#i do own that blue crown hat though

[sabertoothwalrus]

drawing outfits I wished existed but don't have the sewing skills for and aren't cuts I'd wear anyway

[one-idea]

I love a Roger/Rouge lives to raise Ace or a Shanks takes Luffy with him one-shot as much as anyone.

But the main problem I always have is that the ASL brothers would never meet in these circumstances. So my brain (being the mess that it is) has tired to find a solution.

What if Rodger never got sick or at least it was not as deadly as it was. Still chronic but not a death sentence. He lives and Rouge has Ace (she gets pregnant a little later then in cannon so that she doesn’t have the crazy long pregnancy but Ace is still the same age).

To keep his family safe they travel with him on the Oro Jackson. They stay to relatively calm waters that the marines can’t easily get to. Some of the crew also leave to make their own crews. This gives the marines something else to chase.

Shanks is one of the ones to set out on his own. He leaves when he’s around 17 right around the time Ace is born. It’s the push he needs to set out. He wants to distract the marines as much as possible from Roger’s family. (Buggy did the same thing. They decided to split up to cause more mayhem)

Ten years go by. Shanks visits Roger when he can but for the most part he’s making a name for himself. And he’s doing a good job at it. So good he has to lay low for a while. So he decides to go to the East Blue for a bit. Get away from the Grandline while also hiding somewhere different than Roger. (That way if the marines find him they won’t also find Roger)

It’s here that he meets a 7 year old Luffy. And it plays out much the same as cannon. He adores this little ball of sunshine. This is his boy. He doesn’t care who the boy’s blood father is this, is his boy. So he gives him his hat, has Luffy promise to return it when he’s a great pirate someday. But he leaves out the part about that being the next time they see each other because he wants to see his boy again.

When Shanks returns to the Grandline he seeks out Roger to tell him about their new family member. And Roger hears about this boy who is sunshine incarnate, who dreams to be the freest person alive, who wants to dethrone him as pirate king and goes, “I can’t not meet him.” And there’s no way he’s waiting till the kids on the sea. (Plus Ace needs some friends. Shanks and Buggy had each other, Ace has no one his own age and Rouge is starting to worry for their son.)

So they set out for the sleep island in the East Blue.

Meanwhile Grap has moved Luffy to Dadan’s care. While Luffy is out wondering around he bumps into a blond haired boy named Sabo. It takes a while but Sabo starts to warm up to the 7 year old that’s following him like a shadow.

Just in time for a new kid to wander his way into their jungle. Oro Jackson has Docked and Roger has been (discreetly) looking around for this Luffy while the crew restocks. Ace has already made his way into the jungle because even though he was raised by his parents, he’s still feral. (He was raised on a pirate ship go figure) the three boys bump into each other and through some shenanigans Ace and Sabo start to get along.

It doesn’t take long for Sabo and Luffy to figure out who Ace’s dad is. You know since they actually get to meet them.

The Bluejam pirates still happen.

Maybe Ace doesn’t like Luffy at first. He’s a little kid and is annoying in the way all older kids find younger kids that just want to follow them around annoying. But it’s more than that, because Shanks has claimed Luffy. Shanks, who Ace grew up around and looks up to, came back to the ship and didn’t want to talk about anything except for this ‘amazing’ kid. This kid who his uncle/older brother gave up his arm to save. This kid who is so ‘special’ his dad just had to come and meet him. This kid who has his dad wrapped around his finger in under a day. This kid, who is wearing his Dad’s old hat like a crown and talking about dethroning his dad like it’s his right. This little crybaby who’s not even that special. He can’t even swim!

Even Sabo has a soft spot for the kid, Sabo who is now Ace’s first friend, but he obviously likes Ace better because Luffy is such a crybaby.

But then the Bluejam pirates show up and they heard that the king of the pirates is here with his son. His son he would do anything for. Wouldn’t it be nice to get the bounty for the king of the pirates? If they have his son they can probably force the man into handing himself over. They wouldn’t even have to fight him!

They set out to capture Ace. They see him hanging around Sabo and Luffy. When they attack Ace and Sabo get away but Luffy gets caught. He gets tortured as they ask him to give up the location of the Roger Pirates so that they can capture Ace and by extension Roger. But Luffy won’t tell them anything.

Roger comes to save him. The whole crew comes along with Ace and Sabo. After this the three boys are inseparable. Ace steals some of the crew’s sake and the three swear to become brothers.

While the three boys are doing this. Roger sent some men to find the rest of the Bluejam’s crew and find out about their plan to burn Grey Terminal and how they were hired by Sabo’s father. And that settles it for him. If there was any doubt in Roger’s mind that he was taking Sabo with them when they left this island it was gone now. He thought the boy was oddly dressed for a homeless boy, finding out he was a noble explained a lot. He’s not leaving the boy in this situation. Mainly because Ace finally has a friend/brother. Finding out that adopting the boy would make a noble lose their mind was a bonus!

But what about Luffy? He knows Shanks thinks of the boy as a son. He’s know he is Ace and Sabo’s brother, and they haven’t left his side since the kidnapping. Rodger has no clue who the boy’s family is. At this point Luffy has only introduced himself as Luffy. He lives with the bandits but they are not his family. So it’s seems like he’s got no one truly taking care of him. Honestly Roger is shocked Shanks didn’t just take Luffy with him when he left.

So Roger leaves the island. Stealing one noble son. And taking what he believes to be one free child with him. (There are no parents around to claim him? It’s free real estate) they sail away right as a navy ship is approaching. And Roger would recognize that ship anywhere. It’s Garp! What is Garp doing here? Was Roger that careless with his location. The Oro Jackson hasn’t had a true Marine encounter in years (Rouge is just that good at navigating them under the radar)

Garp sees them, of course he does. Roger sees Garp grab a den den mushi, one that projects his voice across the open sea between them. Roger is expecting his regular speech about how Garp is going to catch them, about how they should surrender, really any of their normal banter.

What he is not expecting is the very loud, very panicked, very angry “give me back my grandson!”

Roger and the crew slowly turn to face the three boys. It’s not Ace. Roger would know if he or Rouge were related to Garp but he still checks Ace off the list.

It can’t be Sabo. Roger can’t imagine a reality where Garp lets his child marry a noble. Plus the kid looks nothing like him.

That leaves Luffy.

“Luffy, what was your name again?” Rouge asked ever patient

“Monkey D. Luffy!” The boy says with confidence. It’s the first time the crew has heard the surname. Well, at least that confirms somethings.

After confirming that yep this is Garp’s grandson. Who he is apparently trying to train to be a marine? Who he’s apparently hit with haki infused punches. (Roger’s been hit with those. They hurt.) Roger grabs their own den den mushi and just calls out “finder keepers.” And they sail away to cannon fire and cursing.

Anyhow the three brothers grow up together on the Grandline. Shanks visits when he can and calls once a week at least if not daily to check in on Luffy and the boys.

Whitebeard definitely crosses paths with Rogers at some point and tries to adopt the boys from him. Rogers would fight him if Rouge wasn’t already fighting Whitebeard over her babies. In the end he becomes the fun uncle. Ace adores him. This is Roger’s worst nightmare! (It’s not. There are way worse things that could happen than his son liking his rival. But Roger loves to be dramatic)

When it’s time to make their own crews Ace and Luffy both decide to start from the East Blue. Getting dropped off by the Roger pirates.

At some point Sabo found out about the revolutionary army and decided that he wanted to join rather than be a pirate. He has his family’s full support (as long as he calls once a week. If he doesn’t they will find him) When he meets his boss for the first time he almost loses his mind and immediately calls Roger’s with a “I think I just met Luffy’s dad!” To which he gets the hilariously confused response of, “You’ve known Shanks since you were ten. What do you mean you just met Luffy’s dad?”

[jennymaridowe]

FINALLY A PLACE WHERE I CAN EXPLAIN THESE PIECES >:DDDD Alright Buckle Up. This isn't finished btw I still have A Gingi piece to do before this stained glass series is wrapped up.

Callum Crown stands in light, He is looking at us from the left. Looking to the left is something one does when remembering or recalling but also in lying. We (the viewer) are situated below him. Looking slightly upwards. Dog once told me that the golden light coming in through the windows reminds him of the Judgement hall in Undertale. Exalted by light which is much brighter than the other pictures, Crown shines.

Mingus however, is barely lit by her window. Facing towards it and away from us. Her body language, closed off, somber perhaps a little reflective. Mingus is living in the perceived shadow of her pawpaw. She wants to shine, but can't figure out how in her own way.

I cant tell you how long I searched for the exact make and model of Hobos head!! It took me months to track it down to an Emerson 11P50 or one in the same series... anyway.... He's lit from behind. Casting a shadow on us. We are also slightly beneath him even though he's slouching. Someone once told me he looked like a wet dog which made me chuckle. His arms are at his side. He really looks like he's not too happy to be here. As if he doesn't want to be illuminated, or to be in the spotlight. The light in this piece is bright but still not as bright as Crown.

Normal man erm.. I mean Norm Allen is probably the darkest of the series. He's Illuminated in blue. Looking to the right. Like Mingus his body language is closed off, but Norm is taking an aggressive defensive stance. Reaching to pull his hat down with a slightly worried annoyed facial expression. He is faces to the Right, Mirroring Crown almost.

The final art will be Gingi. I sort of Imagine them in one large room in a left to right order in my mind with Mingus on the far left and Norm on the farthest right with Crown next to Mingus and Hobo Next to Norm with Gingi in the middle. Something like this

Also something I noticed after I finished Hobos art is that the Red light looks Pink which makes me heeheehaha

[doppel-doodles]

Since everyone is making their own little version of the characters I thought I would join the fun for my Fallen crown Au! These were supposed to be quick little sketches just to get some ideas down but they still took me the whole day:'D will probably change as I draw them but I wanted at least something down on for the time being and I do like how most turned out!

Single versions plus some info and ramblings about each under cut for those interested:

My lamb was mainly based on both, yes the actual player character but also the vibes of my own plathrough which were very "oh god who let this child be in charge?-" while I'll still mostly just call them Lamb I figured they should still have a proper name so I went with my friends @/tamaruaart suggestion as it suits them rather nicely! And most note worthy detail is honestly just the fact that they carry something from each bishops realm on their person now, I like to think they treat those items like little trophies:>

Narinder is probably my weakest I feel like, he definitely needs something to give him some extra "ompf!". I basically made his undertaker fit a sorta reverse or at least loosely inspired by his white robes in game. I imagine he is very boney or a straight up skeleton underneath so he covers it all up beneath heavy fabrics, but because I lack subtly I still covered him in bones regardless-

And yea I kept the veil cause 1. It's a look and 2. It coviently covers up his now sewn shut third eye.

There wasn't much reason behind making him an undertaker, I simply thought it suited him, when your the former god of death you aren't exactly squeamish around corpses. Lastly the dark blues are there to contrast the other followers warm tones, as they kinda seen him as an outcast which is just fine for narinder he isnt exactly thrilled to be here.

I'll put Leshy and Heket together as they were sorta designed as a set.Since they are both youngest among the bishops I sorta latched onto the headcanon that they get along pretty well and just stick together after getting into the cult so they just share a lot of their duties. So I gave them some matching elements like the puffy shorts but also stuff that contrasts like Leshy having looser clothing and Hekets being more tight. Or Heket getting working gloves with a little belt to hold tools plus a hat for the sun, meanwhile Leshy will happily dig through the dirt bare clawed in the sun for hours-

I debated on giving Heket an apron but honestly I think she would only wear one while cooking or tending the farm plots there is no reason for her to wear it casually, the gloves though stay for I reason I utterly love because its PETTY-

Literally the only reason she keeps them on almost constantly is because when the lamb asks she can be like "ew, I'm not touching you with my bare hands." Yes, my humour is broken moving on-

I also gave Leshy a cane just so he actually has something to feel around with when he is areas he isn't too familiar with so he isn't running into crap- on that note, Heket can speak a bit but not exactly loud or for a very long time without seriously hurting her throat, once I properly learn it I definitely wanna draw her using sign language.

Lastly bodies, Leshy was based off a previous drawing I made of him in bishop form, I simply made it less monsterous but he is in charge of chaos so he had to remain a creature- Heket is more straight forward, she is a frog and she is large and in charge.

There was one reason why I made Shamura a tailor and that was the mental image of them sewing the bishops clothes when they were younger and dressing them up all cute.

I went for more pink colors mainly because I thought it better suited the purple and would make their red eyes pop! Honestly I really love their colors they remind me of a Berry! I've drawn shamura before but honestly the only things that stuck were the colors,face and then also the hand markings I did tweak their eyes a bit I wanted something more stern feeling.

For clothing I kept everything nice and loose, while they are the tailor I also love the idea that in their spare time they either teach the youths in the cult or are like the champion of the fighting pit because war is also their domain and they can be- so I wanted them dressed pretty comfy to deal with whatever may come! But still keep everything pretty mature and mildly fancy maybe in the future I'll do some fancy gold and silver embroidery to the pants because of that.

As for body type I wanted them to be pretty thin but unlike Narinder who is twink material under his cloak they have a bit more bulk on top to show that they can choose violence if they so wish-

I adore me some pathetic but still serving men, honestly except for the cross on his belt I completely ignored the fact I made him a medic- If he needs to treat something gross he can throw something over to protect his clothes but just like Heket there is no reason for him to wear that while not working.

Otherwise my main goal was simply to make Kalamar look pretty and fancy. I debated on either short or long bottoms until I realized I'd have to figure out his tentacle situation, then realized I don't hate myself THAT MUCH so bro got put into a floor length gown, work smarter not harder kids.

If I have an excuse to give a character a shawl I will take it so fast.

His body type I mainly wanted to flesh out the roster so I tried making him very squishy and huggable looking, I debated on thinner so he looked more dangly and stretchy but that made him kinda to similar to Narinders build for my liking.

[wardenparker]

The King's Queen - chapter 3

Javi Gutierrez x female reader Co-written with @absurdthirst

Prince Javier of the Balearic Islands has always known that one day he would have to follow in his father's footsteps to be the caring and steadfast king that his people deserve. What he did not know is that he would be stepping into the next phase of his life alongside a woman he has never met before - and amidst a rocky sea of unusual circumstances of every kind.

Rating: Mature, but this blog is always 18+ Word Count: 8.4k Warnings: *Blanket warnings for this series: arranged marriage, age gap, classicism, cursing, food and alcohol, mentions of American politics, deceased parents* Illness/cancer, not the world's best father/son relationship, abusive relationship (in marriage). Summary: The selection of your ladies in waiting is far more dramatic than you had expected...and it is still not the biggest event to happen today... Notes: Introducing our story's villain! Booooooooo Hissssssss

Ch 1 ~ Ch 2

Waking the next morning in a plush bed with linens more luxurious than the finest hotel is a little disorienting, considering you barely remember how you got here. It comes back in fragments as Frederica bustles about the room, opening your curtains and pulling back your blankets, and the image of Javi’s face swimming over yours as he placed a gentle kiss good night on your forehead comes back most strongly. You fell asleep at the cliff, that’s right…

“I have a tray for you, señorita. The king and the prince are busy this morning.” Frederica motions to the carved wooden tray on your bedside table. Crusty bread has been toasted and lined up on a plate with thinly sliced meats, and small containers that look like butter, jam, and some kind of tomato spread are all sitting ready for you along with an espresso drink and a glass of freshly squeezed orange juice.

“Gracias, Frederica.” You sit up gratefully, and she dutifully sets the tray over your lap so you can eat breakfast in bed. “Is it alright that I call you by your first name?” You know that you ought to know the rules already — that most women in this position already would. But you don’t think the woman would judge you for asking a question.

“Técnicamente, señorita?” Technically, miss? On the move once again, she is at your closet pulling out clothing for you. “A lady’s maid is called by her family name. The household and the family – including you – should call me Flores.”

“Flores.” You nod and file away the information as you sip your coffee. It’s only mildly sweet and just warm so that it doesn’t burn your mouth, and you love it. “What does one wear to interview ladies in waiting, Flores? Do you have any ideas?”

She hums thoughtfully, looking into your closet again before looking back at you. “Something that will not crumple,” she advises, putting away the linen dress and silk blouse she had been considering. “You will be sitting most of the day. It will look messy.”

“What about that one?” She has pulled a blue wrap dress with flowers delicately printed on the light fabric and it strikes you as the sort of thing that Javi might like. “Would that be appropriate?”

“This?” She appraises the dress for a moment then nods and shoots you a mischievous grin. “We will find you a hat and you can interview your ladies in the garden. You will look like you belong in a painting.”

“Perfecto.” There cannot be any shortage of hats in a royal palace, you’re sure, but you have a few of your own and one is bound to work. “What is the prince busy with this morning?” You ask after a moment, deciding that the tomato jam and a few slices of the cured ham sound delicious in your first slice of toast. “Do you know?”

“Sí.” She nods as she starts to look through your things for an appropriate pair of shoes to match the dress. “They say some of the Crown Jewels have been brought out of storage. Though no one seems to know what for.”

“Oh, I see.” You know. You know very well. Javi must be looking at rings with his father this morning. And that gives you a certain twist of nerves and excitement that has you remembering the exact, delectable pressure of his kiss from last night. “I’m sure we’ll know soon enough,” you murmur with a smirk tucked away in the corner of your mouth. He had asked if you wanted to be able to pick out your ring. Perhaps he is narrowing down a few favourites — or perhaps his father has already decided for you both. It could easily be either.

******

“I must admit that I am surprised that you are so eager to pick out a ring.” The king’s brow arches as he tries to mask the pain of moving in the discreet motorized chair that had been secreted through the halls of the palace.

The room where the selection of jewels had been brought this morning is well-hidden, an extension of the library that was once used as a private prayer room for medieval kings. For the last few centuries it has been more of a place for meetings that the crown wishes to remain under wraps. Or, like this morning, official business that is to be kept quiet. A dozen brilliant rings of all shapes, sizes, and origins have been selected for the prince to choose from for his bride-to-be.

Javi’s eyes speculatively contemplate the rings and dismiss several heavier sets outright. He doesn’t want your hand weighed down by something too ostentatious. “I want my father to see me settled before the end of his time.” He had stayed up most of the night thinking about everything after he had put you to bed. It was quite possibly the most internal reflection he has had in a long time.

“I will be announcing my abdication the week after your engagement is made public.” The king has never been accused of being a sentimental man, but he most certainly believes there is a correct order to things. “The people will see you settled as well.”

Javi swallows and nods seriously. The heaviness of the comment making his heart clench and he realizes that despite their differences, his father is dying. By next year, he will not have his father’s council to guide him. It makes him wish he had spent more time with him. “As you wish.”

“It will prevent the beginning of your reign from being overshadowed by my death.” Having given it a great deal of thought, he and his advisors have agreed on this being the best course of action. It is unconventional, which is not a word that is normally used to describe King Miguel, but it is in the best interest of the nation he has dedicated his life to.

“And it will allow you to have some peace for your last days.” Javi’s heart breaks as he touches the ring his mother had worn when she was alive. He wonders if his father had put it back recently because it had been in their bedroom safe the last time Javi had seen it.

His father ignores the idea that peace or rest should be thought of at all, but leans closer to see Javier touch his mother’s ring gently. “It would not be unheard of for a son to offer his betrothed the mother’s ring,” he admits. Although it is a terribly trendy thing to do at the moment. The English princes have cornered that market.

“I think she would like it.” Javi admits, a small amount of moisture building up in his eyes. “Did you put this back recently?”

"I did." He had been reluctant to part with the gem considering his late wife's fondness for it. The emerald cut diamond had been selected by his own mother for his bride-to-be and the setting was created specifically for their engagement. "The connection between your mothers is important. It was appropriate to return it to the collection for you to choose from."

“I think mama would approve.” The choice of ring is appropriate and he picks it up and tilts his head. “Perhaps the infinity band with it.”

Sitting sometimes helps with the pain that the king faces near constantly and sometimes it does not, right now being one of the instances where the pain is stronger no matter what position he is in. "Your mother—" He clears his throat to cover a wince. To draw attention to his pain will help nothing. "Enjoyed choosing her own band." Of course, his own bride had made the choice with her mother at her side, but that will not be possible for his son's bride.

“Then I will leave it up to her to choose.” Javi decides, kneeling down beside the chair and looking up at his father. “Would you like to be present when I propose?”

"I will be present for the photographer to take your engagement portraits." The date, time, and place of which have already been decided, though the king doubts his son has viewed his appointments with any regularity. "The choosing of her was what was important. Ask her how you will, so long as it is appropriate and private. None of these public declarations. They are undignified."

“Yes sir.” Javi agrees. “We went to the cliffs last night to look at the stars. I might take her back to ask her there.”

"Remember she will be asked numerous times how it was done." Miguel warns his son. An arranged marriage may not be the most romantic option – much to Javier's chagrin – but it will still be anticipated and talked on by the entire nation. "If she can be happy to tell the story, so much the better."

“I will arrange to have a candlelit dessert on the cliffs.” Javi decides. “Perhaps I can find her favorite one from the States and have it flown in.”

"Our chefs can make anything." Dismissing the idea that Javier's American attraction could yield anything positive, the king waves one hand dismissively. "But do as you will. She will need to begin the wedding planning immediately so plan your date accordingly." He still thinks the idea unnecessary, but his son is a sentimental sort of man. "The less delay we have in everything, the better."

“Then I will do it tonight.” It might not be on his timeline, but he will not disappoint his father.

"Good." Checking his watch, the king looks to his son once more and the ring that he is holding. What once was the boy's mother's will now be his wife's and that is not a path through sentimentality that Miguel is equipped to walk himself. "I have a meeting," he announces gruffly. "Whatever you decide to do, let her keep her appointments today. I expect to know the names of her ladies in waiting before lunch and have a report from her dressmaker before dinner." The latter is not usual, but he needs to make sure the American will be dressed appropriately. She will be an important face in the kingdom in no time at all. She should look like it.

“Of course.” There is the thread of cold civility that Javier expected. The need to conform to the schedules and demands of the crown. He nods. “Have a good meeting, your Majesty.”

******

Having Flores nearby for this entirely odd interview process is your only source of comfort at the moment. The ladies who have been announced and curtsied before you have spanned several decades in age and experience. Some of the younger ones have been nauseating suck-ups. A few of the older have been merciless snobs. At this point you're grateful for the good weather and the mid-morning tea service that was provided by the kitchens for you to have some kind of polite activity to engage in while speaking to the numerous noblewomen who have come through the gardens.

"Dama Gabriella Gutierrez." The next lady is announced and your head tilts slightly with interest. This would be the woman that married Javi's cousin when he was refused permission to propose to her. This is your almost-fiancé's ex-girlfriend. Just when you thought today could not get more surreal.

"Buenos días." You have learned that it is not expected for you to stand for each lady, so you keep your seat when you nod to hear and put out your hand to offer her the seat across from you at the small table. She's stunningly beautiful and closer to Javi's age than you are, immediately making you feel more intimidated by her than maybe you ought to be.

Gabriella comes in and executes a deep, perfect curtsy. Nodding her head respectfully since your own station will be so much more elevated than her own. Jealousy tinges her vision as she looks up, seeing the woman who would be queen instead of her. “Buenos días.” She murmurs demurely, surprised to see that while you are lovely, there is no air of pretense surrounding you.

“Hablas inglés?” You have checked with every single one of the ladies before switching over to your own native language, finding that while all of them have been fluent not everyone seems fond of the idea that their queen will be American born. By the time they have made it to your table they all know who you will be to them. At least that is one topic you do not have to broach yourself.

“Sí, yes.” Gabriella nods. “Javi— Prince Javier,” she corrects herself, “prefers to speak English causally.” She explains, feeling the urge to shift guiltily since she was in love with the man you are going to marry.

“Please join me.” This will be an insightful conversation if nothing else, and the nearby footman pours a cup of cold lemonade to set in front of her. The kitchen had been perplexed when you had asked for iced tea with lemon to sip on and sent up hot tea and lemonade separately. Apparently America really is the only place you can get iced tea. “You…know the prince well…as I understand it?”

“I am….old friends with the prince.” Gabriella wonders why you have not already dismissed her as a candidate. The only reason she was here was because Lucas had demanded that she make sure that it was known that she had been interviewed for it. A preverbal slap in the face, but that was nothing new with her husband.

“That is a very polite way of putting it,” you smile though, because you have definitely been the ex-girlfriend on the other side of the table more than once. Never to this magnitude, but you know it can be hard. “Would you tell me a little about yourself?”

She frowns slightly. Aware that you should have all the information on her in front of you. “I am married to the Count of Ibiza.” She murmurs, her hands folded in her lap and tightening slightly. “Prince Javier’s eldest cousin.”

“Yes.” The sheet of information about her that you received says that already, but you offer her a smile. “But I wish to know about you. Not who your is husband or where you fall in the line of succession, or what title your parents had.”

“Forgive me.” She pauses and calculates what she wishes to ask. “I do not understand what you would like to know?”

“Well…” The other women that you had asked this of had trouble with it as well and you don’t blame them. You have lived your whole life as a congressman’s daughter and a future queen. You, of all people, understand. “Have you been reading anything interesting lately? What are your hobbies? The way I see it, the ladies that I end up spending my time with ought to be ones that I have something in common with. Otherwise this will be a truly tedious time for all involved.”

It is refreshing in a sense to imagine that someone would take an interest in her own hobbies. “My favorite books are not appropriate for a queen to be reading.” She admits, her cheeks burning with shame. “It has been a long time since I have been able to indulge, but I enjoy baking and experimenting with new dishes.”

“I find myself deeply interested in your reading habits, Contessa.” The embarrassment in her face means she either likes what your stepmother calls ‘beach books’ or she reads smut, and either way you already like this woman much more than the others. The one who said she was too mature to read novels had been dismissed almost immediately. “But first, what cuisines do you enjoy? And what is your favorite thing to bake?”

“I—” she flusters and does the unladylike thing of shrugging one elegant shoulder. “I find everything interesting. Trying to make things that I see on TV.” She admits, wondering if you would find it as ridiculous as Lucas does. “I enjoy making…how do you say? Fritters? Fruit fritters?” She tilts her head, wondering if she has messed up the word.

“Like the fried batter with fruit pieces in it?” You nod right away and end up smiling a little wider. Without realizing it, you had expected her to be classically trained or at least have her interests mean that way. “Any kind of fritter is always worth it. But that’s probably a very American thing for me to say.”

“They are so simple and yet they are so delicious!” She insists, leaning forward happily for a moment before she realizes who she is addressing. She sits back and nods. “Yes.”

“Oh please, if you want to get excited about something I wish you would do it,” you admit with an unladylike sigh. “I have spent all morning with women afraid to offend me if they have so much as a different favorite color.”

“That is how it is done.” She murmurs quietly. “We are here to be a friend to you. Not to have our interests returned.”

“I am not in the habit of forcing my interests or beliefs on those around me.” She is right, of course she is. But that doesn’t mean you have to like it or even agree with it. “I have seen plenty of so-called friendships between women that work that way and they are not beneficial to anyone.”

“You do not want me for a friend. I am not good at it.” She blurts out before biting her lip. She had come here expecting to hate you and yet you seem so kind.

“If that is really how you feel, then I won’t keep you.” Although you have to admit that you’re a little disappointed about it. Gabriella Gutierrez seemed to have had her happiness stamped out of her and a person like that deserves a friend. “But if that is only what you have been told, then I will refuse to believe it.”

“I—” her hands clench together again. “I am…unsuitable for everything.” She admits. “This was supposed to be a lesson.”

“A lesson?�� That makes you frown deeply. “From whom, precisely?”

“I should not have said anything.” Mortification rolls across her features and her chin trembles. “Please do not say anything. I will go. I will not say a word.”

“No.” It is the first time you have ever ‘pulled rank’ so to speak, and it is telling that you have done it when you are afraid for someone’s safety. “No.” You reach across the table and offer her your hand. “Was it your husband? Someone in your family? Why is meeting me a punishment?”

“It is a reminder that I was not good enough to be Javier’s wife.” She confesses quietly. “That I am a horrible wife, and that I would not even be a good lady-in-waiting for the woman who will be queen.”

“What absolute bullshit.” Even with your voice low the fury behind the words is obvious, and you feel like you’re seeing red instantly. “The king refusing Javi’s request to propose has nothing to do with your suitability. It had to do with a contract. I have no idea what kind of a man your husband is but if he is the one who told you this then I suddenly find I have a vested interest in helping you stay away from him.” It’s straight out abuse is what it is, and you feel more deeply about her safety now than any other issue.

Her eyes widen in fear and she glances towards the closed door. “I should not have spoken so…impetuously.” She demurs. “My apologies.”

"The last thing I want is to make you more uncomfortable." Fearing that you have certainly achieved that without any effort whatsoever, you sit back in your chair and try not to do anything outrageous like sigh or frown. "You are certainly not prisoner here. If you wish to go, you may."

“You are…different than I imagined.” She stands and curtsies again. “I apologize for my outburst and understand that you would not wish me to be your lady-in-waiting. We would spend time together and I have a history with the future king.” A small, polite smile is offered and she turns around to walk out.

Alone – to a point – again in the fragrant expanse of the garden, you turn to look at your maid with a frown. "Was I wrong, Flores? To be honest?"

“It is rumored that the marriage between the Prince’s cousin and his wife is a deeply unhappy one.” She confides, her own frown in place. “The count has flaunted their marriage in public, but the servants know.”

"Servants know everything." That seems to be one stereotype that is entirely true, and at least you can be thankful for having someone on your side in that way. "How many more interviews are there?" You ask after taking a moment to digest the idea that all it not what it seems within this family that you are set to marry into.

“There is only one more.” Flores tells you, wishing that she had mentioned that there was a bit of competition between Javier and Lucas when they were younger. For some reason Lucas felt he should be heir.

“Who is last?” Meeting Gabriella was surprising and has put you on your guard. Now you’re wondering if the last candidate for lady in waiting will be the same as all the others or be completely out of left field like she was.

“Dama Margaret Zurita.” Flores tells you. “She is closer to age for you than some.”

“I hope that signifies something positive.” You offer her a tired smile before nodding to the footman – this one is named Raul – and straightening yourself out in your chair. “Alright, Raul. One more.”

Margaret walks into the gardens and curtsies prettily but there is a sincere smile on her face when she looks up at you.

"Sientate, por favor." Beginning the way you have begun with everyone, you offer her the seat across from you at the little garden table. "Hablas inglés?"

“Sí.” She nods and tilts her head. “If you would prefer, I am known as Maisie amongst my friends, and I hope that we will be friends.”

"Maisie?" The only person you've ever known with that name is the actress from Game of Thrones, but it seems to fit the woman in front of you nicely. She is elegant and poised but doesn't carry the immediate air of pretention that some of the others had. "It is a beautiful name. Please, tell me about yourself, Maisie."

“Oh. I don’t know what to tell you.” She’s honest to a fault. “I enjoy reading and horse riding, but I also prefer to enjoy new experiences.” She hums. “What interest appeal to you?”

"Are you reading something currently?" The last thing you want to do is answer a question about yourself and have her start to simply agree with the things you say because she thinks that is what you are looking for.

“I am reading The Wife’s House.” She admits, flustering slightly. “I don’t care for non-fiction.”

"I don't think I've heard of it." The name doesn't ring a bell at least, but someone admitting to reading for pleasure and not being ashamed of it is delightful. "Would you tell me about it? I'm always in the market for a new novel."

“It’s a thriller.” She brightens slightly, animating as she talks about the book she’s engrossed in. “If you like Gone Girl, you would love it.”

"I love Gone Girl." You're going to have to get your hands on a copy of his book as soon as you can, and the idea of having something new to read brightens you. As much as you are a bookworm, you have never been the kind of person who accumulated a large personal library. Knowing that one day you would have to pick up and move at the drop of a hat had made that impractical, and instead the local librarians had known you extremely well. "What do you like to do besides reading and riding?" This entire morning has been a parade of women who had demurred and insisted that whatever you enjoyed, they would like. It is wonderful to have someone actually express their own interests.

“I am supposed to tell you that I enjoy charity work, and I do. But not the types that have press releases.” She admits. “Real help. I have helped rebuild a house that was burned down in a fire. The resident was elderly and he was going to have nowhere to go. His family had passed.”

"I wholeheartedly appreciate a person who would rather get their hands dirty and provide real help than discuss how to be charitable over a meal that would bear a three-figure price tag in a restaurant." At last, you can't help thinking to yourself. Someone with a personality. "Can I ask who it was that might have coached you on what you are supposed to say to me this morning?"

Maisie freezes for a moment, not expecting that question but then she remembers that she had said something about what she was supposed to say. Except now, she wasn’t going to lie to you. “The Count of Ibiza.” She admits quietly.

“Interesting.” That is now the second time you have heard that man mentioned, and you can’t say you’re fond of what it implies. “And who is the Count of Ibiza to you?”

“May I speak freely?” Maisie asks, her eyes floating towards Flores and then back to you.

Of everyone here you have the least fear of Flores being untrustworthy, and instead offer the nearby footman a smile. For all you know, he has been instructed to report back to someone – like the king – and if he hears nothing then he will have nothing to report. “Raul, you may leave us.”

Bowing respectfully, the footman quickly exits the gardens and Maisie waits another few beats before she speaks. “The count is not a man you should trust.” She confides quietly, but clearly.

"I am gathering that rather quickly," you admit, picking up your glass to have something to do with your hands. "But who is he to you? His wife left here not five minutes ago."

“Gabriella was here?” Maisie’s brow shoots up and her jaw ticks a minute amount. “I had thought that she would not put in for it.”

"It seems she was made to." And the fact that this count – Javi's own cousin – is ordering and abusing his wife in this way? It makes you livid on principle. "I take it that you were made to, as well?"

“There is a…hierarchy that is unacknowledged by the rest of the country.” She murmurs quietly. “After the immediate royal family, the Count of Ibiza is the highest-ranking member of the court. And knows it.”

"And he is in the habit of abusing his station?" You could remark about what or whom else he abuses but you hold back. "Ordering the other nobility around as he sees fit?"

“He calls it….’privilege of rank’.” She snorts before she composes herself, barely stopping herself from rolling her eyes.

"I take it the king is unaware of this habit of his nephew's?" Surely he would put a stop to it if he knew. Wouldn't he? Of course...there is a chance that this is just how things work in the Balearican Islands. And if that is the case you are not going to be terribly comfortable around any of these people.

“The Count is very skilled at hiding his true personality from those of importance.” She shakes her head. “King Miguel would never allow such an abuse of rank.”

"I see." This last conversation has been utterly enlightening in a rather unpleasant way, but you chew on the facts as you sip your lemonade. "Which naturally means he will hide his true face from me, as well. Unless he thinks he has the upper hand over me." When you look up again, you tilt your head at the woman across from you and hum softly. "Forgive me, I have met so many new people today that my mind is jumbled slightly. I can't seem to remember your title or who your husband is?"

“My husband is not a royal.” She admits with a small smile. “I am the daughter of the Count of Dragonera. Distant cousin to the Prince.”

“You are family, then.” Your lips twist into a smile. “However distant, family is powerful. What would you think of being a lady in waiting, Maisie? Spend time with me here at the castle and see what we can do together about the Count of Ibiza’s unfortunate habits?”

She is honestly surprised that you are extending the invitation to her, straightening slightly and a warm smile starts to break out across her face. "I would be delighted." She decides. One does not simply deny the future queen anything but the idea actually does hold tremendous appeal. She does not like her distant cousin and would like to see his hold on the family behind closed doors diminish. "Gabriella is a good woman." She adds, wanting to defend the woman who was Javier's interest before you. "Please do not judge her. There was a lot of pressure for her to marry Lucas."

“On the contrary.” Having made the decision, your stubbornness often turns to resolve. And in this instance you truly would not consider any other option. “I intend to extend the invitation to her as well. It seems to me that she could use a friend, and perhaps it will help her to spend a little less time under her husband’s thumb.”

Maisie’s expression lights up with delight and admiration for your kindness. “Ladies-in-waiting are at the whims of the queen.” She agrees with a conspiratorial smile.

Your own mischievous grin comes with a nod as you sip your drink again. “And with the wedding coming so quickly I am feeling particularly whimsical.”

“A wedding does take a lot of time and dedication to put on.” She agrees. “Especially a royal wedding to the future king.”

“My only fear is that it would be cruel to make the Contessa a part of that planning when she is so unhappy in her own marriage.” You admit, deftly not tacking on the fact that Gabriella Gutierrez almost gained her surname through marrying the man you are betrothed to.

“Gabriella would not feel any ill will. She is in love with the idea of love.” Maisie tells you. “She would be thrilled. Maybe a little heartbroken.” She admits quietly.

“I don’t want to cause her any pain.” In fact, that is sort of the motive for the entire plan in your mind. Sparing the woman that Javi had loved from the obvious pain of her situation. “If she is uncomfortable I will make sure she sees as little of the wedding planning as possible.”

“She has made peace with her fate to not be Javier’s wife.” Maisie smiles sadly. “It is a matter of pride that she be happy for him. Especially if he is happy.”

“I intend to do everything I can to ensure that he is.” Even before meeting him you had been resolved to keep your future husband happy. But now that you’ve met him? It brings a soft, smitten smile to your lips.

“He has charmed you.” Maisie sighs softly, happy to see it. She has always cared for the softhearted prince.

“Very much.” And you’re not afraid to admit it. In fact, it’s a relief. “He seems to be a sweet, sincere man.”

“He is.” She nods, happy that you seem to understand him. “I have always felt he was far too good to be royalty.”

"Or is that exactly the kind of person we want to have in charge, in a world where depersonalization and insincerity run rampant?" You shrug, not wanting to launch a full-scale debate. "I'm here to be the support he needs, whatever that ends up meaning. And for right now, that means making sure that the country is focused on happy news."

“Then I would be delighted to be your lady-in-waiting.” Maisie springs to her feet and rushes over to embrace you in a hug.

It's such an unexpected gesture that you almost laugh, accepting the hug wholeheartedly and squeezing her back before gently letting go. "Would you be willing to stay for a few hours today?" You ask, eyebrows pinched and raised with earnest hope. "I have to meet with a dressmaker today and I have a feeling that the things that American politician's daughters wear is a bit different than what future princesses and queens are supposed to wear."

“Of course.” She nods and shoots you a small grin. “I serve at your whim.” She reminds you with an arch of one perfect brow. “Perhaps we also need more assistance as well?”

"Did you have something in mind?" The idea that people serve you is something you don't know if you'll ever get used to. Even asking the palace staff for something makes you feel demanding – like a Karen ordering around restaurant staff.

“Gabriella as excellent taste.” She smirks and winks at you, “and I am sure she would love to get out of whatever is happening right now.”

"How terribly disappointed the count will be to discover that his wife's presence is required at the palace." Returning her smirk, you nod in agreement and look back to your maid who is standing nearby. "Flores, do you think you could ask the kitchen to prepare two more plates for lunch today? It seems I will be bringing the Contessa back to us after all." At some point you will have to report your choices to the king, but you can do that with or without Gabriella present.

“Yes, my lady.” She nods her head and rushes off to do your bidding. Happy that you are going to help poor Gabriella out. Even if she and the prince could never be what they wished, she was a kind soul who deserved happiness.

"Is there anything you would like to know about me?" It might be an unusual question, you don't really know. But as you and Maisie start to walk back to the palace, you find the need to fill the air with something other than schemes. Since you have done the royal equivalent of walking up to her on the playground and asking her to be your friend, you feel like you should offer something of yourself.

“Tell me something shocking.” She demands, giggling slightly. “Something that you have done or wish you could do.”

The number of things you have done in your life that could be considered acting out in any way is slim, but you hum slightly as you try to think of something good enough to divulge. "I...actually slapped the first boy who ever kissed me," you admit with a sheepish grin. "It actually caused some drama between our families for a while."

Maisie smirks and nods. “Good for you.” She hums, crossing her arms over her chest. “He stole a kiss and learned some manners.”

"My brother backed me up. He was there when it happened, and I think if it wasn't for him being a witness, my father would never have believed me." Your father's penchant for believing his son over any of the women in his life is only one of his many misogynistic traits that you had taught yourself to ignore or gloss over so you didn't go insane at home as a teenager.

“That is a shame.” She clucks her tongue and shakes her head. “I don’t know if my father would ever not believe anything that I told him.” She had a wonderful father who believed that women were much more resilient.

"I think he sees my mother too much when he looks at me," you admit, though it pains you slightly. "We lost her to cancer when my brother and I were twelve. And it hurt him far more than he has ever been able to say."

“I am very sorry for your loss.” She tells you, giving you a sympathetic smile. “A parent that young is hard for anyone.”

"Thank you." Her kindness is more than appreciated, and you nod to the footmen who open the palace doors to allow you inside without having to even pause in your steps. "She was a wonderful, kind woman, and I think he loved her much more than he will ever admit. Mostly because he has my stepmother now."

“It is hard to be the second wife.” She had seen many of her friends’ mothers and fathers replaced by new spouses over the years and the difficulties of the dynamics. “Most seem to think that love is measurable. If they still love the lost spouse, they don’t love the current as much.”

"I prefer to think that all loves are different." Maisie has a point though, and you nod in acknowledgement. "A first love will always feel different than a second or third. You could fall in love fifteen times in one life and no two of them would feel the same. What matters is that you cherish them when they come along."

“It’s the guilt of the living.” Maisie nods. “King Miguel has spoken of it. Privately, of course.”

"My mother was friends with the queen." Somehow, of everyone you have met so far, Maisie is the easiest to talk to besides Javi. Opening up to her doesn't feel forced or disingenuous. It just feels like talking to a friend. "They were at university together. That is...how I was chosen for the prince. Because of our mothers."

“Ohhhhhh.” Her hands clutch her heart and she practically melts in front of you. “That is just so…sweet. I like that. So very much.”

"I wish they were still here, but we'll find a way to make sure they're with us when we get married." It's something you've already promised yourself, and you mean to stick to it.

“That would be very lovely.” She nods. “It is something that could be very tasteful, a memorial table.”

“I’m sure the king will have some preference of how his late wife is honoured.” And whatever it is, you’ll honour it. Because there is no sense in going against a dying man over something that you have no stake in. That would be cruel, plain and simple.

“Yes, he will.” She smiles, appreciating how you already understand that portion of the dynamic. “He is a good man.” She promises.

The halls of the palace are busy today, and though most people do not yet know who you are, those who do – and those who recognize Maisie – pause in their paces to pay their respects before hustling on. The general commotion seems to be headed in one direction, though, and you recognize it to be the wing of the palace where business is taken care of. Not the wing where people live. “Flores.” Seeing your maid amongst the people walking by, you manage to catch her attention. “Is everything alright?”

“I am not sure, my lady.” She admits quietly, her own observations making her frown. The palace is a busy place, but it normally seems very effortless. Now, there is a sense of haste that she is unused to. “Did the prince indicate there would be any event in your honor tonight?”

"He didn't, but I haven't spoken to him yet today." Heading with her in the direction of all the fuss, you are relieved to have Maisie right beside you without effort. In fact, she seems to just glide along in the crowd - you'll have to learn how to manage that to look as elegant as she does.

Maisie's eyes widen when she sees a discreet uniform, one that is never a good sign in the royal halls. "I fear there is an issue." She whispers quietly to you. "Do you see the two people with the very tiny stars on their cuffs?"

Instead of saying anything you just follow the direction she is indicating and nod slightly when you spot the embroidered insignia on the uniforms up ahead. God forbid you say something wrong and it is overheard, but you know there is fear in your eyes instantly when Maisie indicates there could be a problem.

"They are doctors for the palace." She confides. "Emergency doctors."

It only takes a moment for your mind to kick in to high gear, and you're ready to push through the crowd instantly. The only problem is that since no one knows who you are, they aren't inclined to move for you. "Maisie," you take her arm tightly in yours and remind yourself to breathe. Panicking now will do no good. "We are going to walk straight through this crowd together. I need your royal blood for a moment. Mine is not blue enough for them to let us through just yet."

“Of course.” Maisie takes the lead, wrapping her arm around yours and clears her throat. “Please excuse us.” She speaks clearly. “Coming through.”

The sea of people parts for the noblewoman, albeit reluctantly, and lets you through to the end of a corridor where four people in subtle uniforms are bent over a figure being guarded resolutely by palace guards. There doesn't seem to be a prayer of getting by to find out what is going on until you catch a glimpse of chestnut curls a few feet away. "Javi." Trying not to cause more commotion than is already happening, you and Maisie push your way to the edge of the group of guards as quickly as you can. "Javi!" You try again to get his attention, this time more insistently.

Distraught eyes turn toward you and he leaps up from where he is kneeling down a few feet away from his father. “Let her through!” He shouts, rushing towards you as if a moth drawn to a flame.

He reaches for you like a lifeline, locking you into a tight hug that you return reflexively. "What happened?" Your hands immediately come up to his cheeks, holding him still when it seems like he might vibrate away or dissolve into a pool of his own tears.

“H-he collapsed.” Javi shudders, having been walking next to him when it happened. Shouting for help and fearing the worst until he could be told that his father was at least still breathing.

The medics and guards had been shielding the figure on the ground from view, but on the other side of the line it is very obvious who it is who has collapsed on the parquet flooring. "Oh god..." Swallowing any other exclamation or even any other sound, you nod your understanding and look back to Javi with wide, sympathetic eyes. "We have to let them do their jobs, querido." The term of endearment falls so easily from you, so naturally that you don't even realize it. "We can follow them to the hospital unless there is something else you need to be doing?" For all you know there is a speech or statement to be made to the people over this. The protocols aren't exactly ingrained in your brain because you were never made privy to any of them.

Javier shakes his head right as a tall, handsome man with silver hair and startling blue eyes walks up. “Primo. He oído. Yo me encargaré de todo.” Cousin. I have heard. I will handle everything. His hand slaps against Javier shoulder almost bruisingly and he barely spares a glance at the king.

You frown in confusion for barely half a minute before you catch a glimpse of Gabriella out of the corner of your eye. So this is Lucas, you think, the furrow in your brow deepening. He looks...oily. Not as in the use of oil, but slippery. Snake oil salesman kind of oily. In a Western he would be twirling his mustache and tying a damsel to the train tracks. "How could you possibly have heard?" You ask, lowering your voice and slipping your hand into Javi's to lace your fingers together. "It's only just happened."

Brows knitting instantly, his wild eyes turn towards you and then drop down to your fingers enter twined with his cousins. “I was in the throne room.” He lifts a brow at you dismissively. “You are?”

"Not going away." Javi's understandable shock keeps him from responding, but you are very used to standing up for yourself. Being American does come in handy once in a while – including moments when you want to make yourself a bit bigger than you really are. Bombasity, your brother calls it. "I am the woman currently standing beside the Crowned Prince, who will remain standing beside him."

His smile is charming, but it doesn’t reach his glacial eyes. “The American intended.” He coos, glancing towards Javier. “It is a good thing you are here. Primo, do not worry. I will take care of things so you can be with him.”

“It will be best to let the doctors do their work.” You decide, instantly not trusting a single hair on this man’s head. Even if you didn’t know what little Gabriella and Maisie had told you, you still wouldn’t trust him. He has the blankest, coldest eyes you’ve ever seen. “I am sure that some guest quarters can be assigned to you while Javi and I find out what is happening.” Glancing back at Maisie, you nod to her as well. “You, too, my friend. I’m sure Flores can see to having a room arranged for you.”

One perfectly groomed brow arches and his eyes flicker over to Javier again, expecting him to say something. But the prince doesn’t, too focused on his father and not even paying attention to the conversation around him. “I see.”

“I am sure your contributions to the situation will be appreciated in coming days. But let’s first find out exactly what is happening before we move too boldly.” Obviously this man has not expected you to have a backbone, but you understand the terror of seeing a parent you love be very ill. It either makes you bold or weak, and neither is a judgement call. “Gabriella?” Motioning past him to his wife, you beckon them woman closer as gently as you can.

“Sí?” Lucas despises when she speaks English, due to her connection with Javier and she clasps her hands together to force a smile on her face.

“Whatever you need to get settled, we will see taken care of,” you promise her with a reassuring smile all your own. “It seems I will need my ladies in waiting very nearby, so it may be some time before you return to Ibiza. I hope that will not be too disappointing for you?”

“You have selected Gabriella?” The surprise in her husband’s voice is unmistakable, along with the expression on his face. “Is that wise?”

“I certainly think so.” The smile on your face never falters. “Is it not an honor for her, count?”

He’s been backed into a corner and he does not care for it. “It is.” He purrs, reaching over and taking his wife’s arm. “I only hope she appreciates it.”

“I am certain that it will be a wonderful opportunity for all.” If you could never speak to this man again you would be more than happy about it, but you grit your teeth and smile all the more broadly. “But right now, it would be best for you to situate yourselves comfortably and wait for news, I think.”

His brow raises again and if looks could kill, Javier would be planning your funeral. Lucas despises being told what do to. “I’m afraid that I have more connection to the family at this moment.” He insists. “I am family.”

“Which is why it will be so reassuring to have you here at the palace.” An instinct, something primal in the pit of your stomach, tells you to keep him away from the hospital and you’re not sure why but you listen to it fully.

“I can be better use helping Javier.” Lucas insists. “There is the matter of running our country.” He shakes his head. “I know that as an American, you are unaware of how things work, but our people look up to the monarchy.”

“And they will continue to be able to look up to their crowned prince without hesitation.” The emergency medics are moving the king now, and Javi is right with them as his father is being taken away. “You can be of such help to Prince Javier. It is dearly appreciated.” Barely having enough time to nod to Maisie, you are off and striding toward Javi to take his hand. You have just made an enemy of the Count of Ibiza and you both know it, but there is no way you are letting that man near the ailing king. Instinct tells you not to.

“I don’t know what is going on.” Javier is nearly in tears, biting his lip to keep from breaking down. “I was just— he just helped me pick out- pick out your ring.”

“For now just hold my hand and nod if you make eye contact with anyone.” You’ve been through a health scare as a political child before, and although he has too you doubt that he was in the spotlight then like he is now. “We’ll find out what is happening when we get to the hospital.” Looking up at him, you have a forced if pleasant smile painted on your lips but your eyes are full of sympathy. “I’m sorry, querido. But we’ll get through this. I’m right here with you.”

Grateful to have you with him, Javier clings to your hand and manages to compose himself. Making sure that no one sees the devastation in his eyes and weariness in his spirit.

A member of the king's guard rides in the ambulance with the medics and you and Javi are ushered into a car to follow behind it. Basic rules dictates that Javi and his father never travel together because of the line of succession, and right now that counts more than ever. As soon as you are in the back of the car and another guard is in the front with the driver, you take off after the ambulance at an appropriately speedy rate. Javi looks like he's going to break down any second but you haven't stopped holding his hand.

______

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My Masterlist!

[golvio]

Since Echoes of Wisdom is a top-down Zelda game, I’m not expecting the game’s story to be super complex or involved, but I’ll admit I am curious about certain characters & implied background events.

In particular, I’m curious about who these three unique NPCs from the Gerudo Desert region are:

The woman with the golden trident is most likely the current Chief, given that I’ve seen screenshots of her standing up from a throne holding the trident aloft are circulating around. But who are those other two people?

I suspect the woman in white might be the chief’s sister, since her hair resembles the chief’s hair and the gemstones she’s wearing are the same color as the Chief’s. Also, Nintendo would not have the gonads to put an official confirmed lesbian couple in their kid-friendly game no matter how G-rated “This lady’s the queen and her wife is also the queen” is as a concept. However, the woman in white also seems to be a person of importance to the Gerudo given that the guards are answering to her. There was mention of an “Ancestral Cave” elsewhere in the trailer. Could she maybe be a high priestess or keeper of some sort of sacred site of worship or burial who acts as a spiritual leader to the community?

As for the figure in blue with the gloves and the hat—they’re definitely also Gerudo, but they’re dressed in a very unusual way that sets them apart. My first guess was that this was an older woman, maybe the chief’s mother, who’s acting as an advisor given that they were standing next to the throne in the aforementioned screenshot. However, they don’t look that old, given that we’ve seen old people with wrinkles in Zelda’s court in the form of Imoa and her brother, so I have another guess.

This person might actually be a boy, the current Gerudo prince, who’s either too young to take an active part in political life, or is maybe the younger brother or spouse of the chief who’s relegated to acting in a more supportive role because of his age and gender. Their style of dress is much more formal and masculine, being somewhere between the draped turban and robes you’d expect Indian royalty to wear and the iconic blue and gold khepresh crown that some Egyptian pharaohs wore.

It’d be really interesting to get some insight into Gerudo politics, particularly if a prince who isn’t Ganondorf is involved! Also, partly because it’d give us some insight into what “went wrong” with this particular version of Ganon if we have a baseline about what the role of prince in Gerudo culture is normally supposed to be like.

Speaking of Ganon, assuming he himself isn’t just an “echo” sent by some greater force, it looks like he himself might’ve been actively looking into whatever force Tri was connected to based on how the tablet behind Zelda in the room where she was being imprisoned resembled the waypoints Tri can use to warp you around.

Given that the Rifts seem to be “stealing” land tiles and making phantom echoes of monsters, and that the rift opening ability is tied to Ganon’s own “wand” that he uses to cast spells, could he have his own little helper buddy who’s given him the power to play Sim City in his own little pocket dimension? Is Ganon’s motive like the angry guy from the popup window in Sim City 2000, where he’s picking up his toys and starting a new Hyrule in the Dark World because Zelda’s dad cut back on transit funding for that year’s budget?

Seriously, though, it’d be really cool if Ganon functioned as a “dark mirror” to Zelda during what will presumably be his actual final boss fight. (Come on, do you really think he’d be fine with playing second fiddle to a new antagonist if he had even the tiniest glimmer of his original personality left instead of being a soulless shell like in ALBW? He’s absolutely gonna be the final boss.)

[thewisaaaaad]

HEY I JUST HAD AN IDEA!

since I cannot find the motivation or drive to DRAW my ref sheet, I can just describe them in minute detail!

SO Hypnos. this will be split into 4 ish parts because there are 4 major states to them!

Pre life, they are a ghostly sheep with pure white wool but black fur (the short hair beneath the wool, around the face and arms.). They have two short horns, the left one broken halfway up, and Their eyes are pure white. They wear the fleece of the crusader, and have the classic bell, with light brown pants that are held up with a cord belt. they are not affected by gravity, and cannot touch anything (exept in ONE specific circumstance.). they are unaffected by the red moon.

After being forced into a body, they look much the same color-wise, except that now their wool is perpetually dirty. Their left horn remains broken. Their eyes now have pupils, but are mismatched due to the right one being replaced with Leshies eye. that eye also has no eyelid, as Shamura didn't bother. (a worms eye doesn't need an eyelid because it has a protective membrane, but Hypnos now needs to rub at their eye sometimes.) Their ears are now blue, in tatters, and constantly wet due to belonging to a certain squid (the ears can no longer wriggle to express emotion, and it hurts when they feel happy.). They do not speak in their own voice, due to having Hekets throat, but they undergo voice training to try to sound like themselves again. they still croak sometimes. The biggest change, however, is their head shape. No longer shaped like a wedge, like it once was, it is now rounded, with skin having been clumsily removed from their face so that it matched the new curvature. Having Shamuras skull means that they now have a vestigial nose, as spiders do not have one, as well as divots behind their eyes where extra eyes could fit. they also have fangs. They wear the red crown, but its eye does not open, and forms no weapons for them as it tries to maintain their body. they are constantly on the verge of falling apart, Held together by purple thread in messy stiches. their stability (and stitches) greatly improve after Kalamar's care. They wear a heavy iron collar sealed with a golden diamond shaped lock, only open-able by the god of war. their cloak is a tattered, worn version they wore while incorporeal. It is infused with the same magic that binds Hypnos to the world of the living, pulling fervor out of the air and giving the lamb a means to fight. Their magic, shaped by their torment, comes in the form of lightning.

After their rebirth through the cream crown, their stitched together wounds finally heal, though the relics remain embedded in their flesh. The purple thread is gone, leaving only scars. Their wool seems cleaner, and their eyes shine brighter. They no longer wear the red crown, and instead wear the cream crown: a crown with a sideways cream colored eye (and i do mean sideways, even the pupil), the crown itself the shape of a miter hat (a bishops hat, the one that followers use at refineries). Their ruined cloak has transformed into a beautiful wool one that resembles a sunset or perhaps a sunrise on a clear day, retaining some of the powers of its previous form but now works a little differently (if they stand still and 'take a rest', their fervor charges really fast). The shackle on their neck has loosened, not quite free yet, and the lock was warped by the surge of power from an awakening god into a softer shape, resembling a cloud now.

After they have achieved redemption, they have grown into a full god. The relics are truly part of them now, and they have accepted this body as their own. Leshies eye has grown an eyelid made of moss, Kalamars ears now properly wiggle, Hekets voice is full of power, and now flowers sprout from the wool on Hypnos's head. They are much taller now, and their intact horn has grown into a rams horn, while their broken horn has spiraled upward, still broken halfway up. They now wear a cloak embroidered with the patterns of the old faith, but it is dyed to resemble the sun on the horison, with stars still twinkling above. Their wool is now lightly cream tinted at the edges, looking like a soft cloud.

They no longer wear the lock.

[nyarlathotep-thecrawlingchaos]

Two chapters in less than twenty-four hours. I literally haven't done this in a decade. Send help. Wheezing. May have thrown my back out. In need of life support.

Anyways here we gooooooo

Hearing Problems

LA!Mihawk x AFAB!OC

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Chapter 2: A Battle of Wits

Tags: Slow-burn, Enemies to Lovers, eventually NSFW, uh, if I think of more I'll add them or something

Trigger Warnings: None for this chapter

Wordcount: 2.2k

Summary:

After having her sloop sunk by the Buggy Pirates and losing most of her worldly possessions in the process, the normally solitary mercenary Karimi Lionne finds herself teaming up with the rag-tag little crew that is the Strawhat Pirates to defeat them. She bonds with them far more quickly than she bargained for, and that quickly turns into a problem for the Kiku Kiku no Mi devil fruit user when she learns of Nami's plans to leave them high and dry, and Zoro issues a challenge at Baratie that he very likely won't live long enough to regret.

Karimi did her best to steel her resolve despite the blood rushing in her ears as she lay there.

Lay there on the docks outside the seafaring restaurant, her strength zapped by the salt water, completely defenseless as Dracule Mihawk towered over her, his arms crossed, observing her with an unreadable expression and indecipherable tone to his question that still echoed in her ears.

Devil fruit, then, is it?

It wasn't too big of a surpise that he had figured it out that quickly. No, the surprise was his very presence there on the docks. That he had bothered to seek her out and ask her.

She finally expelled the breath trapped within her lungs in a slow sigh, closing her eyes again, feigning an aloof facade as well as she could.

"No idea what you're referring to," she said, as levelly as she could. She could hear a slight edge in her tone, but that was fine. That was to be expected. At least she had found the will to speak.

"There's really no use playing coy, dear. Though I am curious..." he said slowly, "what might lead a devil fruit user to intentionally dampen their own power."

"I don't think that's really any of your business," she said, mimicking his drawling lilt. "I am trying to drink myself into a stupor before morning and your presence is not helping the endeavor. So, if you would..." She lifted a hand and made a shooing motion. "Kindly fuck off."

Mihawk quirked an eyebrow, wondering whether every member of the strawhat's crew were insolent fools. Roronoa Zoro's challenge had been one thing—now this girl, this child, was mocking him to his face, attempting to shoo him off like a stray dog begging for scraps.

For a moment, he was completely speechless, feeling oddly as if he had taken a brief step out of reality.

Then he stepped slowly forward, stopping a few inches behind the crown of her tattered brown hat, and crouched down, casting a shadow across her much smaller form.

"You know who I am." It wasn't a question—apart from her abilities, which she still had yet to confirm or deny, he had seen the flicker of recognition in her eyes back on the deck of the restaurant. "Do you have a death wish, little one?"

She cracked open her eyes, meeting his gaze.

"If I say yes will you make it quick and painless?" Then she rolled them and shut them again. "Forgive me if I don't have much respect for glorified political puppets."

She was either too brave for her own good, out of her mind, or legitimately suicidal—and yet there was something intriguing about her complete lack of concern for the fact that he could easily push her right off the edge of the dock with the heel of his boot and watch her devil fruit abilities sink her like a brick to the bottom of the East Blue. There was a clear edge to her voice that told him she was well aware of that fact, and yet she carried on with her contemptuous sarcasm as if she didn't have a care in the world.

It was almost entertaining—a game of wit and intimidation that no one had played so readily or boldly against the warlord in years. He lowered a hand a flicked a few strands of her dark green hair away from her forehead, noting how she briefly tensed at his touch, very briefly; how her breath caught in her throat for a fleeting moment before returning to normal.

"You are in a rather...precarious position," he said lightly, "to be behaving with such impudence, little bird." She shivered when his knuckles brushed lightly down her neck. "As I said, I'm merely curious about the ability you demonstrated earlier. I can't say I'm particularly accustomed to having my mind invaded."

He watched her grit her teeth and abruptly sit up straight on the dock, swiping up the unmarked wine bottle sitting next to her and taking a swig.

"Oh, avast, sir!" she said in a particularly dramatic tone, "—and allow me a moment to wave a sad goodbye to the last fuck I had left to give as it drifts away on yonder tides."

His eyebrows furrowed as she lifted a hand and waved out at the vast expanse of the darkened sea. "Also." She tilted her head back, her eyes locking onto his.

"Call me little bird again and I will find where you sleep, cut off your balls, and feed them to you."

And with her threat hanging in the air between them, her voice slightly slurred, she tilted the bottle back again and took a couple large gulps. His eyes shifted briefly to the pair of daggers hanging at either side of her belt, passing over their ornate, slightly yellowed ivory handles, either antiques or impressive replicas.

Oh, but this was growing more entertaining by the second. Half-drunk and spouting off honest to god threats now—he honestly wasn't sure what to do with her. Mihawk straightened back out, circling slowly around the green-haired enigma, like a predator sizing up his prey.

"If you answer my questions, I will leave you be to drink yourself into an early grave, little bird." He watched as she heaved a sigh, rolling her eyes and glaring out toward the horizon, lit dimly by the crescent moon hanging in the sky overhead.

"Counter-offer," she said flatly.

Everyone else aboard the Going Merry seemed have completely lost every iota of intelligence they might have once possessed—Karimi figured she might as well join the questionable decisions club.

"Let the idiot swordsman live, and I'll work for you. Free of charge. For a year."

For a moment he was silent. She could feel the weight of his gaze on her, his eyes scanning over her as she sat there at the docks with her feet in the water, her head swimming more and more with every gulp of wine she downed and her face flushed beneath her freckles from the alcohol. Weighing her offer.

"And what would I want with a little bird flitting around after me for an entire year?"

The smug amusement was perfectly clear in his tone, and Karimi had expected it. Standing at five foot two, weighing in at perhaps eight or nine stone soaking wet, the twenty-four year old knew she didn't come across as much of a threat—but she shared the same stature with her grandmother, who had racked up a bounty of over two billion Berries in her heyday.

"Six years experience in covert mercenary work," she said, holding up one finger. She held up another. "An underling to send off on World Government errands that aren't worth your time." She held up a third finger, picking her head up and rolling her eyes up to meet his. It was fairly clear that he wasn't going to kill her on the spot—between that knowledge, the buzz from the cheap wine and expensive rum she had consumed earlier, and her utter exhaustion and present physical weakness from prolonged contact with ocean water, she was quickly growing less concerned. "I can literally hear the thoughts of everyone within a fifty foot radius at all times. Well..." She gestured toward her feet in the water, lifting her wine. "Not now, but usually."

She took a swig, set the bottle down, and laid back on the cool, damp wood of the dock again, closing her eyes and tucking a hand behind her neck.

"Play with your swords all you want, there's no weapon more dangerous than information."

"You're rather quick to leave your crew behind," he said said slowly. "That speaks very little to any loyalty you could offer."

"We're not even really a crew," she sighed. Karimi raised a hand to her face, rubbing at her eyes and shaking her head. "Zoro would tell you that just as quickly as Luffy would tell you that he's his first mate. So would Nami, but she'll be gone just after sunrise if she has any say. That's going to be enough of a blow. But Zoro *dies*, that's going to shatter Luffy." Another swig of wine, another sigh. "Poor kid's got rocks for brains but he's got a good heart. Just wants the whole world to drop everything and follow their dreams."

"An idealistic idiot and a suicidal swordsman."

Karimi gave a snort of laughter—that hit the nail on the head. "And a pathological liar that can't even tell himself the truth, and a girl so desperate to save her home that she distances herself and steals from the only people who have shown her genuine compassion in over a decade."

"It sounds like they're already falling apart from within." Karimi shrugged a shoulder. "So why, then," he said, clear skepticism dawning in his tone, "would a Marine Vice Admiral call me out here to take care of it?"

A Marine Vice Admiral.

Karimi didn't even bother trying to contain her smirk—even with her devil fruit abilities supressed, she knew exactly what that meant. She knew it alone from the attack that Garp had led on the Going Merry, and didn't even bother opening her eyes as she responded in a mocking tone.

"Well, I except Garp the Fist didn't want to see his grandbaby grow up to be a filthy pirate." No—she did crack one eye, to watch the subtle shift in the pirate warlord's expression. The slow lowering of his brows. The miniscule twitch in a muscle between the corner of his lips and his nose.

Registering that he had been sent out of his way to deal with a petty family dispute.

"My offer stands." She lifted her bottle as if in toast. "You let Roronoa Zoro live, you'll have one year free from dealing with this sort of bullshit, courtesy of yours truly."

Agreeing to her offer felt like it would be an admission of defeat. Whether the battle was one of blades or wits, it was rare—if ever—that Mihawk conceded defeat. The entertainment, the fun of this exchange had drained the moment she laid her claim that Garp was using him as a mediator to capture and deliver his grandson to him.

Once more he crouched down, at the girl's side this time, his eyes glued to hers.

"And for what reason should I believe you?" he said quietly, searching her eyes for any sign of deceit, of treachery.

Yet all he found in their emerald green depths was amusement. That paired with the noncommittal shrug of her shoulders served only to infuriate him more.

"You have no reason to believe me," she said, her tone just as smug as her smirk. "But I wouldn't want to work for anyone that would trust the word of a Marine over a fellow pirate, anyway."

Her eyes slipped shut again, as if the deal was already done, in a manner that suggested it was already set in stone.

In a way that made his blood boil.

The girl drew in a sharp breath when his hand wrapped around her chin, her eyes snapping open to meet his gaze as the pads of his fingers pressed into her wine-flushed cheeks, her breath catching for more than just a brief moment this time. She didn't breathe at all as he leaned down, his face barely an inch from hers, her eyes wide as saucers.

So she did fear death. That was something.

"I will consider your offer, little bird," he said lightly.

Karimi swallowed, watching his eyes flicker away from hers for a moment, toward her slightly parted lips.

"And you will have your answer after my duel with your swordsman friend."

He loosened his grip the slightest bit.

Shifted his hand, his thumb brushing across her bottom lip.

"Whether it be in the form of his continued heartbeat or his bloodied corpse."

And with that he released her and straightened himself out to stand over her. With one last sharp glance down toward her, he strode away down the docks.

Karimi didn't turn her head to watch his departure, simply staring straight up at the stars dotting the inky black expanse over her head as she drew in a slow, shaky breath. Normally silence was a comfort to her, but right now, with nothing but her own troubled thoughts slowly cresting from a murmur to a chaotic jumble of inane chatter somewhere between her ears, it wasn't.

And when she closed her eyes to sigh, to try to calm herself, all she could see plastered to the back of ger eyelids were his own sharp, yellow irises.

Next Chapter Link again for your convenience

[rythasbrenelle]

Prompt #3: Tempest

“Cutting it close there, traveler. Blizzard’s right on your heels, no?” The guard’s voice reverberated behind her metal faceplate. Locke didn’t miss the way she sized him up through the gap between faceplate and coif, icy blue eyes flicking up and down. Though her eyes lingered on his weapons, sympathy tinged her gaze as she appraised him, wet and half-frozen as he was.

“Inn?” he inquired through chattering teeth.

“First building on your left. I recommend you get a hot bath as soon as you can.” She motioned toward a nearby stone structure, tall by Locke’s reckoning but utterly dwarfed by the tower of stone, glass, and light looming over the settlement. Some sort of device, a long tube mounted upon the parapet, crowned the tower. A cannon, he supposed. “And welcome to the Observatorium.”

Locke sniffled, muttered his thanks, and marched past.

Closer to the inn, he spotted a familiar wagon set off to one side, wind and snow batting at its canvas roof. It seemed Sosonado had made it to safety. Good tidings, if only because it meant Locke would be paid. He hoped the chocobos who’d pulled the wagon were being kept somewhere warm.

Locke shoved the double doors open, a gust of air following him into the room and banging the doors against the stone before he pushed them shut again. The noise drew the nearest eyes to him, but not much more than that.

The common room, small though it was, was a whirlwind of activity. A varied throng of patrons — civilians, travelers, off-duty guards, and men and women wearing tall hats — crowded the hearth and spilled out from there, seated in the nearest chairs and leaning against the closest tables. They were absorbed in their own conversations, a mess of tangled chatter Locke wasted no time on unraveling.

“He loaded his firearm! ‘Six bullets,’ he told me. ‘One for every pair of these scoundrels.’ I know, I know! An impossible feat!” a voice, all rasp and gravel, recounted.

Locke glanced in the direction of the storyteller. At the center of the little audience, standing atop a round table and waving a mug about the size of his torso around as he told his tall tale, was Sosonado. Dark, spiky hair in disarray, drooping mustache and mutton chops matted together and wet with ale, but whole, happy, and thriving with his audience, captive as they were by the budding snowstorm.

Looks like he’s doing just fine. A job well done indeed.

“The gunslinger leapt from the wagon.” He hopped several Lalafell-sized strides, a pantomime of Locke’s own leap earlier that day, beer sloshing from his mug and onto one of his spectators. The unfortunate man’s yelp was drowned out by Sosonado’s impassioned narration. “Before his feet even touched the ground, bang! Two, nay, three Butchers slain with but a single single shot!”

Locke shook his head and squeezed past several of the onlookers, as well as a harried server balancing a pair of trays, to reach the bar. The bartender there looked no less vexed than the server, gesturing at Sosonado with slender, calloused fingers.

“A bell ago it was eight of those Blue Butchers. Before that, six,” she scoffed. “I reckon this gunslinger will have killed twenty of the wretches with an empty musketoon before the night’s— oh, dear, did you get caught out in the snow?”

Locke dropped onto a stool and almost sighed at the sudden sense of relief. Finally off his feet. “Yep. You sell baths? Hot, preferably.”

“Package deal with renting a bed, usually. I’m afraid all of those are spoken for, we’ve got quite the crowd on account of the storm coming, but we’ll get you a bit of privacy and a tub regardless. Free of charge.”

Locke nodded his appreciation. “And food?”

A smile flickered across the bartender’s round features. “Don’t get too greedy, food and drink will cost you. But I’m no swindler, they’ll be cheap enough. Nice blade like that, you can afford a bowl of stew or two here, yeah?”

She nodded toward the gold filigree handle of the gunblade peeking out from his shoulder. Locke spared it only a glance, noting the flecks of ice melting along its length. That probably warranted maintenance.

“Sure,” he grunted. “Bath first?”

“That seems wise,” she agreed. “Fiocant! Prepare a bath upstairs for Mr…”

“Teabrook.”

“Mr. Teabrook! And loan him some clothes, would you? Poor thing looks like an ice sprite fell into a vat of red dye! No offense.”

Locke wiped his nose against his sleeve. “That bad?”

“Pretty bad,” she admitted. She motioned as a server returned and traded their empty tray for custody of Locke. “Here he is. Fiocant will take care of you.” Fiocant was a raven-haired Elezen fellow with traces of a paunch beneath his tunic and enough height to have a tendency of looming. He acknowledged Locke with a small dip of his head. “If you’ll follow me.” Locke slid off of the stool and began to take a step, then he caught himself. Seki always said that one thing, didn’t he? His pro-verb? Good done to others is… uh, good. That didn’t sound quite right to Locke, but it made sense in a circular sort of way. So he dug through his new gil pouch and set the largest of the coins on the bar. “Thanks.” He hurried off before the bartender could reply, loping across the common room to catch up to Fiocant. A gust of frigid air met him as Fiocant pulled the doors open, reintroducing them both to the snowstorm outside.

“Wait, wait!” Heads turned, eyes following Sosonado’s wild gestures. They fell on Locke, more numerous and curious than before, and any reluctance to leave the warmth of the common room behind evaporated. “That’s him, that’s the gunslinger! Hey, mer—” Locke swung the doors shut and followed Fiocant up the stairs to the second story. He took them two at a time, his path made just a little easier by the Elezen’s larger feet and heavy boots. The journey took all of a tick, but he couldn't pass under Fiocant’s arm and into the room quickly enough.

He found himself in a set of conjoined rooms, each smaller than the common room below but furnished in its same plain, practical style. Fiocant stepped into the next room, and Locke left him to it, beelining instead to huddle before the nearby fireplace. He kicked off his boots, peeled off his socks and right glove, and shoved his digits forward, just shy of cooking them. Heat washed over them, and feeling crept back in, a dull ache to replace the numbness.

“The tub is in the other room,” Fiocant announced, filling the doorway with that looming physique of his. He removed a crystal from his pocket, hues of red glimmering beneath the surface and stepped forward to offer it to Locke. “Do you know how to use this?”

“Kinda,” he responded.

“Mm,” Fiocant hummed, his lips in a line. “Well, if you’ve forgotten, just apply a bit of will to it whenever you’d like to reheat your water, yes?”

He dropped the crystal into Locke’s waiting hand. It was warm to the touch, like a coin that had been left out in the sun. “And do enjoy your bath. There’s a change of clothes in the other room for you as well.”

Locke waited only long enough for Fiocant to step aside. Then he was off, scurrying through the adjacent chamber and into a little room large enough to hold a wooden tub, a bucket, and a clothing rack. He didn’t bother waiting for the door to finish shutting before he began to disrobe, casting aside layers of damp cloth and leather and his metal vambrace and spaulder. The room was a flurry of noise, wet thumps and ringing clangs and the splash of displaced water as he dropped into the tub, warmth washing over him from toe to jaw before he sank further into its embrace, letting it chase away the chill on his cheeks and in his ears. Only his left arm remained above the surface, its wooden exterior thrown over one side of the tub, fingers dangling limply.

It was with reluctance that he resurfaced for air. He combed his claws through his hair, pushing it out of his eyes, and shifted in the tub until he was as sprawled out as he could manage, heat and aches crawling across his body, weighing his limbs down. His gaze wandered, tracing the stonework before settling on the window.

Snow danced in the air outside, swaying to the hectic beat of the shutters and the baying of the wind. It was the first song he’d ever known, before even his mother’s lullabies. It was his constant companion in the forest and the mountains, his only company through the lonely years every Wood-warder experienced.

Locke sank lower into the water and let the storm’s song carry him off to sleep.

[allisamemory]

On the Other Side of the Screen (Part 2)

As someone who is a part of three siblings, he felt it’s mandatory to get all of the Fontaine siblings and get them to max level (now crowned, though. Those are for the best of the bests). Only one siblings remained to be brought home.

A.K.A in which an avid player of a certain gacha game contemplates about a “family” that’s on his mind.

(Written before 4.1 hits)

_______________________________________________

He sat in front of his laptop as he stare at the clock.

3… 2… 1.

18:00

In an instant, he immediately open the wishing screen, and lo and behold, Childe is there. Due to his own insistence to be true to the story, he had rid Childe of his artifacts and bow and gave it to Ganyu temporarily. As for his artifacts, he’ll give it to Neuvillette until his artifact luck granted him a good set.

Of course, Childe isn’t happy with this. The Harbinger have been trying to get his attention - how his icon has an exclamation mark, even though there’s no star of the Monoceros Caeli in his inventory that’s inactive.

Choosing to ignore the ginger, he went to Zhongli’s banner, and pull. 63 pulls saved, but he can only do a ten-pull three times until he reached gold.

The purple shooting star streak the sky, and after a few blue stars…

There he is. With his little hat, coat, holding The Bell for some reason even if doesn’t fit his gameplay, and the cute robot penguin…

“Welcome home, Freminet.”

The boy looked around nervously as he opens his character screen and prepare to lose about 80% of his current mora.

_____

“Alright, you two.” He said as he placed Freminet between the magician twins in his teapot. “Starting from today, you three will be in charge of commissions in Fontaine until you three graduated (reached friendship level 10). I already gave Fremmie some directions.” He ended as he waved his cursor on Freminet’s head as a means to headpat him.

“Commissions…?”

“Yeah. You know, go around beating monsters or rogue mechas, testing Antoine’s blimp, and diving underwater- in which that will be Fremmie’s job.”

The three siblings looked at each other as if they were talking to a madman.

“What?”

“That’s it?”

“I mean, yeah. You might have to talk to someone once in a while, but don’t worry. The Traveler will take over if that were to happen. Also, I’ll have one person each day to guide you around so you’ll have a full complete team.” He swirl his cursor as if waving his hand. “Any question?”

“… Activating discussion mode.” Lynette looked up to the screen and calls his name.

“Yeah?”

“Do they know that we are…”

“Oh, don’t worry. They don’t.”

Lyney raised his hand. “But you say that you have two harbingers in your group.”

He nods. “One of them is Tartaglia, but he’s behind bars, so you know. The other one, I can’t disclose. I kept a promise with them to not disclose their identity. No, it’s not Arlecchino. I don’t even know if she’s playable.”

“I see.” Lynette simply says, summoning a cup of tea to her hands.

“… Are you worried that she might…”

All three of them went tense.

“Ah, I guess it’s not surprising that you feel that way. Considering the fate of Signora.” He fell silent for a bit. “And to be fair, I don’t know if I’ll pull for her if she is playable. It comes down to whenever I have enough Fates to call her.”

He’s currently saving for Neuvillette. If the theory of him as the Hydro Dragon is true, then someone like him will be perfect to bring along should Celestia is available. But he’s also an Archon Collector, so Furina is a must…

Wait, why is he even thinking about this.

“We’ll see.”

Whatever happens, happens. This is a motto that solve him a bunch of trouble in his rather troubled and messed up life…

“Besides… Are you guys even happy with how she is?”

That question earns him a confused look from the three.

“… It’s nothing.”

It’s weird, really. He was so used to seeing Lyney being cheerful and being all flashy in the battlefield. Lynette is as calm as ever, but he can feel some sort of tension in the way her tail swish around.

Freminet is doing his scuba helmet idle mode that he swore stays longer than usual.

Of course, they don’t trust him. Who would trust someone who pulled you out of nowhere, claims that the Traveler is his avatar of some sort and told you to do these jobs? They’re not even part of the Adventurer’s Guild.

But they still do it anyway? Is it because they want to trust him? Or is this an effect of being someone from the upper layers of reality?

… He’s thinking about this way too much. “… Alright! Here’s the commission. Let’s see… Where’s that randomizer…”

After doing a bit of a randomizer game, today’s guide will be Fischl, who has her full honor of guiding the newbies to their new side-jobs.

“Follow me, magicians and diver! Our duty in this world does not wait!” They then exited the teapot, a little bit confused, but determined.

He sighed. As he controlled the siblings in battle against a bunch of treasure hoarders, that ninja - Chitose‘s words come to mind.

“Several years ago, a serious clash appears to have occured between the Knave and a certain child at the House of Hearth - this leads to the latter replacing the former. This previous Knave - ‘Teacher’ appears to be using the current Knave’s name to keep a hold of his suboordinates as they act across various nations - his goal at present affiliation, however, are unclear.”

He took a sip of his tea and open his phone while his current team took a small break. He stared at the re-introductions of the three siblings, complete with Fatui background, and read the lines said by Arlecchino as uneasiness growing on his stomach.

Who is she, really? What happened between her and this ‘Teacher’ guy? What did she do about this situation? And, what trouble is she trying to brew in Fontaine?

Is she really trying to stop the Prophecy? Whatever he tried to do, be it reading Lyney’s character story or looking at cute fanarts of her, it still doesn’t clear his mind of his distrust.

“The Knave… Can you really be trusted?”

He shakes his head. As he heard Fischl calling out to him, saying that their break is over, he put his tea on the side and continue “playing”.

_______________________________________________

(Note: this was written before the 4.1 trailer drops and around the time the Fontaine siblings are reintroduced as Fatui, which is why the Player didn’t mention anything about the trailer.)

[fanficapologist]

Of Dragons and Maelstroms

Themes and Warnings: slow burn, enemies to lovers, blood, violence, explicit language, sexual violence, period-typical misogyny, sexual themes, smut, tension, marriage, jealousy, pregnancy, childbirth, miscarriage, attempted sexual assault, breastfeeding, major character death, divergent timelines

Disclaimer: I do not own any of the House of The Dragon/Fire & Blood/Game of Thrones characters nor do I claim to own them. I do not own any of the images used nor do I claim to own them.

Chapter Thirty-Five

As they followed Ser Criston down the corridor, Lord Jasper's voice filled with desperation as he thought out loud about various ways Maera could avoid the execution block, should the King allow it. He mentioned banishment as a governess to some distant Lord's children, training with the Silent Sisters in a motherhouse, or returning to Rain House to live, albeit, a disgraced life. Each option involved Maera begging for mercy before the King, something she adamantly refused to do.

Yet, Maera couldn't fully engage with her father's words. If she were to die, at least it would be as a result of her fight for her friend. She'd be reunited with her mother, Lady Gael, in death, rather than enduring more torture in King's Landing or being married off as a brood mare to some lord. In some strange way, death seemed like the better choice.

Reaching the imposing doors of the throne room, Lord Jasper glared at his daughter and sternly commanded her to beg for forgiveness, to claim her outburst was a momentary lapse of judgment, that her ‘womanly emotions’ had overwhelmed her. But Maera ignored him, her gaze fixed on the doors, ready to embrace whatever came next.

The castle guards then opened the doors and announced the arrival of the Master of Laws and his daughter, the Jewel of Rainwood, Lady Maera. Standing at the entrance to the great hall, it was evident that the room was brimming with spectators, all eager to bear witness to the Kings address to the Wylde’s. The courtiers, clad in a kaleidoscope of richly colored garments, created a sea of opulence that stretched from the throne to the entrance.

As Maera advanced down the central aisle with her father, towards the Iron Throne, she drank in the grand chamber of towering stone arches and polished marble floors, which exuded an aura of regal majesty. The room's vaulted ceiling seemed to stretch toward the heavens, and upon it hung giant firepit chandeliers, casting a warm, flickering light that danced upon the gold-and-black Targaryen banners that adorned the walls. There are worst places to be sentenced to death, she thought.

Reaching the front of the hall, Lord Jasper executed a deep bow before his king, and Maera reluctantly curtsied, her gaze reluctantly meeting Aegon's even though his judgment loomed over her.

The room buzzed with hushed whispers and the clinking of Kingsguard armor, creating an eerie and tense atmosphere. Aegon was seated on the formidable Iron Throne, an intimidating structure of twisted swords and jagged metal, standing out against the grand window of daylight behind it. The King’s head adorned with the conqueror's crown, which appeared to Maera as if a child were wearing a makeshift paper hat. His face, no longer swollen, bore shades of green and blue, with healing cuts on his lips now scabbed over.

The steps leading down from the imposing throne were adorned with the swords of fallen enemies, serving as a chilling reminder of the throne's power. Positioned at the base of these steps, on either side, stood the rest of Aegon's family, in a prime position to watch the unfolding drama.

To the left of the grand Iron Throne stood Queen Alicent, her auburn hair meticulously crafted into an intricate braided bun. Her dark green conservative gown, adorned with golden swirls, shimmered in the sunlight filtering through the windows. At her side was her youngest son, Daeron, donned in a doublet of earthy brown and deep green, complemented by black trousers and polished black boots. His vivid violet eyes swept across the room, while his unruly silver curls cascaded loosely.

On the right-hand side of the throne, the imposing figure of the Hand of the King, Lord Otto, commanded attention. A distinguished authority, his auburn hair bore the graceful threads of gray, reflecting his experience. The Hand of the King's broach was prominently displayed on his green waistcoat, and his golden chains adorned his broad shoulders.

Finally, stood next to his grandfather, was Aemond Targaryen, hands firmly clasped behind his back and stance unwavering. He wore a doublet of onyx black, adorned with intricate embroidery that depicted dragons in flight. The fabric was finely woven and tailored to perfection, emphasizing his tall and commanding figure. His trousers, black and well-fitted, flowed seamlessly into polished leather boots that gleamed with the sheen of nobility.

Maera rose from her curtsy and her gaze locked onto the one-eyed prince, his enigmatic violet eye betraying no hint of her impending fate. The hushed murmurs of the courtiers fell silent, and the room seemed to hold its breath as the King cleared his throat to speak.

"I'm certain you wonder, Lord Wylde, why you and your daughter have been summoned before this court," Aegon began, his tone controlled and authoritative.

Lord Jasper replied tersely, "Indeed, my King," his gaze skewering Maera, who faced his scrutiny with a determined jaw and no eye contact.

Aegon continued, addressing the assembled courtiers, "It has come to my attention that the Small Council has convened, without my knowledge, to discuss Lady Maera's recent acquisition of the seat of Morne, in the Straits of Tarth." Maera couldn't help but fight the urge to roll her eyes, anticipating that Aegon would try to leverage this issue for a more lenient sentence.

The King furrowed his brow as he looked around his room of subjects. "I'm aware that the Small Council asked you, Lord Jasper, to relinquish your daughter's rightful inheritance without providing substantial assurances from the crown. Despite Lord Jasper's concerns for his family's safety and the unrest it would cause upon the mainland of Tarth. Valid points as far as I can see.”

Lord Jasper kept his green-grey eyes on his King and Maera watched as her father attempted to hold himself together, despite his nerves causing shaking in his fists. The King then concluded his little speech with, "I can only offer my apologies for the way this matter was mishandled by my advisors on the Council.”

A puzzled expression danced across Maera's face. She couldn't quite fathom why the King was offering apologies to her father. Perhaps, she thought with a tinge of cynicism, he was prolonging this ordeal for his own amusement – a typical Aegon move.

As Aegon's eyes locked onto Maera's, an intense, unspoken exchange unfolded, a silent duel between emerald green and striking violet. Maera's mind raced with questions about the king's intentions. What game was he playing now?

Breaking their gaze, Aegon shifted his attention back to Lord Jasper. His voice carried an air of solemnity as he acknowledged, "I'm aware of House Wylde's unyielding devotion to its own." Aegon cast a meaningful glance toward Maera, his words heavy with implication. "I have experienced firsthand House Wylde's... fierce dedication when it comes to protecting the ones they love."

Maera's heart pounded loudly in her chest. This was it, she thought, bracing herself for Aegon to unveil her transgressions and deliver the inevitable sentence.

Aegon's voice resonated throughout the Throne Room, carrying an air of calculated diplomacy. "A House with such outstanding loyalty, a rare commodity in these troubled times, should be assured with more than just the word of a King who is already at war," he declared, his gaze briefly landing on Maera with a smirk. "I believe those were the words you used, Lady Maera," he added.

Maera clenched her jaw, her eyes narrowing at the memory. "Yes, Your Grace," she managed to mutter, her tone reluctant.

The King's voice boomed with authority as he proposed, "I would like to discuss more favorable terms with you, my Lord, about securing the Straits of Tarth for our war effort."

Confusion enveloped Maera. What sort of terms could Aegon possibly offer? She cast a sidelong glance at Aemond, who seemed lost in thought, his eyes fixed firmly on the floor. Did he possess knowledge of these terms? And if so, what did they entail? The other nobles present also seemed to wonder what terms the King was presenting, the room buzzing with hushed conversations that ebbed and flowed like a gentle current, until the Kingsguard encouraged them to settle down.

Lord Jasper exchanged a perplexed glance with his daughter, both uncertain about the unexpected direction this conversation was taking. It seemed unusual for the King to avoid addressing Maera's recent transgressions, focusing instead on some sort of deal. Trying to maintain decorum, Lord Jasper replied, "Your grace, I am deeply honored by your words."

King Aegon's smile remained as he continued to speak, revealing his intentions. "To ensure House Wylde's family gains more assurance from the crown, we must join our houses," he declared.

“I would have offered your hand, my Lady, to my youngest brother. But unfortunately Daeron is not yet…able to produce heirs. Something I did not have a problem at his age, I can assure you,” Aegon snickered, provoking a chuckle from some of the courtiers in the room. Prince Daeron blushed intensely, trying to cover his embarrassment with a forced cough, while Queen Alicent shot a disapproving glare at her eldest son, Aegon.

The King proceeded, offering an alternative proposal. "I will provide the Lady Maera with a different husband, one who can ensure the swift production of heirs, which will be needed to quickly solidify their union. Her sons will inherit the seat of Morne and satisfy the mainlanders of Tarth, assuring them that the Straits will remain within their own blood."

Maera's heart raced, and her palms grew sweaty. The prospect of marriage, heirs, and the complexities of politics and war weighed heavily on her. It was all happening too fast, and the gravity of the situation left her feeling overwhelmed.

Aegon then interlaced his fingers and rested them beneath his chin, adopting a casual yet commanding posture. "I would like to propose an offer of marriage," he announced with a glint of mischief in his eye, "between my brother, Aemond, and Lady Maera, elevating her to the esteemed title of Princess of the Realm."

Gasps of surprise and intrigued murmurs rippled through the assembly like a gentle wave. Whispers of alliances and implications filled the air as the courtiers exchanged knowing glances and furtive gestures.

Maera's world seemed to crumble in that very instant. The weight of the proposal bore down on her like a mountain, emotions surging within her all at once - fear, anger, perhaps even a flicker of relief? The tumultuous mixture left her feeling queasy, and her stomach churned with uncertainty.

Lord Jasper was quick to respond, “My King, I would be deeply honored to accept such a proposition. However, House Wylde has sworn allegiance to House Baratheon, and the Prince is already betrothed to one of Lord Borros’s daughters. I would not wish to cause any-”

Aegon raised his hand in a commanding gesture, halting Lord Jasper's words mid-sentence. The King wasn't done yet.

Lord Otto Hightower, the Hand of the King, took up the mantle of explanation. "We've already communicated this matter with Lord Borros via raven," he clarified. "Terms have been discussed, including offering Prince Daeron for one of his daughters and, should you consent, my Lord, one of your own sons to wed another of Lord Borros's daughters. House Baratheon is content with this agreement."

Aegon couldn't resist interjecting with a confident grin, a hint of exasperation in his voice. "You see, the stag will still have his share of the crown," he exclaimed, gesturing with his hand for emphasis. "One daughter to marry a prince of the blood, and the other to wed the brother of a princess of the realm. What more could he possibly desire?"

Maera's thoughts were a whirlwind, struggling to grasp the implications of this whirlwind proposal. Princess? Agreement? Brother? Aemond? Aemond! The realization hit her like a bolt of lightning. As she teetered on the verge of hyperventilation, she locked eyes with the One-Eyed Prince, who was now firmly fixated on her.

Violet met green, conveying the problems of the past and the weight of their shared future. The throne room, with its grandeur and history, seemed to fade into the background as they stood there, two figures bound by fate, their gazes an unbreakable connection that spoke of both the challenges and the possibilities that lay ahead.

As the courtiers whispered and exchanged curious glances, the hushed atmosphere seemed to hum with intrigue. Some leaned in to share their thoughts in furtive conversations, while others cast sidelong glances at the figures of importance in the room.

Amidst the bewildering turn of events, Maera could hear her father's breath quickening beside her. She stole a sidelong glance at him, her heart pounding with uncertainty. His face seemed to be a canvas splattered with conflicting emotions—was he about to cry, or perhaps laugh? The truth was elusive, but one feeling stood stark and undeniable upon his countenance: pure, unadulterated joy.

Aegon directed his attention back to Lord Jasper, pressing the issue at hand. "My Lord Wylde," he began, his voice carrying weight and anticipation, "I hope this gesture reassures you that the crown will protect the bride’s family. But one question remains; Do you agree to this match?"

In an instant, Maera felt her hand being tugged downward, her father's movements unmistakable as he descended to his knees. It sent Maera to the floor as well, drawn by the gravity of the moment. The throne room watched in hushed expectation.

Lord Jasper, now humbled before the crown, spoke with a reverence that seemed out of place considering the circumstances. "I graciously accept your offer for my daughter, your Grace," he declared, his voice unwavering with gratitude. "I thank the King and the Small Council with all my heart. I assure you, my daughter Maera will be a dutiful wife, and their union shall bear fruit in no time."

Maera found herself struck dumb by the unfolding events, her gaze fixed on the polished floor beneath her as an unsettling feeling of sickness churned within her. This moment had turned her world upside down, and it was hard to discern if her emotions leaned toward dread or something else entirely.

Then, like a jarring note in an otherwise surreal symphony, Aegon's voice pierced the silence. "Is there anything you wish to ask of me, dear sister?" he inquired, his tone saccharinely sweet, making her skin crawl. The notion of being referred to as the King's sister made her skin crawl, and only deepened her discomfort.

With a sense of desperation, Maera shifted her gaze to Aemond, the one person in the room who she thought might truly understand the turmoil she was experiencing. Her voice was unsteady as she addressed him directly, "Is this what you want, my Prince?"

Aemond, his response swift and measured, replied with a dutiful tone, "I shall do as my King commands, for the sake of the Realm."

Aegon chuckled at Aemond's response, his voice dripping with sly amusement. "Such concern for your feelings, Aemond," he remarked to Maera. "It's quite touching, and I believe it will serve you well in your marriage."

Maera stifled the urge to roll her eyes. Aegon continued, now addressing the practical aspects of the union. “Rest assured, Mayflower, even though my brother does not show it, he is thrilled with the match. Not only will Aemond gain the Jewel of Rainwood as his wife, and the Straits of Tarth as part of her dowry, but he would also ascend to the position of Master of Coin. How fortunate that the role that had been promised to your future husband, regardless, should now fall to my brother. I can think of no one better to handle the Crown’s financial matters.”

A sinking feeling gripped Maera as she absorbed the King's commentary. Of course Aemond would agree to this marriage- The agreement was not born of care or affection but a calculated move for power. With a mixture of resignation and bitterness, she could not help but acknowledge that he had played his cards well in this political game.

Queen Alicent, who had been observing the unfolding conversation, finally spoke, her question aimed directly at Maera. "Lady Maera," she inquired, "do you consent to this match?"

The question hung in the air, and the room was filled with a sense of anticipation, every whispered conversation and exchanged glance carrying the weight of the moment. Maera's mind raced as she considered her options, or rather, the lack thereof.

She couldn't very well decline this offer, not when it was the most advantageous alliance House Wylde could hope for. Yet, in accepting, she knew it would seal her fate in King's Landing. She grappled with the uncertainty of what her marriage to Aemond might bring—would he only become more bitter and twisted over the years, and would she have to navigate that? As his wife?

Maera swallowed the lump in her throat, her gaze shifting from her father, whose eyes bore a silent plea for her agreement, to the King who waited expectantly. She cleared her throat, her voice firm, "Your Grace, it would be an honor and a privilege to accept such an advantageous match, one I am not sure I am worthy of." She paused, her resolve unwavering, "If it pleases you, I shall continue to serve Queen Helaena faithfully, not merely as her lady-in-waiting, but as her devoted sister."

The King's smirk was unmistakable as he nodded, "Very well, Lady Maera. We shall take your commitment into consideration, but rest assured, once Aemond has fulfilled his duty and you have provided him with an heir, you will have your hands full." This elicited laughter from some of the courtiers, their mirth echoing through the hall.

With a grand gesture, King Aegon stood and clapped his hands together, his voice booming, "Excellent news, indeed! A wedding to plan, and a war to win. If we're to secure victory swiftly, the Straits of Tarth must be in our hands sooner rather than later." His gaze shifted to his mother, Queen Alicent, and he declared, "I want the wedding to be arranged within six weeks' time."

Queen Alicent hesitated for a moment but eventually conceded, "As you wish, my son."

The die had been cast, and Maera's fate was sealed. The King's dismissal echoed in Maera's ears, and she and Lord Jasper hurriedly made their way out of the throne room. Her father seemed elated by the betrothal, his voice filled with excitement as he discussed practical matters and future plans. However, Maera's mind was a swirling tempest of emotions, and she could scarcely hear her father's words over the cacophony inside her head.

Finally, as they reached her chambers and her father cautioned her to maintain her composure and behave impeccably until the wedding, Maera closed the doors behind her and let out a long, shuddering breath.

Alone in her room, the weight of the day's events pressed down on her like a leaden shroud. She sank to the floor, her back against the door, her mind a tumult of thoughts and feelings. Relief coursed through her veins; she had narrowly escaped the executioner's blade. But with that reprieve came a profound sense of loss, for her freedom had been traded for a life predetermined by a marriage she had no say in.

Anger simmered beneath the surface, directed at Aegon for leading her to believe there would be consequences for her actions. And then there was the apprehension, the uncertainty of what it meant to be Aemond's wife. Would he despise her for a union forced upon him, an eternal reminder of the past? These thoughts overwhelmed her, and she gave in to the tears that had been building, allowing her emotions to flow freely. She cried and cried, as if purging herself of the tumultuous emotions that threatened to consume her, attempting to come to terms with the future that laid ahead of her

Notes: *mic drop*

Tags: @blue-serendipity @grungegrrrl @marvelescvpe @shesjustanothergeek

Thank you so much for reading! Comments, feedback, likes, and reblogs are greatly appreciated 🖤

[jelzorz]

155.

@cakeanon is claiming that jellybug was named for me and I'm owning it

Barius has, probably, the easiest go of it. The rest of the council is made up of Ezran's closest friends and family, and they go out and about on their adventures, risking their lives and their limbs for the good of the kingdom on a somewhat regular basis, and though he and Opeli are the ones who stay and hold the fort, Opeli just has more on her plate (in a manner of speaking).

Barius' official title is a bit of fun: Minister of Crusts and Jellies doesn't imply much, but in truth, he's really more of a head of staff. He manages the maids, the kitchenhands, the cleaners, the groceries, the wine, the harvests, the hearths—and though it sounds like a lot, he is not, in anyway, in over his head. It's not like Soren, who is Captain of the Crown Guard and adventurer, or Corvus, who is Crown Guard and reconnaissance, or Opeli, who is High Cleric and regent and babysitter all at once. Barius' job is simple: keep the castle running, make sure meals go out on time, give the kids someplace warm to come home to after all their heroing and adventuring.

It's a good amount of work. It keeps him busy. Most days, he rather likes it—

And then the kids come home from their latest adventure with the shining prison of the most dangerous elf who has ever lived and three baby glow toads in tow.

(If you asked Barius which of those was more menacing, Barius' answer would very much depend on the day).

He will be honest: His hands were full in the old days, when all he had to do was bake and chase Ezran and Bait out of the kitchens. He is busier now, and that isn't counting Ezran, Bait, and the three little baitlings who keep finding their way into the stores. The little orange one is the worst. The blue one, Hat, he thinks, is well named—he lives happily on Soren's head and doesn't cause too much trouble. Sneezles, the runt, is always congested, always clingy, not too much of a hazard in the kitchens except for the handful of times he's sneezed into a whole bag of flour. But Jellybug—

Barius groans at the thought of her. She's got a bigger sweet tooth than even Ezran had when he was younger, and Barius has had to increase his jelly and jam production two fold just to keep up with her.

"She'll bankrupt us if she's not stopped," he complains to Opeli. "The harvests won't be enough to keep up with her."

"That's a little overdramatic, I think," says Opeli, although from the way she wrinkles her nose, Barius knows he isn't wrong to be concerned. "I don't think you could convince His Majesty to get rid of her, though."

"I wondered if you might talk to him, actually." Barius shuffles his feet. "You hold sway over them all."

"So do you," says Opeli. "You are King Ezran's Minister of Crusts and Jellies, Barius, your concerns are valid and Ezran will hear them."

It's not a of lot reassurance, but it's better than none. Barius steels himself for it, knowing he's never been good at keeping Ezran out of the kitchens, and that Ezran is a boy before he is a king, and it seems unfair that he should be deprived of the few childish things he allows himself.

Then Jellybug herself appears in the kitchens one evening, blue eyes wide and unreasonably large, chin covered in jelly as always, and Barius huffs tiredly and plucks her from the bench.

"You can't be in here if you're going to eat our stores," he scolds. "That jelly isn't for you."

Jellybug trills happily, obviously unaware of what Barius means to ask Ezran. She nuzzles against his fingers, smearing purple jelly—grape?—against his palm.

"Don't even try it," says Barius sternly. "I'm not falling for that. You're still a menace."

Jellybug squeaks and lolls her tongue out at him.

Barius humphs.

The next morning, he heads into the council chambers with an open jar of jam in one of his apron pockets and Jellybug in the other. When Ezran spots him, he grins.

"Barius!" he greets. "Opeli said you wanted to talk? Is everything okay?"

Barius snorts and glances down at the Baitling in his pocket. "Yes, Your Majesty," he says. "Everything's fine."

[2baddiesfanfics]

Literary Lovers

Pairing: Nami x Nico Robin

Tags: Libraries, Library Sex, Books, Couch Sex, Couch Cuddles, Oral Sex, Vaginal Fingering

Summary:

As Nami works on a map in the library, Robin tries to capture her attention with something much more riveting. It’s a good thing the Straw Hats don’t have a librarian, because the girls are about to get loud…

Read on Ao3

Nami sat quietly in the library on the Sunny, hard at work on her latest map. The Straw Hats had already been on so many daunting adventures, she was constantly having to add other indicators to help them better navigate through the Grand Line.

Across from her, Robin sat on the couch reading one of her many books that looked as though it had to have been hundreds of years old. Nami had always wondered how she could possibly find something that ancient to be interesting. Nevertheless, having now made their relationship official, they continued to enjoy pursuing their own hobbies and responsibilities in tranquil companionship.

When she felt especially playful, Robin sometimes enjoyed surprising her by producing an extra hand to catch her attention with various fleeting touches. Looking up, Nami would stare into those piercing blue eyes of hers. Often, she’d fantasize about how she’d much rather map her lover’s body than focus on the one she was currently sketching. How she longed to mark her with kisses, nip at the scars she had painfully endured, run her hands up and down her lithe legs…

Not now, Nami! Focus on finishing the damn map and then you can play.

She looked away from Robin and back to what she was working on as she felt heat rise to her cheeks.

Robin ever so quietly placed her book down and made her way toward Nami. Walking behind her, she leaned over her shoulder and purposefully pressed her chest into Nami’s back. Kissing the crown of her head, she watched as she worked diligently.

“What does this mean?” Robin asked pointing at a scattering of red marks.

“They mark distances from land.” Nami then shifted her focus to the blue marks. “And these mark the currents.”

As Nami explained the various icons, Robin lightly dragged her fingers down her wrist and rested her hand on top of Nami’s, intertwining their fingers together. Trying to ignore her advances and focus on what she was saying, Nami felt the rise and fall of Robin’s ample chest resting against her back.

“So, these here are showing the areas where it’s hot and very little air carries through, which was what lead us to have that water gun fight in white t-shirts?” she could feel Robin’s lips murmur against her ear.

“Y…yes and we…we move very little in those areas. So, it’s best to get undress…I mean, mark them for the next time we come through here,” Nami stammered.

“What’s there to be so nervous about, darling? I’m just asking you a question. It should be simple for you…”

“I..it is sssimple to make ssure we don’t end up in a funnel or water sprout based ooooff these charts for the future, soooo we mark them,” she said as a moan caught in her throat.

“Mmmm, see? That’s my girl. I knew you could do it,” Robin hummed as she lightly sank her teeth into Nami’s earlobe.

Tilting her head back onto the taller woman’s chest, she looked up at her. Robin smiled and leaned over to kiss her. The top of their tongues slid against each other for only a moment before Robin let go and made her way back to her seat, picking up her book to continue where she left off.

Nami stood where she was, blinking in disbelief. She was flustered at the sudden disinterest Robin showed and wasn’t about to let her get away with it. Apparently, there was still plenty they hadn’t tried, an upside-down kiss being new and exciting. Clearly preoccupied, Robin’s eyes darted from one side of the paper to the next. Nami rested her head on the table thinking of ways to get back at her.

How can she do all those things, kiss me like that, and then just go back and act like nothing happened!? She has to be feeling this too…

Robin glanced up and smirked, waiting to see what Nami’s next move would be. Nami looked up toward where she was sitting and Robin quickly looked back at the page she had just read through twice.

Nami rose to her feet and walked over to Robin. Placing her hand on the book she was pretending to read, she pushed it into her lap. Placing her other hand on top of the couch, she leaned forward.

“Are you a good book? Because you’re gonna have me screaming right as I finish.” Nami bit one side of her lower lip waiting for her lover’s response.

“Mmm…that’s cute. Let’s see how loud I can make you scream my name this time,” Robin purred before leaning up and passionately kissing Nami.

Tongues clashed as Nami tossed the book aside (probably a little too hard for a tome so old) and threw her arms around her neck to pull her closer. Robin created a hand to lock the library door, ensuring nobody would walk in on them. They continued to ravenously devour each other until they were both desperate for air and had to pull apart, a string of saliva dripping between them.

Robin slid her hands underneath Nami’s shirt to knead her breasts.

“No bra today, hmm? Makes things so much easier,” Robin teased as she kissed her lightly. She helped Nami shimmy out of her clothing and then stripped out of her own. Sitting back down on the couch, she had Nami straddle her.

Stabilizing herself by grasping onto the back of the couch with one hand, she let the other wander over Robin’s chest. Goosebumps appeared on her skin as she let out a seductive gasp. Nami leaned down to kiss her chest just above Robin’s heart, which she could feel beating furiously. Slowly licking her way down to the breast she now held in her hand, her lips found Robin’s nipple. A puff of warm breath caused it to stiffen, inviting her to suck. Robin threw a hand over her mouth to stifle a moan.

“I thought you were going to make me scream, not the other way around,” Nami taunted as she looked into those beautiful eyes of hers.

Breathing heavily, Robin winked in response. “Oh, just keep thinking that, dear. You’re just getting me warmed up.”

Moving her hand from her breast, Nami’s fingers glided to Robin’s sex. She prodded a finger at her entrance, listening for her reaction before plunging into her. As she frictionlessly moved in and out, she leaned forward to nip at her neck, leaving red marks on her pale skin. Robin threw her head back, allowing Nami better access to brand her. Adding a second finger, Nami thrust faster.

Robin’s chest rose and fell more rapidly, groans escaping her. Her nails raked down Nami’s back, red welts appearing in her ecstasy. She kissed up Robin’s neck to her jawline, then captured her lips with her tongue. Moaning into Nami’s mouth as she found her release, Robin clenched around her fingers, soaking them up to her knuckles. Stilling as Nami peppered her cheeks with kisses, she sighed as she pulled out of her. Nami placed her fingers that were coated with Robin’s slick into Robin’s mouth.

“Suck for me.”

Robin grabbed her wrist and, never breaking eye contact, slowly licked and sucked her fingers clean.

“Ughhhhnn,” Nami groaned as she watched. Suddenly, she felt Robin tighten her grip on her wrists. In one swift motion, she swept her underneath her. Robin now towered over her as they continued to consume each other.

“You’ve…had your fun…but now…it’s my turn…” Robin panted between ferocious kisses. She stopped and looked deep into Nami’s eyes. “Trust me?”

“…always.”

Robin kissed her forehead. “Good. Lean over the arm of the couch. Face down, ass up.”

Taking commands from Robin made her shiver. She had always had a bit of an intimidating presence about her that made Nami slightly nervous but also thrilled her.

She obeyed, feeling deliciously exposed in front of Robin’s hungry gaze. Nami looked back over her shoulder with a fresh blush covering her face. “Like this?” She asked coyly.

Robin almost tackled her. There was something incredibly erotic about seeing Nami on her hands and knees before her that made her want to ruin her.

“Such a tease. Look at you. You were so bold earlier and now here you are. How should I take you, Nami? Your ass looks especially enticing up in the air like that,” she said as she lifted a hand and smacked it. Nami let out a yelp that turned into a moan.

“There are so many possibilities. Should I take my time and bring you to the edge again and again until you can’t take it anymore?” Her slender fingers now traced the red mark her hand had left. “Or would you prefer it quick and dirty?”

“Robin…please…I just need you…whatever you want…”

“I didn’t ask what I wanted. The only thing I want to do is give you a body-shaking orgasm. It’s up to you to tell me what you want.”

“I want to feel you inside me. Fingers, tongue…anything,” Nami panted.

“My, you’re naughty. I can tell you’re already dripping wet at the thought of me taking you from behind,” she said as she knelt in position. “You’ll be nice and loud for me, right?”

“Yessssss…make me scream, Robin…”

“Be careful what you wish for, dear…” she said as she swiped her tongue across her slit. Nami let out a wail at the feeling of wet warmth enveloping her pussy. Robin grabbed her thighs and pulled herself further into her depths. Sprouting an extra pair of hands, she fondled Nami’s breasts. The extra stimulation made her even more aroused and Robin savored the taste.

Her tongue danced from front to back, rocking against Nami’s sensitive bud.

“Fuck…Robin…faster…” Nami whined as she pressed against her mouth.

“Oh, so quick and dirty it is. Why didn’t you say so earlier, love?” She said as she picked up the pace. Nami squirmed against her, determined to use Robin’s face to make her come.

“So…close…baby…”

Robin pinched Nami’s nipples hard as she increased the pressure of her tongue on her clit, sending her spiraling.

“FUCK! Robinnnnn!” Nami shouted as she crumpled against the couch, unable to hold her body in position any longer.

Giving Nami a moment to catch her breath, Robin helped her up off the couch - a single dark spot betraying what had just occurred. “We’re not done yet, dear,” Robin hummed as she picked her up.

Backing her up against the bookshelf, Robin produced extra arms. Her real hands caressed Nami’s back, as two others grabbed her ass. As she kissed and bit Nami’s swollen lips, she widened her stance both to prop Nami up as well as prepare herself for what was to come.

Producing two more hands, she slid two fingers of each into both of their entrances. Nami cried out into Robin’s mouth as Robin moved in and out of them slowly. When Nami was used to the feeling, she started bouncing herself against Robin in time with the movement of her fingers.

Nami broke their kiss to throw her head back against the shelves. Robin’s name on her lips was the only other sound that could be heard in the room. She increased her pace as she spread Nami’s cheeks open wider and ran a finger of another cloned hand in circles on Nami’s anus. The erratic movements of the two caused books to fall off the shelves around them.

“Robin…I can’t…much longer…so…sensitive,” Nami groaned.

“So close…come with me…my love,” Robin moaned in reply.

A few more thrusts and the two shattered, shaking and holding onto one another for support. Robin slowly made her way back to the couch on unstable legs, careful not to drop her. Depositing her on the cushiony surface, the two lay together in comfortable silence.

Now a complete mess, Nami took a look around the room and began to laugh.

“Wow, we really shook things up in here, didn’t we?”

Robin chuckled. “It seems we did. I just couldn’t hold myself back after that clever literary pickup line. You sure know the way to a girl’s heart,” she said as she placed a kiss on her temple. Nami was glad she had saved that line for the ideal moment.

Robin grabbed a blanket off the back of the couch and threw it over the two of them. Snuggled closely, they drifted off to sleep to the perfumed scent of old books and the sounds of the sea.

[detectivemaker]

It's a au time once again

It's a DC / Gravity Falls Fusion, obviously the mystery twins have been usurped by my own favorite set of twins

Lewis and  lenore  was sent to spend the summer with their Uncle William(the clock game who's the head was brother in the old Adam West show), or at least someone they think is their  uncle William but it's actually uncle James( head Cannon name for the copycat Hatter who in this is another one of jervis siblings) who's pretending to be his twin brother after the man was sucked into a portal

Now that we have the two sets of twins how about I told you a bit about this ciphers

The poison  tooth clan are the big bads of the show, the baddest of all being the ruling   patriarch William, vincent acts as the initial bill Cipher stand in but as soon joined by his lovely nephew Michael,  and the rest of his lovely  niece and nephews coming to play during weirdmageddon 

So Mike and his family come from the dimension that's a fusion between the original OC Mike's home dimension and euclidia,  say the rules are the chimeric creatures can see up, but William wanted  do more than just see up to feel Superior

So he went up with his family, and that caused the rest of the world to burn like a painting  on fire, it's safe to say everyone other than William was completely traumatized by this

They appear in the dream realm as humanoid but I'll have a piece of headwear covering their eyes

Vince has the usual top hat, michael has a fedora, elizabeth has a son hat, peter has a  a Newsboy hat, Philip(with an F has a pirate hat), david has a 10 gallon cowboy hat, gregor is just straight up wearing a blindfold, william has it oversized crown

They all have unique alterations to the pupils of the people they possess

Vincent once again is the usual Cipher yellow with a slit, michael and William both have purple whole eye and slit as well, elizabeth is pink with a heart pupil, peter is blue with a teardrop,  philip is red with I guess a fire i'm still thinking about it,  gregor is  silver with a cog, and David has a goat like people much like  the demon version of Tad strange

Grego and David only show up doing weird again near the very end , for the big party 

doing weirdmageddon Lizzy and Michael are quite enthusiastic to play  with  their cousins, as dear Uncle Vincent prepares to celebrate his wedding anniversary,  yeah sure Clocky he wasn't entirely conscious for it but it's still legally binding

But then his brother has to Rush In  users his throne, and start rambling all about how this is his Triumph and just being a glory stealing douche

Williams the one who gets twin tricked and sent to the therapy dimension for time out,  and everything  ends happily ever after though Gotham is left a little bit weirder than it usually is

And  dorothy's there too but she's usually just texting in the background

[sparrowsworkshop]

“Let Sleeping Dogs Lie” by OneWingedSparrow

Fic Summary: Post-The Last Wish. In a quiet moment on the ship, Puss in Boots ponders how nice it is to not be alone for once. Main Tags: Puss in Boots & Kitty Softpaws & Perrito, Found Family, Fluff Read on AO3 Reblogs are appreciated! ~

It was strange, not being alone.

Sure, sure, at Mama Luna’s home, Puss had never been left alone. There was always someone’s mittened paw thrust in his face, while he unsuccessfully attempted to sleep. Always someone’s bony shoulder bumping into his, while he suffered dunking his beard into the disgusting, rock-hard pellets claiming to be food. Always someone’s nosy gaze burning holes into his fur while he tried to take a dignified crap on the...well, the completely vulnerable and thoughtlessly out in the open and holy frijoles, couldn’t the woman have at least provided a cardboard box or something for privacy?—litterbox. No one had ever left him alone for a single moment, ever given him a crumb’s worth of privacy. That had been exhausting.

But this…? This was a different kind of not being alone.

One that felt...significantly better.

Puss glanced down at Perrito’s sleeping form. The little dog’s head was resting on Puss’s stomach like had happened that fateful day in the forest. All else of Perrito couldn’t be seen, concealed by Puss’s discarded cape. Perrito’s soft snores were a constant hum of white noise, almost in rhythm with the lackadaisical waves clapping against the ship.

They’d weighed anchor hours ago, and Puss had sat down for a breather, only to find that Perrito wanted attention. The little dog didn’t chatter as much as Puss mentally prepared himself for. Instead, Perrito quietly turned a circle, lay down, and sighed happily, eventually falling asleep.

Yes, one could perhaps say that such an innocent gesture had caught Puss in Boots off guard...but, he reasoned, a fearless hero must ever adapt to the unexpected.

He still had much to learn during this last life of his.

A great yawn stretched Puss’s mouth. He shifted slightly, rubbing his fur against the mast behind him. A functional backrest, but not the most comfortable.

“Are you going to stay up here all night?”

The mockery was, he noted with a grin, decidedly quieter than normal. Puss turned to see Kitty standing nearby. Her blue eyes gleamed in the dim, but her silhouette was slightly off. He raised an eyebrow. She’d swiped his hat again and was shamelessly flaunting it.

“You know,” Puss said lightly, “if you really fancy that style all that much, you could get one of your own.”

“Ugh, then I would match you.” Kitty shuddered dramatically, but he saw her smiling. “How disgusting.”

“Disgusting?” he scoffed. “Puss in Boots boasts only the most fashionable hat in all the land!" "We are not on land anymore," Kitty countered. "I do not think your argument stands." Ignoring her, Puss continued, with a wave of his paw, "It would be a bold statement to replicate such a distinguished style!”

“Like your beard?”

“The beard was fine,” he huffed. “Just itchy.”

“Mmmhmm,” Kitty mused. She tilted the hat mischievously, revealing more of her face. “And why should I get one of my own when I can just take yours whenever I please?” With a flourish, she swung his hat aside and plopped it right over his face.

“Exactly why you should,” Puss grumbled into the crown, though he wasn’t all that bothered. She always gave back what she stole from him.

Puss returned his hat to its rightful place, taking care to fluff the feather. Kitty raised her paw, as if testing the night air. “It’s cold up here,” she said. “You should come down where it is warm.”

He straightened the brim and nodded at Perrito. “I do not wish to move him.”

“Oh, you are a big softie,” Kitty said teasingly. “The fearsome hero, Puss in Boots, staying up all night above deck because he did not wish to wake a little dog.”

“You would have done the same, Kitty Softpaws.”

“Don’t be so grumpy.”

“I am not being grumpy—”

“But you are being loud! Shush!” Kitty knelt beside him. “Here, I’ll do you a favor. That way you owe me later.”

The true generosity of an outlaw, he thought. Always willing to lend a hand, so long as something was promised—or simply “provided”—in return.

Not that he minded paying her back.

True to her reputation, Kitty executed her plan with nary a sound. Carefully, she wrapped the cape around Perrito, snuggling him in a big fabric burrito, and scooped him up. Perrito burbled in his sleep, but otherwise didn’t stir.

Puss noted how Kitty’s expression shifted to something quite tender, but chose not to comment, lest she rob him of his hat again...or worse.

Now that the weight was off him, Puss felt free to stand. Having leaned against the mast for so long, his back was somewhat stiff, and made a loud crack when he stretched.

He caught Kitty’s eye again. She snorted. “And you would have kept in that position all night,” she tsked as she headed for the cabin. “Maybe even the next day too, if Perrito slept in.”

Puss followed her step for step, right by her side. “Are you not supposed to let sleeping dogs lie? Is that not a whole thing?”

“Not all the time, you shouldn’t.” Kitty bumped his shoulder with her own. “And...I am glad you did not with us, Puss in Boots.”

Despite the chill she claimed was in the air, Puss suddenly felt quite warm. He could not help but grin, as that warmth that radiated in his chest soon spread all the way down to the honored boots his mamá had given him so long ago.

Maybe, Puss thought, this different kind of Not Being Alone was not so strange after all.

~

[backjustforberena]

Rhaenys’s movements during the funeral/wake (because I’m a NERD):

Firmly on the Velaryon side of the family, with her granddaughters. Notably, her husband is closer to the “Crown” than she is, and she is physically turned away from it, her trajectory headed away from Corlys and towards her granddaughters as she clings to them. Corlys’s head is bowed. Rhaenys’s head is up, looking straight at Laena’s coffin or to Vaemond. She’s engaging with the consequences of her actions rather than the religious and "going through the motions” aspect of it all.

The only time she and Corlys are in sync throughout this procedure (wake/funeral) is when Daemon laughs. Heck, it’s one of the only times they are in the same shot as they don’t interact whatsoever at the wake. It’s heart-breaking to see how out of sync they are throughout this episode, but there are flashes of unification - most notably during the fight in the Hall of Nine. All is not lost. Not until Laenor’s body is found.

She’s wearing a veil. Only for the funeral, and never again. There a few Velaryon nobles with veils but Rhaenys is still different, still individual and alone, even with this. Rhaenys’s is in a different style; it’s shorter, and with a hat and it’s a different shade of blue. Either way, the veil is significant. As a proud woman, a woman who had to stand on a stage in front of the whole court, whilst she lost her chance at the crown, she will not be controlled here. If she wants to cry, she can, and no one will be able to see unless looking at her. It invites no conversation, or interaction. And a veil literally signifies sorrow.

Her hair is also up and in a style we’d never seen before and never seen again. Normally, it is half-up, half down, very much with a height to it and also heavily adorned with gold accessories and bands. This is all up, it’s flatter at the top so that her hat can be fixed to it, and it’s pretty much lacking in braiding. She’s not herself. She doesn’t look like herself.

At the wake, she’s a solitary figure. At no point in the wake does she engage with her husband (though soon after she leaves Luke, he comes to be with Luke - we don’t know the ins and outs of that though, there may be overlap but may not be). 

At no point, of her own volition, does she engage with any adult. We see Corlys do this: he is talking with the King on the establishing shot, he speaks to Vaemond quite a bit, with Ser Qarl, and with Lucerys. He oversees Laenor being fetched, and stands within crowds. When the King leaves, he is standing in the procession, bowing his head as is customary. Rhaenys gets involved with none of this. All she does, after engaging with Luke in the wide establishing shot above, is cross the floor to get a drink and then go to her granddaughters. There she remains.

The only engagements she has with adults, on screen, that we see, are with an unknown man at the wake, and with Rhaenyra. All happen whilst she’s on the way to get a drink from the table. All chances of prolonged entreatment to conversation are avoided. She’s not inviting it, she’s taken by surprise when it’s offered and her expression is strained throughout.

“I’m very sorry, my princess.” And all she does is give her thanks, acts polite, and then keep walking. The unknown Lord wants to keep her there, engage in conversation. He’s stopped her in the first place, putting a hand on her arm. I get the impression that as much as his empathy might be real, if he were to stop her, there would be a political reason. A formal one. And she’s just so tired. She’s so done that she keeps going. Smiles the smallest of smiles, plays the act, and then when she’s got passed him, it all drops. She doesn’t want to be there, to be doing this. She doesn’t want to have to put on the mask or play the hostess. She’s just done.

Then she gets to Rhaenyra. Gets brought up short. And they just have nothing to say to one another. Nothing that she wants to get into. Why on Earth would she? All her thoughts are on Laena and Baela and Rhaena and Rhaenyra can give her nothing on that subject. And to be fair, Rhaenyra doesn’t try and engage her. It’s all formality and false pleasantries and as Rhaenys turns away, takes a sip and takes a deep breath, she just forges ahead. But even then, her body language is turned inwards. She’s shrinking away from any possible engagement and she’s just trying to fortify herself until she can do anything else. She doesn’t want to be going through all of this. It’s taking everything in her.

The wine is obviously drunk quickly: it’s not a distraction or a barrier to conversation as it might be (you know, when someone looks really into their drink to avoid eye contact). No, it’s gone by the time she reaches Baela and Rhaena. Given how the scene was choreographed like a piece of theatre, it’s not unreasonable to conclude that she’s just in it for the numbing properties. She just needs a drink.

Rhaenys stops in front of her granddaughters. It’s not explained how well she and the girls know one another. Whilst it’s pretty obvious that the boys have never met Baela and Rhaena, there’s nothing direct to contradict the idea that Rhaenys had been with the girls for visitation over the years. They take comfort in her and she is not awkward at all around them, which suggests some level of familiarity. As does Daemon’s lack of involvement- since Rhaenys had been holding them during the funeral ceremony, it would not necessarily be unreasonable of him to assume she would take care of them here and he would have seen that from where he is during the wake as well. All of this suggests an established relationship between Rhaenys and the girls. 

There’s a lovely beat, where she clenches her jaw, fights back her own emotions before sinking down to her knees in front of them. It’s worth noting during this sequence that Viserys says how much the girls look like their mother. And how that is a comfort and an anguish. We know from a later scene how helpless Rhaenys felt about her daughter’s death. And about how Laena wanted the girls to be on Driftmark, that she wanted to come home. I expect she never wished to see them on Driftmark like this, however. And now, Rhaenys must push her grief aside. Falling to her knees in front of them is also pretty powerful imagery.

Rhaenys reaction to Jace isn’t because she hates him, as some people have said. It isn’t because she doesn’t want him anywhere near Baela and Rhaena. Jace is dealing with the death of Ser Harwin and Rhaenys is just unaware of that. To her, she’s just surprised that the cousins are holding hands as they don’t know one another that well. And it’s Jace that leaves, now that his obligation to his mother has been fulfilled and his cousins won’t be left on their own if he goes. Rhaenys looks at the hands and then Jace is already turning away by the time Rhaenys looks up at his face. If Rhaenys doesn’t follow that up, it’s because she doesn’t know about Jace’s private grief and doesn’t think to believe it anything but the emotions of the day. Jace cannot and is not her priority or her responsibility, even if he would be accepting of any comfort she would offer, which I doubt due to Rhaenyra’s warnings earlier in the scene.

Rhaenys kneels down and hugs her granddaughters. More than that, they hug her. Baela puts her arms around her, Rhaena is burying her head into her grandmother. Both girls crying.

She will stay, on her knees, comforting her granddaughters, whilst all the manoeuvres go on around her. Her entire focus is on those girls and on their loss. She pulls them towards her, reassures them. And puts on a brave face. The only dialogue she says throughout this whole sequence, other than “thank you” to that unknown lord, are reassurances to her granddaughters. They are in pain, she is in pain, and there are no words she can offer other than that. She just holds them, and holds it all, and endures. And she stays there for the rest of the scene.

When Corlys basically barges through the crowd to get to Ser Qarl, snarls for him to get Laenor, and Vaemond intercedes, that quiets down the whole event. Vaemond asks Corlys to calm down, not make a scene. On a wide shot, everyone is looking at the interaction. Rhaenyra, Alicent, Otto, Cole and Larys. You know who isn’t? Rhaenys. Her husband is throwing his weight around about their grieving son at their daughter’s wake in front of everyone including the King and Queen... and she doesn’t even look round. Everyone reacts to it, but her. 

Rhaenyra asks her boys to go to bed, despite it still being fairly early, within earshot of Rhaenys, and she does nothing. She doesn’t look around. She doesn’t even register it. She’s just interacting with those girls. The King leaves. Rhaenys does nothing. Otto drags Aegon up the stairs close to where she and Baela and Rhaena are. We see nothing. Her son stumbles up the stairs, drunk and we are shown no reaction. You can’t even tell she’s in the scene still because of the shots and the darkness. 

Rhaenys up until now, as a player in the game, has been endlessly watching, observing and calculating. And yet here, in arguably one of the busiest scenes in terms of dynamics and interplays (with Daemon and Otto, Viserys and Daemon, Alicent and Larys and Cole, Rhaenyra and Daemon, Corlys and Laenor)... her back faces everybody. She notices none of it. She observes nothing of it. She is removed from all of it.

That’s the shift. That’s the separation. That is what marks her out from all the others at that wake. Corlys is still trying to maintain what is proper, and what is correct, still feeding that pressure on their son and projecting the image he feels is important. And Rhaenys just isn’t. Even being physically demonstrative with the girls by hugging them is something she wouldn’t do if she felt she were “on” and watched and being the persona that her rank and duties demand of her. 

And that’s what really shows the hurt. She is removing herself as far as possible from the centre of things. She cares about no airs or graces when the King leaves. She will perform no duties and ingratiate herself with the other mourners; her people and bannermen. She will not try and court favour with her Targaryen family. All she will do, is be on her knees, and whisper soft things to the only remaining parts of her daughter she can still hold near. And by having her back to these people, it also means she can become invisible, insignificant, and unnoticed. No one will go near her. 

And that’s just what she wants.