#meanwhile dawn never even considered it???

[love-is-a-pearl]

the sudden realization that Dawn is the only companion that planned to stay traveling with Ash, that they BOTH AGREED on that!! But had to give up on that idea in the last second :')

[3rdgymbros]

━ 𝐇𝐨𝐩𝐞𝐥𝐞𝐬𝐬𝐥𝐲 𝐃𝐞𝐯𝐨𝐭𝐞𝐝 𝐓𝐨 𝐘𝐨𝐮 !

— pairing; malleus draconia x ramshackle! reader

— summary; you throw rocks at his window, malleus thinks you've come for a midnight rendezvous

— notes; idk what this is, it just came to me in a fever dream. please donate to my kofi if you like my work. and know that i am mentally smooching everyone who reblogs my stuff.

❋ It’s late at night, and you’re just about ready to call it a night and head to bed. But then you suddenly think: is there any History of Magic homework?

❋ For a fleeting moment, you consider texting Ace and Deuce. But considering how terrible the subject is at holding their attentions — and yours — it would be a wasted effort.

❋ And so, you decide that the next best option would be to trek to the dorm of a fae prince in the dead of night, stand below his window, and proceed to throw rocks to get his attention.

❋ Because that’s obviously what any sane person would do.

❋ But in your defence, he lives in a tower, and this was the best way you could think of to get his attention.

❋ Ever the night owl, Malleus hasn’t turned in for the night just yet. In fact, he’s completely engrossed in a thick tome when you hurl the first pebble up at his window.

❋ The sound in the otherwise silent room startles him at first, but then he peeks out the window and sees you standing below with a handful of stones, your beautiful features perfectly illuminated by the moonlight.

❋ And his heart melts.

❋ Truly, his Child of Man never ceases to surprise him. No one has ever been so bold, so daring, so romantic as to venture all the way to Diasomnia for him. Throwing pebbles at his window in the dead of night? He’s read about this in Lilia’s novels!

❋ The Great Malleus Draconia, one of the most powerful mages in Twisted Wonderland, is now leaning on the windowsill, practically swooning.

❋ “How devoted,” he whispers to himself with a dreamy sigh, pushing open the window with a grand flourish, so that he might better take in the sight of his beloved.

❋ Meanwhile, you’re completely oblivious to his current train of thought. It’s freezing out here, and you just want a quick answer to your question before your fingers and toes fall off from the cold.

❋ “Malleus!” You whisper as quietly as you can, glancing nervously around as though you expect to see Sebek springing out at any moment to berate you for your transgressions. “Do we have any history homework?!”

❋ Silence.

❋ Malleus blinks once. Twice. He’s momentarily taken aback, but then realisation dawns. This casual question must surely be a clever way of hiding your true feelings! Ah, they’re shy about their affection . . . How adorable. He says, “We do not. But if you wished to see me, you need only summon me in the future.”

❋ “I literally just threw rocks at your window —”

❋ “It was lovely.”

❋ After that, Malleus starts to leave his window open every night, just in case you feel the urge to throw more rocks. He even enchants the area so the rocks won’t chip the glass . . . Purely a precaution for his beloved’s romantic tendencies.

[mrs-stans]

Sebastian Stan Is “Still Shaking” After Getting Two Golden Globe Nominations

On the heels of recognition for both The Apprentice and A Different Man, Stan speaks to Vanity Fair about his “surreal” journey to awards recognition, as well as being nominated in the same year as Pamela Anderson.

BY SAVANNAH WALSH

It’s not every day that an actor earns a Golden Globe nomination, much less two in the same morning. But Sebastian Stan joined the likes of Selena Gomez and Kate Winslet on Monday by getting dual Globe nominations. “It’s certainly surreal,” he tells Vanity Fair, “still sort of shaking from it.”

Stan secured recognition for both his dramatic turn as Donald Trump in The Apprentice and his more comedic performance as a tormented aspiring actor named Edward in A Different Man. It is the first time that a male performer has pulled off double nominations in the lead acting categories since Ryan Gosling managed to do it back in 2012. “Listen, one of my favorite actors of all time,” Stan says. “I’d be very glad to be in that little stat with him.”

In the early hours of nomination morning, Stan was getting some shuteye—or, at least attempting to. “I actually woke up in the middle of the night at 4:00, and was like, Oh, okay, there’s an hour and a half. I fell asleep again, and then I got a call from my publicist,” he tells VF. Since then, “I’ve been sending a lot of pictures to my mom.”

Some excitement is to be expected, especially when considering what it took to get both of Stan’s nominated films to the screen. “I never would’ve dreamt that I was going to be going to the Globes with both of these films, I never would’ve dreamt that both of the films would’ve come out in the same year,” he says.

Aaron Schimberg’s A Different Man sat in limbo for two years before debuting on the festival circuit this year. At the Sundance Film Festival, it was acquired by A24 for a fall release. The film then screened in Berlin, where Stan won the Silver Bear for best lead performance. Meanwhile, The Apprentice, directed by Ali Abbasi and written by Vanity Fair special contributor Gabriel Sherman, premiered at May’s Cannes Film Festival to positive reviews. But the film faced a treacherous road to distribution in the days before the 2024 presidential election.

“To even be in one room with both films is not something that’s ever crossed my mind,” Stan says. “So, I’ll be digesting that probably throughout the holiday season.” The recognition for each movie feels extra gratifying because “they both felt really challenging in terms of what the roles we’re requiring,” he says, “obviously one being one of the most famous people in the world, with a lot of people having very strong feelings about [him], and many, many impressions having been done. How do you go in there and find something new, or try to offer a different perspective?”

As it turns out, bringing a young Donald Trump to life during the dawn of his fortuitous relationship with Roy Cohn (Jeremy Strong, now Globe-nominated for best supporting actor in a feature film) was only half the fight. Stan recently opened up about the struggle to promote The Apprentice in the wake of Trump’s re-election, including having to pass on Variety’s Actors on Actors because other participants were reluctant to talk about the president-elect.

“The movie has had a really uphill battle since Cannes,” says Stan, who also recently nabbed an Independent Spirit Award nomination for the movie. “It’s been hard for people to have permission to express how they feel about the movie, and today feels very gratifying in terms of having the Golden Globes recognize the film, and the work. It feels like hopefully going forward people can feel okay talking about it, and see it.”

Stan earned his first Globes nomination for playing Tommy Lee in 2022’s similarly controversial based-on-a-true-story project, Pam & Tommy. How does he feel to be nominated in the same year as the real-life Pamela Anderson, who became a first-time nominee for The Last Showgirl? “I’m so happy for her, and [it’s] so well deserved. It’s a beautiful film and a beautiful performance,” says Stan. “From our end, this was always part of the goal and the intention [of the series]—to somehow shine a light where it hasn’t been shined before, and hopefully contribute in a way [to her success]. So yeah, I’m ecstatic for her.”

Stan is also rooting for many of his other fellow nominees. “My two favorite films of the year are Sing Sing and A Real Pain,” says the actor, who then praises one of his competitors in the musical/comedy lead actor race. “Jesse Eisenberg, I want to say congratulations to him because he’s somebody I worked with years ago, in 2006 [via Fred Durst’s feature directorial debut, The Education of Charlie Banks], and the man’s a genius. I love that movie so much.”

He also spotlights The Substance, a film that, along with a release date, also shares themes with A Different Man—more specifically, issues of transformation and fixation on physical appearance. “There were a lot of articles that kind of put us together, in terms of the themes of the movies,” says Stan. “But they’re unique in the sense that they are original. Sing Sing, A Real Pain, I should say Anora while I’m at it—to be able to have films that are standing on their own without any IP, or anything about them that we know but their true original film storytelling, is amazing.”

The Globes are seen as something of a precursor on the way to potential Oscar gold—but Stan isn’t getting ahead of himself. “The fact that we’re here today in itself is such a massive step, but it is very much a one day at a time experience,” says the 42-year-old. “As an actor in this community, besides the work that you do on the day, when you go home at night and feel like you’ve left it all on the field, there’s nothing more gratifying than the actual recognition of your peers. I’ve been doing this for 20-some odd years, and I’m pretty grateful. So, knock on wood, and whatever happens next happens—but we’ve already won in a major way.”

[winxanity-ii]

⌜Godly Things | Chapter 06 Chapter 06 | carnage⌟

╰ ⌞🇨‌🇭‌🇦‌🇵‌🇹‌🇪‌🇷‌ 🇮‌🇳‌🇩‌🇪‌🇽‌⌝

❘ prev. chapter ❘༻✦༺❘ next chapter ❘

The dawn of the contest day broke over Ithaca, painting the sky in hues of rose and gold, as the tension within the palace walls thickened like a storm gathering on the horizon.

You were on your way to the great hall with a satchel swinging by your side, carrying your lyre, when muffled sounds drew your attention to a small, unused closet down the corridor.

Thunk.

Curiosity got the better of you, and you hesitated only a moment before pulling the door open.

There, you found Cleo in a compromising position with Antinous.

His clothes were disheveled, the buttons on his tunic partially undone, and Cleo's chiton was slipping from her shoulders. Their faces were flushed, and her lips were swollen and glistening.

Marks adorned Cleo's neck, a telling sign of the moments they'd just shared.

Cleo was the first to notice you, her eyes widening in panic. She hastily pushed against Antinous, her voice stuttering as she said your name, "_____."

You felt your expression blank, your lips pressing into a thin line as you took a step back, lowering your gaze. Without looking directly at either of them, you spoke curtly, "The contest will begin soon. It would be wise to head to the Great Hall."

Antinous adjusted his tunic, a smirk tugging as he gave you a small bow of his head, his eyes raking over your form with a brazen intensity. "Thank you," he muttered, his tone dripping with smugness.

With one last lingering glance, he turned and swaggered off, his back quickly disappearing around the corner.

Cleo, meanwhile, frantically tried to fix her appearance, her cheeks flushed with embarrassment. A flustered giggle escaped her as she straightened her hair, attempting to regain her composure.

For a brief moment, you battled with yourself—considering whether to warn her to leave while she still could, to spare her the fate that awaited those who chose the wrong side.

But you held your tongue.

Especially when she nudged you lightly with her elbow, her voice carrying a hint of hesitancy despite her laughter as she said, "You should really loosen up, you know. I mean it, ____. Sometimes I wonder if you're not just wasting your youth—loyalty to a kingdom that may not even be the same by the end of today..." Her smile faltered, her words heavier than her usual teasing tone.

You stared at her, your expression unchanging, though your eyes hardened slightly. "I wonder if wasting one's youth might be better than spending it on someone who doesn't see past the moment." The words slipped from your mouth before you could stop them, a small shard of judgment bleeding through your usually calm demeanor.

Cleo's face flushed deeper, a mixture of shame and embarrassment crossing her features.

For a moment, she looked as if she might argue, but instead, her lips pressed into a tight scowl. She glared at you, her eyes narrowing with a spark of frustration.

"I don't get you sometimes," she added, her voice tinged with both frustration and a weariness that seemed to have been building over time. "You never let yourself live a little. It's like you're always on guard, always distant... and it's exhausting to watch, honestly."

Your eyes narrowed at her words, and your voice came out sharper than before. "Maybe it's because I see what happens when people let their guard down, Cleo. Look around you. The stakes are higher than they've ever been. We don't have the luxury of throwing caution to the wind."

Cleo's gaze faltered, her face flushing in deeper embarrassment, and she scowled with a cross of her arms. "Oh? And I suppose Prince Telemachus would agree with you?" Her voice held a bite now, her irritation surfacing fully.

The mention of Telemachus was no longer just a joke—it felt like a barb, a deliberate attempt to wound.

For the first time, her words stung, and you could feel your composure waver, a pang of something sharp twisting inside you. Your hand twisted around the rope of the bag, fingers curling tightly as if seeking a way to channel the restlessness bubbling just beneath the surface.

"This isn't about the prince," you snapped, taking a step back, your eyes glinting with a rare edge of anger. "This is about survival, Cleo. For all of us. You might think I'm distant, that I'm cold, but I would rather be that than blind to what's really happening."

Instead of trying to listen, Cleo's scowl deepened, her lips curving downwards in irritation. She huffed out a dismissive "whatever," before straightening up, her shoulders tensing. "I'm about to go watch the suitors warm up with the rest of the servant girls," she said, her tone dripping with defiance. "If you ever decide to get off your high horse, you're welcome to join us."

With that, she turned and sauntered away, her shoulders squared in frustration.

You watched her go, her form disappearing down the corridor, before you let out a shuddering breath.

You lifted your gaze upwards, the ceiling above seeming to stretch endlessly, and muttered softly, "Gods, please give me strength," before continuing your way to the contest.

As you entered the grand dining hall, you found yourself impressed by the change.

The sun filtered in through the high windows, casting a golden light over the space, illuminating the dust particles that danced in the air.

Only the suitors and a few servants were milling about, their hushed conversations and tense laughter creating a charged atmosphere.

Unlike the grand events that were usually publicized to the whole kingdom, this one seemed cloaked in a strange intimacy, a finality that made it feel more sacred.

The once opulent room had been stripped of its familiar trappings; the grand dining table and chairs were all removed, leaving a vast open space.

Twelve large wooden boxes had been set up, each marked with a target, waiting for the archery contest that would decide the fate of Ithaca.

The air felt different; a heavy anticipation settled like a blanket over everyone present.

The suitors, standing a few feet away, were warming up.

Some were shirtless, their muscles taut as they stretched; others wore serious expressions as they prepared themselves for the challenge ahead.

Their bodies glistened with sweat, and there was an undercurrent of competition among them—some laughed loudly, trying to mask their nerves, while others moved in silence, their focus unwavering.

A glimpse towards the kitchen door revealed Cleo and a few other familiar servant girls giggling and ogling the suitors, their eyes wide with a mix of shyness and excitement.

They stood partially hidden, peeking out with smiles and exchanged whispers, as if this were some kind of entertainment meant just for them.

Further off, you even spotted the disguised Odysseus, his posture deceptively relaxed as he observed every movement within the hall.

He was studying them, the men who dared to take over his household.

Swiftly and quietly, you made your way to your designated spot.

Unlike last night, you were placed higher up, just two feet away at the foot of the Queen's seat, allowing you to see the entire contest unfold in its fullness. It was a vantage point that made it impossible for you to miss a single detail.

Turning slightly, your gaze flicked back towards Penelope's empty seat; it loomed above you, the polished wood catching the sunlight, a symbol of her resilience and her endless waiting.

A pang of unease twisted in your chest as you wondered if she would be able to handle the events that were about to unfold.

Would she be able to bear it when the truth was finally revealed?

The weight of it all pressed down on your shoulders—the suitors, Odysseus, Telemachus, even Penelope herself.

You wondered if her grace would hold, or if the years of anguish would finally break free when the moment of reckoning arrived.

As you knelt down to tune your lyre, a shadow suddenly fell across you.

"Good morning, ____." You looked up, and there he was—Prince Telemachus. A soft, sweet smile graced his face, his eyes warm as they met yours.

It was the kind of smile that could light up the darkest corners of your heart, one filled with reassurance and kindness.

The sight of him made your heart skip for just a moment, but as you looked into his eyes, Cleo's words suddenly echoed in your mind.

...Oh? And I suppose Prince Telemachus would agree with you?...

The insinuations, the teasing remarks about the prince—they hit you all at once.

The smile faltered on your lips, and you found yourself looking back down at the strings of your lyre, focusing on adjusting the tune rather than meeting his gaze. "Good morning, Prince Telemachus."

Telemachus' brows furrowed, concern creasing his features. He shifted to squat down beside you, his eyes searching your face. "Hey," he said softly, his voice just loud enough for you to hear over the commotion in the hall, "what's wrong? You seem... distant." There was a genuine note of worry there, as if he could sense that something was off.

You swallowed, forcing yourself to smile, though it didn't quite reach your eyes. "Oh, it's nothing, my prince," you lied, keeping your tone light. "I'm just a bit nervous about today, that's all." You tried to make the smile a bit brighter, hoping to reassure him.

His shoulders sagged slightly, the tension visibly easing from his posture. He let out a small sigh of relief, his lips curving into a smile that mirrored the sweetness from before. "There's nothing to be nervous about," he assured you, his voice gentle. "Everything is going to be alright."

You noticed the way his hand twitched, as if he wanted to reach out and touch yours, his fingers moving ever so slightly before he hesitated, ultimately letting his hand drop to his side.

The gesture, or rather the hesitation, made your heart race just a tad bit faster.

Before either of you could say more, the double doors of the grand hall were pushed open with a loud creak. The announcer's voice rang out clearly, "Her Majesty, Queen Penelope."

All eyes turned towards the entrance, and you followed suit, your breath catching slightly at the sight.

Penelope stepped into the hall, her head held high, her expression calm but resolute.

The morning light streamed in behind her, illuminating her like a figure out of legend. Her veil was gone, her face fully visible—a deliberate choice, perhaps, to show her strength and confidence. Her dark hair was neatly braided, her gown flowing elegantly around her as she moved forward with purpose.

There was a dignity in the way she walked, her steps measured, her gaze unwavering as it swept across the room, taking in the suitors, her son, and the entire setting that would determine her fate.

Her eyes held a quiet intensity, and you could see the years of pain, hope, and resilience reflected in them.

She was ready, whatever the outcome might be.

You couldn't help but feel a sense of awe at her poise, even as that unease continued to twist in your chest.

She had borne so much—far more than anyone should have to—and yet here she was, standing tall, ready to face whatever came next.

Penelope stepped forward, her gaze sweeping across the room, her voice carrying the weight of both authority and something far more personal. She began, "Today is a day for truth, for decisions long delayed." Her voice was calm, yet it resonated throughout the hall, commanding everyone's attention. "For twenty years, my household has waited, and now, it is time to see who among you is worthy."

She turned her head slightly, her eyes resting on the head servant. "Bring forth the bow."

Two servants stepped forward, bowing deeply before leaving the room.

Moments later, they returned, carefully carrying a large chest between them.

The chest was adorned in Ithaca's colors—deep ocean blue and forest green, with intricate gold designs etched into its surface.

It was a chest that demanded respect, one that held not just an object but a legacy.

Penelope approached it, her hands brushing over the top before she slowly and gracefully opened the lid.

The room seemed to collectively hold its breath as she pulled back the chest's top, revealing the bow of Odysseus.

It was a magnificent weapon—crafted from polished horn, its limbs strong and powerful.

The bow was large, and even at rest, it carried an aura of strength, a testament to the man who had wielded it. The gold detailing shimmered in the sunlight, and the string lay coiled neatly, waiting for a hand skilled enough to draw it taut.

The sight of the bow was almost otherworldly—the embodiment of Odysseus' strength, the kind of weapon that could only belong to a hero.

"This bow," she began, her voice echoing through the hall, "was not just a tool of battle. It was the pride of Odysseus, my husband, gifted from the legendary archer, Iphitus, son of Eurytus, as a token of their friendship."

Her eyes softened, her gaze drifting, almost as if she could see Odysseus standing there, beside her. She paused, a faint smile curving her lips as she continued.

"It is a symbol of his unmatched skill, his wisdom, his courage. None but he could wield it, and none but he could string it with such ease." Her voice grew softer, as if she were no longer addressing the suitors but speaking to a memory. "It is the bow of a true king, a true protector of Ithaca—of our people, our home."

There was a pause, the weight of her words sinking into the silent hall.

The suitors shifted uncomfortably, as though some of them began to understand that this was no mere contest—it was a testament, a challenge meant for a man of true worth.

Penelope's eyes lingered on the bow before she looked up again, her expression composed, though a flicker of something more—grief, hope, love—remained behind her gaze.

"This contest, therefore, is not merely to decide who shall take my hand," she said, her voice carrying a firmness that left no room for argument. "It is to determine who among you, if any, possesses the strength and honor to stand where my husband once stood. It is to prove that Ithaca shall have a protector worthy of its people."

She lifted her head, her eyes sweeping across the gathered men, meeting each of their gazes in turn, unflinching and calm. "Whoever can string this bow and shoot an arrow cleanly through the twelve axeheads I have set shall have my hand in marriage and shall take their place as the ruler of Ithaca."

For a heartbeat, the hall was silent, the weight of her declaration hanging heavily in the air.

There was no mistaking the quiet plea beneath her strength, though—her desire for someone truly worthy, for someone who could step into the place Odysseus had left. And as she spoke, you could feel the challenge in her words; it wasn't only a test of skill but a measure of heart, of worth, of loyalty.

For a moment, you saw the vulnerability in her eyes, the way her whole history with Odysseus seemed to ripple through the air; her voice softened when she spoke of Odysseus, and you understood.

The bow was a fragment of him, a piece of her husband, and this contest was more than a show—it was her last chance to find someone who could live up to that memory.

After her declaration, she nodded once, her expression hardening once again.

Penelope then cleared her throat and addressed the suitors directly, her voice calm but resolute, "I will not be witnessing this contest. Instead, I will retire to my chambers. May you all show honor and skill today." She dipped her head in a small, graceful bow and added, "I wish you all the best of luck."

As she turned to leave, her eyes landed on you, gaze softening. "Please, play something cheerful," she said quietly, her voice almost lost in the silence of the hall. "Let the suitors' spirits be lifted by your music."

You nodded, bowing your head respectfully. "Of course, my Queen," you answered.

You watched her leave, her elegant form moving through the hall with grace, while Eurycleia scurried behind her, her steps quick in an effort to keep pace with her queen.

Positioning the lyre comfortably in your hands, you took a deep breath, your fingers gently brushing the strings, bringing forth a bright, lively tune. The sound danced lightly through the still air, weaving around the tension and unease, bringing with it a sense of warmth and energy.

It was a piece meant to uplift, to inspire courage—even if, in your heart, you felt the unease of what was to come.

As the music echoed through the hall, the suitors began to step forward. But before any of them could make a move, Telemachus himself stepped up to take the bow. His approach was confident, his shoulders squared, his chin lifted high.

There was a murmur among the crowd, a collective intake of breath as Telemachus stood before them, his hands resting on the bow.

You watched the prince, understanding why he chose to compete.

Telemachus was not just trying to prove his worth—he was making a statement to the suitors, reminding them that he, too, was a contender, not someone to be overlooked.

Telemachus took the bow in his hands, and the room fell silent, all eyes fixed on him. He tested the string, his muscles straining as he attempted to draw it.

You could see the tension in his posture, the way his brow furrowed in concentration. He tried once, then twice, the wood creaking faintly under his hands.

On his third attempt, his knuckles turned white as he pulled with all his strength, and for a moment, it seemed like he might actually succeed.

The entire room seemed to hold its breath, the anticipation thick in the air. But then, Telemachus glanced towards the back of the room, his gaze catching on something—or someone.

There, leaning against the wall, Odysseus, gave his son a small, almost imperceptible shake of his head.

Telemachus let out a breath and relaxed his grip, stepping back with a nod.

He turned towards the suitors, offering a small, almost playful smile. "I suppose it's not my time yet," he said lightly, though the challenge was clear beneath his words.

He handed the bow back, his gaze moving across the suitors, his expression challenging. There was no mistaking his message—he was his father's son, and his strength and skill were not to be underestimated.

The suitors shuffled, their expressions wary. The prince's near success had shown them all that this was no ordinary contest, that this was no easy feat to accomplish.

Odysseus' eyes flickered with pride as he watched his son step back and make his way back to his mother's chair; settling himself down to watch the contest with clear eyes.

The suitors were strong, yes—but none of them had the true heart of Ithaca.

Though, for now, they would proceed as planned, allowing each suitor to attempt the impossible task, to let them fail and reveal their weakness.

It was all part of the ruse, the careful disguise, the setup.

And now, the stage was set.

The suitors would each have their turn, each of them about to face the impossible task before them, while Odysseus and his allies waited, the true challenge still ahead.

The first suitor, Leodes, approached the bow, a confident swagger in his step that belied his nervousness.

He grasped the bow with both hands, his face flushing slightly as he tried to string it. The bow barely budged under his efforts, his face turning a shade redder with each attempt.

Frustration contorted his features as he strained, his muscles trembling with the effort.

With a grunt, he finally gave up, stepping back with a scowl, his confidence visibly shattered.

Another suitor, Elatus, took his turn next.

He approached with a bravado that masked his growing doubt. He spat on his hands, rubbed them together, and then took hold of the bow.

He pulled at it, his jaw clenched, his teeth grinding together in effort. His movements became more desperate with each passing moment, his hands slipping against the polished wood.

Sweat beaded on his forehead as he strained, his bravado fading quickly.

After several attempts, he let out a frustrated growl and stepped back, shaking his head in disbelief.

Finally, it was Antinous' turn.

The blonde stood up, his eyes narrowed, a determined set to his jaw.

The room seemed to quiet even more, a collective anticipation hanging thick in the air.

He moved with deliberate steps, his shoulders squared, his head held high as though the weight of the room's expectation rested on him alone.

Antinous took the bow, his fingers brushing over the polished wood, his lips curling into a self-assured smile. He gripped it tightly, planting his feet, his muscles rippling beneath his tunic as he pulled.

For a moment, it seemed he might succeed—his arms flexed, the bow groaned slightly, bending just enough to spark a glimmer of hope among his allies.

But then, the strain began to show.

Antinous' face reddened, the cords of his neck standing out as he grit his teeth. He shifted his stance, trying to use his full body weight to pull the bowstring back, but it refused to comply.

His frustration grew, a vein pulsing visibly at his temple.

He gave a sharp, guttural yell as he pulled one last time, but the bow remained stubborn, unyielding.

The room held its breath, watching as Antinous' confidence slowly ebbed away, replaced by an ugly scowl.

His face flushed with both exertion and the sting of public failure. He threw the bow down onto the table with a loud clatter, a sneer twisting his lips. "This is impossible!" he spat, his voice dripping with irritation. He shot a glare at the other suitors, as if daring them to laugh.

The other suitors shifted uncomfortably, none of them daring to meet his eye. The silence in the hall was thick, the tension growing as each suitor came face to face with their own inadequacy.

The bow had proven to be more than a mere weapon—it was a testament to strength, a test that none of them could pass.

From your place, you watched the suitors' failures, each attempt underscoring their unworthiness. Their arrogance, their sense of entitlement, all fell away when faced with the challenge they couldn't meet.

It was becoming clear to everyone in the room—these men, for all their posturing, were not the equal of Odysseus, nor even his son.

In the corner of the room, Odysseus remained leaning against the wall, his eyes keen as he observed each failure, his expression betraying nothing.

But you could see the flicker of satisfaction in his gaze, the small, almost imperceptible nods as each suitor faltered.

It was all going according to plan, and the true test had yet to begin.

Finally, as the last suitor made his failed attempt, Odysseus, still in disguise, stepped forward, his expression humble as he approached the bow.

He bowed his head slightly to Telemachus, his voice carrying across the tense silence of the room. "I beg you, my prince, let me have a try. I know I am but a beggar, but I would be honored to hold a weapon of such greatness."

The suitors erupted, voices rising in disbelief and anger.

"Are you sick in the head?"

"A beggar? How dare he even ask?"

"Surely he's joking."

Antinous, still flushed from his recent failure, scoffed loudly, his eyes narrowing. "What nerve!" he spat, his hand motioning dismissively. "You think a beggar like you could even hope to lift the bow, let alone string it?"

The others muttered in agreement. It was as if they feared the humiliation of even allowing him to try, the risk that he might succeed too shameful to bear.

But before their protests could grow too loud, Telemachus raised his hand, silencing them. "He is a guest under my family's roof, and all guests deserve their chance." His eyes, filled with a quiet determination, swept across the suitors, daring any to oppose him. "If the beggar wishes to take part in this challenge, then so be it."

The suitors fell silent, begrudgingly stepping aside, unable to defy their hostess without risking public scorn.

Telemachus seized the moment, giving orders for the bow to be handed to the beggar.

With the prince's permission granted, Odysseus approached the bow. He moved slowly, his every movement deliberate, his eyes fixed on the weapon before him.

The suitors watched with skepticism, their expressions ranging from disdain to disbelief, and a few exchanged mocking smirks, unable to imagine this man succeeding where they had all failed.

You kept playing your lyre, the soft music filling the tense silence of the room. Yet even as your fingers plucked the strings, your gaze couldn't help but drift toward Odysseus, your breath caught in your chest.

You watched as he lifted the bow, his hands moving over it with a familiarity that spoke of years of practice, of ownership. He strung the bow effortlessly, as if it was the simplest thing in the world.

The bow made no protest—it yielded to him, as if it recognized its true master.

A collective gasp filled the hall, the suitors' mocking expressions replaced by wide eyes and parted lips; shock rippled through them, disbelief etched across their faces.

The great hall fell into a stunned silence, the only sound the faint hum of your music as the bowstring settled into place.

Telemachus, standing by, watched his father with pride that he could barely contain, a small smile pulling at his lips as he saw the reactions of the suitors. He moved with purpose, discreetly signaling to the few loyal servants positioned near the doors.

They nodded, moving swiftly to lock the exits, their movements unnoticed by the crowd, whose eyes were all fixed on Odysseus.

Odysseus stepped forward and, with steady hands, notched the first arrow. He let it loose with a sharp 'thwack,' the arrow piercing through the first of the twelve axeheads.

The room held its breath as he moved seamlessly to notch another arrow, his actions smooth and confident, as though he had done this countless times before.

You watched in awe, your fingers still instinctively playing the lyre, though the music had become mere background noise to the unfolding scene.

There was something mesmerizing in the way he handled it—like watching a legend step out of the shadows and come to life before your eyes.

The room seemed to fade around you, the music blending with the anticipation that gripped everyone present.

There, before your eyes, was the man you had heard countless stories about—the hero of Ithaca, displaying the strength and mastery that had made those tales immortal.

It was as if the years had fallen away, and you were witnessing Odysseus in his prime, every bit the warrior and king he was meant to be.

The sixth arrow flew through the air, and another axehead was split with a precision that seemed almost impossible, Odysseus moving with a grace and confidence that seemed almost otherworldly.

The silence in the hall deepened with each arrow that found its mark.

It was a silence heavy with tension, the kind that made the air feel thick and charged.

Every eye remained fixed on Odysseus, no one daring to speak, no one daring to even breathe too loudly, as if afraid that the smallest noise might shatter the spell that had been cast.

The suitors' faces were a mix of disbelief and something bordering on fear. They had mocked him, ridiculed the idea of a beggar even attempting the task. And now, with each arrow splitting through the axeheads, they were beginning to realize that something was very wrong.

A few of them exchanged uneasy glances, their expressions shifting from annoyance to a growing sense of unease. Nervous chuckles broke out among some of the men, a weak attempt to dismiss what was happening as coincidence.

"He can't possibly think he'll win the queen's hand, can he?" one of them whispered, the words tinged with an uncertainty that belied his dismissive tone.

Another leaned towards his companion, his voice low, almost a hiss. "Is this some kind of trick? Who is this man, really?"

But none of them had an answer. They watched, eyes wide and mouths dry, as Odysseus pulled back the bowstring again and again, his focus unwavering.

Even the most arrogant of the suitors, who had laughed openly before, now stood with their mouths slightly open, their eyes darting between the bow and the beggar who wielded it with such mastery.

You played the final note of your song just as the last arrow sailed through the air, splitting the twelfth axehead with a resounding 'thwack.'

The silence that followed was deafening, the suitors frozen in stunned disbelief, their eyes wide as they took in what had just happened.

Odysseus turned his head, his eyes finding yours across the room. He gave you a stern nod, a silent cue that you understood perfectly.

You nodded back, the bright, almost giddy expression on your face standing in stark contrast to the carnage that was about to unfold.

Closing your eyes for a brief moment, you took a deep breath, steadying yourself before your fingers began to dance across the strings once more.

The song you played was deceptively cheerful at first, a light, whimsical tune that fluttered through the air like birdsong.

But slowly, almost imperceptibly, it began to change.

The melody darkened, twisted, the notes taking on an edge that was both haunting and vengeful, a shadow creeping into the brightness—the cheerful melody morphed into something almost bloodthirsty, a song that spoke of retribution, of justice long overdue.

It wasn't just music; it was a call to arms, a declaration of what was to come.

The suitors shifted uncomfortably, some glancing around as if sensing the change, though they couldn't quite put their finger on what was happening.

But you knew. You had been told exactly what this song would do.

You remembered the shed, the way Odysseus had discussed the plan.

The air had been heavy with the scent of earth and wood, the small space filled with the tension of what was to come.

Odysseus had detailed every part of the plan, his voice steady as he laid out each step, each role.

You had listened patiently, absorbing every word until finally, you had asked, "What about me? What will I be doing?"

Telemachus had nodded in agreement, his face uncannily serious, his eyes fixed on his father. "Yes, father, what will her role be?" he had repeated, his voice carrying a note of protectiveness that made Odysseus' lips twitch with the hint of a smile.

Odysseus had reached into his tattered robes, pulling out a simple piece of parchment.

He looked at you then, his eyes meeting yours with an intensity that sent a shiver down your spine. He handed you the parchment, watching as you slowly unrolled it.

"This," he had said, his voice low, "is a gift from Athena herself." The paper had revealed a sheet of music, the notes unlike anything you had ever seen—intricate, almost ethereal, as if the very ink had been touched by divine hands. "The goddess delivered this to me, explaining its purpose, its power. This song is imbued with her blessing. It will only affect those she does not protect—those who have no claim to her favor. For us, it will be a boon. For them..."

He hadn't needed to finish the sentence. The meaning was clear.

And now, here you were, playing that very song, the melody shifting from bright and cheerful to dark and vengeful.

You could feel the magic in it, thrumming through your fingertips, spreading through the hall like a palpable force.

It strengthened those loyal to Ithaca, those under Athena's protection, while the suitors began to fidget, a sense of unease settling over them like a cold mist.

The suitors had no idea what was happening, but they could feel it—the shift in the air, the sudden heaviness that made their hearts pound and their hands tremble.

It was as if the walls themselves were closing in, the once grand hall now a trap from which there was no escape.

Odysseus' gaze never wavered from the suitors, his eyes hard and unyielding as the music filled the space around him.

The song bolstered him, his muscles seeming to grow even more taut, his presence even more commanding.

He was no longer just a man—he was a force of nature, a reckoning given flesh.

Odysseus stood tall, the bow still held firmly in his grasp.

Slowly, without breaking eye contact, he let the bow drop to his side, his hand moving up to grasp the edge of the ragged cloak draped over his shoulders.

With one fluid motion, he shed the cloak, letting it fall to the ground in a crumpled heap.

The air around him seemed to shimmer faintly, as if the very fabric of reality were bending to his presence.

The old, wrinkled skin that had disguised him melted away, replaced by the strong, rugged form that had been hidden beneath.

Muscles, hardened from years of battle, rippled beneath his sun-bronzed skin, and faint scars crisscrossed his arms and chest—evidence of the countless trials he had endured.

His hair, once matted and dull, now seemed to take on a life of its own, curling around his face in dark waves, with sprinkles of grey adding to his rugged appearance.

His eyes, once hidden beneath a tired, weary expression, now shone with an intensity that was almost chilling—a piercing gaze that seemed to look straight through the suitors, as if judging their very souls.

Fine lines marked the edges of his eyes, a reminder of his years, but they did nothing to diminish the fire within them.

A collective gasp went through the hall, the suitors recoiling slightly, their expressions shifting from shock to something resembling fear.

They could no longer deny what was before them—this was no beggar.

This was no mere man.

Odysseus took a step forward, his voice steady, carrying the weight of his authority. "I am Odysseus," he declared, his words resonating through the stunned silence of the hall, "King of Ithaca, and I have returned."

His gaze swept over the suitors, his eyes cold and unyielding.

The suitors cowered, some taking a step back, their faces pale. The arrogance, the bravado that had filled the hall only moments before, had drained away, leaving behind only fear and uncertainty.

They had come here seeking a queen, a kingdom, and now they faced a legend—a legend who had returned to reclaim what was rightfully his.

The truth hung in the air, undeniable and chilling: The true king had returned, and the reckoning was at hand.

The mood in the hall shifted dramatically, the tension thickening until it felt as though the air itself was vibrating with anticipation.

The suitors stood in stunned silence, shock and terror etched across their faces as they began to realize the gravity of their situation.

Antinous, who had been the loudest, the most arrogant of them all, was the first to react. His face went deathly pale, his eyes wide, his lips trembling as he stuttered out, "K-King Odysseus...?"

His voice barely broke through the thick silence, a pathetic whisper that seemed to crack the spell that had held the hall. 

For a moment, the world seemed to stand still, the weight of his declaration hanging in the air like a thunderclap. A collective murmur rippled through the hall, a mix of gasps, incredulous whispers, and faint scoffs.

Antinous' voice was shaky as he attempted to regain control. "This... this is some kind of trick!" he spat, though his eyes betrayed the fear he tried to suppress. "I refuse to believe it! He's a beggar, nothing more!" He glanced toward the other suitors, seeking support, but found only the same pale faces staring back at him, uncertainty gnawing at their bravado.

Another suitor took a step forward, his lips twisting into a sneer, though his confidence wavered. "Yes, this... this cannot be Odysseus!" He forced a laugh that echoed awkwardly in the heavy silence, his eyes darting between the king and the bow that now rested effortlessly in his hands. "It's impossible. The real Odysseus is dead, lost at sea! We've waited for years!" He looked around desperately, trying to ignite the doubt in others. "How could a man disappear for twenty years and just... return?"

Some of the suitors nodded slowly, as if clinging to his words, to the illusion of control they had crafted for themselves.

But the seed of doubt had been planted.

Their hands twitched nervously at their sides, and their gazes flickered to the bow, to the axes now split cleanly in half by arrows only the true Odysseus could have fired.

One of the younger suitors, trembling, whispered just loud enough to be heard, "Could it really be him?"

"Of course not!" Antinous barked, though his voice had lost its force. He took a shaky step forward, pointing accusingly at Odysseus. "This man—this beggar—he's nothing but a fraud! Some charlatan! Look at him!" His words stumbled out, desperate, as if trying to convince himself more than anyone else. "We—we can't let him fool us!"

Odysseus remained still, his eyes cold and patient as he watched them falter, their arrogance crumbling before him.

Antinous, still clinging to his denial, sneered again. "It's some kind of trickery! He's using magic or... or sorcery!" He waved a dismissive hand in the air. "He couldn't string that bow—no man here could! It's not possible!" His voice grew louder, more frantic. "You saw it! This must be the work of the gods to humiliate us!"

But as his words rang out, the silence that followed was deafening.

None of the other suitors moved. None spoke in agreement.

The tension in the air thickened, pressing down on them as the weight of their situation began to settle in.

Odysseus, his expression unchanging, took another step forward, his presence commanding. His voice was low but carried the undeniable power of a king reclaiming his throne. "You can deny it all you want. But the truth stands before you."

A ripple of fear ran through the suitors, and one of them—the youngest—dropped to his knees, his face pale and stricken. "It is him," he whispered hoarsely, his voice trembling. "It's really him. We're doomed."

The murmurs of disbelief turned into frantic whispers, then into rising chaos as suitors pushed back from their places, stumbling over each other in an attempt to retreat.

One last defiant voice shouted from the back, "It's a lie! He's no king!" But the speaker's words were drowned out by the clamor of panic overtaking the hall.

In the next heartbeat, chaos erupted.

Odysseus moved first, with Telemachus at his side—no longer the boy who had tolerated their mockery, but a prince, a warrior who had been waiting for this moment all his life.

Telemachus' sword flashed in the dim light as he let out a shout, the sound echoing off the stone walls, full of fury and long-held determination.

The blade cut across the back of the nearest suitor with cold precision, slicing through flesh as the man let out a strangled cry; blood sprayed, staining the marble floor as he collapsed in a heap, gurgling his last breath.

Chaos erupted.

Some suitors bolted for the doors, only to find them locked.

Others fumbled at their sides, reaching for swords that weren't there—realizing too late that their weapons had been removed under the guise of preventing damage during the contest.

Panic swept through them like wildfire, their faces draining of color, their eyes wide with terror.

They were trapped, defenseless, caught in the jaws of a trap they hadn't even noticed until it was too late.

Odysseus, by contrast, moved with unnerving calm.

He did not rush or hesitate. Each step was deliberate, each swing of his sword controlled. He was a force of nature, his strikes as sure and inevitable as a storm.

His face was a mask of focus, his eyes cold and detached, as though he had separated himself from the violence unfolding around him. He showed no signs of anger, no flashes of hatred—only a methodical precision that made it clear this was no wild vengeance, but calculated retribution.

He wasn't just cutting down men. He was restoring balance, reclaiming what had been stolen from him.

One suitor, his face twisted in terror, fell to his knees, hands raised in surrender. "Mercy! Please, have mercy!" he cried, his voice cracking.

Odysseus glanced at him, but his expression didn't change. There was no recognition, no flicker of empathy. His blade came down in a clean, swift arc, the man's plea silenced in an instant as his body crumpled to the ground.

Behind him, Telemachus moved with the same eerie calm, though his strikes were fueled by a deep-seated rage—rage for the years of watching his mother suffer, for the disrespect shown to his father's memory.

His sword found its next target, sinking into a man's chest. The suitor gasped, eyes wide, before collapsing, his blood pooling around him in the growing sea of red.

The air was thick with the scent of blood, sharp and metallic.

Screams echoed through the hall, desperate, high-pitched, as the suitors scrambled over each other in a frantic bid to escape. But there was nowhere to run.

The once-grand hall was now a slaughterhouse.

Through it all, Odysseus remained eerily composed, his breathing steady, his movements as fluid as they were efficient. His face remained impassive, as though he were cutting through crops, not men.

Each suitor that fell before him was another obstacle removed, another piece of Ithaca restored.

You kept playing, your lyre's dark, vengeful melody rising above the chaos, weaving through the carnage like a thread of fate.

The suitors fell in time with the rhythm, their bodies collapsing as if your music were guiding the hands of their executioners.

And still, Odysseus showed no emotion.

His sword glinted in the dim light, slick with blood, but his gaze never wavered. He cut down suitor after suitor with mechanical precision, their pleas and cries of pain washing over him like a distant hum.

His face was as unreadable as stone, his presence filling the room with an almost supernatural calm.

He wasn't a man in that moment. He was something more, something unstoppable.

A suitor stumbled backward, his eyes wide with terror as Odysseus approached, his trembling hands raised in a feeble defense. "Please, no! I didn't mean—"

But the words died in his throat as Odysseus' blade pierced his heart, swift and clean. The suitor crumpled to the floor, his body joining the growing pile at the feet of the king.

Through the madness, you kept your eyes on your lyre, your fingers moving with a life of their own, but you couldn't help the way your gaze drifted every so often towards the unfolding carnage.

You did not flinch, did not look away, even as the suitors fell, even as the hall was painted red with their blood.

There was something chilling about it—something almost surreal.

The way the men you had served, the men you had watched lounge and laugh and eat without a care in the world, were now scrambling, terrified, their faces twisted in fear and pain.

And then there was Odysseus, standing amidst it all, his chest rising and falling with each breath, his eyes blazing with an intensity that made your heart pound. His movements were almost too smooth, too practiced, like a dance he had performed a hundred times before.

There was no hesitation, no rush to his strikes—just a chilling certainty, a man who knew exactly what he was doing and how it would end.

There was sorrow there, yes, but also something else—something fierce, something that spoke of justice, of a reckoning long overdue.

The suitors, on the other hand, were chaos incarnate—stumbling, scrambling, their confidence shattered, their bravado reduced to nothing in the face of Odysseus' calm wrath.

And all the while, the music swelled, the melody growing darker, more vengeful.

You did not stop playing, even as the hall became a graveyard.

Odysseus moved towards Antinous, the man who had led the suitors, the man who had dared to try and take his place.

Antinous had backed himself into a corner, pale and trembling, though there was still a flicker of defiance in his eyes. He raised his hands, trembling as they were, in a last-ditch attempt to regain control. "You think you're a hero, Odysseus? A king?" His voice cracked, the mocking tone faltering as his eyes darted around, searching for an escape that wasn't there. "You're nothing but a monster... who abandoned his kingdom."

Odysseus paused.

For a moment, there was a terrible silence, the words hanging heavy in the air.

But then, his expression darkened, his eyes narrowing into cold, steel slits.

Antinous stumbled backward, his hands now shaking uncontrollably. His back hit the wall, and for the first time, the arrogance that had always cloaked him was gone. His eyes were wide with terror, his chest heaving as panic set in.

"Wait—wait! Please!" His voice had lost all of its previous bite, replaced by a pitiful, desperate plea. "Mercy... have mercy, Odysseus! It—it was a mistake! We were only—"

But his words caught in his throat, his breath coming in sharp, shallow gasps as Odysseus drew closer, unyielding. Antinous' legs buckled beneath him, and he collapsed to the ground, scrambling backward like a cornered animal.

"Please! I beg you!" He cried out now, his voice cracking with fear. His hands were raised in surrender, his face twisted in panic, a pitiful shadow of the once-proud leader of the suitors. "I—I didn't mean—"

His words were drowned in the silence of the hall as Odysseus loomed over him, his expression cold and unfeeling, as though he were staring down at an insect. The king's gaze flickered for just a moment, watching as Antinous cowered before him, reduced to nothing but a sniveling, desperate man.

Odysseus' lip twitched, not in a smile, but in something darker. His voice was low, each word deliberate, dripping with fury and finality. "Mercy?" He raised his sword slowly, deliberately, the edge glinting with the blood of the others who had fallen. "You know nothing of war, of sacrifice. You are a coward, hiding behind lies and empty bravado. You defiled my home, disrespected my family, and dared to covet what was never yours. Mercy was never an option."

He paused, his eyes like shards of ice, pinning Antinous in place. "Now, you will face the reality of what it means to cross the true king of Ithaca."

Antinous let out a strangled gasp, his eyes wide with terror as the reality of his fate settled in.

He scrambled backward, his hands clawing at the stone floor, but there was nowhere left to go. He was trapped.

His lips began moving in what might have been a prayer, a last-ditch plea to any god who might still be listening.

But the gods had already chosen their side, and there would be no mercy for him here.

With one final look of disgust, Odysseus brought the blade down, swift and brutal.

Antinous' eyes widened for a brief moment, his lips parting in a final, silent gasp before the light in them faded. His body crumpled to the ground, lifeless, his arrogance and bravado extinguished in an instant.

The hall fell silent, the last echo of his pitiful pleas fading into the stillness.

Odysseus stood there, his chest rising and falling slowly, his sword dripping with the blood of those who had dared to challenge him. His gaze swept over the bodies littering the floor, but there was no satisfaction in his eyes—only the quiet, detached gaze he had held throughout.

The king had returned. And he had reclaimed his throne.

A/N: ooof! 8.0k words, lordy... but i must admit, it's getting easier for me to write/picture fight scenes instead of just summarizing them in a sentence lololo;  anywho as you guys can tell by the spammed updates, i really love greek mythology lolo; who's your favorite god/goddess? mine would have to be Aphrodite; for her to be the most beautiful to ever exist, she really does get envious whenever someone even breathes the word 'pretty' in another person direction 😩---i stan a messy queen

[rayroseu]

Wait this is actually interesting, so from what the story implies, Wild Rose Castle is weaker than Black Scale Castle because it probably has no magical atmosphere that serves as its defense, there's probably fewer troops here, and the fact that its just on a clear meadow makes the terrain not suitable for defenses unlike Black Scale who is atop a mountain and covered in a Valley.

So I kinda think that Wild Rose Castle is a newly built castle in Briarland. After all, Meleanor was a kid only 200 years ago so Wild Briar is probably that age as well (or more), i think that age is young (compared to Black Scale which probably several centuries old?) thats why it has weaker defense facilities.

Maybe Wild Briar is older as Black Scale, but this game says this is Meleanor's castle so I assume she's the one who had built this.

But I have this HC that this castle is actually built because of Levan. For his diplomatic mission between humans. Building a castle in an easy terrain would make sense to make it easier for magicless humans to transport in. Because I don't really expect(?) Maleanor who is a military commander, which she probably has knowledge of strategies, to not see how disadvantegous this location is considering its close to humans

But I also think Wild Briar was built as like a refuge for the faes that live far away outside Dragon City(I wont call it dragonopolis lol)

Wild Rose being a few centuries old also kinda makes sense since the Silver Owls only recognize Meleanor as the only ruler in Briarland, they probably arent aware theres a queen named Maleficia because she's ancient(?) atleast I didnt caught any silver owls mentioning her iirc(?) They went to the mountains near Dragon city yes-- but like it was to pursue General Lilia and not to besiege Black Scale as well even they kinda had the potential to do so since they took down Maleanor and Silver Owls' is implied to be very greedy--

I actually think its more interesting to not summarize Maleanor's cause of death as just her overestimating her win against Knight of Dawn-- I actually think its because of several reasons such as:

"Wrong time" in working out the diplomatic relations between the conflict between humans and faes, Levan's plan to educate wasn't pointless effort, but I wish the story states as well what he did to counter the fact that the faes hates humans not because of a misunderstanding, but because of their mistreatment towards faes(the story literally implies rhe humans kills faes meanwhile we have yet to see a royal guard fae that killed humans the story only tells us they chased them away), Levan does this when its clear that the Silver Owls was getting hostile, like objectively speaking, this was kinda not the right time to communicate and Meleanor was the receiving end of the build up hostility of the Silver Owls

This is kinda countering my first point, but Meleanor's decisions was kinda weird too in the story lol, why send your best Generals to the enemy fortress.... 😭💥 But I actually think this is interesting as well, because its likely a reference to the wars in LiveAction Maleficent... I remember watching that movie especially Maleficent 2: Mistress of Evil and just wondering why the Moors never plans (and even if they do its very simple, just charge in and overpower the enemy with strength), they just charge in instead of treating it "like a chess" where you save your best pieces in dangerous situations and everyone has a role in dispelling the enemy. They also hold this belief that only the strong ones would guarantee their success and heavily relies on them. Meanwhile, Queen Ingrid used deception and control to subdue all the faeries. Like Meleanor/Faes vs Humans, the faes never thinks about what the human enemy plans, they rely on raw dodging it lol probably alluding to the fact that the faes have trouble thinking like a human.

And lastly this point lol, poor choice of headquarters, the terrain is easy for humans to invade in, and the castle is still weak, also the fact that Wild Briar was alone in fighting several human nations was a factor as well because it couldnt get back up in time because it was too far away from Black Scale Castle, kinda adding Wild Briar was outnumbered too atp

[jasmines-library]

What do you think about a Batfam x Supernatural crossover??? Like, Reader is Dean's twin, and Sam's older sister, but she can't take the boys' nonsense anymore (like the pranks in the first season) and goes out to hunt a nest of vampires alone, only in Gotham, Batman V and confronts her, she even runs away but is caught, so she tells the truth, he takes her to the mansion and everyone is extremely shocked that these creatures are real (including Bruce) but there is no way to deny the facts!! And meanwhile the boys are freaking out because their badass sister is missing and they're looking for her like crazy?

Changes

⛤⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽⛧☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅⛤

Note: (how strange, someone requested something very similar: anonymous also requested here.

Warnings: Swearing, blood and gore but not descriptive.

Word Count: 1.9k

⛧ BATFAM MASTERLIST ⛧ SPN MASTERLIST ⛧

⛤⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽⛧☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅⛤

You had finally had enough. You just couldn’t take it anymore. The constant bickering and blame passing, the constant nights spent laying awake blaming yourselves when another got hurt…you were sick of it. 

It was in the very early hours of the morning that you slipped out the door, with a handful of your belongings stuffed into a bag. It’s not like you had planned to ;eave forever..you just needed to get away for a little while. To take a breath of fresh air. You had found a hunt a few states over; a nest of vampires which should be simple enough. 

You made your way to the bus station about 10 minutes before your bus was supposed to leave. It was just a short walk from the motel. You had considered taking a car or hitching a ride with someone, but you knew that Sam and Dean would be able to track you much easier if you did that. So, you opted to take a bus and exchange half-way there just to make sure they wouldn’t follow behind as quickly as you wanted them to. If you were lucky, you would make it back before they even figured out where you were. To say that they were going to be pissed when they found out would be an understatement. But you were an adult, for crying out loud. Hell, you were the same age as Dean and he seemed to run off without a care in the world. 

There was little to no-one on the bus as it sped down the freeway. Supposedly that's because most people weren’t mad enough to get up at 2 in the morning to get on a bus. Either way, it was nice. You had disabled the tracker on your phone and plugged in your headphones to prepare for the drive. 

Gotham city was a strange place. Extravagant, but strange. Dawn was slowly creeping into day when you hopped off the bus, and you could tell that the city was lively. There were people roaming the streets as the streetlamps flickered off and the lights inside the skyscrapers blinked on. There were dog walkers, couples holding hands and businessmen hailing cabs over the road. An eerie feeling hung about the city. You couldn’t place it, but there was something malevolent about this city. With the high rise buildings and twisting alleys,it seemed the perfect place for crime. The city was so big that people could just vanish. It was the perfect place for vampires. 

You found your hotel a little way up the street. It was quaint with only one bed and a small table next to the wall by the ensuite, but it suited your needs perfectly. 

Concealing a machete is not easy. Even though the city had died down slightly now it was past the mid-day hubbub, there were still people everywhere and you did not want to risk being caught by the police for carrying a weapon around. By wearing one of your jackets, you managed to conceal it under your arm as you began to scope out the city to find where the vampires were supposedly nesting. 

When you finally found it, it seemed to tick all of the boxes: glazed windows, outskirts of the city, two entrances that you hoped wouldn’t lead to your untimely demise. Vampires were never very subtle. They were always the same. 

The entrance to the building was concealed down a side-road. Checking your surroundings to make sure the coast was clear, you began to work on the lock. It snapped open and you made your way inside. 

~

Sam and Dean were frantic. 

The day had started out like any other. Sam had slipped out the door early in the morning for his run (a habit which Dean despised and thought was completely unnecessary). He had made nothing of the pile of pillows which you had stacked up on the couch beneath a blanket. It was only when he returned to find Dean nearly burning a floor in the carpet as he paced, taking angrily into the phone. 

“No, I don't know where she could have gone, that's why I'm calling you!”  Dean was scared. Sam could tell that from the first word he spoke. 

There was a pause as the person Dean was on the phone to spoke. Clearly, he wasn’t happy with the response they gave as he slammed the phone shut and threw it across the room. 

“Son of a bitch” he yelled, hands coming up to pinch the bridge of his nose. 

“What's going on?” Sam asked. He had a nasty feeling that he already knew. 

“Y/Ns missing.”

“What?” Sam blinked. 

“Yeah. I thought she’d been snatched at first but most of her stuff is gone too.”

Sam bit his lip. “Have you tracked her cell?”

His older brother nodded. “Nothing. I’ve tried calling her too. She’s turned it off.”

“Shit.”

~

You had managed to get yourself in a little bit of a pickle. And by ‘little bit of a pickle’, I mean ‘there were a lot more vampires than you thought and now you were fighting for your life’. So the usual, really. 

When you had slunk inside the building it was completely silent as the vampires sheltered from the sun. But as you moved further into the room and began counting how many there were, you paled. Things hit the fan when you stepped backwards and knocked over a stack of books. All eyes snapped to you and you struggled to keep up with the sheer number of them. The scent of blood and sweat filled the room as you fought and swung. Most of it theirs, but some of it yours. 

No matter how many you took down, their attacks never seemed to end. You had just sliced the head off of one when another three raced before you. They were about to reach you, their fangs bared and snarling, when someone tackled them to the ground. The boy was tall, muscular and dressed from head to toe in black, besides the brown jacket slung over the top and the red emblem on his chest. Another figure appeared to your left, also dressed in black. Though this time, his face was concealed by a domino mask and a blue symbol was imprinted on the front of it. 

Although the vampires went down, it seemed the two vigilantes didn’t know how to kill them which meant that even with their help, you were going to get nowhere. So as they tussled with them, you swung your arm to defeat the one before you before moving to help them. When the last one went down, their attention snapped toward you as you wiped the end of the machete with the hem of your sleeve. 

“What the hell was that?” The one in blue had you pinned up against the wall before you could even blink. 

You scoffed. “A thank you would be nice.”

You pushed against his arm, trying to free yourself but he had you stuck firmly in place. 

He lowered his voice, leaning closer to you. “I’m gonna ask you again: what the hell were they?”

“You won't believe me.” You told him slyly.

“Try us.” The one in red said. 

“Vampires.”

The one in red snorted. “Funny. Now start talking before we arrest you for murder.”

“I told you you wouldn’t believe me.” You rolled your eyes. “If you let me go I’ll prove it to you.”

~

Dick and Jason honestly weren’t sure if they believed you or not. They had heard the commotion when they passed a building on patrol. People had been going missing in the area recently and they were investigating the area. When they saw you inside they were taken aback. Their initial instinct was to attack you, but when they realised that you were trying to stop the group of people they realised it was you who needed help. They thought it would be easy to take them down. That was until they actually tried. The attackers had sharp canines that came very close to their faces and only stilled when you attacked them with your machete. 

When you revealed to them that they were vampires, they thought you were messing with them, but after you showed off their sharp fangs, they were convinced 

They were silent as they walked you back to the cave, unsure what to make of it. They were shell shocked; creatures that they thought only existed in movies were real…?

Even more so, they were surprised at how unfazed you seemed. It made them wonder how long you had been doing this for. They didn’t recognise you, and you had refused to give them a name. Jason was going to ask Tim to run a search on the database later, though he wasn’t even sure if he would find anything. 

Bruce wasn’t sure what to make of it. When the two vigilantes brought you into the cave after introducing themselves and explaining their work, Bruce was hesitant. He thought that this was some kind of joke. A prank by his two sons. You were adamant however, and showed him pictures on your cell and research papers online. 

When you turned your cell back on, you were bombarded with dozens of miscalls and twice as many unread texts from both of your brothers and anyone else who they decided to contact about your disappearance. Shitttttt

Just as you were about to speak, a loud clatter sounded from across the batcave. All of the vigilantes in the room stood to attention and you reached for the gun holstered in your waistband. But as soon as you did so, you came face to face with eyes you knew very well. 

“Dean?!” You gawped at him. 

“Y/N? Oh thank god.” He pulled you close to him. 

The vigilantes dropped their weapons slightly. “You know them?” Jason raised an eyebrow.

“My brothers.” You nodded. They must have managed to track the bus you got on. 

“Jesus christ, Y/N. What the hell were you thinking?” Sam chided. “You could have gotten seriously hurt.”

“Relax, Sammy. I’m fine. I needed to get away from your bickering for once.”

Dick laughed from across the room “You can say that again.”

“What are you talking about?” Dean frowned. 

“I mean you two are constantly arguing and I’m sick of it. I needed to get out on my own for a day or two. I was planning to come back tomorrow morning.”

“And you planned to stay here with these...people?”

“...not exactly.”

“Y/N.” Dean warned. 

“They helped me.” 

“You told them?!” 

“Kind of hard not to when you’re being attacked by a group of blood thirsty vampires.”

“It’s true.” Jason said. “We didn’t believe her at first.”

“Sorry…”

“It’s alright.” Dean said. “We’re sorry it got so far that you felt you had to leave. All that matters is that you’re safe.”

Bruce decided to speak next, his interest peaked by your earlier statements. “So about those vampires…the other things are real too?”

Dean nodded. “Pretty much all of it.”

“Oh god. I have a feeling things are about to get a whole lot more interesting in Gotham.”

⛤⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽⛧☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅⛤

BATFAM TAGS

@aestheticdaisies @hearts4robs @xxrougefangxx @mamapucket @hell-o-kittys @harleycao @batfamsstuff

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SPN TAGS:

@defonotashleyr @aestheticdaisies @xxrougefangxx

@hell-o-kittys @inlovewhithafairytale @harleycao

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[iamgonnagetyouback]

𝟷.𝟺𝚔 || 𝐃𝐎𝐔𝐂𝐇𝐄𝐁𝐀𝐆𝐔𝐄𝐓𝐓𝐄

♡ ︎ꜱᴜᴍᴍᴀʀʏ: Inspired by this.

♡ ︎ᴡᴀʀɴɪɴɢꜱ: Google translated French.

♡ ︎ꜱʜɪᴘ: Regulus Black x fem!reader, platonic!Barty Crouch Jr x reader, platonic!Evan Rosier x reader

You were seething. Absolutely fuming as you paced back and forth in Regulus Black's dorm, your arms crossed tight over your chest, words bubbling to the surface, but none of them quite appropriate for company.

Unfortunately, you weren't exactly in private. Barty Crouch Jr. and Evan Rosier were sprawled across the two armchairs by the fire, popcorn in hand, looking like they were watching the most entertaining live performance they’d ever seen.

Regulus crossed his arms and scowled at you. His sharp jawline tensed as he fired back, “You’re not even listening to what I’m saying! Why is everything always my fault?”

“Because, Regulus, you never stop to consider how I feel,” you snapped back, your frustration growing by the second.

“And you think you do any better?” Regulus shot back, his grey eyes darkening. “You just assume—”

“Oh, don’t start with the assuming thing! I wouldn’t have to if you didn’t keep everything so bottled up!”

Barty leaned over to Evan, whispering just loud enough for you to hear, “This is better than watching Potter and Black fight in the common room.”

Evan snickered. “Yeah, except with less punching and more, y’know, unresolved sexual tension.”

Your glare snapped to them. “Do you mind?”

They both threw their hands up in mock surrender, grinning like the cheeky troublemakers they were. But the distraction had cost you your train of thought, and Regulus seized the opportunity.

He stepped closer, his voice lowering to that dangerously smooth, velvety tone that always got under your skin. “You’re the one who’s being unreasonable. I don’t know why you’re blowing this out of proportion. It’s ridiculous.”

You narrowed your eyes, your temper flaring again. “Ridiculous? You’re calling me ridiculous? I—”

You opened your mouth, a slew of insults ready to fly, but before you could say anything, Regulus cut you off with a sudden string of French. "Tu sais, tu es vraiment impossible parfois. C'est comme si tu cherches des raisons de te mettre en colère."

Barty and Evan both froze, mid-popcorn chew, eyes bouncing between the two of you. You blinked. Oh, no. He did not just pull out the French card to try and shut you up. The audacity!

"Pardon my French," you began, voice dripping with sarcasm, “but you’re being a douchebaguette.”

Silence.

Evan squinted at you like he wasn’t sure he heard right. Barty looked at Regulus, confused, popcorn halfway to his mouth. Regulus raised an eyebrow, the corner of his lips twitching as he processed your words.

“A… what?” he asked, sounding both bemused and baffled.

“You know, a douchebaguette,” you repeated with a wave of your hand, as if the term was universally understood. “Like a douchebag. But French. You get it.”

Regulus, however, raised a brow, his tone icy and patronizing. “Love, baguette is French for bread. And douche means… well, it means shower. So, what you’ve just called me is—”

“A shower wand,” Barty gasped between laughter, his face red. “You just called Regulus a bloody shower wand!”

Your hand, still mid-wave, froze in the air. “A what now?”

Barty and Evan suddenly burst into uncontrollable laughter. Evan was doubled over in his chair, clutching his stomach, while Barty fell sideways, practically choking on his popcorn as he howled.

“You—oh Merlin—you called Reg a bloody shower wand!” Barty wheezed, wiping tears from his eyes.

Evan slapped his knee. “Oh, this is priceless. A shower wand—I’m never going to let you live this down, mate.”

Regulus, ever the picture of composure, rolled his eyes at his friends. You, meanwhile, were standing there, blinking, as the realization dawned on you.

“A shower wand?” you repeated, deadpan.

Regulus sighed. “Yes, darling. A shower wand.”

You groaned. “Well, that’s not nearly as insulting as I intended.”

Regulus sighed, stepping forward and taking your hand in his, his calm demeanor only making you feel more ridiculous. “You know, if you’re going to insult me in another language, it helps to know what the words mean first.”

You glared at him, though your heart wasn’t really in it. “You could have just gone along with it.”

He smirked. “I could have, but where’s the fun in that?”

Barty and Evan were still cackling like a pair of lunatics, and you and Regulus exchanged an unimpressed glance. Without saying a word, you both seemed to reach the same conclusion.

Regulus turned toward them and said something rapid in French, the words rolling off his tongue with ease. You caught the gist of it—something along the lines of calling them idiots and suggesting they find a new hobby.

You nodded approvingly, adding your own string of insults in French, which Regulus had taught you.

Barty and Evan blinked at you, completely clueless.

“What did she say?” Barty asked.

“I dunno,” Evan replied, still giggling. “But it sounded bloody rude.”

“Come on,” you said, tugging Regulus toward the door. “Let’s leave these shower wands to their laughter.”

As you and Regulus left the dorm, you could still hear them laughing behind you, but you didn’t care. Regulus squeezed your hand, smirking in that infuriatingly smug way he did when he knew he had the upper hand.

“I can’t believe you called me a shower wand,” he muttered, amusement evident in his voice.

“I can’t believe you didn’t just let me insult you in peace,” you shot back, though your heart wasn’t in it. You were already starting to find the whole thing funny now that the embarrassment had passed.

“I’m going to make sure Barty and Evan never forget it,” he teased.

You groaned. “I’m never going to live this down, am I?”

“Nope,” he replied, popping the ‘p.’ “But I’ll forgive you.”

You rolled your eyes, but smiled despite yourself. “Gee, thanks.”

A few days later, Barty and Evan found themselves lurking near the Gryffindor common room, of all places, waiting for a particular Black brother. It was a low point for them, truly.

“Do we really have to do this?” Barty grumbled.

“Yes,” Evan snapped. “I’m tired of not knowing what they said. Regulus was smirking the entire time, which means it wasn’t good.”

When Sirius finally appeared, they both straightened up, walking over with feigned confidence.

“Sirius,” Evan started, attempting to sound casual, “Can we… talk to you? Alone.”

Sirius raised a brow, looking between them skeptically. “I’m not helping you prank anyone, if that’s what this is.”

“No, no,” Barty waved his hands, “Nothing like that. We just… need a translation.”

Sirius crossed his arms, intrigued. “A translation?”

They nodded in unison, looking awkward. “Yeah, from French,” Evan muttered.

A slow grin spread across Sirius’s face. “And who, may I ask, was speaking French to you?”

Evan hesitated. “Regulus and Y/N.”

That did it. Sirius burst into laughter, clutching his sides as he leaned against the wall for support. “Oh, I have to hear this.”

Barty sighed, rolling his eyes. “They said… a lot. But what we need to know is, um…” He exchanged a glance with Evan, who shrugged. “They called us imbéciles patentés and—oh, and sacrés idiots—”

“Yeah,” Evan added, “and she called Regulus something about a… douchebaguette?”

Sirius stopped laughing abruptly. “Wait. Wait—wait.” He held up a hand, clearly trying to suppress his laughter again. “A douchebaguette? Who said that?”

“Y/N,” Barty grumbled, looking thoroughly unamused.

Sirius stared at them, wide-eyed, before collapsing into laughter again, shaking his head. “Oh, this is brilliant. Absolutely brilliant.”

“Just tell us what it means,” Evan demanded, crossing his arms.

Sirius wiped away a tear, still grinning. “Oh, it means you’re both idiots,” he said cheerfully. “But, uh, douchebaguette? That’s… that’s not French. She was trying to call Regulus a douchebag but added some baguette flair.”

Barty’s eyes widened. “So… she didn’t insult us?”

“Oh, no,” Sirius assured, “You were definitely insulted. But douchebaguette? That’s just art.”

Barty and Evan groaned in unison as they stormed off, leaving Sirius still laughing in their wake.

[syndrossi]

There are already so many AU's that I figure no one will notice another one, so I might as well suggest the one is been thinking about. What if Arthur actually was reborn as Daemon's son? He can be a bastard, or an older son of Rhae/Elyse, whichever one you like the most. If he is a bastard, would Daemon even know about him? I'm assuming his mother would have been a prostitute Daemon was fond of, but would she have told him that they had a child together? Would she have told Arthur who his father is? If he's another son of Rhae/Elyse, would he have tried to get into contact with Daemon sooner? If he gets Summerhalled at the same time as Jon and Rhaegar, would it be harder for their relationship to develope, since Arthur and Rhaegar already know each other and Jon would be something of an outsider? There are honestly so many places this AU could go.

It depends on if the setup is meant to be fairly similar (Arthur shows up as a mystery knight to compete for the Princesguard).

If so, aka he's 16ish, what probably makes the most sense is a either a prostitute or a lord's daughter who got swept up in the romance of sleeping with a prince. Perhaps a woman from the Dornish marshes (like Cole) briefly just before he was forced to marry Rhea. That would work best with the timing (Daemon would have been 17 and he's 34 right now).

Since Daemon was in Runestone when the baby was born and now married, she likely knew the king would not look kindly on her bringing scandal on the marriage, so wouldn't have contacted Daemon. There's also the potential issue of not knowing for certain whose child it was (depending on if she was a prostitute or not)--perhaps his eyes were more blue/dark at birth and only settled into purple when he was a year or two old.

It somewhat amuses me to think that Arthur is actually mistaken for a bastard of House Dayne when a member stumbles across him and his mother a few years later. Say, perhaps, by the Lord of Starfall's younger brother who died of summer sickness. In that scenario, he is likely raised in Dornish fashion as a noble son of House Dayne via a paramour and could conceivably still be awarded Dawn and become the Sword of Morning.

I think this path works better than Elys and/or Rhea keeping another child secret from Daemon, which often feels a little too outlandish to me.

Then there are the fun questions of what to do, once everyone takes a look at the mystery "Dornish" knight and is like...anyone else notice that he looks a LOT like Daemon? With Jon's dark hair? Arthur must know his mother's name, which Daemon may or may not recognize. If he does, then shit, that's his son. *grabby hands* No, you are NOT joining the Princesguard, you are a PRINCE once Viserys legitimizes you.

(Meanwhile, Arthur has his first argument with Daemon because of COURSE he's joining the Princesguard, who better than a prince to guard other princes like his precious younger brothers? While Daemon is adamant that he should be allowed to marry and have children and he can still be a knight, and how is he supposed to claim a dragon if he's stuck on guard duty all the time. Which...is something that Arthur never considered because DRAGONS. HIM. WHAT.)

In fairness, Arthur has only known Rhaegar for a few months (I have him joining the Kingsguard roughly six months before Rhaegar gets summerhalled), so about the same length of time Jon and Rhaegar have known one another! So I don't think it hampers him bonding with Jon too much, especially given how starry-eyed Jon will be about the Sword of Morning being their BROTHER, how cool. (Rhaegar shaking his head because Jon saved the world and doesn't realize that HE'S the coolest.)

I get the sense that Arthur and Daemon would clash heads a lot, too. Arthur doesn't really have any childhood trauma in his original life, so it's not like he's seeking a father figure, and his pre-summerhall version here had a happy childhood in Starfall. Daemon is, as far as he's concerned, the sperm donor.

What ultimately wins him over some with regard to Daemon is probably how sweet he is with the twins, and how badly they want him to be their brother. But Arthur probably always consider Daemon more of an ally than his father-father, despite Daemon's best efforts.

[clarisse0o]

Camp Wiegman-Part 62

Lucy Bronze x Ona Batlle

Alternative Universe : Military School

Words : 5K

Masterlist

----------------------------------------------

Friday, February 26; 9:00 AM - Zoo.

"Come on, hurry up," my brother urges next to the car.

"Joan," I tease. "Stop it, please, and stay here."

"If you don't listen, we'll turn back," Lucy scolds him.

That threat earns a grumpy response from my brother. He turns his back on us, crossing his arms. I smile, keeping an eye on him in case he seriously considers walking away. Meanwhile, Lucy grabs our backpack, which we prepared last night while Joan was already asleep. Since we couldn't go yesterday, we rescheduled the zoo for today. Joan was over the moon once he figured it out. We didn’t talk about it at all yesterday. We were too busy. We ended up at a small fair with our friends after visiting the local market. My brother had completely forgotten about the zoo because of that, and in the evening, when he asked, we pretended we weren't going anymore to surprise him. It worked quite well. He's very excited now. I hope today will be better than the fair. We came home late, in the late afternoon. We offered to have our friends stay for the evening, but they politely declined, likely feeling awkward about being invited again. Perhaps it was for the best. Joan was so exhausted that he fell asleep right after dinner. We managed to get him to sleep in the guest room thanks to that. Sure, he woke up at the crack of dawn this morning and squeezed in between us, but we couldn't hold it against him. At least we almost got an entire night to ourselves. Joan sulked all morning, but it seems like his bad mood has vanished. Now he’s beaming with anticipation.

"Alright, we’re good to go," Lucy announces, shutting the trunk.

Joan spins around excitedly at the news. His smile brightens, and he looks at me, waiting for my go-ahead.

"Go ahead, but stay in front of us, okay? I don't want to lose you in the crowd."

He nods and takes the lead. I smile, following him with my hand in Lucy's. Lucy sighs softly, probably relieved that we’ve finally arrived. Joan was unbearable the whole ride. I've seen him impatient before, but never like this. It felt like he was deliberately trying to annoy Lucy, and he succeeded. I had to keep him entertained, or else Lucy would have lost her mind.

"I hope today goes smoothly," she says.

"There’s no reason it shouldn’t. Though, there are more people here than I expected," I remark. "I didn't think it’d be this busy."

"It's Friday, the last day of school vacation before the weekend. Of course, it’s packed," Lucy replies. "At least the weather is warming up a bit. It’ll be more pleasant."

I nod. It’s still a bit chilly, but unlike what one of Lucy’s neighbors told us earlier this week, the icy wind has finally died down. The snow has also melted, and in a few weeks, the temperature should finally rise. I can’t wait for that. In Barcelona, we rarely experience bad weather, if ever. It’s the complete opposite here. It’ll be tough at first, but I think I can get used to it. There are perks to the snow and cold. First, you can have fun in different ways, and with the cold, you get way more cuddles. Not that we don’t cuddle in Barcelona, but it’s much more enjoyable here, under a blanket. We reach the ticket booths. We wait a bit before it’s our turn. I handle the tickets, not giving Lucy a chance to argue. It’s about time she lets me contribute financially, even though I’m not working yet.

"I could have paid," she says once we pass the security gates.

"No," I reply cheerfully.

"Yes."

"No, and that’s the end of it. Today, it’s on me."

She rolls her eyes with a small smile before Joan reminds us of his presence by tugging on my jacket sleeve.

"Come on, Ona! We need to keep moving!"

"The animals aren’t going anywhere, you know," I say with a small laugh. "Come on, give me your hand. There are a lot of people here."

"I'm not a little kid anymore," she complains.

"That’s not the point. I just said there’s a crowd, and I don’t want to lose you."

I accompany my words with a stern look. He’s been arguing nonstop since we got here, and I’m starting to lose patience. He sighs and eventually gives me his hand. In the meantime, I turn toward Lucy, but I notice she’s no longer beside me. A brief moment of panic sets in until I spot her at a nearby map stand. I sigh in relief before dragging us over to her.

"Hey, if I tell Joan to give me his hand so I don’t lose him, it’s not an excuse for you to run off."

She laughs softly, leaning her head toward me.

"Sorry. I saw the maps and thought they might be useful."

"Haven’t you done the zoo before?" I ask, surprised.

"No. It’s a first for both of us," she says with a little smile.

I return her smile. She finally takes a map and stops when she sees my hand extended toward her. She laughs but takes it without protest.

"Alright, let’s go."

"What should we start with?" Joan asks, looking around with excitement gleaming in his eyes.

"Well, let’s check the map."

As I speak, Lucy unfolds the map. Everything is super organized. They’ve laid it out by zones based on the animals’ origins. My attention lingers on the penguins. Knowing Joan, that’s what he’ll enjoy the most.

"I’d save that for last," I say, pointing to that part of the map.

"Okay, well, let’s start here then," she points to the opposite direction.

"Should we join a tour group?" I ask, noticing one gathering beside us with a guide.

"No, that’s boring," my brother groans.

"Looks like you’ve got your answer," Lucy says.

"Alright, alright," I reply with amusement. "Just us, then."

"Can we start with the lions?" he asks.

"That’s actually over that way. Let’s go."

We move forward through the crowd to start with the African animals. Joan might be excited, but so am I. I love these kinds of outings, just the three of us. I also love animals. We linger at some exhibits and pass by others more quickly. It’s our first time here, but the layout is really well done. I’m sure we’ll come back, just Lucy and me. The zoo is organized like small villages at various points along the path. They’re often animated by staff, and they even offer activities in certain spots. We managed to get Joan to participate in one of them. He didn’t really want to at first, but in the end, he seemed to enjoy it. Then, we had the chance to feed the zebras. We were lucky to arrive at the right time. That was definitely Joan’s favorite part. Of course, the activity was supervised by staff, but they weren’t obligated to involve the visitors. The African section ends with the lions, which he kept talking about the entire time, even after all the things he got to do. I mentally note that my brother is becoming more and more spoiled and that I need to talk to our mom about it. I’m not the one responsible for his upbringing, but it’d be good for her to keep an eye on this not-so-pleasant change.

"What’s the next section?" I take advantage of my brother’s distraction to ask Lucy.

"The Asian animals. Then the Australian ones. But I think it’d be a good idea to grab lunch before that since we’ll be near a restaurant."

"Okay, that works for me," I reply with a smile.

We’ve been walking for two hours now, so that sounds like a good idea. By the time we finish the next section, I imagine we’ll be ready for lunch just before noon. It seems less busy than the one we just completed, according to the map. That’s good news, considering the crowd around us. Lucy was right earlier. The weather is mild, and it’s the end of vacation, so people are making the most of it. We’ll have to consider these factors next time if we want a more peaceful visit. Lucy kisses me and then wraps her arm around my shoulders. I keep an eye on my brother, who’s been ahead of us for a while now. He’s captivated by the lions. He’s holding onto the railing, looking down as if he never wants to leave this spot. Unfortunately, I have to burst his bubble if we want to see everything.

"Come on, Jo, let’s go."

"A little longer, please," she pleads, pouting.

"No, we’re moving on," Lucy jumps in. "Otherwise, you won’t be able to see everything. There are other animals like leopards and jaguars."

"Tigers too?" she asks excitedly.

"Of course. We’re getting to them soon, but we need to keep moving. »

Finally, without further resistance, he complied. He walked ahead of us. From the start, he had been negotiating to stop holding my hand. It must have been torture for her to see the other children running around while he couldn't. I agreed on the condition that he stayed in front, didn't run, and didn't stray too far. I also didn’t want to spend my day holding his back. So far, he had respected my terms, which was a first since this morning. Lucy had gotten so fed up with his behavior in certain situations that she left him to me to handle. She was probably right. I had noticed that the more Lucy got involved, the worse his behavior became. I imagine it will take some time for him to adjust to having someone else in my life. After all, he had never really seen me with anyone before. When I was with Mapi, he was too young to remember, which was for the best. He would probably have made a fuss about us no longer being together, given how much he adores my best friend.

With these thoughts in mind, we continued along, taking our time to observe everything. The scenery was beautiful, a peaceful place where you almost forget the disrespectful kids shouting everywhere. Almost. Lucy might complain, but at least we didn't have to deal with that with my brother. As someone who dislikes drawing attention, I appreciated this.

Finally, it was time to eat. As planned, we arrived just before noon. There was a bit of a wait, but not as bad as it could have been.  

“I’m not hungry,” my brother mumbled. “Do we have to stop?”

“Yes,” I replied. “You’re not alone, and knowing you, you'll be hungry as soon as we leave.”

“But there’s still so much to see!”

“And we’ll have time to see it all.”

“But—"

“Joan, that’s enough,” my girlfriend interjected with a stern look. “My threat from this morning still stands.”

“Oh, stop. He’s been good all morning.”

Lucy raised an eyebrow at me, and I pressed my lips together. Last night, she’d told me it would be a good idea to support her when she said something to Joan, to avoid making her look like the bad guy. Admittedly, apart from a few grumpy remarks, which I had managed so far, Joan had behaved well this morning. My girlfriend sighed softly and turned back to Joan.

“We’re eating now. If you’re not hungry, you don’t have to eat, but don’t complain later.”

In response, my brother groaned, crossing his arms and puffing out his cheeks. It seemed like his favorite thing to do since he arrived, and it was pretty funny to watch.

“Come on, move along,” I guided him with a hand on his head as we advanced in line.

“But I’m really not hungry,” he insisted, looking up at me. “My stomach hurts,” he added, rubbing his belly.

“Really?” I asked, raising an eyebrow.

He nodded, eyes filling with tears. I sighed and glanced at Lucy, who shrugged. I knew she was aware, just like me, that this was probably a lie.

“Well, I suppose you can take some medicine beforehand. We brought those dissolvable sachets, just in case.”

In reality, we only had tablets. I would have crushed one if she truly needed it, as he can’t swallow them whole. It’s not like I don’t know how to do that. I also knew he hated it, which was clear when he grimaced at the idea.

“No!” he whined.

“Well, what? You’re feeling unwell, aren’t you?”

“I-I think I feel better now.”

A small laugh escaped me. I shook my head. So the negotiations were working after all. Lucy wasn’t wrong to have me handle this. It seemed effective. We finally reached the buffet, which reminded me a lot of a school cafeteria. I grabbed a tray for Joan and myself, while Lucy took care of hers. We helped ourselves to the food. Lucy and I got chicken cutlets with fries and a green salad, while Joan chose spaghetti Bolognese. For dessert, we picked cookies. I think I also slipped a few snacks into the bag in case we got hungry later. We finished with drinks—iced tea for Joan and me, and water for Lucy. Once everything was ready, I paid, and we found a table. The place was somewhat crowded but not so much that we had to wait for a table to free up.

The meal passed peacefully, with Joan chattering nonstop. It was the first time he’d talked so much, so we let him. He had just started his first year of primary school, and since I no longer lived at home, the change was pretty drastic. Not just in personality, but intellectually as well. This morning, he had fun reading all the signs to me, showing that he could read now.

“And then Paul got a new dog. It’s so cute! I wanted to go to his house to see it, but Mom wouldn’t let me.”

“Really?”

“Mm-hmm,” she nodded with her mouth full. “I wanted to have a sleepover, but we already had plans that day.”

“I see,” I chuckled. “Maybe next time.”

“When are you guys going to get a dog?”

Lucy, who had been silent until now, nearly choked. I stifled a laugh. That question caught me off guard too. I’d forgotten how unfiltered Joan could be. If anything, he talks more now than before.

“Why do you think we’d get a dog?” I asked, once I composed myself.

“Well, I already asked Mom, but she said no. So now I’m asking you guys. It’d be great! I could take care of it when I visit.”

This time, I laughed out loud. It wasn’t like he would be spending half the year with us. Besides, knowing him, even if we had a dog, he wouldn’t actually take care of it when he was here.

“We’re not getting a dog, Jo, I’m sorry.”

“But why?” she pouted.

“Well, we’re hardly ever home right now. It just wouldn’t work.”

"Home." The word slipped out before I realized it. It didn’t seem to bother Lucy, though, as she kept watching us with a faint smile. I cleared my throat and continued, giving a more realistic explanation that Joan could understand.

“Don’t you think a dog would be miserable, locked up in an apartment all alone? And dogs require care, which we wouldn’t be around to give since we don’t live in the apartment during the week.”

“Or on weekends when you don’t have leave,” Lucy teased, continuing to eat as if nothing happened.

I stuck my tongue out at her in response. She had said that on purpose. The worst part was that she was the one who enforced this “punishment.” It was funny, though, and I appreciated that she still saw me as the person I was before we got together. It meant she hadn’t labeled our relationship or changed how she viewed me. Now that I think about it, our behavior toward each other hadn’t changed either. Joan’s voice brought my attention back to her.

“But yeah, not now, duh! You could get a dog once you’ve finished school and have a house. You said you love Lucy, so that’s what will happen, right? You could have a dog then, and you wouldn’t even need a baby!”

Lucy burst into laughter—literally. Meanwhile, I died of embarrassment, hiding my flushed face behind my hands. I couldn’t believe he had the nerve to say that in front of my girlfriend. I could feel Lucy’s eyes on me from across the table, but I couldn’t bring myself to look at her. I forced myself to, though, and saw her smiling at me with amusement, clearly expecting me to respond.

“You’re really talking nonsense. We don’t know yet. And who says we won’t have a baby, huh?”

“Well, I’m already here. You don’t need one. And besides, you can’t have one anyway. I’ll just move in with you.”

Once again, Lucy snickered softly. Joan, who seemed very sure of what he was saying, pouted and crossed his arms. I bit my lip to hold back my amusement. He was definitely giving me plenty of stories to remind him of later.

“All that, huh?” I asked.

“Isn’t it a good idea?”

He was sulking. I recognized the tone in his voice when he did that.

“Where did you get all these ideas, huh?”

“Well, my friends say two girls together can’t have a baby.”

I ran a hand through my hair. He must have talked to them about me. I knew he often mentioned me to them, so it wasn’t impossible. Poor thing must have a lot of questions if he’s already discussing this with his friends—or anyone else, for that matter. It must be tough for him to understand everything at his age. I couldn’t wait for him to grow up, if only to understand this better.

“They’re right,” Lucy said. “But there are other ways.”

“That’s true,” I confirmed. “Like adoption, for example.”

I gave him the simplest version of the truth, something he could grasp. Lucy and I hadn’t had the chance to talk about it yet; it was way too early for that. But if I were to give my opinion, adoption wasn’t something I’d want to prioritize. Joan seemed to latch onto the idea instantly, and his reaction caught me off guard.

“Then you can adopt me!”

I rolled my eyes playfully and grabbed a napkin to wipe the tomato sauce covering his face. A few more seconds, and it would have dripped onto his clothes.

“And why would we adopt you, huh? You have a home with two parents. Adoption is for children who don’t have that, you know?”

I can see through his eyes that all the hopes he had thought so much about have evaporated. I don't like seeing that glimmer. I feel bad for him.

“So, you don't want me?”  

“We didn’t say that,” Lucy responds. “You can come see us as often as you want, and we’ll visit you in Barcelona too.”  

“But… I want to stay with you! You’re way too far from home, and Mom and Dad aren’t around much anyway.”  

I give him a sad smile. I know what that’s like, unfortunately. I run my hand through his hair before pulling him into a hug. He lets himself go without any fuss.

“I know, sweetheart, but we can’t do any better. It’s not that we don’t want you, but you can’t just leave home like that. Besides, Lucy and I will probably have another busy year ahead. Even if we wanted to, we couldn’t take you in permanently.”

I think about the opportunity at the Art school for me and the opening of the gym for Lucy. This upcoming year will be just as busy and complicated as this one, if not more. I dread it as much as I’m excited to see what the future holds. I’m still waiting on a phone call, and I’m starting to worry that I haven’t heard back yet. Lucy says it’s normal, and I hope she’s right.

“Hmm… I would have preferred to live with you anyway,” he admits.  

I don’t know what’s going on at home, but there’s clearly something wrong. I think I’ll call my mom when I get the chance. If Joan isn’t feeling comfortable there anymore, I need to know so I can get my mom to react. There’s no way I’ll let him go through what I went through. I know how that ends, and if we don’t find the right person to help, things can go very wrong.

“Alright,” Lucy interrupts. “We should finish up quickly if we still want to do everything.”

This news brings a small smile to my brother’s face before he quickly resumes where he left off before our conversation.

“Slow down, please. Otherwise, you’ll really get a stomach ache.”

He nods but doesn’t slow down, which makes Lucy and me laugh as we exchange a glance. She may not have said much at the table, but I know she heard everything. I’ll ask her what she thinks about it all when we’re alone. We finish dessert, then head off to explore another area. Even though Joan claimed he wasn’t hungry, he still ate well. The day goes on, and surprisingly, Joan has become calmer than before, which delights my girlfriend. It’s understandable. As much as he pushes her limits, it’s annoying to have to constantly put him back in his place when we’re supposed to be having a good time. He must have realized that his tantrums don’t work with us. Maybe I should call Sofia as well to see how she reacts to his. Unlike my mom, I don’t doubt Lucy knows how to manage him as I do. It’s just that my mom doesn’t have patience for this sort of thing, so it’s very hard for her to react calmly. She loses her temper rather than defuse the situation.

“Hey,” Lucy calls out after a while. “Stop worrying. It can’t be that bad.”

“I don’t know,” I admit with a small, anxious smile. “We’ll see. I’ll call my mom tonight. I need to know what’s going on.”

She nods understandingly before giving me a soft kiss. Unfortunately, it’s the moment Joan turns around. His new habit is to let out disgusted noises whenever he sees us. But it seems he didn’t hear the rest. We change the subject as we finish this park, which Joan seems particularly fond of. It’s true—it’s very well done. We’ll definitely come back.

Friday, February 26th; 9:00 PM – Lucy’s apartment.

We’re back home. Everything is peaceful. It was six o'clock when we got back. The day was good. We all enjoyed it, especially Joan, who has already showered, eaten, and even gone to bed. He fell asleep in the guest room without even protesting. In fact, he went there on his own with his new penguin plush. We managed to finish the park, and it seems I was right—Joan loved it, and I couldn’t resist buying him a plush when he asked for it. He earned it with how well he behaved in the afternoon. As for Lucy and me, I had just settled on the couch with Netflix on in the background. I had already showered, and Lucy should be joining me soon. I hadn’t heard the water running in the bathroom for about five minutes. Now that everything is calm, I wanted to call my mom. Joan’s behavior wasn’t normal. I knew he had behavioral issues, but now we needed to figure out why. Nothing ever happens for no reason. It seems like everyone’s already forgotten what happened with me. I’m not going to let them forget. Just as I was about to call, an unknown number appeared on my screen. I don’t recognize it, but it seems to be from here, from Manchester. I frown, intrigued by the late call. Could it be Feli? Would she really come here? How would she even know where I am? The thought makes my stomach knot. I inhale slowly, glancing behind me to check if Lucy is around. Not yet. She’s still in the bathroom. After the fifth ring, I force myself to pick up.

“Hello?” I answer cautiously, my voice uncertain.

“Miss Batlle?” a voice asks.

“Yes...?”

“Hello, this is Bennett Fields! I’m sorry to call so late. I lost track of time,” he says with a small laugh. “Am I disturbing you?”

Bennett Fields, Bennett Fields... Oh! He’s the gallery director. I immediately sit up straighter on the couch, as if he could see me from afar.

“No, no! I’m at home,” I tell him.

“Good.”

If he were in front of me, I’m sure I’d be able to see his smile. It’s amazing how you can read him so well.

“How are you?”  

“Well, I’m pretty nervous now that you’re on the line,” I admit, which makes him chuckle. “And you?”

“I’m well, thank you. I apologize for not contacting you sooner. I had a rather busy week. I know I said I would get in touch with the person who sent me your drawings, but I preferred to speak with you directly.”

“No problem.”

In any case, I would’ve gotten the answer tonight since the other person is also in this apartment. I now understand why he asked for my number at the end of our meeting. He seems to like dealing with people directly, which is completely normal.

“I’m calling to follow up on our meeting.”

“I figured,” I reply with amusement.

I like the way we talk. I should be stressed, but he puts me at ease. His laugh is contagious.

“You impressed me a lot, Ona. Certainly not by your lack of experience, but by your undeniable talent.”

Blushing, I feel flattered to hear that from a professional.

“So, here’s the thing. I have a proposal for you. Of course, as we discussed, it would mean going back to school. Are you still okay with that?”

“Of course!”

We haven’t discussed next year much with Lucy yet, but we both kind of know what to expect.

“Good. However, the offer wouldn’t be for the Manchester gallery…”

“What do you mean?” I ask, feeling a bit worried.

“Well, here’s the thing. My gallery is expanding. I’m developing new locations in the region. I’m about to open one in Cardiff, and I’m putting together a team. I think you’d be a great fit there, under the direction of my new manager.”

Cardiff? The news leaves me speechless. What should I say to that? I definitely can’t accept such an offer on the spot. My lack of response prompts him to speak.

“I know it’s a big decision to think about. You’ve already traveled a lot, but this would be an excellent opportunity for you.”

“It definitely requires some thought…” I murmur.

“I didn’t expect an immediate answer. I’ll give you time to think it over. Just so you know, there’s also an Art school there, and the program can last two to three years, depending on the student’s choice.”

Two to three years? My vision blurs. There’s no way I’m staying away from Lucy for that long!

“If you’d like, we can schedule another meeting in two weeks. Do you think you could get some time off from school for a weekday meeting?”

“I-I’ll have to check.”

“Well, call me when you know. That way, we can set up a time to meet and talk face-to-face. Can we do that?”

“Yes, we can do that. I’ll call you then.”

“Great! Well, I wish you a good evening. Talk to you soon.”

“Talk to you soon, Mr. Fields.”

I hang up, completely overwhelmed by the conversation. Damn it! I think I’d have preferred if he’d just rejected me rather than making me face such a decision!

“Who was it?”

I jump, not having noticed Lucy’s presence. I turn toward her as she slowly approaches to sit beside me.

“Ona?” she calls gently. “Is everything alright?”

“I think we need to talk…”

Concern flashes across her eyes. Oh yes, she has reason to be worried. If she only knew how I’m feeling inside right now... I almost feel like crying.

[alagaesia-headcanons]

I've Had A Thought. I was thinking about the scene where Eragon is reminiscing over Brom's message to him as his father, and how Eragon is confounded and troubled that he in no way mentioned Murtagh. I found it a little sad that, for whatever reason, Brom decided Murtagh didn't bear mentioning. Then it crossed my mind to consider the possibility that Brom didn't know about Murtagh at all.

As it turns out, Eragon actually does think about it in that scene- he says, "He must have known about Murtagh. He couldn't not have." And admittedly I don't think this is the most likely scenario or that it's now my personal interpretation of canon, but the idea really has captivated me. Because it actually does fit within the facts! (the new book notwithstanding)

Brom was a gardener at Morzan's estate for three years, and while it's probably more likely that he learned about Murtagh in that time, I think it's certainly feasible for him to never know. Morzan was very determined to keep him hidden and took a lot of precautions to ensure just that. Oromis said Morzan forced all his servants to swear fealty and Brom found a flaw in his wards to infiltrate, and possibly he was able to do so because a job as a gardener didn't require such strict oaths because it wasn't in proximity to Murtagh.

Again, it may not be the most likely, but I can absolutely believe Selena might not have told him either. She also would have been aware of the serious danger Murtagh was in and would've wanted him to stay hidden. Even after Brom told her who he was and she started working with the Varden, she might have kept it secret. For one, Brom's hatred of Morzan is described as extreme and all consuming, and that it never waned with time. Even if she came to believe that Brom wouldn't harm Murtagh, she might not have trusted he could look at him kindly. And of course, telling him about her child with Morzan also risked damaging their relationship considering that they were lovers. Then there's the possibility that Selena did build all this necessary trust to tell Brom about Murtagh if he wasn't aware of him already, but it was too late for her to discuss it with him before she died. So I think it is conceivable that Brom actually never knew about Murtagh's existence.

Where this concept really shines is in an AU where Brom survives after Murtagh saves them from the Ra'zac. I've always liked these, and I sometimes toy with my own, but there's so many ways Brom could react and I've never been able to settle on one well enough to get invested in it. But I find this SUCH a fascinating take on it (especially if you wave off the detail that Murtagh's voice sounds ~exactly like~ Morzan's, which I tend to do). Brom recovers and meets their rescuer, and he has no idea he's looking at Morzan and Selena's son. Murtagh seems terribly familiar, but Brom has been relentlessly haunted by his past for so long now that he doesn't put much stock in the perceived similarities. Meanwhile, Murtagh realizes that Brom truly does not know that he's the son of the man he murdered, a precarious but welcome relief. Because he doesn't know- up until Murtagh's confession in the valley.

Brom is stunned by disbelief. It can't be true, Morzan had no children, because surely he would know, surely-! But another thought dawns on him, drowning out the memories of Morzan, because who could have been the mother of his child other than his wife: Selena? And Murtagh is looking at him with fear, fear that he'll turn on him because he shares the blood of the man Brom hated most. It's heart wrenching, because even as part of his mind tells him that maybe he should scorn him, Brom is looking at this man who single handedly saved him from the brink of death and saved Eragon and Saphira from far worse at the hands of Galbatorix, and who has given them extraordinary devotion ever since.

In his core, he accepts the truth of Murtagh's claim as he explains his past and recounts the story of his parents exactly how Brom knows it to be. The paradigm shift sends him reeling. Murtagh believes Brom is affected only because of his past with Morzan; he has no way of knowing what he felt for Selena. He still glances at him nervously, especially as he admits that he briefly intended to serve Galbatorix, yet then there's also a spark of trust and gratitude- maybe even hope- in his eyes when Brom doesn't rescind the way he vouched for him when they were stopped inside the gates. How could he? Murtagh has accomplished one thing neither Morzan nor Selena ever did: escape.

Despite everything, his aching heart feels something fiercely like pride. He would not dare ruin that for him.

Then to further prove the truth, like the world is laughing at his years of ignorance, Ajihad recognizes him, because after Murtagh was brought to Uru'baen, the Varden's spies informed him of Morzan's son. But of course, that was after Brom cut himself off and started living in Carvahall, so he never learned of that discovery. "Morzan's son" is said over and over, but in Brom's mind, that idea is far eclipsed by Selena's son. He's hurt and ashamed to realize he never knew something so significant about the woman he loved. And he feels guilty that Murtagh struggled for so long in Uru'baen because no one was there to save him when he was left helplessly alone. Brom must have been so close to him when he arrived right after Selena's death, but he just didn't know.

Brom is utterly at a loss. How can he process Murtagh- the child of Selena and Morzan, Eragon's half brother, and in a certain sense, his own stepson? What can he do now? He was already so terrified of telling Eragon the truth of being his father, and now he has another staggering revelation to inflict on Eragon and Murtagh both. The prospect feels terrifyingly impossible, but keeping his secrets has grown even more painful. Watching how easily and how well Eragon and Murtagh get along is now bitterly ironic. Even without knowing it, Murtagh is a great older brother, waiting vigilantly near his side after the battle. The injury Durza inflicted scared Brom in a way he can't put into words; he simply could not bear to lose Eragon. How could he risk that happening without telling Eragon how much he loves him and values him as his son? But telling him truth could be the quickest way to lose him. And now, with Murtagh, he has more to lose than he ever realized.

-And because Murtagh deserves it, I like all these changes resulting in the Twins never getting the chance to kidnap him, and so Brom has to figure out how to make the three of them into a family <3

[shiro-00s]

heaven on earth

24. picture perfect .. ✮

[ genshin impact smau / idol!xiao x fem!reader ]

“So… you decided that reserving the entire restaurant and arcade was a good idea?”

You slowly nod your head, “Why not? You won’t need to wear a disguise then, yes?”, you replied. Xiao shook his head at your answer, bewildered at how oblivious you are to what he was implying. His golden eyes sweep across the lobby, taking in the view of the arcade and restaurant.

The cook, Smiley Yanxiao, seemed to be chatting along with Verr, a relieved expression on his face. It seemed that reserving the entire place for Xiao had granted him a much-needed break. Considering this… he couldn’t bring himself to be truly angry at the current situation.

From where he stood, he had a clear view of the restaurant. Right on top of it was the arcade, with stairs encircling the inn and converging at the top where a door was located. He got a peek at the arcade when the door of the arcade was opened by a staff member, the only people he could find in this whole inn. It felt odd that the once crowded place was this still and silent. It felt wrong.

Reserving a whole restaurant along with an arcade for a solid 3 hours would’ve cost someone a fortune, plus this place was the Wangshu Inn. Even if you wanted him to enjoy himself without worrying about his career, there were other alternatives. Despite knowing that something was up when you mentioned to him that he didn’t need to wear a disguise, this was beyond his imagination. He should’ve figured it out the moment he stepped foot into this widely known restaurant and there was nobody in sight.

“How much was this?” Xiao asked, still in shock as his eyes darted to every corner, not used to how quiet the once bustling place was. “A few zeros here and there and a swipe of my card.” He internally facepalmed at your answer, rich people things.

Wait. The realization that he had never asked about the reasoning behind your massive amount of money had just dawned on him. Then that familiar voice of yours reached his ears and he decided that he’d leave the questioning for later. “Where do you wanna go first? Arcade or lunch. Hungry?”

It was a rare occurrence that he’d like both options when being given choices. However, he found it hard to decide between the options you’ve given him. With a bit more pondering on the best possible outcome, he uttered, “Arcade, then lunch.”

An approving nod from you solidified his plan. Together, you made your way towards the stairs, leading up to the arcade.

It was a comical sight, something his co-workers would laugh at him for if they saw the scene. The notoriously reserved idol who only ever utters as few words as he can, trying so hard to win at arcade basketball. With his height, sure he had to put in more work but he’d like to think it was worth it when he saw the delighted look on your face with the number of tickets he got from his hard work. The noise of the tickets coming out of the machine and the music from other games filled the empty arcade.

The basket a staff member had offered was brimming with stacks and stacks of tickets in it. Teamwork makes the dream work, yes? No, you just found a game that was so rigged you got at least 60 tickets each time you played it. The tickets were farmed there by you, thus the filled basket.

He was grateful that you spent this much money just for his sake, he was having fun being able to openly enjoy the arcade without the nuisance of others, but he wouldn’t admit it, of course.

Meanwhile, you were having a blast. The arcade was filled with trendy machines to pretty outdated machines that you wouldn’t be able to find elsewhere - but it gave a sense of nostalgia if you were old that is. There were games that you hadn’t even heard of, adding an extra layer of excitement. Even the lighting was perfect, it was more on the dark side with occasional neon lights arranged neatly, it really added to the whole aesthetic of an arcade.

Glancing around the arcade for more games to play with, your eyes landed on the photo booth. Oh! This is a must! Carrying the overflowing basket of tickets, you headed to the photo booth with Xiao following behind. The confined space inside the booth was just enough for your shoulders and Xiao’s to touch, but neither of you paid any mind to it.

The machine made a little beep! after you had slipped the required amount of coins. “Pose Xiao, Pose!” You nudged the dark-haired male beside you, your elbows digging into his side. A mini countdown could be heard from the machine, giving you guys the time to strike a pose. Silly faces, hand signs, bunny ears, beaming smiles - four photos taken. A faint whirring sound from the photo booth could be heard before the 2 identical pictures were printed out, each with 4 grids.

As soon as Xiao’s eyes landed on the picture, he blinked. The picture turned out well, anyone could tell that the two of you were having fun. Golden irises lingered on the picture, call him cheesy (actually don’t) but a smile really looked good on you. Though the thought made him cringe at himself.

“Come back, you look ridiculous. We’re taking another one.”

The sound of laughter followed Xiao’s words, pink creeping up his ears as he tried to grab the picture in your hand that the two of you received. “Nuh-uh! This is perfect!” Huffing, he accepted his defeat when he saw the look of determination on your face. He looked back at the picture in his hand, and yea, maybe this is perfect.

Your voice rang in his ear once again, “Xiao, look! A dancing game! Let’s compete?”

Oh, he doesn’t mind a challenge, “You’re on.”

Xiao jogged over to where you were standing. You were inserting the coins - the never-ending amount making him gulp whenever he glanced at it. The game consisted of two stages, each having four arrow panels on the floor: up, down, left, and right, simple enough. The machine lit up with a welcoming dialogue inviting the players to select a song and difficulty level, which you allowed Xiao to choose because he apparently was an expert — Matsuri by Fuji Kaze - with difficulty set to normal.

Hitting combo after combo, both of you synchronized your steps on the panels that appeared on the huge screen before you. Xiao was competitive, but so were you. The sound of sneakers squeaking could hardly be heard over the music and the other games nearby.

Curses slipped out of your mouth as you caught a glimpse of Xiao’s score, winning by a small margin. You groaned, “It’s rigged.”

The man standing next to you let out a huff, “Accept defeat.” You perked up when the game displayed the final scores, an A+ for Xiao and an A for you. You dramatically let your head droop into your hand as you made fake sobbing noises. Xiao could only stare at you as you perform your “the world is so cruel” act. “It’s just because I took dance lessons a few times, stop sulking.” he voiced out, immediately feeling embarrassed the moment the words left his mouth. Though, he couldn’t find it in himself to regret it when muffled laughter followed his words.

"Next! Race cars!" He grunted at your words, clearly not a fan of driving. Yet, he still followed your footsteps and settled on sitting on the seat beside your game. Just as you were handing him some coins, he waved you off. “I’ll watch ya.”

You blinked at his words, then shrugged. “Suit yourself.”

Gripping the steering wheel, the machine allowed you to select a map along with some instructions. As you focused on the screen in front of your steering wheel, Xiao stared at you. “Hey, been meaning to ask. How’re you this rich?”

Blame his curiosity but he couldn’t exactly stop himself from letting the question that was lingering in his mind be voiced out. You stared ahead, the screen showing a countdown as you conversed with him, “My family’s rich, that’s practically it.” He hummed at your answer, that did make sense because he assumed you were yet to graduate from whatever university you attend.

Stepping on the pedal, you twisted and turned the wheel in an attempt to remain the first in the race as you conversed with the man beside you.

“Who paid for your apartment?”

“Agency bought it for me. It’s near our studio.”

“How did you guys deal with PAIMON’s tweet?”

“Oh, we had them take it down or we’d sue.”

“Damn.”

The screen showed a “#1” text in bold big letters, showing that you’ve won the race. You took your phone out to snap a photo before shoving it back into your pocket and heading for the one thing that you’ve been meaning to try - the claw machines.

“You know it’s pretty much rigged, right?” Xiao sighed as he stood beside you, watching at your 4th attempt at getting the My Melody plushie, and failing.

“It doesn’t matter! You get it if you’re lucky!” You whined, another failed attempt at going home with the toy.

“Whatever, I’ll buy one myself later.”

Walking away from the machine, you fail to notice how Xiao inserts another few coins into the machine as he tells you to go ahead to the restaurant.

When he caught up with you and ordered almond tofu - apparently he knew the cook - his favorite dish, you watched as he pulled something out of his shirt and stuffed it into his tote bag. The table restricted your view but you figured it was nothing and moved on to make conversations with him.

This felt strangely normal, like it was meant to be, just you and Xiao, sitting and talking. At the same time, you felt nervous talking to the almond tofu living guy. Second guessing your words, worrying how he might misunderstand what you say, strange. Knowing that you would've missed all of this if you hadn't heard him out made you happy with your decision. At the end of the day, fun was the one word you could use to describe this eventful simple.

"Why!? I could pay for it y'kno-" Your words were cut off by his tugging. Xiao had insisted that the both of you should take the subway instead of ordering a cab. He had tugged you along by the arm as he walked towards the nearest station, "Use money wisely. Plus you should use the subway once in a while."

Laughing at his scolding, you teased him. "You sure you just don't wanna spend more time with me by walking there, hmm?"

Xiao averted his gaze, red crawling up his neck and ears as he willed himself to get used to your teasing.

He snapped out of his thoughts when he heard you say “Oh, that’s the station.” He looked up ahead and sure enough, it was the subway station. He released his grip on your arm when you started to speed up, muttering something about “let’s get this over with.”

The two of you were lucky enough to get to the train just right on time as the doors closed after you had run in. It was pretty empty, a few people here and there but there were vacant seats. You sat down on an empty seat and Xiao settled down beside you.

There was a comfortable silence accompanied by the train noises every once in a while.

Oh right, the plushie!

Xiao rummaged through his tote bag to look for the plushies he got after you left the arcade. He heard Heizou saying something about these types of plushies - Sanrio, was it? He got the one you wanted earlier and then another. Mainly because they were in the same machine.

You peeked over his broad shoulders in an attempt to find out what he was looking for. Xiao took both of the plushies out of his bag and turned to you, accidentally hitting your face with his shoulders.

You heard an oh. before he held your face with a hand, plushies on his lap as he scanned your features. You laughed endearingly at his concerned behavior,

“I’m fine.” He nodded at your words, removed his hands from your face, and went to grab the plushies from his lap, showing them off to you like a kid showing their drawings to a parent. You blinked once, then twice, subconsciously missing the feeling of his hand on your face. You pushed away the thought to focus on the plushies he had gotten.

“For me?” You tilted your head, hands reaching out to grab the plushie and in the process, brushing your hands against his. He nodded at your answer, “The other was in the same machine.”

His answer made you laugh, god, Xiao could be so cute. “They’re matching. Kuromi and My Melody.”

Golden eyes stared blankly at your words, before muttering a quiet “makes sense.” along with a shrug. You glanced at the plushie on your lap, there’s a warmth that slowly filled your heart at the realization that he got it for you settled in.

The announcement from the speakers interrupted your thoughts. Signaling at Xiao, the two of you got off the subway and he led the way to your apartments. The silence was filled with the whooshing of the winds or the small talk here and there. It felt too soon to end the day.

The two of you reached the floor of your apartment. The elevator doors opened and the two of you stood in front of your respective apartments. Xiao was the first and last to speak.

“Thanks for today, [name].”

Maybe it was your imagination, but you swear you saw the ghost of a smile on his face before he turned around and headed into his apartment, giving you no room to reply.

heaven on earth - 24. picture perfect

previous | masterlist | next

synopsis ; 🗝️ — in which you befriend your next door neighbour who, unbeknownst to you, was apart of a soon-to-be one of the most popular bands throughout liyue. you're unable to tell if cupid was helping you or not when things with xiao keept going up and down. will he continue to keep his secret from yours truly?

NOTES — sorry for not uploading for a while! i took a tiny break because i was busy and writing took a while, hope this makes up for it

TAGLIST [OPEN] — @mikctp @ghostlysyntaxed @kazemiya @nnasv @gojoandelsalovechilde @candy-purple-cyanide @kissingkzuha @zyilas @lunaavity @luminescent-light @mave-in @rizakari @riikyu @kokoscutie @starsxnight @sketcheeee @softlie @izakyun @xiaxilia @the-sweet-madame @rifran @milkwithspiceyicecubes @coffeethoughtsandanxiety @rxkan7 @goodthingimsam @pomeiu @fogturtle @farelady-fate @tzu-scara143 @wonderful-worlds @cianalikesbeans @h3xi2g0n3 @jasxiao2317 @rosaryia @proserpinarom4 @offeliaswonderland @ynverse @whats-humanity-lol @gekkow @yuaenri @noosa11 @erosdevil @certaindreampost @venyan @sakurapeach @maisieisbae @unhappyraspberry @wgafa @redsrrrr @leesl0vr @sixieeeee @girl-with-coffe

(ask to be added or removed)

[namisweatheria]

I keep saying this but transfem strawhat aus are so much fun specifically for how it automatically radically changes the character's relationship with Nami.

I first did it with Luffy and now Zoro. I love that there were easy opportunities totally in-line with the series worldbuilding and tone to have them both become girls. (Luffy as an unintended side-effect of Iva's poison treatment, and Zoro in a Yamato-esque deciding to in order to further her goals way, ie to prove the point to Kuina.)

I'm pretty inclined to ship them with Nami in an entangled poly acearospec qpp way or a nonbinary dyke4fag way in the first place, since they are two of the strongest and most interesting relationships Nami has in canon. However making it straight up yuri is DELIGHTFUL.

The central compelling component to me is how both of them would be totally unused to being treated the way Nami would start treating them. The way that Nami is so relentlessly adoring and biased towards and devoted to every woman or girl that she has a positive relationship with would be overwhelmingly unfamiliar to both of them.

There's this post going around I really like about Zoro being unused to be gentleness, and I think that's what makes transfem Zoro x Nami sooooo attractive. Zoro will have never had a relationship like that in her life. Meanwhile, Luffy has sweet relationships with a lot of people, but he also has that terror of abandonment at the center of him, and gets beat up constantly and is used to being treated roughly. He's also not immune to being flustered when people being unexpectedly nice to him!

The first example that comes to mind is when Smoker lets him go in Alabasta. The face Luffy makes is so cute! Not to mention Zoro's happy laugh in a rare moment of open joy!

Which of course makes me think about the possibility of Romance Dawn Trio as a poly yuri triad.... GOD. I feel like despite being two of Nami's strongest relationships, the ones with Luffy and Zoro, they seem to be wildly underexplored in fanon. I get it, the obsession with Romance is strong, and making a seemingly hetero relationship out of such queer-coded characters seems strange. I obviously believe it doesn't have to be hetero, and their queer coding could be interpreted into being entangled with each other in a specifically queer way, even without trans headcanons.

However, there is something really, really fun about trans headcanons making it yuri, and I'd love it if more people considered it!

[allyriadayne]

could you talk more about the daynes post robert's rebellion?

SURE

first of, this is mostly my hcs, speculations and a mix of things i must have read back when there was the height of asoiaf meta in 2013 because there is almost nothing about the daynes post robert's rebellion. so bear with me.

just to set the scene, the members of house dayne left after the mess of the rebellion were the unnamed older brother of ashara and arthur, the lord and father of edric; allyria the youngest sister that i headcanon to be much younger than her older siblings seeing as she is betrothed to beric dondarrion who is was in his twenties per agot so i don't think the marriage would've occurred if allyria was in her middle thirties or forties if she was closer to ashara and arthur; edric, twelve years old, beric's loyal squire; and gerold aka darkstar head of high hermitage, also in his twenties? around arianne's age.

(c) Eddie Mendoza for the cover of A Song of Ice and Fire 2025 Calendar

under the cut because i'm crazy

i don't know if the books are ever going to make clear what happened at the toj-starfall zone but we can be sure only that ned went from one to the other with lyanna's bones and supposedly baby jon to return dawn to the daynes. ashara had a baby of father unknown and shortly after ned was there she took her own life, body never found. i go back and forward in thinking if ashara's brother lord dayne was there with her when ned went or if he was one of the dornish commanders defending the targs. in any case, his presence was completely zero during this time so i think he was too injured for a time or too sickly in general to do something to reestablish the dayne name in dorne after arthur being an important part in elia's disgrace and indirectly, her murder.

because yeah after arthur and ashara's death and going by the books there is zero mention of them, even in the chapters set in dorne or others about dornish characters make no mention of them. and it's strange considering that when you read awoiaf and f&b, the daynes are The knights of dorne. queen nymeria marries a dayne, sends a starfall king to the wall, meria martell commands a dayne to burn oldtown, arguably one of the most powerful cities of the time, out of all the sons of daeron ii and myriah martell, maekar marries a dayne, the only dornish lady. it could be nothing OR something but i think it does mean something. we see there's no daynes in oberyn's party in kl or speculation in general about the new sword of the morning beyond remembering dear old arthur. they've fallen completely into obscurity. the house was reduced to a young girl and its child lord.

edric's dad dies before agot (he doesn't seem to afflicted by his death when he meets arya if he were less than a year dead, inheriting the lordship at such a young age would've been dramatic to him), i would say just after becoming a page to beric dondarrion at 7 yo and i headcanon the marriage between beric and allyria was brokered at this time too. this was part of a fic i was writing like 500 years ago but i think lord dayne must have known he would not live too long, not to see edric grow so he must have looked for someone to prepare and take care of allyria and edric after he died. betrothing allyria to a marcher lord is......strange. if a dornish person would have to be married to someone it would go like this 1) not from the reach 2) not from the marches in that order, there is too much bad blood. the daynes have a longstanding tradition of killing oakhearts so marrying allyria to the heir of blackhaven and giving him his only heir, lord dayne entrusted a complete stranger with the future of his house.

beric would've been in charge of teaching young edric just about everything. he would be living in the stormlands for almost half his live, learning from a his maester and how to govern a stormlands' castle. meanwhile, allyria in a few years probably around agot time would be ready to marry beric when she reached her majority. she would've been the defacto ruler of starfall in edric's name when lord dayne dies, i think the idea was to swap when edric gained his spurs: he would return to starfall after a successful run as a tourney knight, probably gaining some recognition from whatever beric was tasked with at the capital (rip king) and then accompany allyria to be married to his knight master. andddd fin.

the thing is. allyria being so young during the rebellion, lord dayne absence for whatever reason and then dying, let the younger members with no connections in the wider dorne political context. it is said young children go to the water gardens and it's fun yeah but it's def a starting point for politics for many lords. it's close to the martells and it's an opportunity to make friends with future rulers, /everyone/ is going. the daynes didn't have this. allyria was probably very young when the rebellion happened (i think no older than 5) and for obvious reasons she was not sent to the water gardens; as for ned, i think lord dayne could not secure an invitation, this or he died too early to even try. if allyria had gone, she would've been for sure one of arianne's companions, she has both the breeding and the standing, but NOT and it's crucial, the reputation. see what arianne has to say in affc about gerold's standing:

"He is highborn enough to make a worthy consort, she thought. Father would question my good sense, but our children would be as beautiful as dragonlords."

it's must be passé to associate with the daynes at this point. think of the conningtons losing all standing when joncon lost the battle and was exiled.

in any case, allyria, more than edric, grew in obscurity. as of the books she's betrothed to a marcher lord nobody knows if he's alive or dead, has a missing nephew and it's in charge of one of the most ancient first men houses of westeros. sad! at least ned is having more fun. which leads me to darkstar. i see his thirst to prove himself, his notoriety as a cruel knight as another way to separate himself from what the main branch has fallen into. he is in his twenties so he was probably affected by the same dark cloud as the others.

"If I led a quarter of a million men to death, would they call me Gerold the Great? I shall remain Darkstar, I think. At least it is mine own."

he wants to have what arthur had, but not be the sword of the morning, he wants something that it's his own, as he says. he may want the sword and the fame like arthur, but not to be associated with another's bad luck so to speak. it's very telling that he's called one of "the most dangerous man in dorne" and what is the sword of the morning if not this? he's a dark mirror of the daynes pre rebellion, just like allyria would've been a renown beauty just like ashara is she wasn't cloistered. something something gerold and allyria as mirrors of what could've happened to ashara and arthur if they hadn't the protection of the monarchy.

i once read gerold is meant to have young ned's plot after germ scrapped the five year time skip and i think this is half true. i do think there is something to be done about dawn the sword and i think gerold is going to steal it and do something with it, something ned can't do because he's /still/ in the riverlands. i don't know what but i think it ties nicely with the theme of deconstructing the noble knight archetype. arthur is only great because he knew how to kill.

writing this i had a breakdown about the parallels between arthur and gerold

to finish this rambling i want to say my hopes for house dayne in what is left of asoiaf is 1) ned alive 2) gerold steals dawn 3) and like. something. honestly i will take anything at this point about allyria. DOES SHE EVEN KNOW? my poor girl and 4) if germ wants to clear the toj situation then it's fine.

thanks for asking and to anyone reaching this point lol. this is mostly general but if you want to talk about anything specific just message me! k thx muah!

[leafith]

IᑎTᖇOᗪᑌᑕTIOᑎ ᑭOᔕT

🌞

Hello! This is the main blog of Leaf and Judith, two random creatures from an unknown world. They are just sharing their content there, to make someone smile and to find other weirdos like them.

Do they have a physical look? I don't know anymore

But you can have their info right here:

Leaf:

Enjoys writing, dancing, reading books, dreamy/mysterious/magic music (examples: ᗩᑌᖇOᖇᗩ, Melanie Martinez, MARINA, Yaelokre);

Has deer horns and ears, she's a quite mysterious figure;

Judith:

Enjoys drawing, reading random fanfictions and book, rock/grunge (examples: Chris Cornell, Pink Floyd and Cranberries);

Elf. She considers Leaf as her sister, but it's unknown if Leaf reciprocates;

Other Socials:

Spotify

Quotev

Wattpad

Other blogs:

@the-leafith-duo-reblogs (reblogging stuff)

Leaf is a writer of original stories and fanfictions. You can find her works on Quotev and Wattpad!! For now, she has written a Sky: CotL Fanfiction called Fly Until You See The Light, or just FUYSTL or Phewstel, and an original story called Remyandre's Keepers, or just RISK. She plans to make sequels of these stories!

Plots of the stories:

🕯️🪽🪶Fly Until You See The Light (FUYSTL/Phewstel):

Sentinekka, on her thirteenth birthday, the date known for the start of the typical journey in the seven realms, decides to bring her best friend, a fifteen year old who was never allowed to start her journey, through the exploration of the Isle of Dawn onwards...

But different and unexpected, positive and negative, heartbreaking and hilarious things can happen during every journey... What could our girl possibly encounter?

Well, why not find out?

☄️🏔️❄️Remyandre's Keepers (Remyandre/RISK):

Remyandre is a really weird place in a too much normal world, a place where nothing good is seen as a negative trait and where you can finally see yourself as the miracle you are. Or, at least, that's what everyone feels about Remyandre. Only one boy, so different and unsettling, feels scared and confused about himself even in the most welcoming place. And that's what makes him leave. In the meanwhile, his friends and the other Keepers of Remyandre, the creatures who own powers, must find him and complete more missions during a long journey that will change their lives.

Tags:

skytober/skytober2024/skytober 2024 = the word speaks for itself

fly until you see the light/fuystl/phewstel = my sky: cotl fanfiction, Fly Until You See The Light

remyandre's keepers/risk = my original story, Remyandre's Keepers

phewstel in-short = my sky: cotl fanfiction explained in text posts

risk in-short = same thing for Phewstel, but with Remyandre's Keepers

answered = answered ask

original character: *name*

Friends List:

@lunaglitchercc @flamy-t @weirdboi @jassygay @wowiexist0 @askthealphabet @the-doodle-bugs @sophia-does-skits @rosegacha11 @screwzara @crowcussion @moonzie-does-tag-games @sophie-avocado-girl @tsutsuji-picrew @alexandra537264 @hearthstonealderman16pollsblog @2laffy2 @ambertheartist @fretriftle @archerofunspeakablelove @revived-a-skykid @eminsunnytoons123 @heavily-traumatized-kyle @anomaliesincats @alaskathestereodemoness @sailorygnim

To be added you just need to become our friend! :)

Important posts:

Phewstel in-short; all chapters list:

Userboxes:

(credits to user boxes creators!!)

Dividers graphics: @saradika-graphics

[matchadobo]

matchadobo's 500 followers event!

forced proximity

"if you seriously propose that i sit on your lap, i'm gonna fucking kill you."

"never figured you for this much of a cuddler." click here for the fic!

"a word from you about this and i'll set you on fire." click here for the fic!

hurt to comfort

"i still smell you on my sheets, i still remember your favorite songs, i still remember all of your little quirks, i still remember the feel of you under my palms, i still remember your smile, and i still can't get you out of my head. even though you forgot about me right now."

"if i had three lives, i'd marry you in two. the other life, i would be writer trying to pen you into existence." click here for the fic!

"show me all the parts of you that you don't love, so i know where to begin."click here for the fic!

fantasy

"been chasing me for weeks, and this is how you flirt? if you wanted to get under my skin, you should’ve skipped the silver and brought rum." (vampire x hitman)

"it'd be unbecoming for the captain of my knights to get caught sneaking out of my chambers at dawn, is it not?" (knight x king/queen) click here for the fic!

"for someone who claims to hate me, you sure can't stay out of my waters. afraid you'll miss me?" (mermaid x pirate) click here for the fic!

he puts you in your place (smut driven)

"you act like a brat all day and you expect me to do nothing about it?" click here for the link!

"you're in no position to tease baby, remember that."

"oh please, you like it when i tell you what to do."

modern au

"i told you not to get too close to me." (mafia) click here for the link!

"oh alright, but you bet your sweet ass i won't be doing it for free." (tutor au)

"are you confessing or do I need to sweep you off your feet to make it happen?" (soulmate au where bells keep ringing if you're with your s/o until a confession happens) click here for the link!

RULES

follow my blog rules! in case of special requests that fails to follow my blog rules, it will not be considered upon creating the request or it will be considered void. i'll try to find a way to partially meet the request and align it to my rules, otherwise it'd be void. like what happened in this hc. (not blaming the person who requested, just demonstrating what i'll plan to do)

this will be strictly a kidd x reader event, it could be poly with another one piece character but the pairing of 'kidd x reader' shall remain.

once i have accepted a request, the dialogue starter and a prompt genre will be crossed out in this post. a dialogue starter can only be accepted once. meanwhile, a prompt genre will remain open until all the dialogue starters are crossed out.

i only write for gender-neutral (they) and afab (she) readers. indicate in your request your preference, otherwise i'll decide.

smut, fluff, angst, etc. are welcome.

the event will be open until all the prompts and dialogues are crossed out.

HOW TO REQUEST:

select one (1) prompt genre (from #1-5) and choose one (1) dialogue starter. inclusion of more than one on each will result to a void request. if you want to request more than one prompt/genre, make another request.

include your special requests if you have any (it's fine if you don't, and if your request violated my rules; it'll be up to me in that case 😼). special request/s may include a particular ending for the request, a particular preface, story flow, established fact about them, a little alteration/modification in the dialogue starter but the inital intent is still there, personality trait, or if kidd/reader will say the dialogue.

requests will be accepted on a first come first serve basis. i won't be picky this time 🫰😚

place your requests on my ask box.

sample format: "i'd like to request forced proximity with the 3rd dialogue. make it a gn reader. i'd like an angst where kidd will say the line. maybe make it a happy ending."

click here for masterpost link

[raven-at-the-writing-desk]

lilia and madame red

OKAY, BUT LIKE.

Does anyone else get vague Madame Red backstory vibes from Lilia in book 7??? 😭 PLEASE SAY IT ISN’T JUST ME, I SWEAR THERE��S PARALLELS HERE

Madame Red (real name: Angelina, which is what I’ll call her going forward in this post) was best friends with her sister, Rachel. Angelina considered Rachel the “sister [she] loved she most”.

Let’s think of this friendship like Lilia and Mallenoa, his princess and Malleus’s mother. He would complain about her callousness and her selfishness, but it’s clear from the way he jokes about her personality that he knows her well and considers her a good friend in spite of the trouble she causes him.

Later on, Angelina and Rachel meet Earl Vincent Phantomhive, and they both fall in love with him. Ultimately though, Rachel is the one that marries him. Angelina was heartbroken and conflicted about the matter, describing it as “the sister I loved the most was going the marry the man I loved the most”. They even have a child together. She was happy for their happiness, but was also always longing for something she could never have.

Now, while we don’t know for sure what the timeline is between Lilia meeting Mallenoa and Lilia meeting Levan/Revan (Raverne), it’s clear that they all knew one another at some point. Lilia at least knew them both since childhood (which must be hundreds of years). Then his two best friends marry and produce an egg. The conflicted feelings that Angelina experienced only really have a direct parallel if you headcanon that Lilia was in love with either Mallenoa or Revan, but we don’t necessarily need romantic feelings here for the parallel to work. It could be that Lilia feels a little lonely because his friends have less time for him since they have each other and important duties to tend to (plus, let’s remember they also dump some of their tasks onto Lilia). However, I will concede that this point in the timeline is the least mirrored with the story of Angelina; we don’t actually know a lot about Lilia’s feelings concerning his friends’ romance and how that impacted their relationship with Lilia.

Then (I’m skipping over a lot of things that happened in Madame Red’s backstory to get to the relevant parts) her beloved sister and brother-in-law perish in a fiery blaze, and she’s powerless to stop it. All that’s salvaged from the burning building is “the child of the sister she loved most and the man she loved most”.

A similar tragedy could have befallen Lilia and Malleus’s parents, given the current direction of book 7. Levan/Revan (Raverne) goes missing, and Mallenoa is all but guaranteed dead at the hands of the invading human forces led by the Dawn Knight. Where does that leave Lilia once his two best friends are gone? He’s been left behind and forced to pick up the pieces of what little remains of a country ravaged for its resources, burdened with an unborn child to look after in their stead.

I would say the main difference between Angelina and Lilia is how they coped with the aftermath of the horrific events in their life. Angelina becomes angry at the world and envious of those that take what she cannot have for herself for granted. Those feelings manifest in violent murders. Meanwhile, Lilia, the man who has been fighting and killing all this time, becomes wise and accepting of humans, wishing for a time and place where all races can join hands and the children of tomorrow can live in harmony 😭

“It’s the world Mallenoa and Raverne would have wanted for their son. The world I would want for my own son. A world of peace, not war.”