#maybe ten years after they take the throne?

[lovely-p-issues]

Fic idea - Astyanax in Ithaca

for times when my English will become acceptable because writing this in Polish feels not right sample of the story under the summary c:

Of course, I was thinking about Penelope's reaction to Odysseus showing up with a new kid (10/11 years old, give or take, Astyanax) at their doors.

I imagined it as the Game of Thrones scene when Ned Stark comes home and shows Catelyn a baby who, he claims, is his bastard. If I were her, I would lose my mind.

But I think that Odysseus explained himself chaotically, yet truly and Penelope didn't fight with the idea of raising the little prince as their own.

But Telemachus? Well, that's a hell of a different story.

He spent his childhood without his father, missing his presence and hoping to meet him one day. He lived in his shadow, as the problematic son of the absent king that everyone wanted to kill, or as a painful reminder to his mother that Odysseus wasn't around anymore and that she needed to be there for the two of them.

Now his dad is back but with a new child.

A new child who knows his father so well. Odysseus was his only parent for ten years (if we forget about 600 uncles, but they died after like 3 years? if I get it right?) and they just get themselves on an impossible level.

Odysseus knows Astyanax's nightmares (they share them).

Astyanax knows his father's past and doesn't need to ask many questions, and Telemachus does. He hates to do it because he sees Odysseus's pain, he sees Astyanax's reproachful look, like he is going to fight Telemachus if he doesn't leave their father, and-

and he sees the sad, concerned eyes of his mom.

So he doesn't ask much about those 20 years. And somehow it's even worse.

Because Telemachus doesn't know Odysseus. Because it feels weird and not home, like they are forced to be close, but they are not. Because he knew his father from songs, stories and legends, and this man is not who he heard of and he doesn't know how can he fix it.

Telemachus doesn't like to think about it but feels like he gives up on Odysseus. He spent the last 20 years of his life trying to reach that man and- Telemachus is tired.

Besides, Odysseus has another son anyway, right?

The prince of Troy, cursed boy, son of Hector, Astyanax, who also turned out to be a pain in the ass.

He knows that he can't blame the kid for his existence or even for the fact that Odysseus took him to their home.

For that Odysseus often takes Astyanax for horse rides to show him the island. The thing that Telemachus did alone.

For that, Odysseus teaches the boy how to use a sword and they laugh a lot during that. The thing that Telemachus did with strangers, got dozens of bruises, always trying to do everything he could to impress the person that wasn't there.

He doesn't blame Astyanax.

He just can't stand him.

But the boy seems to love the idea of going after him whenever Odysseus manages to pull him off for a moment. It's okay when Astyanax watches him during the trainings with eyes shining with excitement. However, it's bad when Astyanax starts to talk.

Father said I'm getting better at parrying-

When I was with father on Calypso's island-

Father does this completely differently-

Telemachus is a patient man. He waited for his father for 20 years. But sometimes he asks himself if Astyanax knows that all this talking about Odysseus, the man he missed but can't actually get to know, is such a trigger for him.

Maybe Astyanax teases him to show how much more of a son Odysseus is?

With every day Telemachus is more and more irritated. He does his best to hide it, but he can't ignore this fire burning him from the inside.

The reason for this fragile peace collapse is, relatively, very stupid.

Telemachus was tired after all day when he met Odysseus.

"The situation in the city is now calmed down,’ he informed his father, combing through his wind-tangled hair."

Odysseus nodded and put a hand on his shoulder.

"Thank you, Telemachus. Well done."

Telemachus froze, not knowing what to say. He couldn't even move. Finally, he nodded, wincing slightly at the awkwardness of his every interaction with his father.

"Of course, father."

Odysseus seemed equally perplexed. However, the whole situation changed when Astyanax appeared in the courtyard where they stood.

Or, he ran into it, almost toppling over, just to get to Odysseus faster and embrace him around the waist.

"Dad, you will never believe what I found with mother in the garden!"

Telemachus watched with unhealthy interest as his father's face lit up with a smile as he listened to Astyanax's excited chatter.

A sudden anger, though senseless and petty, flared his veins. He had to avert his gaze and drive it into the ground so that no one could see his anger. His jaw was clenched tightly.

Twenty years of life based on a vague memory. An entire journey to find his father. His faith, his efforts and his devotion. All this to not be able to have one real conversation with his father. All this to watch both his parents melt down over his new, little brother. All this to stand by and watch his dreams fade away.

He no longer watched.

He walked away before he could do something stupid. Something that would distance him even further from his father.

He holed up in one of the cool and dark corridors of their palace. He concentrated on his breathing and massaged his temples.

He was an adult and knew how to deal with his feelings. Not that anyone had ever taught him that.

"Telemachus, what's wrong? You don't even know what we found in the garden, you went too fast!"

He didn't know shit about how to deal with his feelings.

"Could you, for five minutes, let me live as I lived before you came along? Five minutes without your constant footsteps and shouting behind my back. Five minutes of peace and quiet! That's all I'm asking for!"

But Astyanax took a few steps back as if frightened by Telemachus' sudden outburst. A grimace twisted his face and he squinted as if Telemachus was an extremely difficult puzzle for his quick mind.

"Why are you so angry? I don't understand."

"At this point? I'm not sure anymore. All I know is that I wasn't this angry even once before you dragged yourself home with father and decided to act as if it had all been yours forever."

Telemachus had to calm down. For bloody hell, he had just shouted at the eleven-year-old as if he was guilty of anything.

‘Are you angry about your father bringing me with him?’

Damn it.

It wasn't true. To be fair, he did not want Astyanax to die that night in Troy or be lost in the depths of the burning city.

Still, did he want him here? He let his thoughts wander before he could finally admit it to himself.

Astyanax, essentially, was not the problem. Everything else was. Telemachus was as well.

"No. There are many other things I'm angry about, but not this."

He sat down on the floor and leaned against the cool wall. He hid his face in his hands and let the anger leave him with his next breaths.

"Forgive my shouting. You got me at the wrong time, brother."

And he heard the boy slowly slide down the wall and sit down a few steps away from him.

"You should be grateful, you know?" suddenly said Astyanax. "He travelled all the world to see you and Mom."

You won't scream, Telemachus said to himself. He took a breath.

"Yeah, he didn't really know me, so. I don't know if that counts."

"That's even better. I mean, he loved you anyway. All this time, he was thinking about you"

This logic was wrong, but Telemachus doesn't find enough strength to fight over it.

They stayed silent for a few minutes.

"He didn't want me, you know? He just didn't want me dead and I reminded him of you. He was also scared of what I would become if he just left me alone. And you are so awful but he wanted you from the beginning and he loves you and he was so proud and-" Astyanax put his arms around his knees, his voice breaking as he spoke his next words: "You're a terrible idiot, you know. But he still wants you."

Telemachus needed a few seconds to see that every now and then, Astyanax would rub his wet eyes with his little fists.

He wasn't ready for this, even after months of training he wouldn't be ready. He stays silent for a moment. Slowly, he puts his arms over the crying mess and draws him to his side.

"And you think that father carried you all over the world because he doesn't like you?"

"Because he's kind and he would be ashamed to tell uncle Polites what he did."

"As far I know he wasn't so nice all this time, right? But he never turned his back on you. If you don't trust me, trust that. Odysseus came with you to Ithaca, because he wants you."

Astyanax did not reply but rested his head on his side. Telemachus let him.

Later that night, Telemachus carried a tired Astyanax straight to his parents' bedroom and knocked. When confused Odysseus finally opened it, Telemachus threw the sleepy child at him without hesitation.

"Hug your bloody kid."

And he walked away. This was his moment to avoid uncomfortable questions.

Let me know what do you think. And yes, Telemachus and Odysseus have a proper conversation about being father and son, but later.

BTW sorry for all the errors, I'm so sleepy right now I barely see my screen

[thebxghag]

Iroh is planning and plotting. HEHEHE

Slid in my oc Commander Cam Hoa, too, Iroh's right hand woman before the failure at Ba Sing Se. I think they were probably plotting to take the throne from Azulon themselves before everything that happened after Lu Ten's death.

In any case, he loves to annoy his baby brother for real for real. I think Ursa and Ozai have only been married for maybe a year here.

(this is for my Fire Lord Ursa au fic, currently in production hehehehe).

[archangeldyke-all]

throne sex with royal!Sevi & royal!reader 👁️👁️

okay okay okay okay gonna combine it with another smutty ask that just goes together with this one tooooo perfectly:

riding sev while she’s tied up 😏😏😉😵‍💫

men and minors dni

your wife's been neglecting you.

learning about, growing with, and falling deeper in love with princess sevika has made this past year the best of your life. you've never been happier; and from what all the servants and attendants tell you; sevika hasn't either.

but last week, her father left the country for a diplomatic tour of the world-- leaving the nation in her hands while he dances and schmoozes and eats his way across the globe.

she's acting as queen, essentially, but she's still only given the limited resources and powers of a princess.

it's exhausting, stressful, and frustrating.

you're going to give the king a stern talking to once he returns about how to properly treat the heir to his throne. (you're the only one in the kingdom who can raise your voice at him, since he can't hang you unless he wants war with your parents.)

but, for now: you have a wife to take care of.

you've temporarily moved into the palace-- both so sevika can be closer to work, and so that she's more protected while she acts as the nation's leader. the hallways are cold, echoing, and entirely unfamiliar to you. you've just now memorized the twists and turns from your chambers to the throne room, and you've been walking this path a dozen times a day for two weeks now.

you sigh, rubbing your tired eyes as you approach the grand doorway. you woke up ten minutes ago to the clock tower striking midnight, and sevika's side of the bed still cold and empty. you should've dressed better-- the palace is cold at night-- but you were still half asleep when you stumbled out of your chambers in search of your wife.

you recognize the guard standing in front of the closed doors. "good evening, lock."

"good evening, your highness."

"is she inside?" you ask.

the knight nods. "she's asked not to be disturbed."

you huff. "do you think she considers me a disruption?" you ask.

lock smirks at you. this is why you like him-- he's not afraid to joke around with you. "i think she considers you the biggest disturbance."

you giggle and shake your head, before reaching forward and cracking one of the giant doors. lock does nothing to stop you. "how soundproof are these doors?" you ask before you slip into the throne room. the knight snorts.

"not enough for someone outside to not hear screams."

"hmm... maybe you should go on a walk, then, lock. return to your post after a nice perimeter check, how's that sound?"

lock just winks at you, shaking his head and laughing as he turns on his heel and heads down the hall. "you've got thirty minutes!" he calls over his shoulder.

you grin, then slip into the throne room.

at the sound of the door slamming closed behind you, sevika lifts her tired eyes from her lap where she's studying scrolls. "i asked not to be dis--" she cuts herself off at the sight of you. "fuck. what time is it?" she asks as you approach her.

you reach out, gently cupping your wife's scarred cheek in your hand. "past midnight." you whisper. sevika cringes.

"i'm sorry, love." she sighs, deflating into the throne behind her. she's adorable, her usual perfect posture melting away into a relaxed slouch as you stroke her face, her eyelids drooping a bit.

"what're you working on?" you ask, picking up the scrolls and maps on her lap and taking their spot. sevika's arms wrap around your waist, her chin immediately hooking over your shoulder as you shuffle through the papers and documents.

"trade routes." she grunts. you cringe and she nods. "it's infuriating. if i could send our troops somewhere i'd be fucking useful but i can't so i'm stuck just... thinking about all the problems."

"well, what are the problems?" you ask, studying the markings sevika's drawn on her maps.

"flooding in the eastern peninsula has collapsed three of the bridges that connect them to the mainland. all non-essential trade's been halted, which is wreaking havoc on the art trade in the southern islands, because they rely on the trade of the non-essential clay and mud from the east for a majority of their pottery and tiles. and without the tile, the northern territories have nothing to build with so they've put the construction of their university and library on hold."

you take in the information for a moment, studying the maps in your lap as you try to remember the local politics and trade agreements of the connecting villages and towns between all the current problem areas.

slowly, a solution starts to form in your mind, and a smile starts to spread on your lips.

sevika squeezes your hip. you blink down at her. "what's that look?" she asks. you giggle, then lean down to kiss sevika's lips. she sighs against you.

"i've got it figured out." you say. you push the papers off your lap, they fall to the floor in a mess. sevika gasps.

"y-you do not!" she protests. you laugh and nod, shifting in sevika's lap to straddle her legs.

"i do. we'll have my parents lend the eastern peninsula some ships while they repair the bridges to ship the clay. they owe zaun anyways, for the aid you provided five years ago when they were recovering from the wildfires in the countryside." you say.

sevika blinks up at you rapidly, and then she curses, throwing her head back dramatically. "fuck!"

"what?" you ask, worried you're hurting her. you scramble to get off her lap, but she reaches out to keep you still.

"i keep forgetting i married a genius. it took you two fuckin' minutes to think of that, babe! i've been lookin' at this shit for hours!" she whines.

you snort and lean forward to kiss her. "you've been coming up with smart shit all day, baby." you remind her. "and it's only been a year. someday you'll remember me..." you sigh dramatically. sevika snorts and pinches your hip and you grin. "but, until then, i'm happy to remind you how amazing i am." you say, leaning forward slowly. sevika smiles up at you, her eyes closing as she anticipates a kiss. you giggle, then hop off her lap.

sevika's eyes pop back open and she whines. "where're you going?" she asks, pouting at you.

her pout quickly disappears when you start to tug at the tie of your plush velvet robe. sevika's back straightens, her eyes get wide, and her tongue darts out to lick her lips. you laugh, shaking your head fondly as you untie your robe.

sevika sits back in her throne like she's expecting a show. you just shake your head fondly, letting her believe what she needs to keep her relaxed and unsuspecting.

instead of shedding your robe, you pull the thin fabric belt free and circle the throne.

"where're you going?" sevika whines again, craning her neck to continue watching you. you just giggle, and start massaging her shoulders. she relaxes again. you giggle and kiss her scalp.

"you made me a promise, sev." you whisper.

sevika hums. "i did?"

"mhm. when we first got to the palace, remember what you swore to me?"

sevika sighs gustily, half ashamed, half annoyed. "promised i wouldn't work myself too hard."

"and do you think you've kept that promise?" you ask, keeping your voice soft and sweet. sevika huffs again.

"...no." she admits. you grin, and then move faster than sevika can process. in a flash, you've got her hands tied behind the back of the throne with the soft belt of your robe. sevika gasps, struggling against her restraints as you laugh and circle your trapped wife. "what the fuck!?" sevika squawks.

you giggle and straddle her lap again.

her eyes are drawn to the small gap in your robe, your cunt on full display for just a moment as you settle down on top of her legs. there's a shy, excited smile playing at the corner of her mouth. fuck, you love her.

"in my country, i could have you hanged for breaking your word to me." you say. sevika blinks up at you dreamily.

"yeah?"

you laugh and nod. "yeah. i kinda like you, though, and we're in your nation, so... i figured i could come up with a different punishment for you." you whisper.

sevika's eyes are dark and wide, her chest heaving even though she hasn't moved from her seat. "doesn't seem like much of a punishment." she says. you giggle, and lean forward to kiss her lips.

she'll think differently in a few minutes. for now, you enjoy the feeling of your strong wife rendered helpless beneath you.

sure, she could break through the flimsy loose knot you've tied her with. she doesn't, though, because she likes it. it's clear as day, written all over her excited face-- princess sevika's got a secret subby side.

it's in your top ten favorite things about her (on the sexual version of the list.)

you kiss her until she's putty in your hands, slowly, mindlessly grinding against her lap.

when she starts to whimper and her feet start to shuffle on the floor beneath her, you pull away with a smile.

"need something?" you ask.

"fuck, please." sevika whines. you laugh.

"please what baby? you didn't even ask for anything." you tease, cupping her blushing cheeks in your hands.

sevika gulps and scrunches her eyes shut to focus on her words. "i-i wanna see you." she whines.

you laugh. "so take my robe off." you say, pushing your chest forward. sevika groans. "y'know. i was waitin' naked in bed for you." sevika shivers underneath you. you giggle. "was kinda hopin' you'd come to bed and take advantage of me-- maybe i'd wake up with your hands on me..." sevika's enraptured with your story, nodding up at you to get you to continue. you smile down at your sweet girl, and kiss her nose. "but since you decided to be bad, i woke up freezing cold and all alone instead."

sevika actually whimpers. you try (and fail) to bite back your grin at the sound. "i-i'm sorry." she whines. you giggle.

"not as sorry as you're gonna be, baby." you promise her, kissing her pouting lips.

sevika's predictable once you get to know her.

it's one of your top ten favorite things about her. (on the not sexual list)

she likes a big breakfast in the morning, and then smaller meals throughout the day. she prefers her stiff, utilitarian military uniform to her flouncy royal gowns; and if she can help it, she'll wear pants. and, since the day she had the royal artisans hand craft a strap for the two of you: sevika hardpacks when she goes to work.

it makes her feel hot, and it honestly helps her fill out her (customarily men's) uniform pants. plus-- more times than not, watching sevika work gets you worked up. it's just more convenient for her to put it on every morning.

so, when you unclasp her pants and push them down her hips, you're counting on the bulge in her boxers. the sight of it makes you grin. "one of these days i'm getting my own cock made." you sigh as you start to stroke her bulge.

sevika shudders, both from your words and from the pressure of your hand. "you wouldn't know what to do with it." she huffs.

you giggle. "probably not. i'm sure you'd figure out something to do with it, though." you laugh. sevika blushes bright red, and you laugh, leaning forward to nibble her ear.

"sh-shut up." she whines.

"oh please, like you're not soaking your pants thinkin' about me fuckin' you." you tease. sevika's thighs clench together and you cackle.

"b-baby." sevika whines.

"you just never know sev. one of these days, you'll be crawlin' under my skirts to taste me 'n i'll get to fuck your throat instead." sevika shudders, squeezing her eyes shut and burying her face against your shoulder. you giggle. "you like that?"

"yes." sevika's voice cracks, and her answer comes out as a squeak.

"mmh. me too. 'm so wet thinkin' about it, look." you whisper, before you reach under your robe and swipe two fingers up your wet cunt.

sevika lunges forward, wrapping her lips around your fingers before you can even properly show off your arousal. she moans at the taste of you, her eyes locked on yours as she swirls her tongue between your digits.

your cunt squeezes around nothing at the feeling, and you moan, shoving your fingers further into her mouth. sevika takes it perfectly, her spit trailing down your wrist as you start to fuck her mouth with your fingers.

"fuck, princess." you groan. "thinkin' about suckin' my cock, huh?" you ask. sevika's eyes roll back in her skull, and she nods around your fingers. you shove a third past her lips, wanting to fill her completely. the little wet noises coming from her mouth only get louder. "'m thinkin' about it too. thinkin' about fuckin' you over the balcony at home so you can tell the entire kingdom how fuckin' good i feel."

sevika chokes on your fingers, her eyes go wide, and then she falls apart beneath you, shivering and shaking in her throne as she cums in her pants. you groan, pulling your fingers out of her mouth only to replace them with your tongue, your grip on her jaw possessive as you fuck her mouth with your tongue.

"shit, sev, did you just fuckin' cum?" you gasp. sevika's still shivering and whimpering, and you kiss her again. "fuck, baby, that wasn't even your punishment! you weren't even inside me yet!" you laugh, your words interspersed with the kisses you're pressing to her face and neck.

"shut up!" she whimpers, embarrassed. you kiss her again.

"absolutely fucking not. that was so hot, shit-- i was gonna tease you so much more," you whine as you pull her cock out of her boxers, lining it up with your cunt, "but now i fuckin' need you."

sevika collapses against the throne when you sink down on her like she can actually feel you. she's still shaking from the aftershocks of her orgasm-- her handsfree orgasm-- and the reminder of it only makes you more desperate.

"fuck!" you squeal. sevika's cock is big. she usually takes her time with you, warming you up with her mouth and fingers before she finally pushes inside. but this-- this almost painful stretch-- it's making you see stars.

"baby--"

"shit, sev, you feel so fuckin' good." you groan.

"fuck, love."

you start to rock your hips and both of you whimper at the motion. "mmmfuck. can't wait to stretch you out like this." sevika gasps at your words and her head flops forward so she can bite at your throat, muffling her moans. "i'll fuck you so good, baby, i promise. fuck all the stress outta you..."

sevika growls against you-- a sound that you only ever hear when you're about to be in deep shit in the best fucking way. you're too lost in your pleasure to notice, starting to bounce on her lap as you let your fantasies and the feeling of your wife carry you away.

"fuck, sev, i'll fuck you so good i knock you up, baby."

a loud ripping sound rings thoughout the throne room, and before you can even open your eyes to figure out what's happened, sevika's launching forward, tipping both of you out of the throne.

you yelp your arms flailing uselessly as you fall, only for sevika's arms to reach out and grab you before you can crack your head open on the stone floor.

it occurs to you, very quickly in the split second that sevika takes to gently set you on the ground, that sevika's ripped through her bonds.

it's the last coherent thought you have for the rest of the night.

sevika fucks you like an animal, growling, clawing, and biting at you as you both slowly, slowly slide across the stone floor in front of the throne.

the smacking sounds of her hips meeting yours are bouncing off the high walls of the throne room, your shared moans reverberating until it melds into a constant, pleasured echo.

"sevika!" you wail. "fuck, fuck, sev, you-- baby, i love you!"

one of her hands is holding your thighs open, the other is smacking and pinching at your tits. she grins down at you, before swooping down to kiss your lips. "cum on my dick." she demands. "c'mon princess, cum for me."

the moment her hand trails up your thigh to touch your clit, you fall apart, screaming sevika's name as you soak your robe and her pants.

she grins down at you in admiration, kissing your cheeks, neck and chest as you try to catch your breath. you burst into giggles the second you've got enough air in your lungs.

"what's so funny?" sevika asks, though she's grinning like she's just as amused as you are.

"i hope lock took a really long walk." you huff.

sevika bursts into laughter, and she collapses on top of you. "fuck. i love you so much." she sighs happily.

you smile up at the arched ceiling and reach up to scratch your princess's scalp. "i love you more."

taglist!

@fyeahnix @lavendersgirl @half-of-a-gay @thesevi0lentdelights @sexysapphicshopowner

@shimtarofstupidity @chuucanchuucan @badbye666 @femme-historian @lia-winther

@ellsss @sevikaspillowprincess @emiliabby @sevikasbeloved @hellorai

@glass-apothecary @macaroni676 @artinvain @realgreeniebeanie @k3n-dyll

@sevsdollette @ellieslob

[methoughtsphantom]

DP x DC

not me thinking about imaginary scenarios of ten year old Tim Drake in the ghost zone (pariah’s castle)

where Tim thinks it’s strangely soothing that despite being the only one whose steps connect to the ground, there’s not that eerie silence that befell drake manor

strange blob creatures chitter softly and nip at his hair and swooshes and wisps of wind betray the presence of an invisible ghost

which after following he realizes it’s almost like he’s trailing after the black dark shadow that is batman again

which gives him the idea that, maybe, just this one time, he can play the part of robin

that in mind Tim makes out a game of sneaking to the side of ghosts that look like they’re brooding and if they can spot him he loses

most just grunt in response (very in character) while others fuss over him and ask questions which Tim uses to infodump

he also politely asks the ghost that always asks him how he’s doing to instead say the word “report”

(the ghost looks at him weirdly but humors him and besides the answer would be the same anyways)

Tim also(!!)

gets on the case of why the walls lack tangibility when he is the one leaning on them (he doesn’t live down the time he wanted to look cool only to fall through the wall)

hyperfixates on how gravity works in the ghost zone because he couldn’t do a skateboard trick he has pulled off many many times and he’s salty about it

tries to figure out where they are getting human food from (cause it’s hot enough to be homemade but also there’s no kitchen —so how could it be) (also he wants coffee)

finds out the dude that often gives him a side eye when he finds that Tim knows how to do something (math homework), is next in line for the throne and yet doesn’t have a single “mingle and talk people up” bone in his body. (despite it his networking is a solid 7/10)

gets a ghost horse to adopt him what

discovers pretty quickly that there are rooms to which he can’t phase through (a.k.a. he’s not allowed entry) to which he begrudgingly backs off even though that stands in his way of doing a very thorough layout™ of the place (robin would)

sulks over the lack of extreme sports in the place

(Danny takes him to the Far Frozen where they go tire sliding in the snow and where tim learns how to use a skateboard skate and also that ghost ice cream is just as good as normal ice cream)

sulks again cuz he caught a common cold

also because there’s no sun or moon poor Timmy’s already screwed sleep schedule gets more messed up to the point no one knows when or where he will fall asleep

(ghosts find him in the most unhinged of places with a signature purple cloak draped over him every. single. time.)

overall, be a menace

see-> the time he threatened to build ghost weapons he’d somehow memorized the blueprints of cause Danny wouldn’t let him visit the radium girls factory but yes the renaissance period

see-> that time he went through the whole ghost energy and how to work with it book section in the library and half an hour later had a prototype of a star wars laser beam made

(note: bribing only works for hot chocolate, not for letting him keep cool-looking guns)

just tim having the time of his life

clockwork being no help at all (the ghost loves being a cryptid)

and danny trying not to get attached while he progressively gets more concerned over this chaos child he emotionally adopted as his little brother

(to fit canon cause i want it to this would just be until Danny finds the dimension little Timmy is from, then they can safely yeet the child back to the moment he first went missing)

anyways before anyone knows it’s been three months

[blueishspace]

Looped Sun

*"You won" that's the last thing he remember saying to Scar as he wins Secret Life, he is... weirdly proud of him actually. Is that weird? Maybe. Then he feels himself being pulled back and-*

Loop #1

Grian woke up back in the desert, he couldn't understand how...and why? The Watchers surely wouldn't do this.

This time he tried to save Scar, maybe he could change the game a little? Doing it the same just seemed like a waste of an opportunity, and in the end if he was being honest getting to play Third Life again wasn't that bad and getting back to Hermitcraft after was even better.

He knew now that the moon was coming as soon as he stepped foot in s8... He was a bit frantic and got a few side eyes from the hermits that... slightly hurt but he managed to get everyone earlier then last time so that was a plus!

Season 9 on the other went by in a breeze, he joined Ren this time around to have some fun and managed to avoid the emperors destroying Grumbot so that was a plus.

Secret Life was just ending, this time with new tasks he didn't get to try last time, everything was good and Pearl won and-

Loop #2

Grian was back in the desert.

Maybe, he tought, he was supposed to fix stuff? Well, he could wait for Third Life to be over and warn everyone of the moon crash ...he had to tell everyone that he was a watcher but they took it well and he managed to get everyone into a different server.

Then, Ren taking the throne, he had joined him last time so maybe he was supposed to oppose him from the start, he could resist from resisting from starting a resistance.

When it came time for Secret Life he had to admit that he tried his best really to fix everything he could-

Loop #3

Back to the desert it is, that's fine... After 3rd Life he just had to not do wars and be as nice and kind as he could. He was fine really, it was a bit hard to not crave the chaos... At least the life games were a good way to let go and go feral.

This Secret Life had gone well, second place wasn't so shabby, now it was time to-

Loop #4

The desert sands were starting to get to his nerves, Scar noticed his distaste for them and made a joke about Anakin Skywalker because of course he did.

He didn't try anything weird this time, he just tought and tought and tought... was last in two games and got worried looks from hus friends but finally-

Loop #5

He got it! He just needed to win every single life game! Why didn't he think about it earlier? He's got pratice now, It's going to be a peace of cake!

...

Double Life, of course it was Double Life. Scar died and he got out first... By the time Secret Life ends he accepts that-

Loop #6

Stupid stupid stupid! He shouted at Scar! He's horrible! He didn't mean to but he hurt him... Mumbo shouts at him, that never happened before but he deserves. He didn't ever think he would make Scar cry like that, he's an horrible friend.

Grian locks himself in his base and when the moon crashes he greets it with a smile-

Loop #7

So permadeath can cause the loop to restart? Good to know...

He tests it again this time, just to be sure, logs off the server and jumps into the void between worlds, it's painful but-

Loop #8

This time he's determined. He's been doing this for ten years now. He wins every game, every single one. His friends say the game is rigged but he doesn't care because he did it!

He won! Secret Life ends with another victory to his name! He won-

Loop #9

...

...

He logs out of Third Life and hides in a cave for the whole season 8 until the moon crashes.

Loop #10

He says there's a glitch, Third Life is cut short and he never makes the others. It's hard to pretend nothing has happened but he manages.

By the time Secret Life should have happened he's in hus base, he can't be sent back now-

Loop #11

Nothing he do works, why doesn't it? Maybe he just hasn't gone extreme enough... it tooks a while to get the tnt but soon the entire server is rigged with tnt. He looks with manic glee as Third Life is destroyed.

He becomes a cultist for the moon and then an evil king before Ren... His friends are worried for him but they don't get the chance-

Loop #12

Maybe he's just supposed to play it straight, exactly like the original. He doesn't understand why it would be that but he has exausted all options.

It is extremely dull but he managed to get as close as possible to the original... He crossed your fingers as you tell Scar that he won-

Loop #13

He was going to figure this out, he built a time machine once back in season 6, he could do this.

It took a while to build another time machine but all he had to do was travel to a time after Secret Life and-

Loop #14

Keralis, Joe or maybe X? One of them must be able to help, he was sure of it.

He asked each of them but despite all the help they gave-

Loop #15

It was another Third Life when it happened, he and a yellow life Scar were walking on the desert sand, close to the ravine.

Scar: Oh! Almost fell down! Wouldn't want to do that again!

How did he know that- wait, had he said again? Did he... maybe there was hope!

Grian: Scar? What do you mean again?

Scar: ... Oh! Right uh I mean dying! Don't want to do that again?

Grian: Is time...repeating for you?

Scar: Grian? You too?

Grian: Oh thank the end, Scar!

Scar: Grian? You're here too? Why are we back here?

Grian: I have no idea.

And the two embraced eachother.

Next

[dryadalisliv]

“Arthur”

They were alone in the throne room, everyone had left a few moments ago. Arthur was sat upon his throne.

“You were just dismissed along with everyone else”

“Arthur” Merlin tried.

“Merlin, leave” Arthur gritted out of his teeth.

“No”

Arthur, who had pointedly not looked at the servant through the entire council meeting, now -finally- placed his eyes upon Merlin.

“What do you mean ‘no’, I am your king. You. Are. Dismissed”

“No” The warlock said, cheeks flushing with anger. “No, Arthur, we will talk. And we will talk now”

Arthur got up from his throne, standing a few steps over Merlin; towering as if the physical elevation was trying to prove what the king didn’t have when it came to Merlin. Yes he was his king, but he sure as hell did not rule over the warlock.

“You do well to remember who gives the orders here. Who the king is.”

“And you, Arthur, would do well remembering who here is loyal to you”

“Loyal.” Arthur huffed “Tell me, M er lin, I find it quite curious that the one who claims himself loyal to the king commits treason regularly in the heart of said kings kingdom, don’t you agree?”

“You, Arthur Pendragon, know nothing of what I have done for you” Merlin nearly screamed, the echo bouncing off the walls in the big room.

“No, and whose fault is that? Who is it that forfeited me of that information, I wonder?” The king yelled back.

“I would gladly tell if you would let me. I have tried for the past FOUR MONTHS!” The warlock roared.

“And what about before those four months, huh? You know, the TEN YEARS! Where you simply forgot to mention the fact that you practiced MAGIC! You know? THE MOST ILLEGAL THING IN CAMELOT! THE KINGDOM IN WHICH YOU HAVE BEEN LIVING IN FOR A DECADE!” Arthur spat, moving closer to the servant.

“You know I could not have told you while your father was alive; that would not have been fair to you. To ask you to choose between me and Camelot”

“I don’t care if it fair or not.” The king cried “And what when I was crowned? You didn’t think to tell me then?” Arthur asked, voice still laced with poison anger.

“Arthur” Merlin tried softly.

“Don’t ‘Arthur’ me” Arthur spat.

“That would be the exact same problem, don’t you see? It would just be a choice between your kingdom and me, instead of your father and me”

“And?” Arthur hissed “what gave you the right to take that choice from me?”

“Arthur, I was trying not to be cruel”

“Oh!” Arthur laughed, though his eyes were mirthless and the cackle was hollow. “You were trying not to be cruel ” he mocked.

“Did you ever think, that maybe, it would be crueller to keep this from me?”

Merlin was shaking, frustration crawling around his limbs, manifesting in his tightened fists and set jaw.

“I DONT KNOW” Merlin screamed after a moment of tense silence. “I don’t know”

“I think there is something else, about this, something you are not telling me!” Arthur accused.

“What?!” The warlock nearly begged “what? I don’t understand. I don’t understand!”

“Nor do I!” The king yelled back. “But there is something! Why wouldn’t you allow me the choice? Why keep this from me? You knew it would come out one day! Why?”

Merlin’s eyes were shining with unshed tears, body still shaking in despair and frustration.

“I DON’T KNOW ARTHUR! WHAT DO YOU WANT ME TO SAY?!” The raven asked desperately.

“The truth, for once” Arthur huffed.

“I don’t know what you want me to say?! That I was scared? That I didn’t know how to get the words out of my mouth, that I-“

Arthur was walking slowly further and further towards Merlin, as the warlock kept rambling, trying to find his thoughts.

“-didn’t want to see the betrayal in your eyes, or the hatred or-“

Merlin started letting the tears, he had so valiantly tried to keep at bay, fall.

“-or” his voice broke. “Or the fact that I knew, that in each case you wouldn’t chose me”

He whispered at last.

Silence.

“Oh Merlin” Arthur said softly. Reaching out and wiping away a tear from the warlock’s cheek with his thumb.

“I know I’m terrible at letting feelings show, but I had hoped you would know just a little how dear you are to me”

Merlin looked his king in the eyes for the first time since the tears overtook him.

“De-ar?” The warlocks voice broke at the questioning word.

“Very dear” Arthur said, maintaining eye contact, but showing a soft crimson heat over his cheekbones.

“Oh”

“Yes, oh” Arthur mocked fondly.

Merlin looked at his king intensely.

“Well- Well you are very dear to me too” he whispered after a few moments of silence, and if Arthur hadn’t been standing as close as he was, he probably wouldn’t have heard it.

“Seems we are in luck then” Arthur said with a smirk.

“Yes it would seem” Merlin grinned, still with Arthur’s thumb gently caressing his wet cheeks.

The king smiled and kissed his warlock.

[sunfyresrider]

The King's Wife

Aegon II Targaryen X Fem!Reader

Summary: After the miscarriage of the king’s first born child you must go through your grief alone. That is until he summons a dinner where all truths are revealed. Tags: child loss, semi toxic relationship, fluffy ending. Author’s Note: Hi anon! This is for your lovely self<3 I rewrote this like ten times I'm sorry

You loved your husband more dearly than anything in this world and he loved you all the same. It is rare that a person enjoys their betrothed let alone loves them. It was a perfect match, created by complete accident. The Hightowers needed allies, an army, and for their king to have heirs. You needed a husband, a home and a family to replace your own. Truly, it seemed impossible everything worked out so beautifully.

Until it didn’t. The old king died after your marriage, the one he did not attend. Within a week your entire world had been uprooted and torn apart. You had yet to produce an heir, but it had only been a handful of months. The Hightowers either waited too late or the king died too soon, you didn’t know which. One moment you were lying in bed peacefully with your husband, the next you were standing in the dragonpit adorned with a crown. 

The coronation was masterfully crafted to be an affair of the ages. To be remembered by all the small folk and Lords who attended, to prove Aegon was the one and only rightful heir to the throne. And you were his beloved queen. You never expected Aegon to wholly embrace his new duties, to faithfully serve the realm. In the several years you had been married he never once showed care for any of it. Obviously, there was a side of him you hadn’t yet seen.

For every hour in the past weeks since a crown was placed atop his head, he had been busy. He would scheme in the council room meticulously making plans to destroy the Blacks. He worked tirelessly to ensure the small folk’s love, to coerce lords to join his cause and dispose of those who did not. 

Needless to say, your husband had become a complete stranger. You saw him at night when he dragged himself into bed with a large sigh. You attempted to comfort him, to love him, but were. ‘I’m sorry, I’m just so exhausted I can’t bear to move.’ An excuse, you thought to yourself. You took to sleeping on the edge of the bed, facing the wall instead of the man you were supposed to be. You tried to remind yourself this was not intentional, he was a new king in the midst of the war, it wasn’t your fault he could not be bothered. 

Mayhaps you should have been more understanding, maybe you should have forced him to give you the same attention as he used to but there were now other more important things. As the days flew by you became increasingly ill with something you could not name. You rarely left the bed now, too fatigued to fathom moving. 

In fear that you may be contagious, you have started sleeping in separate chambers. If your mind wasn’t so dazed by whatever plagued you, you would be far angrier. The vomiting began on the third day and seemed to not stop. Every food or medicine placed in front of you made you gag. It was impossible to keep anything inside when it all wanted to come out. 

The fourth day was when you realized something was horribly amiss, though you told no one. It started in the morning, the worst cramps you had felt in your entire life. You panicked at the sight of the blood but forced yourself to bite your lip. You couldn’t risk bothering everyone during such a time filled with turmoil. It lasted three hours, the pain, the blood, and the tears mixing into your sweat. A babe no larger than your foot was born, deceased. 

You couldn’t put into words the feelings that were boiling inside you. The signs of pregnancy were barely there, this couldn’t be happening. It didn’t feel real, watching your single trusted handmaiden wrap the babe in cloth and take it away. It didn’t make sense; you hadn’t done anything out of the ordinary to cause this. 

There were no signs of pregnancy in the past months. No growing belly or swelling feet to accompany all of the other king list of ailments that came with being with child. This was cryptic and it needed to remain that way, no matter how much pain you were in. 

There were far too many things to take into account. You failed to birth a child, the one thing women are praised for in this realm, and you couldn’t do it. If the council discovered the truth, they may have your marriage annulled and you discarded. What is a queen’s worth if she cannot produce heirs? What is a wife’s worth if she cannot produce a family for her husband? In this world you would be seen as no better than a whore. 

Thus, you distanced yourself from him entirely. You would mourn alone, sleep alone and heal alone. If you told him only worse could come from it and you simply couldn’t handle it. The hours turned into days, days into weeks and weeks into one month since you laid with your husband… It was past time you ventured outside of your chambers. 

____________________________________

When you had first met, Aegon believed your love was one that could withstand any dissension. However, it was becoming increasingly clear he was wrong. Very few people in this world loved the king, a surprising fact considering he was THE king. You were the first to show him true love and probably the last… Slowly but surely his insecurities were becoming all consuming. The feeling of his heart being gutted out increasing by the hour. 

What had he done to scorn you so? Ever since you wed, he had changed his behavior, became a better son, a more dutiful king and adoring husband. Mayhaps he should have reached out to you more but how could he when you were so determined to be alone? Aegon had his downfalls but surely it wasn’t so bad you stopped loving him. Was it?  

He forced you to attend supper, alone… You sat at the far-left end of the table, as far from your husband as you could. The table was set with luxurious food from across the realm, none of which interested you, all of which made you nauseous. It was eerily silent; the only sound being made was Aegon’s silverware hitting the plate. 

He was detached from this dinner, his mind was elsewhere, somewhere, anywhere but here. His eyes remained fixated on his food attempting to ignore the tension between him and you. It wasn’t as if he hadn’t noticed the growing distance, the refusal to share a bed with him, the constant look of apathy plastered on your face at all times. You were growing to hate him, and it became increasingly clear every day… 

It was a miserable affair. Occasionally he glanced up from his plate and your eyes would meet. He gave a small smile and nod, which would be met with a faux smile on your part. Your plate remained empty; you remained almost completely still as if completely disassociated from the world around you. It was harrowing, watching his wife lose all interest in him. It didn’t matter what he did, you remained in constant dismay. 

“Is something bothering you?” He sighed, dropping his fork on his plate and gazing into you. “Nothing is bothering me, your grace. Is something bothering you?” He raised his eyebrows, sinking back into his chair. You’ve never referred to him as your grace let alone any formal titles. “You’re deflecting.”

“If I was deflecting, I would have changed the conversation.” You spoke in an irritated tone, avoiding all eye contact. Perhaps you truly did not love him anymore, he thought to himself. 

Aegon's eyes hardened, his lips thinned. He stared at you for a few moments, before he slammed his hand down on the table, making dishes clatter together.

"Yes, something is troubling me!" He shouted. This was the first time he ever raised his voice to you in your entire marriage. "For the past few weeks, you've barely spoken a word to me. I have tried to start countless conversations with you, but they all go nowhere. You refuse to share a bed with me, you refuse to accompany me to meetings…” 

You stood up from your seat, tears beginning to form at the corner of your eyes. “I? For weeks I tried to lay with you, to comfort you, but you refused my affection at all times and swat me away like a fly,” you shouted. Aegon's nostrils flared, and he clenched his fists on the table. ”Oh? And what sort of 'affection' do you expect me to give you when you're laying here like a corpse! Sulking about the entire keep like a ghost!" His throat caught, and he took a few seconds to breathe to hold it in, but his eyes were red, rimmed with tears. 

“You don’t care at all do you?” You yelled, fingers shakily gripping the edge of the table to keep your balance. "No, I don't care!” A deafening silence fell across the room. You stopped crying, regained your composure. “I believe it is time for me to go to bed. Goodnight, your grace.” You walked out of the room calmly, ignoring the hurricane of emotions in your heart. 

Shit

“Wait!” Aegon made chase, but you picked up your speed. “Leave me alone!” You lifted your dress so you would not trip as you made a dash to your chambers. “No!” The sounds of your voices carried through the keep as he chased you down. The guards and select nobles watched the chase in shock, disapproval and embarrassment for you both. 

Your feet scurried across the floor, tears freely flowing from your face. You ripped the door to your chambers open, flinging yourself inside to try to escape him. As you tried to will the door shut his body slammed against it, throwing you back. Aegon forced himself inside, slamming and locking it behind him. You stared at him, too heartbroken and angry to speak. He panted, “no more. No more running. We’re going to have this out.” 

You turned to walk away, further into your chambers. Aegon grabbed you by the wrist, surprisingly gently. "Please, stop hiding," he spoke between breaths. "Every day I have not had a moment's peace since you’ve gone away. Every night I have not slept because you are not there. I- I’m sorry I raised my voice, I’m sorry I did not pay you enough attention. I’m sorry for whatever sin I have committed to drive you away.” 

You turned to face him, tears streaming down his face, cherub cheeks painted a soft hue of red. “I can’t go on like this. I can’t live not knowing if you still love me.” His words broke you, reopened the wound your lost child left. You loved him, you loved him more than anyone in this realm. "I had a miscarriage," you whispered. "I didn't know how to tell you.” 

“W-what?” Aegon was confused, ceasing all of his movements the second you uttered the words. You began to sniffle, guilt eating away at your heart. “I- I didn’t know I was with child. It happened so suddenly and I- I” You couldn’t finish your sentence between the sobs. He pulled you close, burying your face in his chest, “i-i’m sorry. I’m sorry” you wailed like a newborn babe. 

“Shhh, don’t say sorry.” He pushed down his feelings of regret to comfort you. “I should have been there. You should have never gone through that alone.” Aegon held you tightly as you cried, tears streaming down his own face. He murmured soothing words in your ear and stroked your hair until your sobs subsided. Finally, you lifted your head and looked into his eyes. They were filled with love, concern, and a hint of fear. "I still love you," you said softly. "More than anything."

Relief flooded his face, and he pulled you into a deep kiss. It was a kiss that spoke of the past, present, and future. It was a kiss full of forgiveness, love, and hope. When the kiss ended, Aegon brushed a strand of hair from your face and smiled. "We can make another babe if you’d like." His poorly timed inappropriate jests normally fell flat but to his surprise and enjoyment, you laughed. it was a happy, pure laugh, the kind that he hadn't heard in a long time.

[tiny-breadcrumbs]

Being a doctor in the jianghu must be wild. Like if you hear them comparing notes, it certainly contain some crazy shit that you never think is actually possible before. What do you mean your patient is getting skewered through his chest in the battle, maybe cracking some ribs, and probably nicked part of his spine when the blade pinned him into the ship's mast, can still stand on his two feet and be snarky ten years later? Then another anonymous source walk through the door bringing his case of this one patient that poisoned by one of the most deadly poison in the world that currently have no cure for ten years, half a step into his grave, but still take a detour to save people and trying to cook some horrible recipe. After that they can gossip about this one famous neighbor lady that do surgery to move one spiritual essence to another person without anaesthetic and have the said donor survive. Oh, have you heard about this one name in the capital that is reported to do a succesful operation of rearranging someone bones to cure a poison and monitoring said person while he do a devastating level of sweeping the throne room?

Yeah. Wild.

[zukosdualdao]

i promise i'll do better (i will soften every edge)

zutara month, day 11: "mom and dad are fighting again", @zutaramonth

summary: kya interrupts an argument between katara and zuko.

warnings: reference to (implied) abuse/domestic violence, wrt to ozai's treatment of ursa.

other notes: lyrics from 'light' by sleeping at last. don't ask me how timelines work idk. yes there is a zutara daughter named kya here (separate entity from the lok kya.) she wears her hair in a southern water tribe braid and zuko calls her firecracker and it’s very cute. not really relevant but in this story i’m imagining she’s a nonbender.

“Katara, you know I agree with you.”

Across from him, she crosses her arms, and Zuko sighs. The throne room is empty, save for the two of them, and Zuko feels trapped, claustrophobic in the walls. They’ve made a point of opening up windows in the castle, letting light filter in, getting rid of old, haunting portraits, and making something new and beautiful together. 

But the throne room doesn’t have windows to open. On a day like today, at times like these, it’s all too easy to remember the staunchly severe figures both his grandfather and father made here, walling themselves as they did behind high, towering fires.

Maybe they shouldn’t be having this talk here. It's too late now, but something to note for the future.

“It doesn’t seem like it.”

“Of course I want to increase reparations soon,” he insists. “That’s the plan, and that’s always been the plan. But we have to be smart about this,” he tries to remind her. “We can’t do it all at once, or people will try to block—”

“Oh, so now you’re all about thinking things through! Those instincts could have served you well years ago, you know.”

Zuko closes his eyes and runs a hand through his hair. The words are biting, but it’s nothing he can’t handle. Things have been tense again in the Fire Nation lately. Better than ever before in some ways. Worse in others.

The first years after the war were a turbulent time in the Fire Nation—riots from those not happy with the changing of the old guard, strikes from workers contesting the need to pay reparations to the other nations, whispers of loyalists to the old regime plotting to get either Ozai or Azula back on the throne. A few assassination attempts, all handled efficiently but reason enough for concern.

Ten years past the end of the war, though, and things have started to stabilize. The plan has always been to increase reparations once the Fire Nation’s economy has improved, and Zuko intends to keep his word. But part of the system he’s trying to build means that there are representatives from all over the Fire Nation, as well as the other nations, and they each have their own agendas. It’s a tricky thing to navigate; he has to take all of their concerns seriously, of course, but also act according to his own principles. To live up to the promises he made years ago, and that he’ll continue to make for years to come.

Katara looks at him with a combative raise of her eyebrow.

It’s taken a strain on their relationship. It doesn’t happen often, but when it does, they’re both a little too good at lashing out, both a little too good at saying the thing that will hurt, even if they immediately regret it.

But usually, by the end of the day if not before, they can remember they’re on the same side, for all that their perspectives might differ.

“Can we pause?” Zuko asks of her, and her features soften. “Just—try to hear each other out? Katara, I understand…” but before he can finish, the large door to the throne room creaks, and Zuko watches as one of the serving maids guides their daughter into the room.

“See?” Kya points to them, eyes wide with alarm and lip quivering. “Mom and Dad are fighting again.”

Something in Zuko’s stomach drops. He doesn’t want her to worry about this. About them. He’d had to worry about his parents, to worry about his mother, Ozai looming over her, and sometimes Zuko was pretty sure he saw fear in her eyes where there should have been love, and then—

She’d been gone. And he’d drawn his own conclusions, quietly and with little reason to question them.

“She coudn’t sleep,” Hina says apologetically, and Zuko only waves a hand. “She was asking for you both.”

“Thank you for bringing her.”

“Oh, sweetie, don’t worry,” Katara says, walking over and lifting Kya up onto her hip. “Things are just tense right now,” she says, with a guilty sideways look to Zuko, who smiles weakly. “It’s not anything for you to worry about.”

“Promise?”

Zuko walks over to join the huddle and places a kiss atop her dark hair, which is twisted in a braid. “Promise, little firecracker. Mom and Dad are just trying to figure out the right way to handle something.” He meets Katara’s eyes and tries to impress the sincerity of his words on her. “But we will figure it out. We always do.”

Katara smiles at him and uses the hand not keeping Kya secure on her hip to touch the small of Zuko’s back in a gentle gesture. The three of them stand huddled together, and for the first time in… weeks, probably, Zuko feels his body relax, just a little.

He smiles back, a little exhausted but a lot relieved—to have Katara with him, there to both challenge and support him, to have Kya with them, creative and funny and quick as a whip as she is, and at only age four. He’s glad to have his family.

They are okay. Right now, they are okay. Whatever else may come.

[mmelolabelle]

For three days I have tried to articulate just how ridiculous it is for HOTD writers to think that it was realistic that Daemon would try push his own claim to throne, independent to Rhaenyra’s.

Rule through her? Sure. Disobey her or act outside of her orders? Naturally, it’s Daemon. Try to ensure that one his kids inherits after her? Maybe. But attempt to claim the throne himself? Impossible. Madness. It makes no sense.

Yeah, Daemon is an unstable Targ supremicist with self-esteem issues, a penchant for violence and has trouble with long term planning, but he’s not an unintelligent. He hasn’t woken up and suddenly forgotten what kingdom and society he lives in. 100+ years of Targaryen family history haven’t been erased from his memory. He might be a neglectful parent and perfectly happy to murder his family members, but he does know and remember who those family members are.

Daemon is Viserys’ brother. As of 2x05 all five of Viserys’ adult children are alive. He still has five living grandchildren – two of whom are Daemon’s own sons. In no universe is anyone in Westeros going to skip over TEN of the previous king’s direct descendants to crown his younger brother. Daemon has to know that. Everyone knows that. It’s the one rule regarding succession that all of Westeros currently agrees on; children come before siblings. There is a whole ass war of succession going on where who should inherit and how is being questioned by the entire continent and no one is even suggesting skipping Viserys’ entire line and crowning Daemon. House Targaryen already had a civil war about this very issue not even a hundred years prior between Maegor the Cruel and the children of Aenys I. Maegor tried to take the throne from his brothers kids and pretty much the whole realm was like “No, you absolute psycho.” It would be unthinkable that anyone would side with Daemon in a similar situation.

The idea that Daemon would ever consider it, believe it to be possible, let alone try it is beyond belief. It doesn’t make the character appear evil, or ambitious, or complex, it paints him as being so stupid that it’s a wonder he can tell which end of a dragon is which. It’s hack writing.

[emry-stars-art]

For the Royal AU Twinyard backstory... Maybe Andrew, as a second son, was sent away for study? He could have become an apprentice to a knight or a scholar when he was young, maybe even with the Spears, and that's where Bad Shit Happened. And then he could have returned when he became of age, or when their last parent dies and Aaron needs a familiar (ha!) face around

*excited* okay okay this has been brought up a few times now and every time I read it the idea grows on me more, you’re all so smart for it

(I was gonna put the art at the end but this got a lot longer and sadder than I anticipated so. Sometimes Andrew likes to do stuff like this when they’re stuck talking to important boring dignitaries)

(It’s the main reason Aaron develops an incredible poker face)

tws this time are all canon compliant

Honestly yeah! I do think this is great because I want the twins’ father to be around after birth and for a while, because the whole point of Andrew being sent elsewhere is probably so they can give that extra attention to Aaron and raise him as the heir to the throne. So it’s a perfect balance, in my mind, of a family that cares enough to get Andrew an education/proper upbringing and a father that doesn’t care enough to spend time on a second son.

In my head the Spears would be almost always overbearing, partly because Andrew is the prince and they Do Not want to disappoint the royal family and partly because Andrew is the prince and they immediately assume this little five year old they get on their doorstep is going to be a spoiled brat. Even though he isn’t. And, as you may guess, the only thing they turn a blind eye to is Drake. Drake, their own son, probably the real spoiled brat that gets his way in all things, even with the young prince. Faces no consequences, even when Andrew tries to tell someone. It’s probably his governess or nanny at first (either way, it’s not really important what the role is, just that she’s there). And this woman has been Andrew’s biggest advocate since he arrived, she genuinely cares about and is worried for the little prince with his bruises and fear. She cares enough to bring this up to Duke Spear - maybe he really is dumb enough to just be unaware, she hopes - and confront him about Andrew’s treatment. But of course the duke doesn’t do anything to discipline his son. Instead, the governess is fired and a new woman takes her place, a woman that isn’t as outspoken and won’t ever question the authority of the Spear family. Andrew learns soon enough that trying to tell someone or speak out only makes things worse for himself. Sometimes he still wonders where that first governess is, if she’s doing well.

Meanwhile at the castle, Aaron is going through his own rigorous training. A lot of the same stuff as Andrew is learning, honestly, with a few added duties and lessons and a lot more official meetings he attends with King Minyard. It’s a pretty average upbringing for an heir, I think.

Then maybe when Aaron is around the age of ten or so, King Minyard passes. This wouldn’t normally be a political issue, since it’s expected of the Queen to take over and divide the king’s half of the duties as she sees fit until either she remarries or has an heir become old enough to take the throne, at which time she may pass it to the child or continue to reign until she either passes or is deemed unfit. And, politically, this is exactly what happens. What most don’t see is how grief stricken she becomes and then remains. She can’t pull herself from her grieving, and instead of passing duties to more fitting people, Queen Tilda simply lets young Prince Aaron take on as many duties as he can without breaking down. (Though he has, before. Likely a few times. A kid being pushed past his limit again and again.) Aaron grows up so much faster than he ever should have. He’s thirteen now and sometimes he shakes with stress.

Then the queen finally gives into her grief and passes as well. If it weren’t for Katelyn, Abigail, and Betsy, Aaron might have been next to lose his mind, leaving the throne empty. As things are, Aaron swallows everything down just long enough have word sent to the Spear family. He wants his brother back. A familiar face and his quiet, desperate hope: someone to just help.

And return him they do. Andrew’s been perfectly competent with all his studies, they say, they’d even managed to break that stubborn streak. (They didn’t like he wouldn’t speak or shake hands when instructed. They didn’t like being told no.) And yes, it’s a familiar face. Aaron sees the carriage door open, sees his twin for the first time in eight years, but he isn’t sure he recognizes Andrew. Andrew isn’t supposed to have bags under his eyes like this. Andrew didn’t hold his jaw so tightly. And Andrew certainly didn’t answer questions like some kind of unthinking, unfeeling shell.

The first thing Andrew says to Aaron getting off that carriage is “No.” It’s quiet, but he does say it. Aaron is confused - he’d thought they’d still be allowed to hug each other, or shake hands at least - but he does step back and instead ask if Andrew wants to see his room. He can see Andrew relax.

It might hurt Aaron a little when he watches the Spear boy get a hug with no protest, or how Andrew quietly addresses the duke with more than a one word sentence. But he’s not going to ask about it for a while. He’s the stranger to Andrew here, after all.

(I think Andrew does let him ask. The most he tells Aaron about it - maybe as much as a year later - is that the younger Spear had been much worse at listening than Aaron ever is. It is much better here. At least you and Nicky understand the meaning of ‘no’. Leave it at that. And after that Aaron is even more supportive of Andrew’s wide bubble than he was before. He enforces it himself when he has to. And growing up together for longer, with no looming secrets or much reason for animosity between them - it isn’t Aaron’s fault King Minyard decided to hand Andrew off and the twins are both mature enough even at that age to know it - means the twins are much closer than in canon. I don’t think it would be a typically ‘fond’ relationship, because they’ve both still been through it. But they support each other in all things, no questions asked, and always get through problems together.

It doesn’t take much longer than that first year for Aaron to earn the right to touch Andrew, even if he does need to give or show warning before he does. Andrew never says it, but he’s grateful that Aaron is generous with his shoulder pats. It feels a little like the validation he never got anywhere else. And Aaron never says it, but he’s grateful that Andrew is always at his side to tell people ‘no’ when Aaron is technically not allowed to.)

[yanderes-galore]

would you write a concept for adult! Rhaenyra Targaryen with a reader who believes she is the rightful heir to the throne (House of The Dragon)?

Of course! I think I have some ideas for this :) I wrote this as I was watching HOTD so I am sorry if the plot is a little everywhere. When I finished this I actually didn't finish the series but I assure you I'm working on it >:). This may make it vague but let me know if I at least got it somewhat accurate.

Takes place throughout the show but mostly focuses around Season 1 - Episode 6 and after, her adult years essentially.

MASSIVE SPOILERS FOR HOUSE OF THE DRAGON

Yandere! Rhaenyra Targaryen with Darling who sides with her

Pairing: Romantic

Possible Trigger Warnings: Gender-Neutral Darling, Sexism, Forbidden love, Trust issues, Brief mention of incest when it comes to Daemon (It's HOTD, I mean... expected, right?), Mentions of intimacy, Marriage trouble, Infidelity, Obsession, Manipulation, Stalking, Coaxing into intimacy, Controversial relationships, Forced relationship, Abuse of power, Murder by dragon implied.

You had been friends with Rhaenyra since she was a young girl.

Being of similar ages you had gotten along just as much as she did with Alicent.

Except you didn't sleep with her father... which made her respect you even more than her among several other reasons.

Rhaenyra has had to deal with sexism her entire life.

She was her father's only child, but she was a woman.

Her family could have no queen for the sake of the realms.

She is unable to claim her place on the Iron Throne due to being female.

What made the princess grow closer to you was your shared resentment.

You felt it was wrong to deprive her of her birthright.

Many of the common folk felt Rhaenyra would make a poor ruler due to her gender.

You went against such beliefs and supported the princess even at a young age.

Aegon II may be the first male heir, but Rhaenyra was the first heir period.

As a result of your shared feelings... you two had always been close.

However maybe you were wrong... perhaps you should've kept your distance.

You allowed her to vent her resentment of her father towards you, among other issues she may have.

You talk of her being pushed to marry... her being neglected for being who she is... Rhaenyra feels you are one of the only people she can properly trust.

Everyone else seems to want something from her.

All she wants is to fly Syrax and speak with you.

She doesn't want to marry... she just wants to be herself.

She craves solitude and trust, things only you give her a taste of even when she's older.

It isn't until much later that she develops her yandere behavior.

This is because you choose to be loyal to her even with everything that's happened.

The past you two share is long, intense, and has had nothing but controversy.

You were merely a servant, your only duty to tend to the princess.

You were never the biggest fan of Queen Alicent.

As such you usually never got involved with the queen.

Truthfully, Rhaenyra didn't feel any complex feelings towards you until the rumors.

Just having you beside her gave her comfort.

The princess thought of you as a close friend.

She told you everything and you vowed to keep your mouth shut.

You heard it all... and witnessed the aftermath of every action the princess did.

The incident with her and her uncle, Daemon... her bedding of Criston Cole... then there was the mess of the wedding.

Being loyal to the princess was a scary task.

You became worried at times, but seeing Rhaenyra so vulnerable when she calls you to her...

You can't just abandon her.

Even if you should've to save yourself.

Even with the affair between her and Harwin Strong for kids, you offered to help.

How long have you supported her? From the time you and her were young... when her and Alicent were still friends.

Rhaenyra doesn't realize how important you are to her until ten years after her marriage.

In the beginning she had cared for you like a dear friend.

She clung to you when Alicent and her grew apart...

She clings to you even now in private when she hears of the rumors about her children.

You are her rock, essentially.

You have always been someone to pledge loyalty to.

This is what sparks an adoration towards you in Rhaenyra.

You've been more loyal than Alicent... Cole... her own damn father at times.

The princess drags you with her wherever she goes.

You even end up taking care of her kids when she's busy.

You don't think the princess feels anything but friendship or mutual respect towards you.

Even when she compliments how well you are with children, you brush it off.

"I can't believe you have none of your own... you're lovely with them."

"Oh, princess... my duty is to serve you. I couldn't possibly raise a child at the same time."

For some reason... you remember her smiling when you said that.

It was strange but you didn't think of anything malicious.

Rhaenyra never really felt a true connection with her husband since the marriage.

They were incompatible, she told you this years ago.

She had feelings for Harwin up until his death... even Daemon... in the end perhaps she didn't like them as much as she thought.

No, now she felt her heart tighten when she saw you.

The princess had you spied upon and always had her eye on you.

Her gaze towards you changed from that of a friend to a dragon towards meat.

As a loyal servant who vows to side with the princess at almost any cost, you're vulnerable to manipulation.

Honestly if Rhaenyra asked you in private to bed with her, how do you refuse?

It's strange and awkward for you... but she is your princess.

Rhaenyra seems like she has the power to manipulate her darling.

Not only are you her closest ally, but you truly do care for her.

Marriage isn't possible for the both of you, not only is there controversy but Rhaenyra feels it's safer if things between you are kept quiet.

Even if you object to the relationship between you and her, Rhaenyra encourages you to keep things quiet.

For her, right?

You'd do anything for her, wouldn't you?

Oh... the moment the Targaryen civil war starts?

Your fate is sealed.

If Rhaenyra already manipulated you and dragged you everywhere already, you're going to be on her side.

Don't worry... she promises your outfit will be a lovely shade of black.

Rhaenyra's obsession in this case is slow.

The seed was truly planted when you two were young, but the obsession becomes it's full potential by the time Rhaenyra becomes The Black Queen.

You learn that the princess you once cared for isn't someone you can side with anymore.

No... she's a ruthless queen who fights and forces others to listen to her.

You included... even if there is no violence between you... her sweet tone is deceptive and forced at times when you hesitate to listen.

Rhaenyra would feel like she could do whatever she wants as a queen.

She's powerful enough to execute others with one shout.

She certainly doesn't appreciate anyone going against her word.

The moment she has this much power, you feel threatened and isolated.

If she makes your relationship public or not is up to her, she manipulates you either way.

People already know her reputation... would it make a difference if the people know since she kills those who speak of your relationship?

The Black Queen claims she loves you, with a sweet smile and caring touch.

Based on the past you share... and the bodies she's burned for you and her rule... you aren't sure what to think.

Rhaenyra says she's always loved you... but you can't think clearly with the idea of a dragon swallowing you at her command.

So you agree... and silently hope her rule comes to an end soon.

[itstheendofthegoddamnworld]

The Dragon’s Spoil (Aemond Targaryen x Rivers! Reader)

Part 1   |   Part 2  |   Part 3   |   Part 4

Summary: The baseborn daughter with little knowledge of who your Lord father was, your life is caught in the midst of war. The Riverlands are the base for the Greens and the Blacks, dragons loom in the skies, and men die daily, especially within the walls of the cursed Harrenhal. It’s only when a certain one-eyed dragon comes for his retribution. The year is 130 AC and war endures.

A/N: You’re Alys Rivers but with less sorcery and more so just judgement over being a bastard. You’re around the same age as Aemond, maybe two-three years older than him at the time of the Dance.

Wordcount: 2,400

The Dragon’s Revenge

It is known by Commons and Nobles alike that the Targaryens have always ruled the skies.

They had for the last century: when the Old King had his decades of peace, continuing to his grandson, Viserys I. Dragons continued to fly over towns and for that century, the common people stared in both admiration and terror.

Peace did not continue for long, not after the death of the King and its disputes finally sprung forth. Rhaenyra, the King’s eldest daughter and Aegon, the second born but eldest living son from his second marriage had begun their war for the throne, and the people suffered for it. 

It didn’t matter what the poor folk thought, not when their opinions were silenced over the sounds of constant clashing steel and the rumbling of dragons roaring above. Wherever war went, the people died for it, and on and on did the cycle continue.

The Riverlands had seen the most of the war, for a dragon appeared from the skies in early 129 AC. The blood wrym circled and landed on the Kingspyre Tower with a screech that shook the castle grounds. 

The castellan, Ser Simon Strong, yielded it without the need of spilling blood to Prince Daemon Targaryen and he used it as a nearby base to carry his side’s attacks.

For the next few months, dragons and armies came and went through Harrenhal, your home for as long as you could remember. You had been fostered by the old man and uncle of Lyonel Strong, Ser Simon after the death of your mother, an unknown woman no one knew of. Not much was known about your father too: noble or baseborn too, there was one thing for certain, your looks were undeniably Strong.

The first men's blood was strong in your veins: from the curls that reached the small of your waist, black as a raven’s wing, to your eyes, brown as chestnuts. Squires and maids whispered within the walls of Harrenhal, murmuring of your potential parentage. One of the many kin of House Strong, many whispered it had been Harwin “Breakbones”, the man who fathered Princess Rhaenyra’s children with her first husband, Laenor Velaryon. 

Others whispered it had been the castellan himself, Ser Simon, who took pity on his natural daughter, taking her in as a handmaiden. Some even mocked it had been Larys, Harwin’s brother and the Master of Whispers for Aegon’s small council, but those also mocked that spoke that it would’ve been impossible for him to even father children.

Harrenhal was a ruined castle: those who resided in its walls spoke of ghosts, deathly and dreadful, cursing those who was the owner. It was no surprise to you when you had heard of the rumours: of Lyonel and Harwin’s deaths and those that came before.

“Have you heard?” You had been kneeling by the fireplace when your closest friend, Perra came running through into the main apartment, a letter screwed in her hand.

“If you’ve come to tell me this bloody war is not over, I’m not interested.” You chided, wiping away the ash from your calloused hands against your apron. 

Perra was from House Grey, a knightly house sworn to House Tully. Brown-haired and long-faced and a girl of ten-and-seven, she was as skinny as a stick and small as one too. Her uncle, Ser Garibald had sworn to the Blacks from the beginning of the conflict and it was without a doubt that Perra agreed.

She grinned toothily, shoving the letter in your face, assuming you were literate. “You will be most pleased to read what just arrived.” As you unravelled the scroll, your eyes darting over the words you were reading. “My uncle brings news. The Queen has taken over King’s Landing. Aegon has not been seen nor his children. The Queen Helaena and Dowager Alicent have been captured.” 

“The Greens will not be most pleased to have their Queen returning to claim her father’s throne.” You rejected the letter quickly, handing it back over to Perra.

“This is good news, Y/N. The war will soon be over. Stark bannermen march down, so too will the Arryns.”

It didn’t seem possible that the wounded usurper king was missing but not much was known of his remaining brothers. Daeron remained at large a threat with his dragon, Tessarion, but what about the one-eyed brother, Aemond?

“You forget one thing, Perra. The King may be missing, but he has two other brothers, Aemond and Daeron. And they have dragons too. What would we do with them? Or where could they be?” 

“They fight elsewhere.” Perra was too naïve to know such a thing, the excitement and positivity were good to hear of, but you doubted the Greens would leave the capital open so easily. “Vhagar has not been seen with her rider for days.”

Certainly, they will be looking for revenge. You dreaded. 

Your conversation was broken when the low, dreadful sound came as a response of caution.

A long, blow of a horn was sounded in the courtyard, and the rush of footsteps and shouts erupted as vast as the sound of battle. Steel and shields could be heard being collected and as Perra rushed to the window to look out, she shouted. “A dragon comes! The Rogue Prince without a doubt.”

How you wish it had been.

The shadow of this dragon was much too large to belong to the blood wrym, looming over the entirety of Harrenhal like dusk. It appeared as if it was an apparition, and fears of what happened a century ago from the first Aegon could happen again.

It had not been Daemon that had arrived, but rather a one-eyed Prince who landed in the courtyard.

The ground shook when the old beast landed, mighty and worn from a thousand battles. The she-dragon growled, hissed and spat as she stared down at those who had gathered arms in protecting the base.

From her saddle, Aemond climbed down, appearing in gleaming armour of black and gold, adorning a helm of similar colours and a long dark plume. He was not mistaken for another Targaryen, for when the banners of a gold dragon on green cloth began to be marched through, you realised the war had not been over just yet.

You and Perra ran as fast as you could, gathering behind the stalls, and observing the entire ordeal go down. 

From this close, you saw the Prince, and despite missing an eye, you couldn’t help but marvel at how otherworldly and comely he was from afar. Targaryen women were blessed with the rare beauty of Old Valyria, and so too were the men.

Aemond stood mighty in front of his dragon, and beside him, the new Hand, Ser Criston Cole, aged and haggard and not so knightly as the stories spoke of him. War and hatred had aged him horribly, and he stood with a sour face, adorning the golden armour of the Kingsguard and pin of the Hand.

“Which Strong rules this castle?” Aemond spoke aloud to the crowd that had gathered and when no one spoke or came quick enough, Vhagar hissed impatiently.

It didn’t take long for a voice to be heard, emerging the old man who presumably shared your blood. “Aye, I am.”

Aemond responded coolly towards him, “Ser Simon, I assume? Can you recall to me, Ser, which Master of Whispers sits at my brother’s council?”

“My grand-nephew, Larys, my Prince.”

“And you agree that you share the familiar ties to Strong blood?”

“Aye, my Prince.”

His seeing eye was wide with rage, mouth twisted when he spoke in unwavering patience. “Then pray tell, why have you yielded the castle to my uncle, and kept it as a base for the forces of his whore of a wife and pretender Queen?”

Ser Simon did not yield under the heavy gaze of the Prince, nor with the hot breath of the dragon eyeing him down. He had no hesitation when he stared death in the face, and he must’ve known that he would die this day. 

Perhaps in the jaws of a dragon. You thought.

Simon spoke calmly. “Prince Daemon took the castle without spilling blood. I am, without a doubt, loyal to my Queen.”

Aemond tutted, his purple eye glaring in rage, though he remained calm. “You waited daily for a dragon to return and now, one does. Do you yield your castle to King Aegon, Second of his Name, King of the Andals, the Rhoynar and the First Men, Lord of the Seven Kingdoms and Protector of the Realm?”

“Your brother – that cunt of a man – you wish for me to yield my castle to him?”

Aemond was to speak before Criston Cole stalked towards him, ready to unsheathe his sword. “Not yet, Cole.”

The Hand did not answer as he slowly stepped away from Simon, glaring silently. “Yes, my Prince.”

“I will not ask again, Ser. Answer truthfully and you will be spared alongside your kin. My dragon will not burn your walls the same way it did at the hands of my ancestor a century ago. Do. You. Yield?”

“I would never accept the words from a kinslayer.”

Kinslayer. The word was wrought with dread from the simple term, and it seemed to both spook and bring Aemond’s temper to rise. Or neither. Murdering his nephew with his dragon, chasing them along the clouds only for them to meet a death falling into the sea.

Aemond nodded to the honest words, and it took you everything not to grab Perra and flee through the castle gates. You knew that the Green’s forces stood just outside to chase any Black loyalists down. 

Or even have Vhagar have a meal if she’s hungry. You shivered. Instead, you stood still, frozen in terror of what would happen if you were spotted.

The next words to come from Aemond’s mouth were wrought with venom.

“Cole. Bring me my sword.” 

Men of Aemond’s forces grabbed for Simon, kicking and knocking him to his knees, holding him by the back of his burly arms. The Hand did not say a word, silently moving like a shadow before bringing forth what the Prince had wanted. There were cries in the crowd, presumably from those who were close kin to Simon. 

A sword flashed bright silver when it was unsheathed from the Prince, as he stalked his way towards the knelt man. 

“Speak now or forever hold your silence, old man,” Aemond asked, his mouth thin and twisted, holding the blade in between both hands. “Do you have any final words?” 

“Gods be good to you and your ilk, kinslayer,” Simon spoke with as much pride as his “The Black Queen will come for your head and every Green who chases for her throne.”

Aemond did not flinch when he gave the man a worthy death, swinging the sword with might that it took his head clean off, thudding softly into the soft mud. Shouts and protests were heard in response, but they were deafened by the sound of Vhagar roaring.

You watched as the resigned Aemond brushed off some blood and its matter from the blade with a harsh flick. You could tell in his eye that it was something he shouldn’t have done, but what he had to do next was the next honourable thing:

His voice was laced with heaviness as he announced to his men, “Bring every boy, squire and baseborn of Strong blood to meet my steel.”

You grabbed Perra by the hand, fleeing back the way you came through, down the vanquished halls that had melted away like a thousand candles. Screams from others were heard around you as you hid, but to no use, the castle was surrounded by not only men but an ancient dragon that could burn it all down.

It felt as if no time had passed at all, before Perra was grabbed and thrown into the arms, screaming for you as she was led out the castle. “Perra!” You, however, found yourself running after her, colliding into the back of a heavily-armed bannerman, decorated in the green sigil of a dragon. 

“No! Unhand me!” You screamed and hissed as you were dragged the opposite way from your friend, away from the sight of freedom and back towards the courtyard.

Aemond was facing his dragon when you came back to meet him up close, and you realise even despite the way he scowled as he looked you up and down, that he was still comely. You were thrown to your knees, your hands bracing your stumble as they were coated in the mud and blood that decorated the yard.

Aemond eyed you scrutinisingly as if assessing what was wrong with you and what he had to do to be rid of you. After all, you did have Strong blood in you, but he didn’t know that.

“Who are you, girl?” He drawled, but his tone was laced with taunting you.

You dared not to meet his dismal stare, instead, watching the blood-soaked and muddied ground or his muddied boots. “Y/N. Y/N Rivers.” You spoke earnestly.

“A bastard,” Criston Cole hissed, momentarily holding his sword’s hilt to draw it, “would you wish for me to bring forth her head, my Prince? Or she could be fed to Vhagar.”

“No,” Aemond dismissed quickly, too quickly. He was staring at her distantly, and it was difficult to see what he was thinking. His seeing eye was bright and staring down at her with disgust and fascination for her and those of House Strong blood. “No, she will not be fed to my dragon. She is much too reliable. Bring her warm clothes, Cole. I will have better use for her.”

“Yes, my Prince.” Cole relaxed as he grabbed you by the back of your arm, dragging you away from the yard, away from the one-eyed monster and his loyal beast. 

You wished for your feet to stop yourself from being dragged away, to accept the headsman’s sword and to have your head beside those you were fostered by.

You looked back in horror, watching as the courtyard grew smaller and smaller, hearing the foreign, unknown words dragonrider spoke to their bonded dragon, the bright flame came from her open jaws, lighting up the pile of corpses you did not stand too close to a second ago.

[theonemarvelousness]

Distance [Third to Scar of King's Roar [TW]]

Every break, Farenah makes an effort to try and regain what he lost.

The horrible distance is there. The polite greetings turn bitter, by the time he graduates. A nine-year-old shouldn't act like this.

Their father is entirely indifferent.

Kifaji's lines of worry grow deeper every visit.

Summer's are filled with tasks, learning how to become the next king of Savanaclaw. He tries his best to spend time with Leona. He tries his best to take him away from here, but his father ushers him away time and time again.

Even at his graduation, his little brother looks at him with the same detached, polite look. He says the right things for a prince to say in front of their father.

It hurts.

He misses Leona's smiles.

He misses being called big brother.

He misses the joy the other had years ago.

---

By twelve, Leona's become a hellion. Running off from lessons, sleeping in places where no one can find him. He's an honest problem, and Kifaji chases after him non step. When he sits down to his lessons on whatever whim, his work is perfect. His certificates are endless. His magic is impeccable. It's all natural to him.

His indifference has turned to snide remarks.

At least there's emotion, but it's all bitter.

---

"We'll be wed soon, Leona." Farenah tries to engage his brother in one of the most important events in his life. Yes, he's fallen in love. They'll have a wonderful family.

Maybe having a big sister might help? He doesn't know, but she tries. That's what matters to him.

He looks at them with absolute disinterest. The scar over his eye does not detract from the brilliant emeralds that shine with such intelligence. "Congratulations." And his gaze drops back to his book.

"Would you be my best man?"

Leona's brows furrow, he looks up from the book.

"It'd mean the world to us, Leona." His bride-to-be echoes.

It looks like he's weighing his options. "Sure.

---

It didn't bring them closer.

He carried out every duty perfectly. With the same distance and detachment he did with almost everything else.

He's watched Leona for nine years.

He's tried all he can to bridge this canyon between them.

---

Farenah returns from his honeymoon with the most amazing news. "Leona, we're having a baby!"

The pen breaks in the younger's hand.

"Congratulations." He stands, and leaves the room to take care of the ink and blood of a mess he's made.

That's... not what he expected.

---

Father stepped aside, and he ascended the throne due to his poor health.

Leona looked even more neutral than before, or maybe he looks worse?

But he's been paler for awhile.

Why?

---

An invitation to attend Night Raven College comes.

"Look! You got accepted into NRC!" Farenah offers it with a grin.

"Eh. What can I learn there? Toss it."

"...Alright." But he just leaves it in his room. He might want to go someday.

---

Cheka is the most perfect child in the world. How his tufts of sunset hair shine in the light. How his bright, barely-open eyes are like the sun. How his little ears twitch so perfectly with every sound.

"I won't let anything happen to you, my son." He promises.

He won't let this heart wound like his own little brother's.

He won't let Cheka feel the despair Leona has in his life.

---

"I'm going to NRC this fall." Leona casually mentions at breakfast, the invitation in hand as he sits down.

"Oh? What changed your mind?"

"Doesn't matter."

"Is this going to make you happy?" He just wants to know it will help.

"Sure. Happier than listening to your sweet little sobbing prince."

Cue another screech from Cheka...

Well, maybe he'll make friends there.

---

"Love, why are you crying?" His wife leans in as they watch Leona's Interdorm Spelldrive match. She wipes his eyes.

"I--I haven't seen Leona smile in t-ten years."

There he is with their victory, and he's beaming the brightest he's seen since he was a small cub. There's booming laughter from his lips. Savanaclaw's won, and it's of course partially in thanks to his brother. His brother that put his all in this. His brother that fought hard and won the victory.

This is the happiest he's been in a decade.

He finally sees Leona again.

Farenah couldn't be more grateful.

Perhaps this was the best thing that could happen.

[END]

Scar of King's Roar: https://theonemarvelousness.tumblr.com/post/715140951050469376/scar-of-kings-roar-tw Homecoming : https://theonemarvelousness.tumblr.com/post/715696576307380224/homecoming-sequel-to-scar-of-kings-roar-tw

[separatist-apologist]

A Lost Princess of Sunlight

Summary: Lady Elain has spent her life in the idyllic countryside wanting for nothing, so when her adopted sister Vassa begs her to accompany her to court, how can Elain say no? The roguish prince is in need of a wife and Elain, certain she'd make a terrible princess, has no interest in such theatrics.

But something about the palace brings back memories lost to the sea ten years before. Memories Elain had been certain she'd never get back…memories that speak of a colder place, and sisters long forgotten. Amid the tumultuous politics and the looming war, Elain finds herself embroiled in a mystery to find out who she really is.

And where she really comes from.

Note: HAPPY HOLIDAYS @writtenonreceipts! I hope you like this- I tried so hard to give it TOG vibes AND to incorporate nessian and feysand because you said you love them (and I in turn love you).

@acotargiftexchange

Major thanks to @velidewrites and @wilde-knight for the moodboard + beta-ing this fic when I was laying face down in a puddle of my own tears.

Read On AO3 | Chapter 1

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In recent memory, Lucien couldn’t remember ever feeling fouler than he did that day, standing in the throne room between his parents to greet a personalized list of women his mother hoped might one day be her future daughter-in-law. Lucien had tried in the beginning, offering a smile as he kissed gloveless hands. He’d filed away names for later, trying to paste them against genuinely lovely faces.

He’d expected to meet five women—maybe ten. But this had been going on for hours and he’d lost count of how many women he’d been shown. Fifty? With more that had arrived that his mother deemed otherwise unacceptable and therefore weren’t worth his time or attention. They’d be looking for him, too. Lucien felt like a piece of meat dangled before a wild animal gnashing its teeth hungrily. 

“Mother,” he said when the doors closed, catching his parents before they could beckon for another. “Surely this is too much. Please.”

“It’s good for you to meet your future court,” his father said, drumming long fingers against an ivory carved throne. Gold crowned both his fathers dark head of hair as well as the back of the chair, making it seem as if the King of the West radiated pure sunlight. His mother was a vision just beside, draped in a cream dress and a threaded crown of gold woven through her vivid auburn hair. 

“Isn’t that what all the activities are for? I feel…” he couldn’t say it, couldn’t force those spoiled words from his lips. “I need some air.”

He could see their frustration etched over their features. Was this truly the life laid before him? Would he one day be sitting in his fathers chair beside a woman his mother arranged for him, their son between them? The thought made Lucien want to gag. He hadn’t asked to be a prince, after all and right then, resentment burned hotly through him.

“Take a breath, son—”

“I won’t,” Lucien interrupted, fingers curling to fists. It wasn’t the first time he and his father had disagreed, though it was the first time that his mother would witness it. “This is too much.”

“This is duty, Lucien. Or did you imagine it was all dress up and sword fighting with your friends? We are on the precipice of war and every man has converged on our home to demonstrate their loyalty to our family. You repay them poorly by scowling and acting like a tantruming child,” his father cautioned, gold eyes narrowed in warning. 

“They’re delusional if they think I’ll marry one of their daughters and elevate them far above their stations!” Lucien snapped, stepping from the dais to the swirling gold and gray patterned floor. “There are simply too many women and not enough time—”

“You will choose one of them,” his father said again, harsher this time. 

“Let’s not fight,” his mother interjected quickly, also rising to her feet. Biting her bottom lip, those russet eyes were swimming with apprehension. “Surely there is a compromise to be found.”

“Amera,” Helion chided, his tone softer than before. 

“If you want to pick a wife, I won’t stop you. Any available woman in this city can be yours…so long as you choose one before the end of the summer.”

“And if I don’t?”

“Then I will choose for you, based on your mothers recommendations,” his father snapped impatiently, crossing one powerful leg over the other. “There will be no more scheming or whoring, Lucien.”

“I know you were hurt when Lady Jes—”

“Don’t,” Lucien whispered, unable to hear his mother speak her name. “Please, mother. My heart can’t bear it.”

“There will be another, my sweet boy,” his mother murmured, reaching up to cup his face in her soft hands. Lucien pulled himself from her grasp, heart thudding in his chest. He hadn’t dared to ask if she was coming, too. He didn’t want to see proof that she could be happy with someone else. That she’d made the right choice in leaving and she’d been right—they didn’t belong together. “Any woman?”

His father pinched the bridge of his nose, recognizing Lucien’s intent but his mother was sincere. “So long as she is of southern birth, yes. Any woman.”

“Fine. I will bring you a daughter to dote on by the end of the summer if you free me from the obligation of choosing one specifically from your list.”

“You better take this seriously, Lucien,” his father warned, leaning forward to look at his only son. “Or it will be me who chooses.”

Lucien had to resist the urge to roll his eyes. His father would do whatever his mother told him to, and his mother would look out for Lucien’s happiness as best as she could. It wouldn’t be love, but it would be tolerable.

How delicious, he thought, to pick some commoner from the city. A woman who knew how to clean her own laundry, something Lucien had never been tasked to do. With the added bonus of keeping him out of the palace and the madhouse of his mothers machinations.

“I accept this arrangement. I won’t let you down,” he added to his mother, guilt pricking at his conscience. His father understood this was malicious compliance based on the hard set of his mouth but his mother’s eyes were shining with hope and Lucien so hated to disappoint her.

Perhaps his father was banking on his sons better nature because he waved him off. “Go get your air. I expect you at dinner tonight. Sober,” he added, guessing Lucien’s plans. 

Lucien exhaled a breath, slipping down a corridor and away from the madness that had befallen the palace. Jurian wasn’t hard to find, leaned against a pillar, arms crossed over his chest as he stared out toward the gardens.

“Washed hair?” Lucien began teasing his friend with a bump to the shoulder, “That must mean Lady Vassa has arrived.”

“She has,” he admitted, dark eyes nodding toward a mass of bouncy copper hair half hidden amongst the foliage. She was with a friend, back turned so Lucien only saw the long, thick tumble of loose golden brown curls and a lavender dress clinging to a slight frame. “Playing her favorite game, of course.”

“The one where she pretends you don’t exist? Has it occurred to you that perhaps she doesn’t like you?” Lucien asked, poking Jurian in his bare arm. “Maybe it’s time to move on.”

“That would show her, wouldn’t it?” Jurian muttered. 

“Here,” Lucien said, stepping from the veranda onto the stone laid path that wound through his mothers rather impressive garden. “I’ll say hello for us both. You can stand beside me silently brooding. I’m certain that will win her affection.”

“You’re a bastard, you know that?”

Lucien only grinned, swaggering as he made his way toward the pair of giggling women. There was no possibility either of them didn’t know Jurian was approaching, though Vassa was the first to look at Lucien. Beautiful as always, with her full mouth, her pert nose, and those big, cerulean eyes brimming with mischief. He liked her, if only because she was so unafraid and unimpressed by him. Lucien imagined if he asked Vassa what she thought of him, she’d tell him frankly and without an ounce of flattery.

Lucien opened his mouth to tell her she was looking lovely. “You look…” The words died on his lips as her friend turned at last, looking up at him with the biggest set of brown eyes he’d ever seen in his life. The tumble of her hair, the slope of her neck, the way her mouth was shaped…Lucien’s palms began to sweat.

She was the most beautiful woman he’d ever seen. How had he never met her before? Who was she? 

“Stunning? Perfect? Like the woman of your dreams?” Vassa’s voice cut through the buzzing in Lucien’s ears. He couldn’t take his eyes off her friend long enough to even respond to Vassa. Instead, he found himself sweeping into a deep bow, all the while holding her gaze. 

Her cheeks flushed but when she tried to curtsey back, Lucien was quick to catch her hand, brushing his lips over her knuckles. She smelled like jasmine and honey. She looked like a daydream. Perhaps the heat had finally gotten to him and this was an angel coming to usher him into the afterlife. 

“This is my sister,” Vassa told Lucien, her amusement burning. Beside him, Jurian coughed pointedly, a mere blur to Lucien. “Elain.”

“Elain,” Lucien replied before Vassa’s words settled. “Since when do you have a sister?”

“Since always,” Vassa retorted, arms crossed over her verdant dress. “Sorry you’re so unobservant you never noticed.”

“I would remember you,” Lucien insisted, memorizing the shape of her face. “Where have you been hiding?”

Cheeks flaming, Elain’s eyes slid to her feet. “I ah…”

“She doesn’t come to court precisely for this reason, my lord,” Vassa interrupted, unaware Lucien was moments from throttling her. “Vultures, the lot of you. Men are so obsessed with finding wives they can’t allow a lady even a moment of peace in the garden.”

Jurian barked out a laugh, causing Elain to jump back just a little. “I prefer the quiet of the countryside,” she said, her voice somehow more beautiful than her face. Lucien wanted to bathe in it, wanted to close his eyes and listen to her speak. And it was becoming increasingly clear she did not want to be anywhere near him based on the way she looked as though she might bolt at any second. 

“I’m glad you made it,” he said, releasing her hand with great reluctance. “That both of you made it.”

“Oh, I’m certain you’re so delighted to see me,” Vassa chided playfully, thrusting out her own hand so Lucien could give her a similar kiss. He did, grinning like an idiot while watching her companion from the corner of his eye. Let her see he wasn’t a threat—that he was charming, and funny too when he wasn’t struck dumb. 

“If you knew the day I’d had, you’d know just how grateful and relieved I am to see you.”

“Do you need me to check your ego, prince? You’re not that handsome, you know.”

Lucien tipped his head back to laugh, genuinely delighted for the first time all day. He needed to hear that and perhaps wanted Elain to see that he could laugh at his own expense. He was a prince, sure, but also the kind of man she could tease a little.

But when he looked back, Elain was still watching with a carefully guarded expression. 

“And how have you been, Captain?” Vassa asked, finally turning to look at Jurian. 

“I count the minutes you’re away,” Jurian replied dryly. Lucien swore Vassa’s cheeks flushed and a touch of shyness slid over her features. Just for a moment. Just long enough for Jurian to catch too. Her father would never allow this match—Lucien knew for a fact Lord Koshington was looking for someone for his daughter. Perhaps them both. Lucien could ask for either woman if he wanted but Jurian would never be able to convince a lord of Koschington’s merit for the hand of his only daughter and heir. Whatever man Vassa married would be entrusted with the estate and Jurian, for all his accomplishments, was simply not the sort of man Koschington envisioned for her.

Lucien suspected Vassa would do her duty and marry as she was told to while carrying on an affair with Jurian as so many other ladies at court did. That was an open secret no one did much about so long as there were no disputes over it. Occasionally some errant husband would become enraged and kill another noble, giving them all something to gossip over while Lucien’s father dealt with the headache. 

If Vassa asked him, though, he could have interceded on her behalf. Perhaps he could make Jurian nobility if he went to his father shamefaced and apologetic and agreed to be a better son. Lucien’s gaze cut to Elain. She was a lady, wasn’t she? Southern born, which was the only true criteria his mother had laid down. Perhaps, he reasoned, he could use his marriage as a bargaining chip for both Vassa and Jurian.

He’d elevate one daughter to a princess and in exchange, Koschington would allow the other to marry his Captain, now Lord of some tract of land further north. Of course, that all hinged on Lady Elain even wanting him and as they stood now, things looked bleak for Lucien. Not to mention if he had such a visceral reaction to this woman, perhaps he would to others that were more agreeable.

Still. It was a thought he wasn’t willing to wholly discard. Not yet. 

“I’m sure you two are incredibly busy,” Vassa said, still looking at Jurian. “We should—”

“Will you be at dinner tonight?” Lucien blurted out, once again looking—and speaking—to Elain. Her eyes widened, glancing over at Vassa to answer for her. 

“Only if you promise us a good table.”

“Consider it done,” Lucien said, sweeping into another bow. It was an instinct that told him when true danger was approaching. Some call in his blood, a pull that turned his usual heat to ice. 

Eris was near.

He could feel the prickling on the back of his neck, the awareness that he was being watched much the way prey must feel when a predator was near. He didn’t want to be caught here by Eris—didn’t want this showdown to happen in front of a woman he might want to court.

“Until this evening, then.”

Vassa merely waved him off, looping her arm through Elain’s to guide them further into the foliage while he and Jurian watched, both enamored. Just until the rounded a corner and Lucien could shake off whatever spell Elain had unwittingly cast.

It was like a bucket of cold water poured over his head.

“Eris is near,” he said, his voice slipping into a growl. Jurian cast one last love-lorn look in Vassa’s direction before setting his jaw.

“Well. Let’s give him a southern welcome.”

Lucien grinned. “After you.”

The moment Elain and Vassa were out of earshot, Vassa immediately burst into laughter. 

“Stop it,” Elain chided, bewildered and a little embarrassed. The prince—the actual prince—had been gaping at her like he’d never seen a woman in his life. Elain hadn’t expected to meet him so close. He was handsome, just as Vassa had promised, though she’d undersold how attractive he was. Even with the trio of brutal scars raking down one of his russet colored eyes, gouged so deep into his cheeks they still seemed fresh, Lucien was easily the most beautiful man she’d ever seen. Beautiful in a dangerous sort of way.

Beautiful and he knew it, had been told so his entire life. Something about that annoyed her. She didn’t want to be another fawning woman, delighted he’d paid her a moment of interest.

Exhaling, Elain rounded on her friend. “You couldn’t say one nice thing to Jurian?”

“No,” Vassa replied quickly, some of her amusement fading. “I wouldn’t know how.”

“He’s handsome.”

“As handsome as the prince—”

“That’s enough,” Elain interrupted primly. “The prince is not hurting for beautiful company. I doubt he will be thinking of me come this time next week.”

“And if he is?”

“Then I shall disabuse him of the notion,” Elain replied, biting her bottom lip. “I have no interest in being an amusement and later discarded when he grows tired of whatever country charm he imagines I possess.”

“Oh, but how fun to watch him run himself ragged for your affection. You’re better off just letting him trail after you for a few days—the longer you resist, the more he will imagine you as his great love.”

“You’ve read too many novels,” Elain complained, reaching for a pretty pink rose. The petals were satin against her fingers, the scent of it sweeter than she remembered. Perhaps there was magic in Rhodes that didn’t exist in the country. 

Or perhaps she, too, had let romantic notions cloud her senses. 

“Maybe. If I…” biting her bottom lip, Vassa faced Elain fully. “If I told you something, would you swear yourself to secrecy no matter what you heard? No matter how much trouble it would cause for you?”

“Of course,” Elain swore, standing upright again. “Anything you need, consider it done.”

“Father is never going to let me leave the city unmarried. He hopes, distantly, the prince might finally show some interest in me beyond friendship but realistically he intends to shop me around to other lords who are suitable enough. I’m being allowed a small taste of freedom but by the time the summer wanes, he’ll have me married and he’ll be looking at you, too. 

“It will take time and he’ll need the kings blessing. As long as the Sun King is preoccupied with his son, he’ll move slowly on everyone else. If I had a mother, perhaps she might appeal to the queen… and I need to take advantage of it.”

“How do you plan to do that?”

Vassa shot Elain a confident smile that didn’t meet her eyes. She was scared. “It is my hope that Jurian will make an offer of marriage. And if he does…I intend to accept. To marry him in secret and ruin myself before father ever learns. There is nothing you can do to help me, nor could you stop me. I just…wanted you to know that I brought you here because I wanted us to have one last summer together. And perhaps I was hoping you might find someone and I wouldn’t have to feel so guilty leaving you behind.”

Elain flung her arms around Vassa, burying her face in her friend's neck. “Don’t worry a jot about me. I’ll be fine. And your secret is safe with me—if anyone asks if I knew, I’ll lie so convincingly it’ll make the gods weep.”

Vassa hugged her back, exhaling a warm breath against the skin of Elain’s newly exposed neck. “I knew I could count on you. Let's speak no more about it—Jurian hasn’t asked and maybe he won’t. For now, let's discuss what we’ll wear to dinner tonight. Something that will ruin Prince Lucien’s evening.”

“You’re a menace. Do you know that?”

They spent the rest of the afternoon giggling through the garden, all talk of Jurian and Lucien banished from conversation. In truth, Elain forgot about the prince entirely by the time she reached their shared chamber to wash away the sweat of the day and to change. The clothes she’d brought with her had been neatly hung in a nearby closet along with a row of new gowns likely purchased on her behalf by some harried servant. Elain laid a few out on the bed before deciding it was far worse to be the only person out of fashion in a room filled with worldly ladies than it was to worry so much about modesty.

Besides, the gowns hid everything—they merely lacked so many of the stiff layers she was accustomed to. Elain wouldn’t pretend she didn’t like the ability to button herself rather than needing two servants to help get her into her layers and tie everything up, even if she did feel a tad exposed in the silken jade gown she found herself in. Wishing she’d paid more attention to how everyone else was dressed, Elain elected to leave half her hair down with pins in her little wristlet, just in case she had to quickly pull it up. 

Vassa was waiting in the wide, marble lain halls in a gown of violet that looked utterly stunning against the golden brown of her skin. If Elain was terribly out of fashion, her friend surely would have said something, but instead she looped her arm through Elains and began walking her through the palace. 

Vassa had been before enough times to know the layout, allowing the pair to dawdle as Vassa pointed out paintings she thought Elain would enjoy and or explained what marble bust belonged to what long-dead king. There was something deeply thrilling about seeing the history of her home up close and personal—something that made her feel strangely proud to live there. 

A feeling that slid into anxiety the moment she and Vassa walked into the grand hall. Reproposed for a banquet, at least a hundred little tables dotted the expansive room, all facing the long, high table where the royal family would sit. The king was already there, a golden goblet dangling between his fingers as he surveyed guests pouring in.

Was it her imagination, or was he looking at her? Definitely her imagination, Elain decided. She wasn’t nobility, and Vassa’s family was minor nobility at that. Still…those golden eyes, set against warm, dark brown skin, seemed to stare right through her, seeing everything she was and everything she had ever been.

Someone she didn’t recognize approached the king, drawing his attention—which had never been on her—far, far away.

“We’re probably back here,” Vassa murmured, clasping Elain’s between her own. “If we get seated quickly, we can eat before anyone else.”

“I am starving,” Elain admitted with a breathless laugh. The entire thing was exhilarating, so decadent that Elain felt utterly alone in that room as she drank in the gilded walls, the high, arching ceilings and the glass windows that rose up to meet them. Beyond them, Elain could see the placid sea, brighter than any blue diamond and clearer than any sky.

“Where do you think you’re going?” Prince Lucien appeared from seemingly nowhere, eyes bright. He looked…well. He was absurd in his beauty, so lovely in his gold trimmed blue jacket that

Elain’s teeth were set on edge. He’d braided the top half of his head, pulling it back with a leather strap that somehow made his cheekbones seem sharper, his jaw more defined. The rest of his hair curled loosely about his shoulders, longer than Vassa’s when her friend wore it unbound, though not half as curly. 

He was looking at her again and Vassa knew it.

“You’re much more accommodating this time than you were the last time I was here.”

“Give it time,” Lucien replied with genuine amusement. “When father begins one of his terrible speeches it will be nice to have someone nearby to rescue me.”

“You tease me,” Elain complained. As if she could rescue a prince from his wordy father.

Lucien placed a large, ringed hand against his heart. “Lady Elain, I would never.”

Elain doubted that given the twinkle in his russet eyes. Still, though, it was kind of nice to be the object of his interest, however short-lived she suspected it would be. Warmth flooded through Elain’s face, impossible to hide given how fair her skin was.

Lucien’s smile was laced with pleasure. “This way, ladies.”

Vassa merely rolled her eyes, bouncy curls blowing in a nearby breeze. Elain kept her eyes down, well aware everyone in the vicinity was looking at her. Oh, how she wished they weren’t—not like this, at any rate. It wasn’t that she hated being the subject of their attention, but she would have preferred it be because she was stunning in some new dress and not because the prince’s fingers were grazing her elbow. 

The table wasn’t just close—it was the first one before the high table—a seat reserved for people far more important than Elain and Vassa. They weren’t alone—Lord Koschington was already there flanked on either side by men at least a decade older than him. All three rose from their seats to bow to the prince before returning to their conversation, leaving Elain and Vassa awkwardly staring Lucien down.

“Well,” Elain finally said when she couldn’t stand it a moment later. “This was generous of you.”

“You’ll find I can be very generous, Lady Elain.”

“Just Elain is fine,” she promised, embarrassed all over again. 

“Well, just Elain, my generosity comes with strings, if that helps to put your mind at ease.”

“Oh? What strings are those?”

“Lunch with me? And if it goes well, a turn around the garden.”

Elain nearly said no. The urge was automatic. Something stopped her—the notion that if Lucien spent a few hours alone with her, he’d realize how woefully plain she was, how inept her social graces in comparison to other women. His interest would wane and she wouldn’t have to be firm with him at all. That was, truthfully, a best case scenario. 

So Elain nodded, lowering her eyes demurely. “That would be lovely.” Lucien’s delight radiated like pure light just beneath his skin. “You’ve given me something to look forward to.” And then he was gone, leaving Lord Koschington watching with curiosity and Ealin even more embarrassed than before.

“I’m not surprised he likes you,” Vassa began, but Elain wasn’t having it.

“Sit down,” she demanded.

Vassa only laughed. “Bossy. You’ll make an excellent princess.”

Rhodes.

Curling his upper lip, Eris glanced at the dirty streets beneath his gleaming boots. How he loathed the Southern Empire. The city itself was too self-satisfied with itself, certain they were the gods favored people. A blessed empire, having risen from the ashes of centuries of subjugation by the north. The scars for the people weren’t healed—it had been King Helion’s grandfather who’d shaken those chains and thirty years of bloody fighting just to establish a true home with recognized borders. Recognized, Eris thought bitterly, by his father and the late King of the Spine. 

Helion had ended that conflict, invading the north's once impenetrable capitol and genuinely terrifying the realm with the might of his military. If he could break down those walls and get inside, he could potentially cross the spine to the east or the desert to the west. He could have the whole of the continent if he wanted it.

Of course, Helion’s reign hadn’t come without its scandals. His victory cost a princess her life and Archeron his wife. It had also cost the west their queen when he’d stolen her away in the dead of night, declared her marriage to Beron Vanserra completed under duress, and married her himself. 

North and west had a reason to hate the south. Eris had never forgiven Helion for losing his mother and Nesta Archeron, heir apparent to the Northern throne, had never forgiven Helion for the loss of her mother and her younger sister. Eris had heard rumors of her fury.

But meeting her was another thing entirely. He’d made her no promises, of course…but he knew she was thinking the same thing he was—if they married, they could unite their kingdoms and turn their eyes to the south. They could eradicate Helion and take it, too, if they wished. And oh, how Eris wished.

The prospect of asking for Nesta Archeron was the only reason he’d accepted the invitation to the south. Might as well look around for himself. Helion would be looking for peace and his mother absolution, but Eris was looking for exploitable weaknesses. 

Something he could offer up to Nesta Archeron so she had no recourse but to tell him yes. It wouldn’t be love, but Eris didn’t require that. Didn’t want that. His would be a marriage of political convenience and if he needed genuine companionship, he could always take a mistress. 

So there he stood, soaked in sweat and angrier than he’d ever been as he stared up at the monstrosity that was the palace. His half brother was being fussed over—a golden prince Eris would keep alive as a political prisoner in his court, forcing Lucien to do his bidding with the threat of a sword hanging over his head.

It was Eris’s favorite daydream. The destruction of Helion’s court, the ruination of his empire, and his son and wife forced to live in Eris’s home under Eris’s rule. Despite himself, he smiled, ignoring the butler who wanted to give him a tour as he strode into the palace. He knew it well enough and didn’t want the royal family to know where he was until he was ready to make a grand entrance. 

Helion’s kingdom was said to house an impressive collection of knowledge and the rarest (and items stolen he didn’t want found) were housed within his personal collection within his palace. Eris had never been interested before, annoyed by the philosophers and scholars that inhabited these spaces. Old men obsessed with the sound of their own voices who had never been told their ideas weren’t interesting. 

But today was pure chaos and if the Sun Palace was anything like his home, everyone would be congregated wherever the wine was, neglecting their responsibilities under the deluded belief no one would find out. Eris took the stairs two at a time, eyes darting around him to be sure no one was watching.

Though if they were—and if he was caught—he’d simply feign ignorance. No one stopped him, allowing him to climb higher and higher, walking down halls with his hands jammed in the pockets of his cream colored pants. He opened bedroom doors like they belonged to him, ran his oily fingers over windows and paintings, and kicked over a potted plant just because it amused him to do so. 

And when he reached the room he’d come all this way to see—Helion’s famed library—Eris found it delightfully abandoned, just as he’d expected it to be. There were three more towering floors, attached to what he supposed was the highest tower of the palace. Spiraling stairs led to rows and rows of books unreachable even by the rather tall ladders. Desks and chairs on the first level were, he supposed, for scholarly pursuits that seemed to vanish once one reached that second level.

The third was entirely off limits to anyone but Helion’s most trusted. And they were gone, Eris thought, stepping through the arch way. The room itself could be hidden behind wooden ivory double doors carved with some brightly painted fresco of a heroic battle long faded from memory. 

Eris made it two steps before a woman materialized from a too-bright golden sunbeam pouring into the room. One moment he’d been walking toward items hidden from everyone else in the realm and the next a curved blade was pressed against his neck and his back was slammed against a wall. A slim knee slid between his legs, pressed threateningly against his manhood while a pair of vivid green eyes stared him down cooly.

“I’ll need to see your pass before you take another step,” she said. Eris blinked, taking in the shape of this woman. Thick waves of blonde hair cascaded down her back, tumbling against her shoulders and framing what was, objectively, a beautiful face. Her bronzed skin seemed to shimmer in the light as though dusted in sunlgiht and those eyes of hers—green and flecked with gold—were lightly lined in black kohl. 

“I don’t need a pass—” he began, utilizing the haughtiest voice he could muster given the position he found himself in. In any other circumstances, overpowering her would have been a simple thing.

But Eris wasn’t willing to risk his throat, nevermind his cock and balls. 

“You do,” she replied, both her knee and her blade pressing just a little rougher. 

“Don’t you know who I am?” he demanded. 

“Why don’t you tell me?” she challenged, one eyebrow raised as though it wouldn’t matter. He was going to see her personally punished for this, he decided. 

“Prince Eris—”

“Oh, a prince,” she interrupted, her voice dripping with disdain. “Well, why didn’t you say so? Do you have a pass?”

Eris was rarely speechless. But right then, looking down at a woman that was primed to kill him over a book, Eris found himself at a loss for words. 

“No,” he spat, outraged that some nobody was preventing him from snooping. And no one, in his life, had ever dared such defiance. This woman did, though. She didn’t care he was a prince or the queens eldest son. She merely saw an intruder and felt empowered to spill his blood against her feet if need be.

“I’m glad we agree. If I remove my knife from your throat, are you going to leave peacefully?” she asked, her tone dripping with condescension. Had they been home, Eris could have thrown her in a cell for that hateful look on her face alone, not mentioning the way in which she addressed him. 

“Nothing would give me greater pleasure,” Eris promised, his lip curling with disdain. To her credit, the woman stepped back, removing herself entirely from his body, though that knife remained between them. “I’ll see you punished for this.”

She smiled, smoothing one hand over the yellow of her dress. “Of course, your majesty.”

“You think I won’t?” Eris hissed, unsure why he hadn’t stormed out. Just leave. Fuck the last word. 

“Oh, I’m certain you will,” was her reply, eyes burning with amusement. “Maybe I’ll get lucky and the king will allow me the privilege of hearing your explanation as to why a future foreign king was skulking about a room filled with state secrets. Surely you must have known, but maybe they educated you poorly back home and you can’t read?”

Bitch.

“I can be wherever I like—”

“Wrong, majesty. You know, we hear rumors about you here. Of your…ambitions. I’m sure your impending marriage to a northern princess is mere gossip hardly worth the rags it's printed on, of course, and this little trip was merely an accident.”

Eris’s lips parted, an insult on the tip of his tongue. Who was this woman? Eris wanted her family name more than he’d ever wanted anything, if only so he could burn it from the face of the world. When he came marching into Rhodes with an army, she could be the first person to meet his sword. 

“Some people would think it was unwise, insulting a future king.”

Her eyes flicked to the knife in her hand. “I think some people might thank me for protecting my home. In fact, I think a parade might be held in my honor if you took another step toward me and fell on my knife.”

“Is that a threat?” he demanded.

She smiled. “I’m glad you noticed. I was starting to think these subtleties were flying right over your poor, illiterate head. Yes, your lordship. This is a threat. A wiser man would recognize he’d been caught and leave, but I can see you’re not wise and so perhaps I ought to spell it in simple terms you’ll understand: your mere presence in this room could be considered an act of war. Remove yourself, or I shall do it for you.”

Fuck her.

“This isn’t over.”

She followed behind as he turned on his heel, burning with an anger so hot it would have manifested as flame against his skin had he any magical ability. Eris could feel its heat shimmering off him, fingers curling and uncurling with the urge to teach her a lesson she’d never forget. She was no one, some lowly peasant made to feel important and elevated by a bastard king. 

Eris expected one last quip—turned around to face her. She flashed him a smile, those eyes still sparkling with amusement.

And then slammed the double doors in his face. On the other end, he swore he heard soft laughter though maybe he imagined it. Eris exhaled, overwhelmed and frustrated and furious all at once.

It wasn’t over between them.

Eris would have the last laugh.

Ellesmere was easily the worst city Cassian had ever visited in his life. Velaris was the best, of course, and Rhodes was nice if a little hot for his taste. He���d seen Allfeld once which personally was enough given how much pollen seemed to be in the air, though it had been autumn at the time and he’d quite liked the glittering jewel-top trees that dotted the sloping hillsides.

Ellesmere had no charm whatsoever. Only fog and a constant misting of rain that left Cassian damp beneath the leathered armor he wore. 

He’d put on wool socks to keep his feet dry that day, tucked into boots that were supposed to be waterproof and hoped for the best. Rhys was supposed to be out charming the nobles and who the fuck knew where Azriel had gone. By the time Cassian dragged his ass out of bed, Azriel was nowhere to be found and Rhys was agonizing over a lock of hair that wouldn’t lay just right. 

Cassian was grateful no one expected perfection out of him. He’d shaved his face—though the dark stubble would be back before noon—and pulled the thick, dark waves that cascaded to his shoulders into a half messy bun. Good enough.

Dumb brute, remember?

As if he could ever forget. At home, Cassian was a hero. People cared about the words that came out of his mouth, respected him as someone of  great intelligence. But out here, he knew what they saw. The other kingdoms must employ idiots to lead their armies, or something particular about Cassian gave off the impression he liked the taste of blood. And Cassian had never once tried to correct that notion given he did like a little blood smeared across his mouth. 

But it irked him at times, chafing against him like rough material against soft skin. 

He had a job—only one, at least, while he was trapped in this gloomy hellscape, which was to get a sense and scope of the military power Ellesmere commanded. How did they fight, how many of them remained, their tactics, their training. Anything Cassian could weaponize against them. Cassian needed them to believe he was one of them.

Less than, even. That he couldn’t take even a day off from swinging his swords when truthfully, were he back home, Cassian would have been parked at Ritas waiting for a massive plate of eggs and bacon. Ah, well. There would be more of that later, though he couldn’t help but feel like he was wasting the best weather Velaris had to offer to the rain. 

And breakfast wasn’t horrible, at least. He’d been allowed to eat alone given there was no expectation he would eat with the royals. Cassian picked through one of his books, wasting time hoping the weather would clear and the sun would come out, even if it didn’t warm the air. When it became clear he wasn’t going to get his wish, Cassian sighed, armed himself, and made his way toward the training yard housed within the palace walls. He’d seen barracks on his way in, tucked off in the distance, when he’d first come into the city. That was where Cassian really wanted to be. 

If Rhys did his job well, Cassian would be invited to watch them train and possibly train alongside him. It was ego the way so many cities assumed they had something to teach him. There was a reason Velaris hadn’t been invaded, though Cassian knew everyone loved to chalk it up to The Spine. The mountains were passable, their coast relatively undefended. There was little need, though they did have a Navy. 

Cassian was always waiting, sword in hand. 

Today, though, was just about seeing the best of the best. They’d be looking to impress him, knowing full well Cassian would tell Rhys. All in good time. Cassian liked to think he was clever enough to keep his mouth shut with a face that always seemed pleased right up until his sword was pressed against someones throat.

They expected that from Azriel. Maybe they expected that knife in the back from Rhys. But despite his titles, no one ever expected that from Cassian, though he was always the quickest to jump to bloodshed. 

Eloquence was Rhys’s domain. 

Cassian shuddered when he stepped outside, shaking out his hands to try and keep himself together. This period of time in his life would pass until he forgot it entirely. There was no way in hell he’d ever agree to return here and was grateful Rhys wasn’t actually interested in any of the princesses on offer. 

Cassian wished he could say the same. He’d half forgotten Nesta Archeron—could have forgotten her completely for the majority of the day, even—had she not been walking toward him in a well-fitted violet coat dress, the hood pulled over her face and lined with immaculate white fur.

Her fair cheeks were flushed from the chill or exertion, making those silvery eyes of her brighter by comparison. The scowl on her face couldn’t diminish the beauty that radiated from her and just like it had the day before, Cassian felt struck by her. Nesta’s whole person was its own blade at his throat, threatening to spill him open at any moment. 

She halted when she saw him, hands jammed into her pockets. Eyes narrowed with suspicion, he wondered if she’d speak to him. It was only after a moment of staring that Cassian remembered he probably ought to bow. That felt strange—Rhys had never required that and Helion was so casual it was cause for teasing if Cassian were to try. Something about Nesta demanded it, though, and so Cassian felt himself bending at the waist, one hand on his stomach. 

“You mock me?” she asked, unaware of the sincerity of his pounding heartbeat.

“I wouldn’t dream of it,” Cassian heard himself say, his every word laced with amusement rather than the reverence he felt. And though he was so much taller than her, Cassian felt small as Nesta approached, her spine ramrod straight. He wished he could convince her to come to Velaris and teach his soldiers that sort of posture. 

Hell, maybe she could teach him, too. 

“Where are you going?”

Straight to hell, he thought privately as he tried not to imagine what she was like when she liked a man. Jealousy gnawed at him knowing Rhys was here to court her, swallowed quickly before Cassian was consumed. Glancing at one of the hilts peeking over his shoulder, Cassian offered her another quick smile. “To train with your guards.”

She scoffed. “I should think one sword would be more than sufficient.”

“Oh? Something you want to tell me, princess?”

He hadn’t meant for his words to sound suggestive. Cassian was genuinely asking her—were they not capable of fighting off a warrior holding a weapon in each hand? But something about her made everything he said sultry and Nesta’s cheeks burned with heat. 

She was sweet. Cassian wanted to taste her. 

“Just…they’re more…” Nesta was flustered. He knew if he came any closer she’d take off like a skittish baby deer, fortifying herself for their next interaction. Put her at ease, a voice whispered in his head—it sounded suspiciously like Mor. So Cassian relaxed his posture, shifting his weight from one leg to the other. He was, afterall, just a man.

And he wasn’t a threat to her. Everyone else, perhaps—and one day she’d hate him for the part he was playing to keep her father from starting another war—but not her. 

“They’re mostly decorative,” Nesta finally said, coming back to her senses. “And I suspect you are the opposite.”

“Shrewd of you,” Cassian praised, taking in this information. “I would think the palace guards were the best your kingdom had to offer.”

She rolled her eyes. “If that were true, Feyre would be easier contained within its walls.”

Cassian filed that away, too. Where did the little princess run off to, he wondered? And why was Nesta telling him this? She didn’t strike him as the uncareful type. No, Nesta was giving him little crumbs he was certain were leading somewhere. The expression on her face was too well guarded for anything else. 

“And you?” he guessed.

Nesta only shrugged. “Where would I go beyond the palace walls, General?”

Cassian’s body went tight all at once. Fuck, but that voice… “Anywhere you like, I hope. Unless this is a cry for help and you’ve actually been held hostage?”

The faintest whisper of a smile spread over her features. Pretty thing. Cassian wanted to touch her and thought that was the quickest way to lose a hand. 

“My life is one of endless wonder,” she assured him, her voice dry and laced with sarcasm. “I am incandescently happy.”

“My apologies, my lady,” Cassian murmured, needing to get some air before he did something monumentally stupid. “Far be it from to cast aspersions on you and your life. But…if you find yourself wishing you knew how to wield a blade so you could…I don’t know…move more effectively in the world…you know where to find me.”

And then he kept walking, refusing to touch her as he passed though it was hell not to even brush a wisp of hair from her cheek. 

“Why would you do that?” Nesta asked when they were shoulder to shoulder, staring straight ahead. Cassian watched her from the corner of his eye. 

“You’ll need to know if you’re going to marry Rhys,” he replied, the words ash on his tongue. Nesta didn’t move.

“That’s it?”

“Maybe I want a reason to see you again.”

Her breath curled around her face like a shadow, vanishing in the gloomy morning light. “I’ll think about it.”

There was nothing Cassian could say that wouldn’t make him sound insane. So he nodded, clenching his jaw to keep his words leashed before he took off walking again. There was no reason to arm that woman—and every possibility she would take everything she learned and turn around and use it against them.

And yet the thought of Nesta pressing a blade against his throat was so erotic that Cassian had to lap around the garden twice before making his way to the training yard, later than he’d meant to be.

And still—it was worth it. 

[zalrb]

Along the same lines as the other anon, but For a show that says "pick your favorite war criminal" they're certainly very afraid to let their characters make dark decisions *especially* if they're women.

Rhaenys who wanted to defend Rhaenyra's claim in the bookshas the opportunity to avoid war and washes her hands , Alicent who organizes the usurpation is not only losing power at a gigantic rate but never had it, Half of the murders occurred by accidents, Rhaenyra asking for the greens' head after her daughter's death is surprisingly calm. Everyone is trying to be good rulers for reasons.

Damn they promised me blood, mayhem and war crimes, so where is it? It's not even really about being explicit about it, just committing to the narrative!! Blood and cheese is not about wanting to see a child's head, it is about the horror of choice, of Helaena's helplessness, of watching the war escalate and escalate because of an eye for an eye. Is it too much to ask!! Why do series now alternate between dialogues that explain to me what I'm seeing because they don't allow the scenes to speak and breathe or force the viewer to do mental gymnastics because they didn't say or showed nothing?!

Half of the murders occurred by accidents [...] Damn they promised me blood, mayhem and war crimes, so where is it?

This. EXACTLY. I am so bored??

Everything is so incredibly passive and that doesn't make anything that's happening interesting to me because without the intention behind the actions, it's just a show where a bunch of shit happens all the while feeling like literally nothing happened because there is no urgency, no characterization, nothing.

And if the point is that one miscommunication, one mistake can cause a war and tear a dynasty apart then a) the war actually has to be interesting? If there is no bloodshed then there needs to be intrigue. I remember watching Littlefinger and Varys go back and forth and being at the edge of my seat. We don't HAVE that now b) lean into the absurdity. Lean into the fact that this war keeps escalating and escalating over nothing, make me feel like this is getting out of hand and no one has a grip on what's going on, give me pandemonium because so far, I've just seen an old man who takes ten minutes to get to a throne, his brother just ... around in a war that lasted years that he ended in five minutes, his daughter who does nothing but complain, his wife who does nothing but complain and also get sexually exploited by men, their children who squabble, sex scene, sex scene, dragons, death, another death, matt smith being matt smith, A BOAR, dialogue about war, dragons, bad wigs. dragons. And maybe sometimes there are Black people (yay virtue signalling!). I'm sorry, I need more.