firm, making it so she couldn’t talk, yet it would not leave a bruise on her skin.

Jaehaera’s were practically predatory as they glared into Alicent’s. And as she leaned closer to the woman’s face, Alicent couldn’t help but gasp at the proximity.

“Don’t start acting like your father Ali. It doesn’t suit you.” Jaehaera would whisper firmly, pulling away only to keep a burning gaze. “And if you ever say something like that again around me, I promise you, I will kill him.”

After her hand leaves her mouth, Alicent would rub the tender skin, weak in the knees and almost desperate for it to return. “Why?” She’s ask in a whisper.

Tilting her head to the side, Jaehaera’s expression softened and she caressed her cheek. “Because he would have killed something I care for. And I cannot allow that.”

Otto

He’s a petty bitch.

Would not know what the fuck to do when it comes to Jaehaera.

Would also try really hard to spread rumors about her under the kings radar. Probably called her a homophobic slur at some point and made a backhand comment about her being a woman. We all know it’s true.

He’s well aware that she hates him after Alicent marries Viserys. Would for sure get tortured by Daemons antics even more because of Jaehaera’s permission.

Honestly he’s just fucked, so he’s constantly trying to find a way to keep himself in the good graces of the king, so Jaehaera won’t kill him.

Also another reason why he’d push Aegon to succeed the thrown— also also another reason why the greens pull this shit while she’s gone on her voyages and travels. He knows he wouldn’t be able to get away with it otherwise.

Sir Criston

Another petty bitch.

Jaehaera finds him annoying after a while. She gave him a little sympathy at first because of the whole Rhaenyra brothel incident, but she’d always choose Rhaenyra.

Lightens up around Alicent because she likes her. But she’ll roast the shit out of him at any time. Unprovoked.

And if he really pisses her off best believe she’s threaten him (and let Daemon loose).

“I gave you the position in the kings guard, I could easily take it away. Even if it hurt Ali’s feelings for a while. She could never stay mad at me. She’d forget you in a heartbeat.”

Sir Harwin

Homies Fr

These two would just make a bunch of dirty jokes, cursing like sailors, and spar.

Canon that they would call each other bad worms as pet names:

“Good morning my little bitch how are you?”- Jaehaera greeting him in the mornings for training.

“Hey arsehole! You owe me one!” - Harwin after covering up for her to go sneak off with a lady/lord and/or when he’d lie about seeing Daemon first in the nighttime competitions.

Causal greetings or hellos: “Hello there cunt!” “Ahhh there’s my favorite little shit!”

Both were definitely into each other some point but it was a fleeting crush. He fell in love with Rhaenyra, she loved him, so Jaehaera loved them and that they were happy.

Harwin along with Laenor we’re her personality wingmen and cheerleaders.

He’d cover/lie for her in a heart beat. And he has soooo much respect for her. In another life they’d probably be siblings.

Laenor

I’ll say it again for the people in the back: Laenor is Jaehaera’s cheerleader.

If they had the word bestie back then, best believe he’d be like: “GO BESTIE, GO!!!”

Ton of gay jokes, but also would comfort each other being of society and internal homophobia because people fucking suck. (I’m looking at you Otto)

Definitely have seen each other naked, probably drunk or honestly skinny dipping. Also— because they’re constantly covering for each other so they can… Y’know… they’ve probably stood guard for each other at some point. So I can definitely see Laenor or her just opening the door once as the other and whoever they’re with is mid fucking, and be like: “can you hurry up Rhaenyra (or some other person) is looking for you?”

And if Laenor ever finished quickly, Jaehaera would say: “damn took you longer than I thought, ten whole seconds, I had my money on five.”

Oh and Laenor absolutely giggles or chokes on his drink anytime someone says anything remotely disrespectful toward Jaehaera or him because he knows this person is about to die.

Rhaenys and Corlys

Definition of second parents. Basically adopt Jaehaera whenever Viserys isn’t around.

Corlys is so proud of her when she gets older and leads a battalion and or her own voyages. He would also get teary eyes whenever he sees her helping Luke learn how to navigate and captain a ship, then blame it on “salt water that splashed into his eyes”.

He LOVES being a girl dad (excluding Laenor). Prizes Laena and Jaehaera. And even low key ships them because let’s be so for real… he knows. Later he’ll make jokes that it must be in the gene’s because both his kids came out fruity.

And Rhaenys and Corlys adore the relationship between her and their kids.

Rhaenys especially. She loves how safe and natural both her children are around her. They don’t have to pretend. She swears she’s trust her with both their lives because she knows Jaehaera would always protect them and vise versa. (Also ships Laena with her, and claims all the time that Daemon is just a third party.)

[thesargasmicgoddess]

What are some of your favorite posts this year?

I know I haven't posted as much this year as I have the few years past for a variety of reasons. I don't know if other bloggers ever feel this way, but for me, this blog has evolved and matured with me over the last 4 years. I had very specific points and themes of exploration when I first started here, and some of these themes and curiosities have shifted, while others have blossomed into other interests.

Artistically, I've done a lot from 2019-2022 in terms of creative photography. 2023 was about creative and fearless explorations in life for me. There was less focus on the visual creativity and more focus on my thoughts, feelings, and stream of consciousness as I experienced new things in life.

All of this to say: some of my most favorite posts were the ones where I felt deeply about experiences: my travels, my connections, my challenges, my studies.

2023 was a year of wonderment and fearlessness, and I think some of my favorite posts were my reflections of England and my musings on my growth as a scholar. In years past, I've sometimes done a year-end round-up of my favorites....I may do that this week just to revisit some memories.

As much as I am physically naked on this blog, I think a lot of my favorite posts this year were more emotionally than physically naked.

Per usual, I gave way too long of an answer for the question 🤣. Thanks for the great ask.

I can't wait to see what 2024 holds! ❤️

It seems appropriate to share a magical picture I took at Disneyland to ring in 2024!

[kayann9]

The Magic of Wine

Thank you all again! I am on play through 2 of BG3 and still can't stop myself romancing the wizard! Send help!

A little one shot from the Tiefling Party: definitely some innuendo in this one. Just a little flirtation and frolicking!

Pairing: Gale X F Tav (Serena)

Words: 718

Rating: M for mature

Thank you all in advance if you do read anything I write :)

By the Gods he’d had too much wine.

Over a year since Gale had attended anything resembling a party and he’d managed to embarrass himself by indulging far too much in the cheap alcohol and comparing the woman he could not help but feel an inherent attraction to, to a tressym. A tressym that he cared deeply for but how was she ever fully meant to grasp that concept.

He pinched the bridge of his nose.

When had he become so useless?

Had he not been the lover of a goddess?

And now, now he was perplexed by a mortal? It had not even occurred to him on this most bizarre of journeys that he would be even remotely interested in anyone, yet here he was, watching her as she danced around the group, whilst everyone vied for her attention.

Serena had worn her hair down tonight; something he hadn’t seen yet. It had oddly caught him off guard having only seen her in the damaged armour she’d grabbed from the Nautiloid and being seemingly perpetually covered in blood. Of course, he’d seen she was beautiful from his first glance, he was nothing if not appreciative of finer things in life, but now she looked truly resplendent. Her glowing smile and the tiniest of flirtations she’d thrown his way, had left his already slightly broken knees even weaker.

He sipped more wine against his better judgement.

Serena seemed to be in deep conversation with the First Druid. Another admirer, he’d concluded.

He’d supposed, after hearing listening to the flirtations of the others, that she was quite the woman; naturally charismatic, fierce and unyielding but, most importantly in his eyes, kind. She’d jumped in to help this place without a second thought. She’d jumped in the fight with the goblins with no questions. She’d saved the tiefling child with not a murmur or need to recompense. She’d stood in front of a cross bow, arms folded and gaze unwavering, as if staring down death itself. Goodness was something he hadn’t been too privy to in Faerûn.

“Are you sure I can’t tempt you to dance?” Serena’s light tone swam through his mind and he had to shake his head to regain some sense. “I always imagined a learned wizard would be quite practised in a dance.”

The wine drifted through him logic once again. “I am practised in many things, but dancing is not one of them.”

She lifted an eyebrow, the look he’d worked out meant trouble for him. “Oh, do tell.”

His mouth dried but his conviction forced him to ignore it, along with the smirk on her lips. “As you are probably aware, a scholar of my nature, research is my main focus; there is nothing I enjoy more than curling up with a book in the study of a new topic.”

“So, attentive.”

“Most definitely. And let’s not forget, a wizard’s hands are his most valuable asset. Deliberate ministrations are most important in the accurate casting of spells, particularly at the level I was operating at.”

“Good with your hands.” Serena nodded. “Check.”

Confusion flooded him for the briefest of moments, until he watched her teeth drag across her lips.

“I imagine, wizards are also fairly proficient with their mouths. It would do no good to have a slovenly incantations along with those deliberate ministrations.” Serena sipped her wine, grinning as he moved from foot to foot.

“I, well, yes. I have been known to be talented in the art of verbosity.” Gale straightened his spine, regaining the shred of composure he had left, ignoring the swirling in chest. “I had no idea you had taken such an interest in the ways of The Weave.”

“Yes, The Weave, that’s what I am interested in.” She winked and laughed. “I shall leave you to your wine and your verbosity mighty Wizard.. However, if you do find yourself taking an interest in dancing, please consider me as tutor.” She curtseyed before twirling away towards the music.

“I would consider nobody else.” He called after her, trying to convince himself that the secret smile she threw him as she moseyed away was nothing more than a figment of a highly over-active imagination.

The dangerous flutter of the dark magic beneath his skin, told a very different story.

[gemkun]

  #gemkun   ;   independent   ,   private   ,   selective   multimuse   feat.   dr.   veritas   ratio.   est.   08   /   23.   mature   themes   present.      ⸻       ❝   i   am   dr.   ratio   ,   a   scholar   and   teacher   of   the   intelligentsia   guild   ,   and   one   of   the   mediocres.   if   one   day   your   brain   shows   symptoms   of   dullness   ,   then   please   give   the   doctor   a   call.   ❞

[givemearmstopraywith]

(disclaimer: i am not muslim but i have studied sufism under muslim and sufi scholars- my analysis will be invariably and unfortunately comparative) al-’aṭṭār" wrote "When a woman becomes a man in the path of God she is a man and one can no longer call her a woman… the first man to enter paradise will be Mary, the mother of Jesus" and the gospel of thomas wrote "I myself shall lead her in order to make her male, so that she too may become a living spirit resembling you males. For every woman who will make herself male will enter the kingdom of heaven."

you know whats different about these passages? its that the gospel of thomas maintains that women can only enter the kingdom of God through the validation and guidance of a man, as if being a man or having a male form maintains some spiritual hierarchy in which women will always be inferior because of their embodiment. whereas al-’aṭṭār recognizes, firstly, that embodiment has no real weight in spiritual authority, and the absolute truth of God is that a woman does not require the validation of a man to reach paradise. a woman's relationship to God is mediated by herself and God, not by a man who stands between the two. additionally in al-’aṭṭār "male" and "female" are not gender determiners but to the concept of muruwwa (lit. manliness), the spiritual state of friends of God, that has nothing to do with gender division so much as a sense of spiritual maturity (in contrast to futuwwa, young manliness, which is associated with chivalry, again denoting spiritual maturation rather than gender). whereas the gospel of thomas does, in fact, imply a more literal understanding of gender divisions. these pieces are, of course, radically different to those who can exercise critical thinking skills <3

[otomes-and-tears]

i am also glad that you’re a shiloh analysis scholar <333 too many people hate the funniest (and saddest) parts of him!! what do you think of shiloh’s relationship with bae, pran and/or lizzie? i’d like to think he’s being genuine on some level when it comes to liking/disliking them but you never know with that snake :((((

Speculating on Shiloh's true opinions on people is basically as hard as speculating on anything else about him. But I'm here to be delusional so let me put my tinfoil hat on! I'll probably make a full post on him and Elizabeth later because I have a lot of thoughts on that and want some screenshots to accompany them. I'll start with the easiest one: I think he genuinely dislikes Pran, but kind of plays it up. Pran isn't exactly the easiest person to get along with. He isn't popular, so I don't think Shiloh will get any flack for talking shit about him from anyone he thinks matters. Hence, it's the reason why he allows himself to be a hater for once and actually say what he thinks, but he also has an incentive to play up his dislike of him. In Our Life, you can see kid Shiloh kind of identifying Cove as the kid on the bottom of the food chain and making efforts to keep him there, both by altering his behaviour to ensure that he's solidly in Lizzie's good graces (who he sees as a leader) and not making much of an effort do endear Cove to him. I feel like his behaviour towards Pran is much like his childish attempts to social climb-- by playing up his dislike towards Pran, someone he knows doesn't have an interest in the school's social hierarchy and is uninterested in fighting back, he can push him down to appear as someone with a higher standing. I also think that on Pran's route, Shiloh is trying to be a homewrecker AUSHAUS He flirts with JB a lot and is the one most opposed to her and Pran's relationship, even going as far as to continue doing her favours to try and win her over-- and basically, the main reason Shiloh is even interested in JB in the first place is that she's the only girl in the Jerksquad and the person all of them are interested in, at least to some degree. He's so focused on the way he's perceived he'll go to these lengths to get one over people he dislikes. But Shiloh's distaste is also quite natural, I think. The game establishes numerous times that Pran and Shiloh are polar opposites in every conceivable way: Shiloh is bubbly, extroverted and talkative while Pran is quiet, uninvolved and introverted. Pran's backstory is rooted in severe neglect and being so conflict-averse that he'd do anything to try to please both his grandparents and his parents, who were often on opposite sides, only to end up pleasing no one. Later in life, he adopts his contrarian attitude because he simply sees no point in making an effort if it's going to be futile anyway. Shiloh, however, is the complete opposite of that: He lies and manipulates others for his own benefit, he thrives on the attention from others. He feigns concern about them when he actually doesn't care at all. Pran is frustrating to him because he's so fundamentally disinterested in whatever Shiloh can offer him that he's unmanipulatable. It's one, tiny way that Shiloh isn't in control.

Regarding Bae, I don't know if Shiloh likes having him around, but he can certainly benefit from him. And Bae is a predictable enough person that he finds a lot of comfort in their dynamic! Bae is rich, he doesn't have any friends in school-- and isn't interested in connecting with anyone, so isn't someone likely to spread any rumours about Shiloh. Bae wants to be perceived as someone mature and oh so above all the other high schoolers he's surrounded by, so it's a very simple desire to cater to, and he's a lazy wimp that's fairly easy to locate after-hours. Get on his good graces and you might get some help with academics, and he can spin becoming roommates with Bae as an act of kindness on his part, so he can appear to be a magnanimous, patient guy.

I like to think that he grows to, at the very least, genuinely look forward to spending time with him after they spend enough time together. Their Karaoke scenes are so cute I want to believe that at least part of him isn't pretending to have fun in them...

[driftward]

Log entries 15-38

Log Entry 15

Her essence ebbs when nobody is present.

I first noticed on day three, when everyone left. From what I could understand, they did not intend to be gone long. Just wanted to give the Madam Commander a chance to rest, and also to discuss important matters. I thought about going with them. Would that have been spying?

It is so weird, being present not present. I am used to not experiencing the world as they do. I am not used to not being a part of it altogether.

Maybe I could go spying. I wonder what the Chirurgeon does when nobody is watching.

The Madam Archon was the first to notice. The rest were quick to figure out what was wrong. I had a solution, but I could not share it.

Resonance.

It is a simple matter of resonance.

She just needs another source of living aether nearby to remind her soul what it is to be alive.

Fortunately their is now a rotation. She is never left alone. And now her essence is slowly building. A few more days, perhaps she will be self sustaining once more.

I hope.

Log Entry 20

Madam Commander spoke for the first time today. There was a discussion in the room. The one she thinks of as a child was the one speaking. Which is weird. I do not know why she thinks he is so young. His soul is clearly fully quickened and mature. Still though. He said a swear word.

She did not wake up, but she did mumble “language.”

The others found this very funny. I found it funny how mad he got. And then he swore a whole lot more.

Log Entry 23

The Madam Commander woke up for the first time today.

Log Entry 24

The Madam Commander is non-verbal. She seems aware of her surroundings, though. I do not feel any distress from her. She seems comfortable. She reaches out to touch others a fair bit. Unusual for her. Some Field Scholars like to be hands on, others maintain a distance. She was the sort to be hands on with a patient, but otherwise she always kept a distance.

I wonder if this means something.

She feels content, though. Especially when certain people are around. I think she favors the Madam Archon, the Leftenant, and the Adept. A twinge of concern for the Crystalficer and the Assistant. Very mixed feelings, swirling, regarding the Chirurgeon and her Commander.

She sleeps a lot.

The other fairies still cannot see me. I thought the Madam Archon might be able to. She can not.

I have taken to inspecting the soul armature. I can feel the lesser part of myself inside of its soulwell. It is the same as me, it is different. I can see the Madam Archon’s mark upon its essence. It is not strong enough to awaken once more just yet, but maybe when it does, I can try talking with it.

There is so much to discuss.

Log Entry 29

I am a fairy construct. I was created by the Madam Commander and the Madam Archon to be an able familiar, to provide able tactical advantage, to perform field assessment, to be a ready medical assistant. The Azure is my natural home, the rivers my natural fields, aether the light of my reality.

Which makes it all the more frustrating that somehow the Amalgam -and- one of those Auri people keep being able to enter and leave the room without me noticing!

I think the Amalgam can even see me, but I cannot seem to interact with them. They just stare.

This is a severe shortcoming in my capabilities, and I will be talking to the Madam Commander about it.

Oh, on that note, she is talking now. Not to me though. She does not know I am here.

Frustrating.

Log Entry 35

I love them. I love them all. They are her friends, her comrades, and I feel as close to them as I do to my fellow fairy constructs. They keep her close, they keep close to one another. They are warm, their essences full, their energies flowing so free. Seas, each of them, flowing around her, sharing with her, keeping her close, reminding her of who and what she is, and now.

The Madam Commander is finally fully lucid. And it is thanks… to them.

Log Entry 38

The Madam Commander is mobile these days. She still needs assistance. I want to help. I do not know what veil keeps us separated.

I try to touch her sometimes. Sometimes I try our link, and I get brief glimpses of what it is like to be her. It is very confusing. She sees everything weirdly. And she is so tall!

We have fallen into a routine, now. One of her comrades helps her walk a certain distance. Someone is there to tend to her meals. Her sleep to wake ratio is growing closer to what I would consider normal. I have nothing to do, so I try to investigate what it is that keeps us separated, or why I cannot interact with anything, or try to talk to her, or try to talk to anyone, or inspect her essence, or inspect the essence of her friends.

Her essence. It is still so concerningly low. Fortunate whatever malaise is affecting her is not affecting me. I am fine. Great, even. Rich and full of aether.

Which is stupid. I do not need so much.

Madam Archon is concerned about it as well. She speaks with the Chirurgeon about it often. The Leftenant is often there. She listens.

I hope they figure it out.

-*-

Klynt’s rough, calloused hand ran gently across Zoissette’s, a thumb caressing her palm, fingers rubbing gently against the back of Zoissette’s hand.

“How’re you feelin’?” she asked, a gentle rumble in the quiet of her deep voice.

Zoissette just stared at her hand a bit. Klynt waited. She had long ago learned to be patient with Zoissette. Zoissette could be an awkward swan of a woman. Strong, elegant, powerful. But also weirdly delicate in some ways.

“Fragile,” said Zoissette at long last. Her voice had a slight croak to it. Mathye had said it was from disuse. Apparently, there had not been much need for conversation out in the space between worlds. “I get tired so fast.”

Klynt just shook her head a little. “There’s no need for you to do anythin’ ‘cept rest,” she said.

“I know,” said Zoissette.

They were quiet again.

“I am so, so sorry.” said Zoissette.

Her voice was so, so quiet. And Klynt instinctively responded in kind, even as she let go of Zoissette’s hand to wrap the woman in a hug.

“Don’t be,” said Klynt. “You did a dumb thing, we got you back, and you’re alright.”

Zoissette shuddered in her arms.

“I hope Lavender is okay,” she said, hoarsely. “I can still feel her, but…”

“We got you back,” said Klynt. “We’ll figure her out too, if we have to. But right now, you have to rest.”

Zoissette just nodded into Klynt’s shoulder, wetting her with tears. Klynt pretended not to notice, and just held Zoissette for a time.

-*-

I like the Leftenant. I think they are good for each other.

[phenrexcreates]

Shengzhang: Journey to the Immortal [WIP] [63k Words] [Prologue - Chapter 2 Pt1]

Synopsis: You are an immortal who believed yourself to have seen it all, settling with seeing only in shades of gray. But confronted with a challenge you have never met before. Left with little to do other than take in a child with no other home, in time you find the world flushed anew in vibrant hues.

Last Update: February 16th, 2023

Setting: The setting is heavily inspired by Tang dynasty China, but is a work of historical fiction and should be treated as such. For one, there is magic, and the gods exist among man, and if that isn’t enough the protagonist is an Immortal, so while there is a set culture it doesn’t mean it is necessarily in line with history (heavily inspired as it may be).

Genres: [Historical Fantasy] [Romance] [Introspection] [Mystery?] [Supernatural] [Fantasy]

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Current Stats & History: 62.7k Words (52.2k Words without Code)

Average Playthrough Length: 20.6k Words

Features:

Play as a Man, Woman, or Nonbinary Person; Find romance no matter your sexuality! (Ace, Demi, Homo or Hetero!)

Play as a God, a member of a race believed to be extinct, or a human who discovered their own path to immortality.

Reconnect to humanity, or learn new ways of using them as a tool.

Extensive Character Customization Features!

Decide the path that lead you where you are, and try to forge a new future for yourself.

Romance a cautious courtesan with a complicated past, a warrior struggling with their fatal mistake, a widow trying to find their feet, a curious scholar with dreams, or a mysterious entity from your past!

Fully supported Visual Indicators to allow for a player to know what stats will change.

Warning: The following story will feature mature exploration of some themes that may make a reader uncomfortable, many are dependent on the choice of the player though to initiate them. Please check the list in the demo if you are concerned to ensure your own comfort before starting a playthrough. Some are limited to specific routes or choices, and will feature a warning before they start.

Play the demo here:

For Info about ROs and further discussion on characters...

Link to Forums (for more info about RO and future plans):

No idea if I am doing this right! Hah!

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[bitterkarella]

Midnight Pals: The Philosophy of Composition

Tim Waggoner: so I’m compiling some advice on writing horror Poe: oh excellent! As it just so happens Poe: I actually have a whole theory about that Poe: a whole philosophy of composition Poe: I call it The Philosophy of Composition Waggoner: interesting Waggoner: tell me about this Waggoner: philosophy of composition Poe: ok so the important thing to know is that the most poetical thing is the death of a beautiful woman Poe: the most poetical thing is the death of a beautiful woman Poe: god it’s just so tragic! Poe: to lose a beautiful woman Barker: oh look the straights are at it again Patricia Highsmith: no no let him cook

Poe: see, writers like to talk about artistic intuition Poe: that’s bunk Poe: writing is methodical and analytical, not spontaneous Poe: let me tell you something that authors don’t want you to know Waggoner: oh nice, some real dirt!

Poe: see, writers positively shudder at letting the public take a peep behind the scenes... at the fully matured fancies discarded in despair... at the cautious selections and rejections King: edgar, no! King: oh my god, he’s giving away all our secrets!! King: the absolute mad man!!!

King: edgar, are you King: are you being serious? Or are you joking? Poe: you mean you can’t tell? King: edgar I am King: look edgar it’s just that sometimes King: sometimes King: goshdarn it I’m gonna say it King: sometimes edgar you’re known to be wry

Barker: so that’s your method? Poe: that is my method Barker: hmm that’s funny cuz I heard that modern scholars can’t decide if that’s actually your method or you’re being satirical Poe: Poe: I thought Poe: I dunno Poe: I thought I was being pretty clear