#my dour prince

[sproobles]

new adventure, new bonds

[kiame-sama]

Humans Are Extinct (Yandere!TWST x Fem!Reader) Monster AU pt 2

(Unicorn Centaur Riddle wearing his dorm clothes. His hooves are golden as well, but he often wears red covers over them to prevent dirt buildup since it is harder for him to clean out his hooves and he refuses to ask Trey for help most times)

Warnings; Several yanderes, platonic yanderes, romantic yanderes, yandere behavior, monster au, fem reader, very few know reader is fem so mostly they/them pronouns used, deranged behavior, centaurs, unicorns, Nemean lions, Vampire Bats, selkies, minotaurs, genies, nagas, magic, talk of eating humans, arguing, mention of virginity, slight Monster AU history mentioned,

~~~~~~~~

The thorn prince arrived to a scene of chaos as he exited the portal from Diasomnia. Many new students were lost and confused as they had been told to stay put while most of the Housewardens searched the halls, some Vice-Housewardens were desperately trying to keep the peace or even join the search at the behest of the Headmage. He certainly wasn't concerned about what they may be searching for, instead he started heading towards his own Vice-Housewarden with a slight spring in his step, joyful at finding such an odd little creature in Diasomnia.

"Lilia."

The casual summons had the bat Fae Vice-Housewarden turning to look at the newcomer who had not been expected to make an appearance after receiving no invitation. Naturally, Lilia was surprised that the dour Dragon chose to go against his own code of conduct and arrive at a ceremony he had no true part in. His stern expression did not seem so serious, making Lilia wonder just what had happened to bring Malleus of all students to his side.

"Malleus? I didn't expect to see you here without invitation."

"Yes, well," the prince pouted in response to the reminder, "I have plenty good reason to seek you out despite the lack of invitation."

"Oh? Do tell. You aren't often so brazen about casually entering the company of others."

"The Gargoyles have borne a child of flesh and not stone."

"... What?"

"I found the soft being sleeping beneath the Human-Gargoyle that was made 1010 years ago. They look much like the Gargoyle and don't seem to be of any other Twisted Wonderland species. As they seemed so fragile and their stone parents weren't keen to protect them, I took them to my nest. Of course, it is odd the Gargoyle child was clothed so shortly after being birthed, but removing their shoes to lay them to rest was of no trouble to me."

The conversation had drawn the attention of both the frazzled and the curious who were also equally shocked to see Malleus in the flesh. Of course, it didn't take long for the crow Headmage to intervene, figuring what had happened rather quickly. Before the Headmage could speak, however, Lilia beat him to the punch with a much more patient tone and approach.

"Malleus, after centuries of studying Gargoyles, what do you know is true about all Gargoyles?"

"They are stone of various kinds. They double as spouts to keep water from gathering on roofs. They are often depictions of animals, creatures, and other beings."

"How often have you encountered a Gargoyle that has produced an infant?"

"..."

"How often have you encountered a Gargoyle that has produced an infant of flesh and blood?"

"..."

Lilia would have laughed in a good humored way if he were not being watched by all of the new students and their seniors who had come to aid them in settling in. It was not Malleus' fault that he came to the conclusion that the Gargoyles had produced offspring, the truth was just as far fetched.

What was interesting Lilia more than the topic at hand was the fact Malleus had taken the wayward Human into his nest. Dragons were rarely keen to share things like their nests or their hoard with others, especially those they know little about. The simple fact that Malleus took the human into his nest was enough to show that the dragon had already taken a unique interest and intended to make the Human a member of his living hoard. Malleus may not often take new creatures or items for his hoard, but the few he claimed had little room to argue as the Dragon was fiercely protective of those he viewed as his.

"What you found, Malleus, is an actual Human. Ironic they took shelter beneath a Human Gargoyle, but they had fled from here perhaps an hour before you arrived. They must have decided to use one of the portals to flee and wound up in Diasomnia instead where you found them. Don't worry, I can get them from your nest so they don't-"

"You will not be taking the Human from my nest, Lilia."

"Oh? Keeheehee~ Have you taken a liking to them, Malleus? Humans are very fragile, you know."

"They may not be the child of a Gargoyle, like I thought them to be, but that does not change the fact that they are in my nest, and under my protection."

It was then a sneering scoff came from the crowd, the new students quickly parting to let the intimidating Nemean Lion strut forward with his tail flicking in annoyance. The man himself had beautiful sun-kissed bronze skin that held the faintest golden glimmer, his shining eyes of acidic green glinted with pride and frustration. Even with his rich dark mahogany colored hair, he gave off a beautiful shine that made him look like he was sculpted out of pure gold.

"And you think you're the best choice for a Human? Human's need light, food, and water, not to be locked up in a creepy ass dungeon that doubles as a nest for an overgrown lizard. That Human is better off in Savanaclaw, not Diasomnia."

Before Malleus could respond to the clear taunt from Leona, another voice with a haughty tone cut in.

"Not even if the Seven proclaimed it, would I believe you can be gentle or safe with a Human, Leona. Nemean Lions were the last holdout group that insisted on eating Humans before they were officially declared extinct."

Approaching with far more grace than he should have was the Housewarden of Pomefiore, the Peacock Harpy Vil. He was clearly posturing as his seven head feathers sat straight up in a clear showing of his crest. Even his tail feathers were slightly fanned out as they caught the light and gave an iridescent display of colors.

"Oh? And what the Hell would you do to protect them, Vil? Doll the Human up in fancy ass clothes and make them preen like a prissy little Harpy?"

"Do speak up, Leona. I could barely hear you over your prideful bitching. Or do you want another scar to even out that scowling expression of yours? Maybe I'll take your eye this time."

This made a snarl escape the golden Lion, his tail lashing violently back and forth in response to the clear threat from the Harpy. Luckily the Headmage had called the other Housewardens to return as well as requesting the teachers to assist in the unusual situation. All he had to do was step between the Lion and Harpy in an effort to keep them from attacking one another until the others showed up.

"I will decide where the Human shall stay and who is safe enough to leave around the Human. They are an extremely rare creature and cannot be treated so callously. You both are Housewardens, please act with the proper decorum."

It was then the clear clopping of hooves on the marble floor could be heard, the others quickly returning to the Hall of Mirrors thanks to Crowley's summons.

"I demand to know the location of the Human! The Queen's rules insist that humans must be protected and cared for properly, and I refuse to allow the mistreatment of one of the Queen's most protected species!"

Each syllable was accompanied by the distinct click of his golden hooves against the stone floors as Riddle came to a slow halt in front of the Headmage. Naturally, the Unicorn Centaur was the first to know any obscure information due to his inherent hunger for knowledge and desire to follow rules. If anyone knew of rules regarding Humans, especially any rules made in by the Queen of Hearts, Riddle would be the one to know them all.

"Riddle, I assure you that the human will be properly cared for-"

"Have you already provided them with adequate snacks that don't have pig-fat in them? The Queen's rule 898 states that all humans must be denied pig heavy meals as they are genetically close enough to pigs that it can cause stomach troubles but must be able to access food consistently due to their digestion processes. Queen's rule 899 states that Humans need to be kept in optimal temperatures that should not exceed the boiling point of water and should not be less than the freezing point of water. Not to mention rule 900 that talks about the proper protocol for finding mates for a human and their regional specific breeding patterns-"

The others couldn't help but stare at the Unicorn Housewarden who continued to prattle off the various rules regarding the treatment of Humans. He was far more sensitive to the wellbeing of the Human as Unicorns were historically rather fond of Humans- female maidens especially- and were the first to oppose the idea of Humans being cattle for other species. As a Unicorn Centaur, Riddle was far more attuned to emotions and natural law than a Harpy would be and far more aware of the fragility of mortality than a Dragon would be.

"The Human will be treated properly with adherence to the rules, Riddle. We should try and trust the Headmage to do that much."

The taller and more intimidating Centaur next to Riddle now spoke, resting a hand atop the shoulder of the temperamental Unicorn. Though he shared similar coloring on his equine half to Riddle, the second Centaur was clearly of a different breed as he was larger and more stocky than the Unicorn. His green hair was ruffled and he had clearly been out searching for the Human with Riddle before they were called back to the Headmage.

"No, Trey, he won't even follow the rules of an unbirthday party! How can I trust that he will do what is required to keep this Human safe and cared for? That virgin human must be protected at all costs!"

"How are you so sure they are a virgin?"

"I can sense their purity!"

Trey continued to try and talk down the upset Unicorn, trying to be a voice of calm and reason to his hot-headed equine companion. This left room for an interjection from yet another Housewarden returning from their search for the elusive Human of Night Raven College.

"Wow! You sure know a lot about Humans, Riddle! I wouldn't expect anything else from the Unicorn who is top in his classes!"

The newcomer's approach came with a golden light that shined from somewhere within his very being. His white hair was a stark contrast to his richly toned skin and crimson eyes, the ever present smile on his face just as dazzling as the gold and jewels that hung from his figure. To his side was his ever consistent Naga companion, the blacks and reds of his scales almost bleeding together in the golden light. The faint flick of golden scales caught in the light of the Genie added to the unusual mystique of the Sand Viper Naga that followed dutifully behind his Housewarden.

"You would know these things too if you payed any attention in class, Kalim!"

"Ouch, a bit harsh, Riddle? I can't help that Trein is so boring sometimes that I fall right asleep! If I knew we were getting a Human classmate, I would have paid more attention."

It was then the Naga spoke up, his voice smooth like honey and just as rich despite the gentle way he spoke. His dark hair was neatly pulled back in intricate braids that ended with a golden trinket and kept most of the dark locks from obstructing his gaze.

"Kalim, even if we didn't get a Human classmate, you should still pay attention in class."

"I guess you're right, Jamil. But still, isn't a human being here exciting?"

"Yes, well, it is certainly unusual..."

"I could keep them safe in my lamp and that way no one has to worry if they are in trouble or not because no one can enter my lamp without my permission anyway!"

"I don't think you could be trusted with a Human like that..."

"What was that?"

"Nothing. In any case, the Human's wellbeing should be top priority given how rare they are. Most Housewardens should be able to protect the Human as needed, but that isn't even mentioning the danger a Housewarden could represent to the Human."

As the conversation carried on and the other Housewardens and Vice-Housewardens returned from their search, the older crow Fae couldn't be more pleased. Taking on a Human would be quite a bit of work for anyone, but it seemed rather clear that the Housewardens were keen to do what was needed for the Human to stay. Not to mention the fact that the heir-apparent of Briar Valley- The Prince of Thorns, Malleus Draconia- had already claimed the Human as one of his protected treasures. There wasn't much protection better than that.

Still, perhaps it would be best to not leave a fragile Human in the nest of an overly protective Dragon.

~•§•~

You woke slowly to the sounds of voices around you, feeling a soft surface beneath your head and a warm blanket wrapped around your figure. It certainly wasn't where you had fallen asleep- as you had been huddled beneath a hideous Gargoyle when sleep finally claimed you- but you weren't really complaining about the plush surface either. If anything, the voices around you that were clearly arguing were causing you more stress than the new location you found yourself in.

"The Child of Man is mine to protect! I will not allow any of you to take them from my nest."

"Malleus, please, we all know the human needs somewhere other than your nest to live. They need their own space and their own home to feel comfortable and not die from stress."

"They are protected here and have their own space here in Diasomnia."

"Malleus-"

Your increased movements made the arguing quiet down as you sat up, letting out a squeaking sound when you stretched. It was likely the ever present haze of sleep over your mind that kept you so calm despite the unfamiliar surroundings. That calm feeling didn't last long as you received a harsh reminder that you were the only human present. Standing in front of you was a fair-skinned man with dark black hair and monstrous features. His black wings folded slightly as he turned to look at you, bright green eyes examining you quickly for any sign of distress. Atop his head sat two twisting black horns that formed a kind of crown for the regal scaled man standing in front of you.

Past the intimidating man's shoulder you saw the familiar Crow-like man flanked on either side by equally monstrous appearing men.

One of the men had clear black and white hair that copied or complimented the black and white coat hanging from his shoulders. His steel gray eyes seeming so cold until they softened slightly, gazing at you the way one would gaze at a prized pet. This man seemed more human than any of the others you met prior, giving you a small bit of hope that you weren't alone in your plight. Still, there was the high chance that this man was some kind of monster too and just didn't look it at first glance like the others.

On the other side of the Crow stood a man that reminded you of a Bull with long horns that would have knocked into the head of the Crow-man if the Bull were any shorter. The man had deep brown hair and bright blue eyes, his muscular build clear even beneath the red sweat-suit he wore. Despite his Human-like face, he was obviously not human thanks to the clear horns and Bull tail waving lazily behind him.

It appeared- from first glance- that the reptilian man was guarding you from the others rather aggressively and was not keen to let you go with the Crow and his companions. Part of you was glad to feel such comfort, but you also had to wonder just what it was the reptilian man ultimately wanted from you. While you mused this, another voice from behind you startled you into almost jumping from the bed, looking back in surprise at the source of the voice.

You saw what looked like a young man with black and pink hair sitting on the bed near where you had been laying. He had apparent fangs that peaked past his upper lip and two leathery batwings that had clearly endured some damage throughout the years. This man had been present when you fell from the coffin not too long ago, so it confused you that he chose to speak to you now.

"It seems you're finally awake, little Human. Maybe you can help us with our current predicament? You are a rare species that has been believed to be extinct for more than a few centuries now. As one of the top Magic schools in all of Twisted Wonderland, it is the school's job to protect you and keep you safe from those who would wish to see humans extinct once more. Malleus here found you sleeping under the Gargoyles and has decided to claim you- for better or worse- as one of the creatures he needs to protect. That brings us here, to Malleus' nest. They," he gestured to the Crow and his companions, "believe you would be better off with one of the professors guarding and protecting you from the common rabble. Malleus," he gestured now to the reptile man, "is of the mind that you are most protected here in his nest."

You were surprised and confused by the Bat-man telling you all of this as the Crow had given you the impression that your opinion and wants did not matter in the situation you found yourself in. As far as you were aware, the Crow intended to keep you as a pet, but this Malleus person had the same idea and didn't want to share you with the Crow.

"... Why are you in his nest too?"

"Oh, becuase Malleus likes to protect those he cares about. He is a Dragon, after all, and those he cares about are counted among his horde. I have been his teacher for many centuries now, so naturally I am one of his hoard members. Only those who are part of his hoard or Malleus himself is allowed to enter his nest without being burned alive. That means you too now, congratulations."

You now glanced back at the reptilian man, seeing the way he stood with his back to you and wings spread in a shielding action. It made sense that this man was a Dragon given his features and attributes. Despite now knowing a Dragon was guarding you, you still had no idea why these people were so desperate to get their hands on you. Even if they were right and Humans were extinct, that didn't mean it made much sense to you for them to try and keep you as a pet like this.

"So, sweet little Human, what would you like?"

"I would like people to say my name and not call me Human."

"My apologies, it has been a hectic day thus far. What is your name?"

"It's (Y/n). (Y/n) (L/n)."

"(Y/n) (L/n)... The last Human in Twisted Wonderland."

[sky-kiss]

Drink

A/n: I got nothing. I don't know. This is nothing. This is like. Minor lactation kink and some conversation lol. Everything is going under the cut. Here. Have his smug face as my penance.

R/D!Urge: Drink

“Your son was not hungry.” 

There’s an archness to her tone that causes Raphael to lift his head. The duchess lingers near the edge of his vision, a conspicuous distance kept between them. Vanity has kept her from his bed and out of his company; he does not miss the excess fabric draped across her form, designed to hide the extra weight and the heaviness of her breasts. 

The body did not feel like her own, she’d admitted once, head held high. Daring him to argue, perhaps hoping he might. He had no interest in the conversation one way or another.

“This is of interest to me?” 

Joi frowns, gaze dropping. He will not say she is diminished, but there is somehow…a shift---in her bearing, in her essence. She was much the same in the months following their daughter’s birth. Discomforted and robbed of her self-possession, hormones and exhaustion forming some wretched amalgamation. He sees the ragged seams of her fraying control, places where he might hook his fingers and pull. And worse, he thinks she could not muster the energy to stop him. She hugs his stolen robe more tightly about herself. “Please, Raphael. For once, no games.” 

“No games, no whimsy…how tiresome.” He leans back in his seat, folding his hands over his stomach. “Come.” 

The duchess crosses to him, and it occurs to him again how little he likes her like this---this dour little thing. She settles across his lap, wincing as she adjusts herself. The boy…the prince, he amends, had not come into the world as delicately as his sister. It’d taken days to clear the stench of blood from the boudoir. 

His sorceress leans her head against his chin, grumbling and drawing his arms around her. Raphael plucks at the robe’s tie. “Why have you come, pet?” 

She huffs, “Am I no longer welcome in your boudoir, my duke?” 

“You seemed happy enough to keep your own company.” 

Joi pinched the back of his hand. “Your son, your heir, needed me.” 

“The princess is my heir. The boy…” 

“Raphael.” Her tone is softer than he expects, not the righteous fury he hopes to elicit. Too tired, no games, no sport. “Please.” She leads his hand to her breast, heat radiating from the milk-swollen flesh. He pushes the robe apart. The nipple is badly chafed, reddened, and oversensitive. “As I said…your son would not drink.” 

“Haarlep would leap at the chance to relieve you.” 

“Haarlep,” his duchess purrs, fingers stroking back through his hair, scraping across his scalp. “Is no king. My body bore princes and princesses…should it nourish him?”

The devil chuckles, lifting her from his lap and onto his desk. “Oh, wicked thing. A fair point.”

She winces when he spreads her legs. He shifts to his human form in a fit of deference, holding her knees tight to his side. Raphael acts with uncharacteristic care, bowing her back. The devil presses a kiss to her sternum, cupping her right breast to relieve the pressure before suckling.

Her hand moves to the back of his neck, holding him in place. Joi’s sigh borders on rapturous relief rather than pleasure. He finds himself cataloging these noises, each one fascinating: a scrape of teeth and she hisses; more direct pressure and she’ll squeeze her legs around him. It’s best to press the flat of his tongue to her skin, open-mouthed and indirect, and then she makes such pretty noises. So sweet. 

He presses his hand between her shoulder blades, exaggerating the bow of her back. He sucks a bruise into the rise of her breast before shifting his attention to the left, repeating the process. She’s slackened in his arms, relaxing into his touch now that the worst of her discomfort has passed. 

Raphael swallows, pulling back to admire his work. He wipes a stray bead of milk with his thumb, bringing it to his lips to lick it clean. His duchess shivers, staring at him with wide, hungry eyes, mouth still partially slack. 

He kisses her, letting her taste herself on his tongue, slow and languid. 

And when all is said and done, Joi presses him back into his seat. His duchess sinks to her knees with neither comment nor complaint, only a delicious look of self-satisfaction, hunger she longs to satiate. 

Far be it from him to deny her. 

[bl00dlight]

A Song of Shadow & Flame

CANON Dark! Aemond Targaryen x OC niece Targaryen. | SERIES

Warnings - Mentions of SA, child on child violence, graphic description, fatherlessness, Aemond gets fucked up, morally grey slay, questionable fathering, where are their parents?

Author's note ● Well, this is it. This is the last 124 AC chapter before we pick up six years later. Thank god, lets get to the SMASHING already!!! I just want to also state, that yes Visenya has raging father issues and yes that absolutely is going to evolve into something more disturbing, this may turn into a dead dove fic, purely because of the psychological fuckery I am about to pull. But hey, that's canon for ya. My girl has major problems. She IS going to make Aemond worse. Oh and this isn't edited, sorry for typos. I'll get to it later.

Word Count ~ 3.5k+

Index

i ● ii ● iii ● iv ● v ● vi ● vii ● viii ●ix ● x ● xi ● xii ● xiii ● xiv ● xv

vi ~ 'An Eye'

123 AC

They charged through the rock pools, making their way to the alcove which contained the lower passage into High Tide. Visenya had let go of his hand by now, she hadn’t muttered a word, too fuelled by adrenaline and disgust, but mainly shame. Shame for what Aegon did to her, shame she was too fearful to stop him.

As they came to the darkened impasse, Aemond’s hand reached to grasp her wrist, and Visenya’s eyes widened as she felt the warmth of his hand coil gently, a poor attempt at affection. She looked to him, her gaze one of shock… her heart swelled at the action, a glimmer of vulnerability in her eyes, though his beamed with uncertainty.

Aemond's gazed sternly at the Princess, her silver hair glimmering under the torch light. No one had ever retaliated against Aegon, especially not for him...no one had ever bothered – not even his father. Aemond’s gaze softened as he glared at her, he felt shame rear its biting head in him as he recalled how little he had done to do the same for her. His grip upon her wrist slid down slightly, until his hand met the palm of hers, enclosing like a shell, as if done in thanks. Though Aemond did not know how to say such things, how to express it. Even this felt terribly odd, his brow furrowed.

Stillness settled, and the two young Targaryen’s stood face to face, their hands intertwined. The princess was in shock, her eyes gleamed with a slight affection for a moment – something warm tugging at her chest before she met the hard and dour gaze of his. She felt herself grow disturbed by the action, suddenly snapping out of the moment and ripping her hand away.

“What do you think you are doing?” She whispered intensely, her expression darkening before she could gauge why. Visenya wasn’t even sure why she pulled away.

Aemond looked down at his empty hand and then, met her gaze, “You defended me.” His voice plain, clinical.

“No one will believe you.” She gritted her teeth, her eyes beaming with tears as she went to turn. Fear and guilt overcame her, she couldn’t let him see how such affection warmed her heart for she could barely admit it herself.

The young prince scoffed, “I did not intend to speak of it.”

Suddenly Visenya whipped around fiercely, her gaze mad, as though his actions upon her were cruel. Aemond grew confused as she stepped towards him once more.

“Do not do that again!” Her voice a harsh whisper.

“What?” The boy shook his head, watching as she narrowed her eyes.

“Did you think we were friends? I took pity upon you! Pity, because you are but a dragonless bellyacher who was made to fuck an old whore.”  The words fell from her mouth before she could stop herself. She was livid and terrified of herself, she felt like a dragon gnawing at old bones. Visenya turned again as silence dropped quickly between the two.

As the princess turned, Aemond felt his heart shatter. He wasn’t sure what he felt for Visenya, what spurred him on to hold her hand, but her words confirmed everything he had already thought. Vain, spoiled, evil little… “Bastard.” He spat.

Visenya took a breath as the word rang, her heart felt like it had been ripped from her chest, as she turned her head to gaze upon his stiff and arrogant expression, “What did you say?”

“You are a bastard-“ Aemond’s brow flickered, tilting his head in a smug, flat gaze.

Visenya felt her rage pierce through her, her hands suddenly meeting his chest as she shoved him straight to the floor. Her gaze unrelenting, brutal as he looked up to her with a wrath so apparent his very face heated. Aemond rose to his feet, fists clenched as he grasped her arm with all his might, The Princess winced, his grip tight and unyielding.

Aemond felt something beyond his understanding burn through him, his gaze no longer cold, but heated by years of pent up fury, his words like knives as he twisted her wrist, “You and your pitiful brothers may shove or taunt me all you like. It changes nothing, Visenya! You are bastards born of your mother’s whoring.”

Visenya winced again, finding the strength in her to rip herself away as angry tears fell. She clutched the tender flesh of her wrist before her words came out with a desperate intent to hurt him, “And you are a dragonless, second son, who despite being a boy grown likely still wishes he could suck at his mother’s tit!”

“I care not for what the likes of a spineless slut calls me.” His voice cold as his demeanour was composed rapidly.

“Slut? You… did you just?” The princess coughed out, stuttering in disbelief as she clambered back.

“Indeed. Your behaviour is far suited to Flea Bottom than the Red Keep. You did not protest my brother’s leering upon you until he acted upon it. You weeped out of fear, once his attentions transcended your liking. However, any honourable woman would have refuted his comments in the beginning. Not you though, for you are vain and indulgent, so it is no wonder Aegon took a liking to you, he only pursues those who he knows shan’t say no.”  Aemond’s voice matter-of-factly.

She nearly jumped upon him again, though his words made her ache beyond what she had ever felt. Shame beckoning through her like dragonfire, “You blame me?”

“Yes.” The prince nodded.

Visenya roared, lunched forward as she raised her voice, though Aemond did not flinch, “Your brother is a rotten degenerate, would you say the same if it were to happen to Helaena?”

The prince gave her a judgement look before speaking with arrogant clarity again, “It would not. My sister would not engage with such attention.  Perhaps you should take after her beh- “

“Your sister is a witless doll!” She raged forward, tears streaming as she clenched her fist.

Aemond’s expression flickered with anger once again at her cruel words of his sister, his tone warning, “Do not speak against her.” 

The young princess scoffed and laughed harshly, her tone outraged and contrasting his cool composure, “You have spoken far worse about my brothers and my mother! In fact, there are many things I might say, Uncle. Your brother is a lecherous craven, your grandfather a scheming traitor and your mother is a treacherous…. viperous cunt!”

Aemond felt his cheeks burn brighter, he wished to strike her… no to grab her by her hair and smash her pretty face against the rocks, watch it splatter upon the rocks. She was nothing, a bastard. A cruel girl with a wicked tongue; a whorish mother and a lech for a father. Before he knew what had happened he felt the harsh sting of his hand after it made contact with her damp cheek.

Visenya’s face turned, her hand clutching her cheek as tears fell. The Princess winced, his hand had whipped across her face so swiftly, leaving her no time to react. Slowly, her eyes met his and a long, bitter silence was exchanged before a familiar dark voice rang.

“Visenya?” Prince Daemon stood, cooly observing the two young Targaryen’s, his eyes glazing with a slight rage as it was clear he had seen the tail end of the events unfold. In fact, he had heard the bitter words of his daughter and nephew echoing throughout the impasse. His face stern as he looked upon his Visenya, then flickering to Aemond with a cold, warning glare. The young Prince took a step back, his eyes coming to the ground as he felt his uncle’s glare bore into him. Not him. Aemond thought.

Her eyes widened upon seeing Prince Daemon, his demeanour calm, unaffected as he extended a hand. “Come. Your mother sends for you, Princess.” Daemon’s voice carried softly throughout the cove, and Visenya said not another word before walking to him, gripping his hand as he led her away.

He brought her through the door leading into High Tide, she looked up, terrified. His gaze seemed familiarly dark as he dragged her along. Visenya whimpered, begging for him to look down upon her, to soothe her as tears fell, her heart filled with dread before she pleaded, “Please, do not tell mother… I.”

With a sudden grunt Daemon turned and forced them both into a shadowy nook within the hall, his hands forcing her shoulders into the wall as he looked down, he muttered lowly, “I care not for your murmuring Visenya. Not today. You swore you would cease this endless trouble making, and now I come to witness the Hightower boy provoked to the point of putting his hand upon you!”

Visenya shook her head, disarmed by him once again, “He-“

Daemon grabbed her chin, shaking his head as his words grew firmer, “Enough! Do you understand the difficulty that comes with me refraining from intervening? Nyke care daor qilōni fucking rhēdan ziry, nyke care bona ziry keliton lēda zȳhon ondos striking ñuha tala's laehurlion!” I care not who fucking started, I care that it ended with his hand striking my daughter’s face!

As he looked upon her frightened gaze, how the tears fell down his daughter’s sweet face, the grip upon her chin loosened as it came to cupping her cheek gently. Visenya continued to look up at him with simpering eyes, she understood her father’s wrath. This was his wife’s funeral after all, and here she was again causing more trouble than need be. Making matters worse within their House.

Daemon’s tone softened further, he sighed and regained a sense of authority, “So yes, I shall tell your mother, and yes you shall deal with the consequences, as shall the Hightower boy. I want justice and if I cannot seek it, Rhaneyra shall.”

The princess merely nodded at her father’s words, she watched his expression unfolded before her, feeling the warmth of his hands wipe her tears from her cheek. Daemon gripped her chin again, forcing her head to side so the light would catch upon her face, revealing what that little Hightower swine had done. He stroked the tender flesh as whispered cooingly, noticing reddening bloom upon her pale skin.

“Issi ao ōdrikagon?” Are you hurt?  He crooned gently, still examining her face before pulling it to centre.

Visenya shook her head, her gaze and tone fierce, “Daor” No.

A wry smile came to the Rouge Prince’s face before he chuckled lowly, amused by his daughter’s stern front, “Nēdenka zaldrītsos.” Brave little dragon.

His gaze lowered again as he spoke more sternly, rage coiling within him as he thought to what his nephew had done to her, Daemon’s eyes met hers, “Se hembar jēda ziry raises iā ondos naejot ao, kessa sagon se mōrī ēza ondos.” The next time he raises a hand to you, shall be the last he has hands.

Visenya shook her head, a need to admit the truth of it; that it was she who incited the fight once again, “Nyke inditan zirȳla, kepa.” I pushed him, Father.

Daemon’s brow flickered in surprise, not of his daughter initiating the trouble – but for the odd look of shame within her eyes about it. He grunted lowly and scoffed before speaking, “I’d imagine he deserved it, dōna riña” Sweet girl.

Her gaze weakened, she knew the truth of it, and this time; no, Aemond didn’t deserve it. She was the one who was cruel to him. He had tried to reach out, tried to find some sense to her actions, letting himself display the faintest hint of vulnerability and she punished him for it. If Daemon knew… knew that she had let Aemond’s hand linger upon hers, felt such warmth in her chest, such overwhelming affection– he would surely look at her with disgrace.

Visenya leaned in as her father’s hand brushed against her face softly, before pulling her in to a swift embrace. The small affection he could only give to her when none other might be watching. She let him believe her to be innocent, to have been justified in her actions against Aemond. Just for the simple fact, it would keep this brief moment of shared love going. Just so she would not have to watch as his doting eyes hardened. Yet, there was a dull ache that settled in her chest, a pulling familiar to her. Guilt.

How could she admit that her own pride, was wounded so easily that she was able to use her tongue as though it were a blade. That she was able to shove him without remorse. Visenya locked away those threads of thought, locked them away so she did not have to face the truth. It was her who ached, not him. Not Aemond. No, she only meant to inflict her own pain back upon him, and did so, so that she might close her eyes at night peacefully.

●

Upon that very night, in the early hours of the mourn, Visenya laid in her chamber, sleeping soundly. She felt soft hands gripping her arm shaking her to wake. The muffled whispers, like gossamer in the air as the Princess groaned softly. Her eyes opening dazedly, seeing a glimpse of moonlight locks atop a small frame. Baela.

“Sister… sister wake up…” Her light voice fluttered as she shook Visenya further.

The elder princess stirred properly, slowly sitting up, “Baela…?” She yawned lazily and leaned back, noticing her youngest sister, Rhaena standing aside – the young girls expression frazzled.

Visenya felt herself shift upwards at her sister’s worried look, concern coiled as she whispered, “Sisters, has something happened?”

Baela nodded, “You must come… somebody stole Vhagar!” She exclaimed softly.

Before Visenya knew what had happened, she had haphazardly thrown on her night robe as her siblings dragged her out from her chamber. Her eyes widened further as the sight of her two brothers, stood in the hall.

“Jace? Luke? What are you-“The princess furrowed her brows, panic ensuing within her as her eyes flickered between the dark haired boys. The halls of High Tide were deathly quiet, with only the sound of the low rumbling tide to cover their whispers.

“Come sister, we must go! Somebody has- “Jace whispered softly in the darkened hall, before he could continue, Visenya stepped forward and shook her head.

“Yes I know, somebody stole Vhagar. I suggest we all go inform the Sea Snake.” Her voice firm as she looked upon her array of siblings. Their faces coiling in protest.

Jace gritted his teeth, challenging her, “No! We shall go ourselves.”

The princess swiftly leaned forward, gripping her young brother’s arm, she felt frustration burn through her, “I am in enough trouble as is, if something happens it shall be who is blamed for not putting a stop to this!”

Jace, with all his strength pushed at Visenya’s chest, forcing her away from him. The two exchanged a startled look before he cleared his throat and spoke again, “We are going sister. Come or don’t.”

Visenya simply stood in the hall as she watched her siblings disappear into the night, her gaze wide, shocked by Jace’s actions against her. Fine, if he were to treat her in such a way, let them go get themselves harmed! She thought, though as more time passed she could not help but feel that familiar pull of regret stirring. No, she couldn’t let them go by their lonesome.

Without another thought, she ran after them, looking around to see where they may had gone too. The Princess crept around the main halls of High Tide, peering to try and find her siblings. Logically, they likely went the route of the alcove leading out to the shore, she crept down the passages, hearing familiar voices echo.

“It’s him.” Rhaena proclaimed.

“It’s me.” A deeper one responded; the haughty spite rife on their tongue.

“Vhagar is my mother’s dragon!” She retorted back.

Her heart thundered as saw the warm glow of the opened door to the alcove, she knew it was her siblings in there, and the other voice, well, how could she not recognise his… Aemond.

“Your mother’s dead, and Vhagar has a new rider now…” Aemond beckoned.

Rhaena’s tone fierce, “She was mine to claim.”

As Visenya approached the door, her wide eyes were met with the scene. Her four siblings all opposed a smug Aemond, she peered through, wanting desperately to join in the confrontation, though she knew she couldn’t. Not with what had already happened today, not with her mother’s reputation already waning.

The silver haired prince raised his brow smugly, and sneered as he stepped forward, “Then you should’ve claimed her! Maybe your cousins can find you a pig to ride. It would suit you.”

Just as the words left his lips, Visenya’s eyes met his and for a brief moment she saw the anger increase tenfold as he noticed her gaze, so much so in the split second he had been distracted, Rhaena charged, growling at Aemond, instantly being thrown to the floor by him. Baela charged, punching him squarely across his pale face and he fell to the sand a low grunt leaving him.

Just as he had fallen he rose, with swiftly precision striking Baela, knocking her to the ground leaving her wincing. Aemond snarled, leaning over the young girl as she clutched her cheek, shuffling away from his hammering voice, “Come at me again and I’ll feed you to my dragon!”

In response, Jace charged but Aemond evaded his throws before the silver haired boy threw Jace to the ground – a sudden cry of Luke rang in Visenya’s ears as she watched with horror as her small brother lunged upon Aemond and his fist ram straight into Luke’s small face, forcing him too, to the ground.  Luke’s cry filled the alcove before Aemond looked up again, scoffing as he saw Visenya peering once more. Suddenly, Jace lunched once more, pushing Aemond to the floor and one by one her siblings descended upon him.

She didn’t know what to do, nor why she couldn’t move or speak. It was like one of those horrid nightmares where she found herself unable to scream or unable to run – just awaiting doom to befall her. Her eyes locked on the sight, her four siblings kicked and punching at Aemond as he writhed upon the ground whining. Baela’s fist repeatedly struck him in the chest over and over again until Aemond managed to shove Jacaerys to the floor, then Baela.

As Luke raised his fist in anger, Visenya all but gasped as Aemond gripped her younger brother’s small neck she nearly stumbled down as she saw Aemond’s blooded face sneer.

His hand rising up with a large rock gripped, ready to strike Lucerys head. “You will die screaming in flames just as your father did!” Aemond proclaimed, his voice gritted and wrathful before he looked up once more, the word practically spat from his mouth, “Bastards.”

Lucerys weeped, struggling against his much older Uncle as he choked for the slightest full breath, his voice simpering “My father’s still alive.”

Just like that, a wry haughty expression came upon Aemond’s face, as he looked to Jace letting his hand fall to his side, “He doesn’t know, does he, Lord Strong?” The silver haired boy flashed a satisfied scoff before the sharp sound of an unsheathed dagger rang.

Visenya’s heart nearly dropped as she found herself finally able to move, her feet forcing her down the few steps as she looked upon the sight of her brother pointing a dagger to Aemond, she cried, “Jace!” Her feet soon reached the sand as she stopped herself, Baela and Rhaena looking over their shoulder in fear, cowering backwards as Visenya reached for them, swiftly forcing them away. The boys began fighting once more and Jace was back upon the sand whimpering when she turned her head.

As she did so, the princess stepped in front of her half-sisters and slowly moved towards Jace as he clambered on the floor. Aemond stumbled back for a moment, regaining his footing before raising the rock up over Jace, Visenya’s eyes widened in fear as she froze, unsure of what to do.

Her gaze came to Aemond’s pleading for him to stop and as he looked at her, her chest nearly caved in upon itself as nothing, but a breathy snicker left his mouth. He was taunting her, enjoying the look of fear and helplessness upon her face as he dangled the rock over Jacaerys’ head.

Neither he nor Visenya noticed as Luke picked up Jace’s dagger and suddenly a throw of sand made its way into Aemond’s eyes causing him to break the contact with Visenya and wince in pain. As he looked back, there Luke was her small, harmless little brother clutching the blade, standing before Aemond and with a fierce pained cry, Luke slashed the blade across Aemond’s face.

It happened in seconds, before she could even register the violence before her, she only saw how Aemond had toppled to the ground, the blood splattering upon Luke’s face. Their Uncle’s unfamiliar cries of pain filling the space as he clutched his face. She hadn’t seen what was truly done, but she did see the blood pool from beneath him, tainting the white sand below.

As the Ser Harold came thundering in, she felt the small body of Luke lunge into hers, his arms wrapped around her tightly, the stench of Aemond’s blood now staining her nightrobe. She slowly embraced her little brother, pulling him tightly against her, tucking him away as she watched the writhing Aemond.

For a brief moment the silver haired boy’s wide eye met hers and princess turned away from him, shielding Lucerys from the mess he had made.

○vii○

[shushmal]

Eddie only just was able to get the barman's permission to perform this night, and glad he is for it, as his pockets have weighed lighter than ever before in his life. He'd be pleased to find pay in a tankard or loaf tonight, anything to fill his aching belly.

But he's lucky as the men and women here seem to be in high spirits. The land has long been in war since the king's death, rotten bastard he may have been. Eddie hadn't been sad to see him go, but the chaos that followed had ruined the smallfolk in consequence since their coward prince had fled the scene of his crime. The king had been cruel, but still he'd been their king, and the common people spit on the prince's name still, even when some new royal's been crowned and brought peace with him.

And that kind of ire is what feeds Eddie on nights like this.

"Kingslayer, kingslayer, little Prince Steven has run," he sings, bawdy and loud as the crowd of men around him sing along. "Run up the hills and past the sun, took our king Phillip and gutted him plain, our kingslayer Prince Steven, a coward more than a maid!"

They sing along with him, hooting and hollering all to the end of it, and pay him in copper coins and ale that Eddie takes happily, slurping it down as he rests by the fire.

It's then he sees the table in the corner, the cloaked figures surrounding it, and the woman glaring daggers at him. But more interesting than that is the most beautiful man Eddie's ever seen, smiling at him wearily, eyes bright and interested and a little sad. Eddie's got no fear of a quick tumble with dangerous men, so he takes his gittern and his ale and makes his way quickly to them.

"Fair night, weary travelers," Eddie crows as he wiggles himself between the woman and the beautiful man. "What brings you so far out from the capitol?"

The lot of them regard him with mixed interest, the older man not even looking up and a girl with firey hair treating him with a sign of boredom.

"What business is yours to know, bard?" she says, already turning her nose off to watch the rowdy tavern beyond their table.

"None at all," Eddie says, leaning into the man beside him, slinging an arm over his broad shoulder to feel the heat of him beneath his cloak. "I'm here to do nothing but entertain tonight, and I fear I've bored your table to tears! I do take requests you know, for the right coin."

This he says to the man under his arm, leaning in closer to get a good look at those pretty brown eyes in the dim light of the fire.

"We have no coin for you, sot," says the woman beside them, ire evident in her tone. "Be gone with you—"

"No coin, that's true," says Eddie's beautiful man. He smiles at Eddie now, pearly teeth and pretty lips, and Eddie would sing him any song for nothing more than to keep those eyes on him. "You'll have to forgive us, we're not good company I'm afraid."

"Richer company wouldn't be as sweet as yours, dove," Eddie tells him, watching the pink of his cheeks darken.

There's a gagging sound from across the table, and its then that Eddie realizes he's in the company of striplings. Two girls in men's clothes, both of them are young in the face and barely past their majorities. Yet still they are travel-worn, all five of them: the two girls, the woman and the dour man, and the beautiful budde under Eddie's arm.

Chuckling, he says to Eddie, "A wag you are, bard, with such empty words. Do you flirt so with all poor men you find?"

"None are poorer than me, sweeting, and none are more enchanting than you. It is payment enough just to look at you, and I would sing for an age and fill my empty stomach with just your smile, or your taste if you'd grant me—"

"Gods damned!" the woman Eddie's other side gusts. "I cannot hear another foul word." She stands then, and the two girls follow, one rolling her eyes and the other giggling quitely. The woman leans past Eddie and hisses into her companion's ear, "Be done with this fool swiftly, or I'll leave you to the wolves."

"You'd never," he says back to her, smiling at Eddie, face flushed pretty and dark even as he speaks.

"Hopper would never," she says tilting her head at the remaining dour man still sitting at the table, deep into his cups and paying no mind to any around them. "But I would sell you for tanner and a duck to the first bidder."

"I'm worth at least an ox," he tells her with a cocky grin, and Eddie might want more than just one tumble with this man. "Find a room and I'll find you when I please to."

She huffs and stomps off, the girls on her heels.

"So," Eddie breathes, leaning even further into this beautiful man, until his voice is a secretive whisper, just for the two of them to hear. "Tell me, sweeting, what shall I call you when I write songs of your beauty to sing across the land, until kings beg me to their courts to recount your grace, your smile and your laugh?"

This man, to Eddie's displeasure, seems to wilt, to grow weary once more, even as he smiles and leans close, his words scarcely a breath against the shell of Eddie's ear.

"If it pleases you, and I'm sure that it won't," he confesses. "You can call me Steven."

[voraciousvore]

Giganterra (Chapter 1)

Prologue | Chapter 2

Content Warning: Soft, safe, unwilling vore

Word Count: 2.1k

------ Chapter 1: A Typical Royal Dinner ------

Six years later… 

Crown Prince Ronny, the adult heir to the throne, sat down at his usual spot at the table, on the right-hand side of his father, the king. King Richard claimed his rightful place at the head of the table, and Princess Bianca, the youngest by about two years, sat across from her brother Ronny. The king’s personal guard Ajax, his shadow, stood discreetly off to the side behind his seat, ever watchful. 

Ronny, dour as always, glared at his sister, who stuck her tongue out at him in response. He scoffed superciliously and removed his gloves for dinner, folding them neatly on the table. He was rescued from having to converse with his loathsome family members by the servants, who came in balancing plates loaded with vittles. Ronny sat in a gloomy silence as Chester, the royal food taster, checked each entrée for poison. He curled his lip with mild disgust when he was given his portion: prime rib, sautéed swiss chard, and scalloped potatoes, with a human dressed in a light sauce. 

Bianca had a similar reaction, poking and prodding the tiny woman on her plate with her fork. The woman winced, but stayed silent and didn’t try to run, knowing the consequences of resisting giant royalty would be far more gruesome. “Daddy, when are we going to get more humans? It’s been a while since the last tribute.” 

King Richard wiped his lips daintily with a napkin as he gleefully swallowed the human on his own plate. “Hmmm… it’s been a while, hasn’t it? We are certainly overdue for some fresh meat.” 

The giantess princess perked up. “If so, can you order some little men this time? Pleeeeeease? Ladies are fine and all, but they’re all we ever get, and I want a handsome boy to play with…” She pouted, scraping her fork with an obnoxious screech on her dish. Her human repast covered her ears and grimaced. Ronny rolled his eyes. 

The king gave his daughter a knowing smirk and chuckled lightly. “I’ll see what I can arrange, my darling.” He picked up his knife and cut into his meat, which leaked blood onto his plate. 

Ronny shook his head and dug into his own meal, flicking the human carelessly off his slab of prime rib. He didn’t understand his father’s obsession with tiny maidens, or his sister’s fascination with miniature men. Why couldn’t she be normal for once and content herself with an attractive giant instead? Humans were fine for eating, when he was in the right mood, but otherwise Ronny found them to be gross vermin, clambering around with their wiry legs like bugs. Distracted by his thoughts, he failed to notice his tiny female side dish had crawled off the edge of his plate. He put a bite of meat in his mouth, and his face puckered with detestation.  

“Ugh!” he groaned, spitting the offending meat back onto his dish without concern for decorum. “Nasty!” His face turned purple with rage. “Bring me the royal chef!” he bellowed. The servants scrambled to obey. Soon enough, the obese chef rushed into the dining room, huffing and puffing with the effort. 

“Yes, Your Highness? How may I best serve you?” he asked nervously, wringing his hands and picking at his blond mustache. He was sweating profusely, his skin ruddy with exertion. 

“Bucky!” Ronny roared. “This food isn’t fit to serve to a dog! The meat is cold in the middle and saltier than the sea! Dumping a mountain of salt on such a bland cut doesn’t improve the flavor, you cretin! I’m a prince, and I deserve only the best, not this offensive rubbish!”  

His temper flared as he got worked up into a frenzy. He stood up out of his chair and gesticulated with his hands aggressively. “You’re a sorry excuse for a cook, you worthless piece of shit! Just look at these vegetables! Wilted strings reeking of too much garlic and swimming in watery juices! And these potatoes! Unpalatable texture, lumpy and uneven, tasteless paste! Unacceptable, reprehensible slop!” 

He picked up the plate and hurled it against the wall with all his might, shattering the porcelain and staining the wall and expensive carpeting with juices. The servants hurried forward to clean up the mess in a hush. Nobody was especially surprised by his tantrum: The servants were accustomed to unhinged outbursts from the royal family. Ronny ignored them and continued to verbally berate the chef, who pointedly stared at his feet. Ronny shoved his finger into his fat chest as he ranted in his face, spitting and swearing. After several minutes of screaming at the top of his lungs and frothing at the mouth, Ronny finally cooled down, dismissing the silent chef with a contemptuous wave of his hand. His face changed from pink back to its usual pasty shade. He crossed his arms petulantly and slumped in his chair. 

“Good job, Ronny,” King Richard praised, grinning wide. “Sometimes you need to put the commoners in their place and make them fear you.” He chomped down on a bite of meat, clearly enjoying his meal despite his son’s scathing condemnation of its quality. Ronny shrugged, still scowling. The servants, so inferior to the royals as to be invisible to them, cleaned up his mess in the background. 

Bianca was unperturbed by Ronny venting his spleen, continuing to toy with the human on her plate as she ate the food around her. Eventually, she got bored and lifted the poor woman up by her leg, studying her wriggling with a cold inquisitiveness. She lowered the tiny woman headfirst into her mouth, licking her face and closing her plump lips around her torso before slurping her flailing legs inside with the rest of her body. She sucked on the delicious morsel for a while, shuffling her from one cheek to the other, before sending her off on a trip to her stomach with a hearty gulp. 

She watched as the servants flitted anxiously back to the table, bringing with them a sumptuous feast of roasted partridge and yams for the picky prince. He sulked as the royal food taster sampled each portion and cleared the food for consumption. The servants backed away, sweating nervously as Ronny tasted the partridge. The bratty prince raised an eyebrow and grunted, but didn’t complain. The tension dissipated among the servants and they disappeared into the background again, relieved not to be on the receiving end of another explosive fit. 

“Hey, Ronny, what happened to the human in your food?” Bianca queried.  

Ronny shrugged as he continued to shovel food into his mouth. “Fuck if I know. She probably ended up as a red stain on the wall.” 

King Richard frowned. “What a waste.” He gave Ronny a stern look. The aura in the room subtly changed, as if the air itself chilled. “Don’t squash your humans so carelessly, Ronny. They are valuable, and we can only extract so many without them revolting against us.” 

Ronny stiffened. “Of course, Father,” he mumbled, casting his eyes downward. “I won’t do it again.” The king assumed a milder expression, accepting his words, and the mood lightened again. Ronny repressed a shudder. 

“I never understood why you don’t just conquer the human kingdom, enslave the populace, and farm them,” Bianca remarked, tilting her head. “Wouldn’t that make more sense? Then you can have as many as you want.” 

The king sighed and shook his head. “Unfortunately, it’s not that simple. Haven’t you noticed the humans that are here for a long time tend to lose their unique flavor and vitality? That’s because, if they’re not fed and cared for well, and they grow sad, they become frailer, weaker, and less appealing to the palate. That’s why over time we need fresh tributes, and why I usually dispose of them, when they are no longer of any use to us for our personal pleasure.” 

He licked his lips as he finished the last bite of his dinner. “I prefer my humans to be free-range, so to speak, and of high quality. That standard of health isn’t possible if they were all forcibly imprisoned. Happy humans also multiply in greater numbers, which is even better for us. Let them have their silly little kingdom, go about their lives, and exist in blissful ‘freedom.’ As long as they give us our rightful share and don’t complain, I will be content.” 

He inserted his fingers into his pocket and pulled out a small, trembling woman. “Of course, as you know, not all humans go stale! I still have my favorites, like my cute sweet little Millie, now don’t I?” He grinned roguishly and nuzzled her with his nose. 

“Y-yes, of course, Your Majesty! I would never want to disappoint you!” the poor creature squeaked, out of fright rather than affection. Ronny looked away, repulsed by the display. He hated his father’s distasteful perversions and could hardly stand to watch. Bianca stared at him with jealousy, wishing she had a tiny man to kiss and pet and play with. King Richard always exclusively requested maidens as tribute, and she was fed up with his selfishness. She was used to always getting what she wanted, so the fact that she couldn’t have one irritated her to no end. 

The servants cleared the dirty dishes off the table and brought slices of cheesecake for dessert. King Richard removed a small vial from his pocket full of a glowing blue potion and dripped a drop onto Millie’s head. Her face paled with dread as her body absorbed the substance, a magical anti-digestion fluid that would keep her unharmed inside his stomach. He pressed her into the soft dessert with his index finger up to her shoulders. She turned her head away from him, and Ronny spotted quiet tears glistening on her cheeks. The prince switched his attention to his own dessert and ate in silence, ignoring the display.  

King Richard scooped up Millie with his fork and licked the sweet filling off her body, chuckling at her small whines of discomfort. He gently enveloped her in his mouth, humming with delight. After slopping his tongue all over her and sliding her against the inner walls of his teeth, he took another bite of cheesecake and rolled her around with it, sucking it all up with pleasure. He continued in this manner until he finished his entire slice before finally gulping down the small lady. 

Ronny hastened to excuse himself from the table, grabbing up his gloves. As he lifted them, he noticed an abnormal weight inside, caused by a small, shivering lump. He flipped the glove and dumped its mystery contents out on the table, only to discover the food human that he thought he’d thrown across the room was hidden inside. She tumbled out and landed on the hard surface with a splattering of sauce. 

Ronny glared at her, then at his fancy gloves, soiled inside with sauce. “Ugh! Look what you did, you filthy little rat! These gloves are ruined!” He flung the gloves away, his dark eyes flashing as his white-hot wrath returned with a vengeance. The woman’s eyes widened and she cowered before the giant man looming above her like a mountain. She had already narrowly escaped death when he smashed his dinner plate against the wall; she knew what he was capable of with his volatile temper. 

The giant prince slammed his fist on the table next to her, startling her to her feet. Even standing up, she was shorter than his stacked fingers; he could easily crush her in his grasp like an insect. Her legs turned into useless rubber beneath her as she comprehended the futility of resisting and collapsed to the table. Ronny unclenched his fist and grabbed her up, raising her close to his face. 

“Vile, foul worm,” he grumbled as she whimpered helplessly in his hand. “I’ll make you pay for that.” He knew humans hated to be eaten, so he shoved her into his mouth and swallowed her hard, sending her straight to the fleshy prison in his midsection. King Richard grinned with approval as he observed his son. Ronny stormed off in a huff, stomping on his gloves and kicking them to the side on his way out. 

He clomped down one of the many stony corridors of the castle, fuming with irritation. He could feel the human fighting inside his gut as she was jostled about by his rapid steps. That idiotic human deserved her punishment. Those gloves were custom-made, based on the measurements of his hands, and now he’d have to order a new pair from the royal tailor. Such an inconvenience! 

Chapter 2

[agentrouka-blog]

Thoughts on Jon Snow as a character? He's my fav so far

I like him!

He didn't start out as a character I felt especially drawn to. I mostly pitied him, especially in ASOS, and he's very dour if that surface level dramatic melancholia and dry resignation isn't your cup of tea. I never hated him, but... he was just sort of there. And every projection for his future plot I found while casually perusing the fandom was bland. Secret Targ, okay. What's the point of that, then? Connecting the Wall plot to the dragons? Grand Tragic Secret Heir and Grand Dramatic Dragon Queen Do Grand Dramatic Tragic Destiny stuff dramatically? Zzzzzzzzz.

After delving into the theory of Jonsa, I obviously engaged more with the character, and I have grown very fond of him. Lots is lurking under the surface that I had never paid attention to in depth.

And what I find the most crucial is that his story is at its heart so small and domestic and emotional. It's relatable for being ordinary at its heart. It's about healing and reconciling after a burdened childhood, finding out what you really want and discovering you can have it. Not in grand gesture but in self-worth and honesty.

The most engaging and the absolute hinge of his characterization is his attachment to his family, his home, and the North. Being a bastard prevents him from living this out and creates The Obstacle he chafes against. It causes him to strike out looking for Importance in adventure and glory, and he fails. And learns. But it is ultimately that deep love and attachment that truly guides him in everything he does. And that makes him actually extremely interesting as a character, because it shifts his arc away from being about Magic and Apocalyptic Drama as some abstract excuse for heroics, toward that of inner conflict. It's a small, very relatable story about longing for home, playing out on a big canvas for background. All Jon does during his adventures away from home, his frustration struggling with his compassion, his understanding of the world being wittled down to questions of basic ethics, it's all based on his understanding of himself as a Stark, serving the duties and values of a member of House Stark. To belong to his family and himself in his own heart, if he cannot belong otherwise. And it highlights why those popular speculations about him are so bland. They don't touch his core. Dragons? What do they have to do with House Stark and Winterfell and his pack? Nothing. They, too, ultimately represent an Obstacle between himself and his deepest desire of truly belonging in his home without reservation, by removing his paternal connection.

Except, it's replaced by the maternal connection. One that matters just as much. That has been nagging at him all this time. It actually cements his identity, rather than dismantling it. Not shameful burden but valued and protected. This, too, takes Jon out of the realm of Bland Male Heroics (Rhaegar's special destiny boy) toward a story of inner healing and equilibrium. It's self-acceptance. Very human. Very ordinary. Very powerful.

And as a special twist - and this is why Jonsa is so brilliant as a theory - his parentage is also the key to actually granting him those impossible secret wishes of replicating his childhood the right way through his own marriage and family. But only if he is worthy of this through his actions and choices, worthy of being loved and recognized as a metaphorical prince. He get's to be a fairytale princess, essentially, raised from humility to fulfillment. Because of who he is. Who he has chosen to be again and again, because of his fundamental love. Everything else, the heroics, the missteps and recoveries, is just window dressing. Exciting ways to tell a simple story.

His story doesn't work with a tragic ending of repeated exile. It's all building toward balance and peace. It's extremely moving.

I'm a big fan.

[guppygiggles]

Hey friend!

Maybe this has been asked before, but was Avery inspired by anyone? ( ·ิϖ·ิ)

I don't think anyone has ever asked me this on this blog! Honestly, I've tried many times to nail down exactly what inspired Avery, but... I never can, not completely.

This is going to get long, I'm sorry.

I turned 30 last year. It wasn't in a "midlife crisis" or depressive kind of way, but I started thinking a lot about how I wanted the rest of my life to go, and what I wanted out of life that I'd never had a chance to have. I decided that there were two things I really yearned to do -- make art, and make friends. I figured a good place to start dipping my toes in would be Tumblr, since I'd used it in the past and I knew there would be a lot of art here to inspire me. And I was inspired... massively. Especially after I started actually drawing, myself. I started getting more ideas at once than I'd ever had in my life, and it triggered a bout of insomnia I am still dealing with now, almost six months later.

The first time I can remember thinking about Avery was during one such sleepless night, desperately trying to coax myself to sleep. Laying in the dark, I'd close my eyes and imagine leaving my body, floating above my apartment complex. I'd wander around like a ghost, exploring places I'd seen, but which are normally inaccessible... private roads, fenced estates, etc. I'd imagine sitting on the edge of a skyscraper, watching the city move beneath me, imagining what people were doing, why they were up so late, etc.

I imagined this many nights... It became a pet fantasy. When I was a kid, I read a book called Billy the Bird by Dick King-Smith, maybe that's where I got the idea... I don't know. Along with the insomnia were vicious bouts of nostalgia, too, so... It's possible.

But, anyway... I'd get lonely.

I wanted someone to talk to, so I imagined someone sitting with me. Someone who could only come out at night, for fear of being seen. Someone for whom sitting on the edge of a skyscraper was no concern, and who could catch me if I fell. I imagined he was soft, gentle... a good listener, maybe even a bit shy. I imagined he was an intellectual, capable of being quite serious, but never dour. He was quick with a smile, and it was easy to make him laugh.

In some respects, I suppose, he was inspired by a friend of mine, who died many years ago. In most ways, he wasn't like Avery at all -- he was extremely blue-collar, the exact opposite of an intellectual, and very outgoing. He was not refined in any way, and could even be quite reckless, at times. But, he had a unique, gentle, innocent sort of kindness that I've found to be exceedingly rare. To know him was to love him, really; he was a hard worker and a fierce friend, someone who wanted nothing more than to love and be loved. My relationship with him and the way his passing affected me touches everything I make and everything I do, intentional or not.

When I was building Avery's character, I was very fascinated by object heads at the time (particularly Prince Robot from Saga), and I was also seeing a lot art for "doctor/scientist" type characters. Despite never playing the game, I liked TF2 fanart, especially of Medic. I thought about other characters I'd fixated on, too, and what exactly I liked about them... Milo Thatch from Atlantis, Data from Star Trek, John from Homestuck, Sans from Undertale, Stanley and the Narrator from The Stanley Parable, Pokemon professors both Oak and Elm, Nightcrawler from X-Men, Wilson from House, Dr. Bashir from DS9... The list goes on, really.

I know this is kind of a non-answer, and I'm sorry about that. It isn't really a clear answer for me, either. All I can really say for sure is this: Avery is the embodiment of everyone and everything I've ever loved, as well as the reflection of my own self-love. Relatively speaking, we just met, but I feel like he's been here the whole time. I've made so many wonderful friends because of him, too! Can't say what the exact moment was, only that now that he's here, I can't imagine life without him. 💙

[sharenadraculea]

Lorgar/Mortarion worship kink?

I finally got around to writing this! I hope you enjoy it!

Content Warning: Character beeing held captive and beeing tied up. Also non-consensual touching and non-consensual kissing

„You are so beautifull brother…“ Lorgars finger‘s glide across Mortarion‘s ribs as if counting them, exerting a gentle pressure. „The Grandfather‘s gifts truly suit you.“

Mortarion turns his head away, unable to move any further. His hands are tied  above his head, his feet dangeling above the floor.

Lorgar‘s hand wanders further up, over the bruises on his brother‘s neck, before gripping his jaw and forcefully turning his head, forcing Mortarion to look into his eyes. „My dearest prince, why such a dour expression?“  

It takes a while until he answers: „Leave me alone. You know I do not want any of this.“ He helplessly tries to flap one of his giant wings. 

„But my dear, it is wonderfull gift of the divine. You are divine now.“ He cups Mortarion‘s face with both of his hands. „Glorious, radiant.“

„Leave me alone.“ Mortarion repeats, closing his eyes. 

Lorgars lips are warm and soft on Mortarion‘s chapped ones. Lorgar‘s hot breath brushes over his cheeks. His fingers dig into Mortarion‘s scalp in a attempt to hold him still. 

Then finally, finally he let‘s go of his brother. Lorgar is breathing heavily, a visible tent in his pants. „Don‘t you see how good this feels?“

„For you maybe.“ Mortarion stares at the floor, panting heavily. „Let me go.“

Lorgar tilts his head. „Hm, later. There is ao much more of you I can worship after all.“

[defjux]

200 of my favorite albums that I swear by, from any genre - limited to one per artist. I always wanted to do this since the start of the decade and finally got around to it. I’ve had a lot of different musical obsessions up to this point and periods where i was deep into specific genres so I tried to make sure all of that was represented here. Overall it’s a mix of personal classics that I go back to constantly, albums that helped form my taste, and some recently stuff I love. Didn’t want to stress too much over the order, but i’d say the first 50ish are pretty accurate. I’ll post the list below, and a version of the charts with the titles included. Let me know what you think - any favorites here? What would some of your picks be? Let me know. Peace. Charts with album titles included  1. At the Drive-In - Relationship of Command 2. Organized Konfusion - Stress: The Extinction Agenda 3. Aesop Rock - Labor Days 4. Ghostface Killah - Supreme Clientele 5. Cannibal Ox - The Cold Vein 6. MF DOOM - MM..Food 7. De La Soul - Buhloone Mindstate 8. John Coltrane - A Love Supreme 9. Converge - Jane Doe 10. Billy Woods & Blockhead - Dour Candy 11. The Mars Volta - De-Loused in the Comatorium 12. Pete Rock & C.L. Smooth - The Main Ingredient 13. Portishead - Dummy 14. The Dillinger Escape Plan - Ire Works 15. Björk - Vespertine 16. El-P - I'll Sleep When You're Dead 17. The Roots - Illadelph Halflife 18. Isis - Wavering Radiant 19. The Pharcyde - Labcabincalifornia 20. Miles Davis - In A Silent Way 21. Edan - Beauty and the Beat 22. Deltron 3030 - Deltron 3030 23. A Tribe Called Quest - Midnight Marauders 24. Company Flow - Funcrusher Plus 25. Every Time I Die - The Big Dirty 26. Gospel - The Moon Is a Dead World 27. OutKast - ATLiens 28. GZA/Genius - Liquid Swords 29. DJ Shadow - Endtroducing..... 30. Dälek - From Filthy Tongue of Gods and Griots 31. Stereolab - Dots and Loops 32. Refused - The Shape of Punk to Come 33. Mos Def - The Ecstatic 34. Boredoms - Vision Creation Newsun 35. Freestyle Fellowship - Innercity Griots 36. Redman - Dare Iz A Darkside 37. Armand Hammer - Paraffin 38. Panopticon - Autumn Eternal 39. Wu-Tang Clan - Enter the Wu-Tang (36 Chambers) 40. Godspeed You! Black Emperor - F# A# ∞ 41. Black Star - Mos Def & Talib Kweli Are Black Star 42. Ornette Coleman - Science Fiction 43. Electric Masada - At the Mountains of Madness 44. Orchid - Orchid 45. Alice Coltrane - Journey in Satchidananda 46. Digable Planets - Blowout Comb 47. Grouper - A I A: Alien Observer 48. Public Enemy - It Takes a Nation of Millions to Hold Us Back 49. Charles Mingus - Let My Children Hear Music 50. Camp Lo - Uptown Saturday Night

51. Milo - who told you to think??!!?!?!?! 52. Boris - Flood 53. Stan Getz & João Gilberto - Getz/Gilberto 54. Dr. Yen Lo - Days With Dr. Yen Lo 55. Avantdale Bowling Club - Avantdale Bowling Club 56. zeroh - awfulalterations 57. toe - For Long Tomorrow 58. Sun Ra - Sleeping Beauty 59. Dark Time Sunshine - ANX 60. Kayo Dot - Choirs of the Eye 61. Kate Bush - The Dreaming 62. Boards of Canada - Geogaddi 63. Unwound - Repetition 64. Jeru the Damaja - The Sun Rises In The East 65. Massive Attack - Mezzanine 66. Black Moon - Enta Da Stage 67. Tim Hecker - Harmony In Ultraviolet 68. CunninLynguists - A Piece of Strange 69. Quasimoto - The Further Adventures of Lord Quas 70. Glassjaw - Worship and Tribute 71. Sonny Sharrock - Ask The Ages 72. J Dilla - Donuts 73. Aceyalone - A Book of Human Language 74. D'Angelo - Voodoo 75. Jam Baxter - ...So We Ate Them Whole 76. Pharoah Sanders - Karma 77. Danny Brown - XXX (Deluxe Edition) 78. Gravediggaz - 6 Feet Deep 79. Sonic Sum - The Sanity Annex 80. Death - Symbolic 81. Funkadelic - Maggot Brain 82. Mach-Hommy - DUMPMEISTER 83. Prince Paul - A Prince Among Thieves 84. Nas - Illmatic 85. Grant Green - Idle Moments 86. Gang Starr - Moment Of Truth 87. Agalloch - Ashes Against the Grain 88. O.C. - Word...Life 89. Ne Obliviscaris - Portal Of I 90. Joni Mitchell - Hejira 91. Mr Key & Greenwood Sharps - Yesterday's Futures 92. Little Brother - The Listening 93. Max Roach - Members, Don't Git Weary 94. Cult Favorite - FOR MADMEN ONLY 95. Deftones - White Pony 96. Marvin Gaye - What's Going On 97. Cocteau Twins - Treasure 98. Prince - Sign o' the Times 99. Pageninetynine - Document #8 100. Boldy James & Sterling Toles - Manger on McNichols 101. NoMeansNo - Wrong 102. Fiona Apple - The Idler Wheel... 103. Baroness - Blue Record 104. Drive Like Jehu - Yank Crime 105. Alcest - Écailles de lune 106. Raekwon - Only Built 4 Cuban Linx 107. David Bowie - The Rise and Fall of Ziggy Stardust and the Spiders From Mars 108. Madlib - Beat Konducta Vol. 5-6: A Tribute To Dilla 109. Aphex Twin - druqks 110. Electric Wizard - Dopethrone 111. Siah & Yeshua dapoED - The Visualz Anthology 112. Discordance Axis - The Inalienable Dreamless 113. Mastodon - Crack the Skye 114. Juggaknots - Re:Release 115. The Cure - Pornography 116. Wolves in the Throne Room - Two Hunters 117. Erykah Badu - Mama's Gun 118. Fela Kuti - Expensive Shit 119. Blu - Below the Heavens 120. Ohbliv - Retrospective 121. Shibusashirazu Orchestra - 渋星 (=Shibuboshi) 122. United Nations - The Next Four Years 123. Mobb Deep - The Infamous 124. The Chariot - Long Live 125. Serengeti - Ajai 126. Heltah Skeltah - Nocturnal 127. Talking Heads - Remain In Light (Deluxe Version) 128. Autechre - LP5 129. Lil Ugly Mane - THIRD SIDE OF THE TAPE 130. Roc Marciano - Reloaded 131. Yndi Halda - Enjoy Eternal Bliss 132. Albert Ayler - Spiritual Unity 133. Open Mike Eagle & Paul White - Hella Personal Film Festival 134. Melt-Banana - Fetch 135. Bad Brains - Bad Brains 136. Deathspell Omega - Paracletus 137. Nujabes - Modal Soul 138. Nails - Unsilent Death 139. Cavalier - Private Stock 140. Flying Lotus - You're Dead! 141. The Avalanches - Since I Left You 142. Lightning Bolt - Hypermagic Mountain 143. Envy - Insomniac Doze 144. Gojira - From Mars to Sirius 145. The Doppelgangaz - Lone Sharks 146. System of a Down - Toxicity 147. letlive - Fake History 148. Goodie Mob - Soul Food 149. Death Grips - Ex Military 150. Jeromes Dream - Seeing Means More Than Safety 151. Standing On The Corner - Red Burns 152. Hüsker Dü - Zen Arcade 153. maudlin of the Well - Leaving Your Body Map 154. Oddisee - The Good Fight 155. Krallice - Years Past Matter 156. tricot - T H E 157. Gorguts - Obscura 158. Kvelertak - Kvelertak 159. Shabazz Palaces - Black Up 160. Sade - Love Deluxe 161. Opeth - Ghost Reveries 162. The Fall of Troy - Doppelgänger 163. Batsumi - Batsumi 164. Deafheaven - New Bermuda 165. Leonard Cohen - Songs of Leonard Cohen 166. The Number Twelve Looks Like You - Worse Than Alone 167. Dragged Into Sunlight - Hatred For Mankind 168. Earl Sweatshirt - some rap songs 169. Burial - Untrue 170. Mgła - Exercises in futility 171. Emperor - Anthems To The Welkin At Dusk 172. Fugazi - Red Medicine 173. Lord Finesse - The Awakening 174. Cult of Luna - Somewhere Along The Highway 175. Cryptopsy - None So Vile 176. The Ahmad Jamal Trio - The Awakening 177. Bohren & der Club of Gore - Black Earth 178. Lauryn Hill - The Miseducation Of Lauryn Hill 179. Bear vs Shark – Right Now, You're In The Best Of Hands 180. Wormrot - Voices 181. Broadcast - Tender Buttons 182. Swans - Swans Are Dead: Live '95-'97 183. Yves Tumor - Heaven to a Tortured Mind 184. AFI - The Art of Drowning 185. Mazzy Star - So Tonight That I Might See 186. Botch - We Are the Romans 187. NEPTUNIAN MAXIMALISM - Éons 188. Sigur Ros - Takk... 189. Rubberoom - Architechnology 190. Herbie Hancock - Sextant 191. Big K.R.I.T. - 4eva Is a Mighty Long Time 192. Oh No - Oh No Vs. Now-Again 193. Weyes Blood - Titanic Rising 194. Hella - Hold Your Horse Is 195. Loma Prieta - I.V. 196. Defcee - Lacuna 197. Genesis Owusu - Smiling with No Teeth 198. Brutus - Nest 199. Bruno Pernadas ‎- Those Who Throw Objects At The Crocodiles... 200. The Koreatown Oddity - Little Dominiques Nosebleed

[smolvenger]

I Say Nothing That Frightens Me Part Three

Paring: Loki x fem! Reader

Series Summary: As a young Asgardian, you have grown to be friends and secretly pine for the younger Prince Loki. After his fury has sent him off, his mother sends you on a quest to find him and bring him home. Your quest makes you cross paths with a mysterious group that calls themselves the TVA. There, Loki can be found...but he loves someone named Sylvie, not you.

Chapter Word Count: 2K

Part One//Part Two (This will be in Four Parts)

A03//My Ko-Fi//My Etsy Shop//Masterlist//Wattpad

Taglist: @evelyn-kingsley @jennyggggrrr @five-miles-over (shout out for the idea when I was stuck!) @fictive-sl0th @ladycamillewrites @villainousshakespeare @holdmytesseract @eleniblue @twhxhck @lokisgoodgirl @lovelysizzlingbluebird @raqnarokr @holymultiplefandomsbatman @michelleleewise @lovelysizzlingbluebird @wolfsmom1

Warnings: Mostly some cursing. I use an oldie-but-goodie Fanfic Trope. Lack of detailed editing and multiple drafts because I just want to get this done-fuck it, we ball I say as I type this. But lots of fluffy moments and only tiny bits of angst and lots of references to canon

“What do you mean my brother’s not back?” Loki cried.

You sat in your chair, leaning back on it. Folding your arms. You couldn’t help but huff through your nose. You were looking forward to the grand victory banquet that would be at home. Frigga declaring you Asgard’s heroine. Seeing a family reunited. Wine and platters overfilling with joyful music. Even a parade and ball thrown in your honor as a medal shone on your armor for good measure. That kind of stuff.

“Thor. Is not. Back.” Steve repeated.

Guess that would have to wait.

“How come?” you questioned.

“Because they need help specifically with him. It involves thunder. That’s what Beefcake’s out there doing,” Tony continued.

Loki put a hand to his forehead and sighed.

“Do you know when he’ll be back? Even for a break?” you asked.

Steve shrugged as he sat. He squinted his blue eyes to think and then looked at you. His eyes softened and he spoke in a reassuring tone.

“Don’t worry, Y/N. Shouldn’t take him too long. You know he’s incredible. He could be back by tomorrow…”

“Or dead,” Tony quipped.

Loki’s black head whipped around; you could see the veins on his neck tighten.

“Do you honestly think this is the time for your little jokes?” Loki replied, face becoming red.

Natasha cut in from where she was leaning against the wall. Up to then, she’d just stood there, arms folded and observant.

“If I had to guess, he should be back in headquarters by a week. We’ll ask Shield to get in touch with him.”

“Alright…thank you. It’s important…” you replied.

“How come?” she asked, taking a few steps forward.

“The Queen asked me to return him,” you explained.

“No problem…if you need anything, you can always ask,” Natasha offered.

You felt her eyes over your Asgardian armor and clothes. But the slight smile showed your approval. It made you smile back.

“Of course.”

“There’s food in the fridge too- help yourself while you’re here!” Natasha offered.

“You both can both even stay here as long as you like…as long as Loki doesn’t get inspiration again,” Steve offered.

Loki shot him a look, crossing his arms like a dour child.

“Thank you! I’d rather we stay here in case Thor reappears. You’re very kind…”

“No, he’s not! Are you out of your mind, Steve?” Tony interrupted.

Your head turned and tilted at them.

“I beg your pardon?” Loki asked.

“Why? We’re obligated to show some basic human decency to them!” Steve argued.

“Why? I’ll tell you why-why don’t you waltz on over to the Guest room and see!” Tony offered.

As you and Loki walked there, you both understood his point. Honestly, you should have taken the hint from the last sentence. It was a singular word. Room. There was only one bed in that room.

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

That night both of you lay in the bed together, curled away from each other. Both of you were in pajamas. You selected some silk red pajamas. Loki picked some in his favorite green. Both funded by Stark, of course. Neither of you offered to sleep on the floor of the couch. Neither of you wanted to sleep on the floor of the couch. You could hear his soft breathing and though you stared out into the night sky and outline of the city, you found despite the long, arduous day…your mind kept you up.

You thought you heard him shuffle next to you.

“Anything you want to say?” you asked.

“None…really…only this…don’t think I’m not grateful, Y/N.”

You turned over, blankets rustling in your movement.

“How come?”

“You risked all that and went through that…because you worried about me. I never thought people worried about me.”

“Your mother worries about you. Thor worries about you…and I worry about you…” you replied.

He turned over to meet you.

“Y/N…thank you…”

“Thank you? I never heard you uttered those words before…and I thought you were the polite brother…” you commented.

“Now you have.”

He broke into a smile.

You looked down and saw his arm.

“How’s your cut doing?”

“Much better- not stinging anymore…”

“From the pain or the alcohol on it?”

“Both…”

You then turned back to the outline.

“I’ve only been to this city once. Traveled all the way up there from the countryside of this place…I was in such a rush to find you, get there I never…never noticed how pretty it is…” you mused.

“We should explore it.”

“What, really?”

“Yes, really. Should be more amusing than sitting around the tower all day waiting for Thor.”

“Aren’t you tired?”

“I’m tired of being on the run. Or fighting. Or struggling…I just want to..enjoy something. And preferably not alone.”

“You’re not alone, Loki. You never were…”

“Neither were you…”

There was a brief pause.

“Do you have your magic back?”

“Yes.”

“I don’t do this usually but…Can you conjure something to help me sleep? Wine or tea or something?” you asked.

Loki flicked his wrist and conjured the drink. He handed it over.

“You need only ask.”

You stood up to drink the cup as he settled himself back in. Soon you both fell asleep peacefully.

The next day, Tony practically tossed a credit card on you as if it was mere confetti.

“Go ahead- Max it out. Have fun, kids…just don’t do any invasions, okay? Okay!” he said.

Both of you wandered out to the city. As you walked on, it was nearly overwhelming. The skyscrapers were as tall as the statues of the warriors through the Asgardian cloudy streets. Fried foods overcame your nose and made you salivate.

“I never tried one of there!” you said, pointing to a food stand selling hot dogs.

As you both brought it to your mouth and smelled it, then you ate.

“Norns! This is delicious!” you said. You experimentally took the packet of red sauce called “KETCHUP” and slathered it on there.

“I am not sure what it’s made of…but I don’t care,” Loki said as he took another careful bite.

“Don’t you think…don’t you think we should ask the kitchen to replicate it! Shouldn’t be too hard- some meat and bread!”

“I can conjure that easily! You only have to cut it like so …

Loki conjured a slab of ham. Too many people walking by talking on phones or listening with ear buds barely noticed him. He had the ham cut into a hot dog shape.

“And then fix the bread like this.”

Bread in the shape of a long oval cut open floated in air. The sausage fit into the roll.

“- and there you have it!”

Both of you took a walk out in the park.

“So you invaded New York to rule, right?” you asked as you walked.

“I must tell you…I think…something influenced me?”

“Your addiction to self-destruction?” you asked.

“The Mind Stone.”

“What?”

“And Thanos.”

“What…what are you talking about?”

Hands in pockets, you both walked. He kept talking. Too many people were on their phones, listening to music, or looking after children or dogs.

“Well then…that…that makes sense…”

“Why else would I get those headaches?” he asked.

Both of you kept walking. The trees shook with the breeze, and you heard a bee buzz by you. But you could see a tiredness, a sadness in Loki’s eyes.

“What do you think now, Y/N? Of me? I became the very enemy you’ve been trained since a child to fight,” he said.

“I…I don’t that…I think you’re good. You were only hurt. And you made some bad choices. I don’t consider any of that unforgivable…especially since it probably wasn’t your fault to begin with.”

There was silence. You wrapped him into a hug. He was always warm, despite the summer heat. Always enveloping. You could smell the sandalwood of the shampoo he used in headquarters.

“Why should we stay in the past, anyway?” you then questioned with a smile.

“I just worry…who knows what he’s capable of…” he fretted.

Both of you noticed a puddle on the ground. You walked around it, your reflections from below passing by like the clouds.

“Loki…you need to tell your brother. And the Avengers. Let them know. Let them know it wasn’t entirely your fault- only partly. And they will want to know about Thanos,” you told him.

He smiled a little.

“Well, then, if you ask it, I shall…” he replied.

You walked and walked about all day. By the time you both sat on a bench in the park, the soreness of your feet struck you. You were so lost in each other’s company you lost track of the time.

The next day, other than some walking, you insisted you both go shopping. There were too many shops here to resist. Especially those with multiple stories. And Midgaurdian fashion fascinated you. The shops back home had only one floor. Some in New York had twenty.

“Is there a store that strikes your fancy?” you asked Loki, passing by.

He pointed to one window that showed a variety of suits.

“I think…I’d like to try one…”

“Then lets!” you offered, pulling his hand inside.

You go to a classy store. The employees wore dresses and suits. It played jazz and people walked around with drinks of coffee or champagne. So much finery. He then settled on a few as an employee guided him around.

You sat down, waiting for him to emerge and then he did. The employee dropped their jaw and grinned.

Loki was in an all black- black shirt and black suit. It made his skin and beautiful hands stick out even more. It was crisp and clean and fit him like a glove.

“I…I look…” he began to mutter.

‘I’ll say it, you look handsome!” you cheered. You took him to a mirror so he could admire himself.

That evening, you decided to end it by going to a wine bar. It was lovely and wooden. There were even giant lamps that looked like flowers. You ahd ordered two glasses for each of you and enough food to feed a giant. Which, in fact, you were in the company of one.

“Hmmm, nice and dry. Some fruity overtones. Quite good.”

“I don’t mind. Wine is wine. And it’s good.”

“Well, you haven’t drank enough wine then, Y/N!”

“I only would drink it at banquets!”

You then held the rim of your glass.

You then held the rim of your glass.

“Loki…be honest with me…am I a good warrior?”

“Of course, you are.”

“I…I just would always use to lose fights. And you know when I’d run away as a child…”

“I do not see you running away very often, darling.”

“There is training, but this is reality…”

“What did mother ask you to do? To face every danger to find me? And you did.”

You blinked at him.

“I think you are a good warrior. No matter what you might think of yourself.”

“I…uh…thank you…”

He raised the glass.

“Cheers?”

“Cheers,” you replied.

You tapped the glass and then drank it.

“I think I know what you’re talking about…I do taste the overtones a bit,” you commented.

“I think you should become a connoisseur in no time, Y/N,” he said.

It was the next day he announced something almost ludicrous.

“Y/N, we should see a play or these ‘musicals’ New York is known for!” Loki suggested that next afternoon.

“Who said we had to spend money?” he asked with a wink.

You looked through the calendar of shows. First for musicals, since they were less common back home. And the more melodramatic, Loki said, the better. One was selected.

Both of you located the theatre and got there at an earlier time, right when the crew and cast would walk in before the show. Using the billboards, he transformed himself and you into two ensemble members.

Once you walked in, already there was one crew member.

“Oh, hello! How are you? Traffic, okay? Break legs tonight- remember- check the notes! Phil fixed your tights too so thank her!” they chatted.

Both of you walked out. Your heart beat fast seeing these people miff about. Knowing you were doing something forbidden.

“Please- Y/N! Don’t get lost backstage!” he whispered to you.

“But Loki- look at this set piece!! And the costumes here- so beautiful!”

“Don’t wander off-here!”

He clasped your hand, entwining fingers with yours.

“Besides, we have to get our seats,” he said.

As the actors in street clothes, you both walked over to the front of the theatre and then to the lobby bathrooms. Empty, thank the Allfather. With a flick of his wrist, green light emerged over you. He reappeared in a fine tuxedo and his hair back. But when you looked, you blinked and saw you had a red dress on. It was very flattering on your body. Straps went over your shoulders and the shade looked perfect for your skin.

Both of you walked out. The crowd was already walking in, holding playbills in hand. Yet you couldn’t help but keep staring at yourself in the mirror. There was a large, stupid smile on your face.

“I have to admit, you have good taste. This is beautiful!” you gasped, turning at angles to admire yourself.

“You are beautiful!” Loki replied.

You both froze and looked.

“I mean! I mean…you always were beautiful!” he added on. Though his face did turn pink. The God of mischief and mayhem and here he was-embarrassed.

“Uh…thank you!” you responded.

Both of you walked forward to find the odd empty seats. Then enjoyed the show.

You did the same each night.  You saw the most melodramatic musicals. It was hard to believe amidst all the wine drinking, walks, store visits, and shows, that four days passed by.

Both of you were walking in late on the fourth day after seeing your latest show. Both of you smiling from how his magic worked wonders and from everything you saw and experienced.

“Y/N, can I tell you something?” he asked.

Both of you entered your room.

“Sure, tell me…”

“Sylvie betrayed me. I did everything for her and still…I can’t tell you what a pathetic sad sack I became. But…Y/N, this week…I…I had fun…”

“I did too…”

His own magic made you both clean. No need for waiting for a shower. You both were tired-as well as changed into pajamas.

“You’re pretty damn efficient, Loki. Thanks for that.”

“I’m not waiting until midnight to bathe…” he quipped.

“Sleep well, Y/N…”

“You too…”

There was no turning around. This time, you curled towards each other. His smiling face was the last thing you saw before sleeping.

Then there was a noise and the sound of boots. You barely blinked awake. The grogginess of your deep sleep letting you go of its peaceful embrace. And it was still dark in the room, your eyes adjusted.

There were people- agents all in armor and helmets.

“Y/N! Y/N! What are you doing? Disrupting the sacred timeline!”

“What! What timeline?”

He jolted out of bed.

“You will NOT have her! You won’t!”

But it was too late. One agent took their long stick with blue at the end and stuck it on you. An electric fizz washed down your body, head to toe. You heard Loki cry out your name as everything turned to black.

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

When you came to, you were not in New York. In New York the buildings were lovely, tall, and completely built. Here, everything was ruined and desolate. And it was an overcast day. Your heart beat fast and you could taste dirt. It stuck you that you were laying on the ground. You could taste dirt.

“Ah, are you a Loki too?” was the voice you heard.

“Wait…no she isn’t,” said another.

“No…it’s…it’s a Y/N…” another muttered.

They all lowered their jaws. A tall, muscular man covered in furs. An old man in a silly costume. A dark-haired boy in green. And oddest of all, a tiny alligator all staring at you. And though you didn't know them, they knew you.

“A Y/N! The President’s gonna find out…they all are soon…”

[aita-blorbos]

The other side to "AITA for double-crossing a man who blindly conquered half a continent?"

AITA for annexing half a continent by accident?

Apologies in advance if this is a confusing read. There's a lot of princes and countries involved. I (25M) am the heir to a dutchy... or at least I used to be, before I got framed for treason. But more on that later. Our country was accused of murdering the Prince of another country, which we had no part in. It was likely an accident, as I heard he was traveling in the desert when it happened, but I don't see why they would blame us. Anyways, most of the army went to the front lines, including my father. That left our borders vulnerable. In a very unexpected twist of events, the rather peaceful king of yet another country allowed his sons to cross over and pillage. They kidnapped a childhood friend of mine and almost killed her retainer. As soon as I heard about the attack I sprang into action, rushing to her castle and finding I was too late. Her retainer pointed us in the right direction, and we set off to rescue her.

It took a bit, and we ended up halfway into the country before we found my friend. We also found the prince of the country that declared war on us. It turns out he and his aunt had fled there to avoid the war, and the goons blackmailed his aunt into fighting for them. They're free now, don't worry! The aunt is actually married to my friend now, and they've got twins.

Anyways, the youngest prince of the country we were in asked us if we could help convince his father to stand down. It was too late, though-- his advisor mortally wounded him. Thankfully my wife was around to nullify the sorcerer's magic, but we couldn't save the king. We annexed the country under the instruction of the crown and I was stationed near our border.

(Side note, but it was during this campaign that I met my wife. I love her and miss her so much. She went missing a while ago and left our son behind. She is soft and fluffy and I love her. If you know a woman with wonderful lavender hair and eyes, the sweetest voice known to man, and the temperament of an angel, please tell me, for I wish to see her again.)

It didn't end there. The country to the north, home of my great friend E (M25), lost their king suddenly. Their prince took charge soon after. He saw us being stationed near their border as a threat. I can't say I blame him there. What I blame him for is imprisoning E when E tried to reason with him. I set out to rescue E and, well, in the process of doing so, we annexed some of that country too. E was infuriated when we rescued him. We made a deal with him and the prince that we would withdraw after a year of rebuilding.

It took about six months for the prince to snap. He sent E after me, and while I managed to get E to stand down, the prince accused E of treason and had him killed. From there on, we didn't have a choice. The only thing we could do was keep fighting. In the end, the whole country was annexed.

I never did find out how that ended up. See, soon after that incident, I received word that our crown prince was killed and the crime was pinned on my father and I. How anyone believed this, I don't know, as my father and the prince were the best of friends. He would never betray him like that! And how was I supposed to plot against him when I was busy otherwise? We were offered sanctuary in yet another country, and we are staying here until our names are cleared. Sorry if this seems dour in tone. I've been depressed lately with my father and I being framed and my wife having disappeared (and maybe been kidnapped). I also blame myself for E's death. Well? AITA? I sure didn't mean for things to end up like this. Edit: Well, I think things might be getting better! I got a letter from one of the dukes back home that he's pardoning me. He's going to set up a welcome for us and everything! I really want to get this whole mess with me and my father cleared up. Maybe he'll even help me find my wife! I really miss her :(

[ofwolvesandshatteredshields]

The Branded Prince, ch. 3

Dragon Age, Fenris/male Hawke, chapter 3/~15.

Classic fantasy AU. Ferelden and Tevinter are at war, and both also face the Qunari threat. Fereldan soldier Rowan Hawke is forced to serve as bodyguard for Fenris, the prince of Tevinter, in order to protect his sister.

——

“Fuck me,” Hawke mutters, as he and Fenris pass beneath the portcullis and into the lord of Nessum’s busy courtyard. “Are they all that big?”

The castle looms above them. Banners bedeck the battlements in purple, green and white, the tails flicking in the breeze. Hawke’s been to Denerim a few times. Queen Anora’s keep—stout and dour—might be its equal in size, but he isn’t even sure of that. 

Fenris, after a few seconds, allows a restrained sigh. “The nobility of Tevinter enjoy leaving permanent monuments of their reigns upon the ancestral castles. Additions are frequent. In fact, I would say they are the rule.”

“Hm. So how big was your castle growing up? Ten stories high? A mile edge to edge?”

“No. The pride of Perivantium was actually rather modest.”

Didn’t expect that, the way your mother played politics with her own son. Hawke doesn’t say it aloud. It’s a touchy subject.

“You see, over the years my family learned much about building on marshland. Mostly that it is quite treacherous. Homes that stand for years sink into the mud seemingly on a whim,” Fenris says, with an air of resignation.

“Sitting in a tiny castle, lording over a swamp.” Hawke draws to a halt by the stable. “I’ll bet you earned a lot of respect from these other puffed-up bastards.”

“For our expertise in marshland construction, yes. Otherwise, no. As I see you have surmised.” Fenris dismounts.

(read on ao3)

[lepreuxchevalier]

Magnus Williamson, Dauphin de Viennois et Le Héritier Presomptif du Royaume d'Aquitaine and his shieldbearer, a Greuthungi savage from beyond the charted frontiers of The Known World whom he personally named Joe Allen Hayes were sitting by the fireplace of his personal apartment at Oberlin Castle, strategically situated at the base of a mountain junction within the northernmost frontiers of Margrabia Mazowsza, sipping hot cups of Xicolatl infused with massive amounts sugar imported all the way from the distant continent of Chupayotl across the great oceans separating The New World from The Civilized World, while wearing a tunic and pantaloons crafted from the most luxurious and sumptuous Khashabarii silks imported by Erizen and Ashuryan silk merchants all the way from The Caliphate of Khashabar, richly dyed with the heraldic liveries of The Aquitainian Monarchy, embroidered with gilded thread, and encrusted with shining emeralds imported from the gem mines of Das Königreich Schönbrunn. This eight foot tall tower of muscle and wrought iron was a dour, stoic, cold man of few words who never seemed to laugh, flinch, or even smile throughout the entire decade that he had served as a household retainer within the personal coterie of Le Dauphin de Viennois. Dauphin Magnus was curious to learn more about Hogriket Jotunheim from beyond the charted frontiers of civilization that allegedly birthed this seemingly voiceless, expressionless, and stone cold pillar of manly might and chainmail. Magnus was curious to learn specifically about the so-called Björn Stormson, the dreaded and infamous High King of The Twelve Tribes of The Greuthungi who inhabited this godsforsaken, barbarian, heathen kingdom that was only mentioned in the hushed murmurs of Mazowiecki traders and navigators operating within the continent of distant Maharaj. That exact same High King of Jotunheim who had recently sacked, plundered, and pillaged the whole expanse of Rus'skaya Tsarstvo under Rod Vojvodin Bol'shogo on their trajectory towards the northwestern periphery of The Empire of Mankind Secundus. Impatient in tolerating the prolonged silence and the monotony within the confines of his aesthetically Spartan quarters any further, Le Dauphin of Viennois and Le Héritier Presomptif du Royaume d'Aquitaine broke the seemingly uncounted hours of this unbearable silence and boredom between him and his most trusted retainer as the fireplace chimney billowed ash and smoke into the winter sky of Polnocnej Marchia.

"Of all the warlords and princely generals of repute that dominate the battlefields and court intrigues of this blessed world, I am equally curious and trepidatious to seek any who I honestly cannot outmatch in single combat. Maybe not Edward Fitzroy, Titular Duke of Huntington. From what my father's official emissaries and personal heralds tell me, that young man has been drilled and educated extensively by The Emerald Legion's world renowned quartermasters and drill sergeants at my family's summer residence at Chateau Lafleur, the boy has already demonstrated the battlefield temperament of a Norscan Baresark in Angels' Garb. A fine mix of skill and fury so very much emblematic of a holy and righteous angel of death and retribution, or the fist of an angry, vengeful god king eschewing his divine judgement upon the sinful and the faithless of the whole world. Nor perhaps Trothus VI, Blood King of Norsca. From the equally chilling and unsettling reports I gather from travelling heralds proliferating news of his alleged Slaughter of Dimashq, his equally unspeakable and unimaginable atrocities and war crimes transacted towards it's most unforntunate resident citizenry is the residue of my very worst nightmares. A truly monolithic and umbral avatar of madness and insanity incarnate, and hell let loose."

"The aristocratic, noble, feudal princeps and magnates collectively and officially represented within my father's royal court at Le Palais de Fontainebleau and Chateau LaFleur are fundamentally far too vain and arrogant. Vasily Vojvodin, Tsar of Rus'skaya and Grand Prince of Bolshoi is unapologetically and explicitly far too bloodthirsty and mentally unstable. Conrad Von Buchenauer, Herzog von Solingen is simply too austere and conservative. Boleslaw III "Chobry," Margrave of Mazowsze is paradoxically far too frigid, arid, and cerebral to truly enjoy the thrill of the joust and the duel, despite having rightfully earned his sobriquet "The Brave" in the battlefields of Northern Mazowsze. Friedrich I, König von Middenland and Albrecht Von Biermann, Markgraf von Brannenborg have irredeemably grown too adamantly stubborn, intolerant, and inflexible from consistently defecating more-or-less the exact same nonsensical and obscene blasphemies, heresies, and infidelities of their damnable creed originally drafted and published by that perfidious heretic Karl Von Luxembourg, Ph.D at Die Universität Wörtzburch in Das Herzogtum Solingen. Adriano Martini, Il Console-Eletto de La Repubblicca Serenissima di Toscana and Il Presidente Offiziale Della Lega Olympica is a Machiavian snake who cowers in the shadows like a sewer rat, spinning his intricate and labyrinthine web of intrigues and schemes within The Holy Sept at Romulus, Cosmopoleis simply by leveraging his "elected" suzerainty over the baronial and knightly houses who form the cream, core, and bulk of the ruling class of aristocracy and nobility in La Serenissima, rather than daringly and courageously bringing the full might of his honest steel and his force of powder against his enemies in righteous, glorious battle. And everyone knows about my personal and direct confrontation with The Crown Prince to The Reigning Khashabarii Caliph traditionally seated at that bloated expanse of a megalopolis known as Beshabilit, when he idiotically threw himself, head first, at the vanguard of a seemingly and equally numberless and uncountable mass of unwashed, untrained, unskilled, undisciplined, and ill-equipped Erizen and Ashuryan tribesmen upon the mighty bastions of Oberlin Castle, without using any siege guns or even simple windlass artillery pieces to help him breach the outer curtain. However, for reasons that continue to confound and disease me, in equal measure. Even after months of thoroughly obsessing and agonizing over the same predicament. Björn Stormson as The Hogkunung of The Greuthungi has finally arrived upon the northwestern periphery of The Empire of Mankind Secundus at the forefront of an equally mighty and terrible horde of godsless, barbaric, unwashed, heathen savages from beyond the charted frontiers of civilization. Leaving nothing but blood, desolation, and misery since their initial sighting beyond the northernmost frontier of the Rus'skayan hinterlands. Should Polnocnej Marchia and Oberlin Castle be en-route of their path of conquest and devastation, could I singlehandedly spare the lives of all the men under my personal command and my direct supervision, as well as those of the local population under my protection by coming to a direct resolution with him in single combat?"

Cold Sweat condensed over Le Dauphin de Viennois' right brow as he witnessed in horror and disease at the barely contained dread, anguish, and torment quietly expressed within Joe Allen Hayes' tortured and tormented eyes. This grizzled and bloodied veteran of over two dozen pitched battles, sieges and countless minor skirmishes whom he had never known to fear or dread any foe on the field of battle, regardless of their individual strength or their collective numbers. Over two minutes after staring blankly in horror into the empty void of the blazing fireplace in Dauphin Magnus' Quarters, The Former Greuthungi Baresark finally broke his agonized and dreadful silence in an equally blood curdling and cryptic fashion.

"I fear no man who treads upon the face of the blasted earth, my lord. But I am unsure if daemon is strong enough a noun to describe the full power, horror, and terror of that twisted thing who calls himself The High King of Jotunheim. Regardless of whether you directly confront his presence on the battlefield or as a guest at his mead hall feasting and drinking in the presence of the council of his Jarls and Huscarls, he is not a human being at all, but the living, breathing incarnation of slaughter and Tartaros. Only the mythical and blessed demigods described within the holy scriptures of The Canons of The Old Gods and The New Gods, or the archangels of Hyperion as the highest echelon of divine emissaries to The King of The Heavens and The God-King of The Canon Pantheon of The New Gods can hope to best The High King of Jotunhem in single combat."

"You're lucky I don't truly fear the wrath of the gods. For if I truly did, I would have had you burned at the stake for this heresy and blasphemy of the highest order." Begrudgingly uttered Le Dauphin de Viennois, uncertain of the ultimate fate or the eventual destiny of the peoples of The Civilized World.

[charlotte--kensington]

Rock 'n' Royal

Words: 20,000

Summary: Arthur Kirkland had it all: a successful band, a loyal fanbase, and a celebrity-crush on the Prince of Spades that he would never act on - until a small spade-shaped mark appeared on his skin. Amongst the chaos of being dragged off to the royal palace, learning the behaviours and whatnot of a future Queen, and trying to find his place in this new world he's been thrown into, how will he deal with his mixed emotions for Prince Alfred?

Based on the song My Love by Florence + The Machine for the first of two @usukustwiceperyear events, "I Love You Like A Love Song"

Not beta'd, but occasionally test-read by the lovely VerusMaya 🩷

Below you can find an excerpt - I hope you forgive me for not leaving the full 20K here.

---

Arthur picked at his dinner with an expression so utterly dour and miserable, one might have thought his entrée had consisted of attending a funeral.

The salmon was cooked to the point of perfection, with crunchy skin and flesh soft enough to tear apart with a fork - which was, coincidentally, what Arthur was doing at that moment. What was left over was no more than a pile of some shredded substance that only vaguely resembled fish. The salad the poor creature had been served alongside lay discarded at the edge of the plate.

A soft ahem from the other end of the table interrupted his maltreatment of the salmon and made him look up from the gold-rimmed plate before him. 

Beyond miles upon miles of starched tablecloth, two candelabras and the myriad of cutlery surrounding his plate, Alfred Jones sat in silence. He was visibly uncomfortable with their situation, not that either of them would have been able to describe this mess they found themselves in.

The prince cleared his throat a second time. Arthur met his eyes, gaze caught halfway between a glare and something just as uneasy as the expression he was faced with. 

“So, Arthur…” The way he spoke his name sounded as though he was still learning to pronounce it, clumsy in the way it rolled off his tongue. “How do you feel?”

Arthur averted his eyes, picking up some of the remnants of his meal with the innermost of the forks surrounding his plate. His brows furrowed as he took a bite simply to make that uncomfortable silence last, to make the prince stew in it just a little longer.

“Oh, I don’t know, Your Highness,” he mused, not bothering to hide his hostility even as he gave Alfred a smile as sickeningly sweet as the wine. “How would you feel if you were in my situation?"

If he could have, Alfred would have run away; that much was obvious. Good. Maybe he’d run away so far the kingdom forgot all about this marriage mess. Arthur would be able to go back to how things had been before.

“I… I think I’d feel anxious.” 

“Pardon?”

The Prince of Spades bit his lip, suddenly overtaken by an incredible interest in one of the candles between them. A moment passed as Alfred watched a single droplet of wax crawl down along the candlestick. 

Arthur raised a brow. “Pardon the impudence, Your Highness, but could you perhaps repeat that?” he asked a second time.

For a split second their gazes met, and Arthur could see a familiar softness in the way Alfred looked at him, a kindness that had drawn him in from the very first time he’d ever seen the crown prince of the Spadian monarchy. How stupid he’d been.

Alfred Jones was as much of a spoilt brat as any kid at a private school, any 20-something intern in daddy’s law firm, any politician. 

“I said that I’d- I’d probably feel anxious, if I was in your shoes,” Alfred repeated. “I-I mean, I’m anxious right now, so I can’t even imagine what you must be feeling like.”

He gave Arthur a smile, nowhere near as bright as the one he, like anybody else in the kingdom, knew so well. It looked dim, pitiful. Like Alfred was trying too hard.

Arthur snorted. “Of course not,” he replied bitterly. “Of course you can’t. You haven’t watched your dreams die through a car window, have you? You’ve never had to take care of yourself or reach your goals on your own, you’ve never even set a foot outside this damn castle of yours!”

With a sharp glare across the table he said: “You have no idea what I feel like, just like you have no idea what your kingdom is like.”

The prince stared at him with an expression as empty as the yawning abyss inside of Arthur. Alfred had paled more with each word that passed Arthur’s lips, as though the venom in them had entered his bloodstream. His face was the colour of the tablecloth, his fingers clawed into the fabric of his napkin. 

So why was it that Arthur didn’t feel content?

“I… I see,” Alfred said. He set down his fork and knife, seeking out Arthur’s eyes again. Arthur avoided his gaze, burning a hole into the opposing wall with his stare alone. At last Alfred spoke up again: “Tell me, then. Please.”

“Tell you what?” Arthur asked flippantly, putting down his cutlery as well. He hadn’t been hungry to begin with, but this conversation was rapidly draining whatever appetite he might have felt. Inside of him there was nothing left but the scorching anger that seemed to sear his veins from within.

He was burning, furious like he’d never been, if only underneath the cold, still as stone surface. So why did Arthur look up again? Why did he meet those bright eyes again?

Why did he hope to find Alfred looking back at him?

Alfred did, if only for a moment. “Tell me about what it’s like,” he said, pleaded. “I want to know more about you, what it was like for you.”

Again there was this terrible honesty  in his gaze, the look of a man who had never told a lie, never been dishonest. But Arthur wanted him to be. He wanted Alfred to be dishonest, wanted him to be mad, as angry as Arthur was. He wanted him to lie and to scream, anything so Arthur could be mad at him for a little while longer.

Anything so he could push those persistent feelings back down into the deepest, darkest depths of his heart, as though they hadn’t existed in the first place.

[cochineal-leviat]

Relating to this post, I accidentally made Mirror Prince Fluff look too BAMF. So here's a little comic I drew showing what happened after his dramatic snapshot to make up for the cool points I unintentionally gave him. I'm unsure if Mirror Yin and Yarn are still present in Mirror Fluff's needles and if they can move independently or not. But if they are still in the needles and can't move. Welp. Tough luck.

I was going to ink the comic, but I liked how the initial sketch came out, so I decided to keep it like this. I usually don't like my sketches, but this one is nice.

(Fun fact: this comic is called 'Dour Boy Trouble' in my files)

This version of Mirror Prince Fluff belongs to @azzie-tangerine