#my poor good-looking son has women and men after him

[yandere-sins]

Monstober - Day 4: Harpy

I have a strange relationship with harpies. I really like them, especially since they are the mythical equivalent to my favorite animal—vultures—but also I guess they actually manage to horrify me for some reason... Ah, well, luckily I get a chance to write for them in this challenge :D

Prompt: Day 4: Harpy | Cliff // Flying // Illusion Warnings: Yandere, Fem!Reader, Implied Sexual Actions, Violence (Swearing, Implied Murder, Implied Death, Implied Animal Cruelty, Hunting, Animal/Monster Fighting), Monsters + Descriptions of Monsters, Long Post

"Be careful now, young'un. There's harpies roaming these fields."

Resting your head back, you let the hood of your cape free up some of your sight heavenwards. You watched the clamor of harpies flying high above the field you and the mercenary were crossing through. They were so far away they looked like little specks of feathers against the grey skies.

"Fuckin' breeding season. Every year it's the same shit. They just wait for some poor farmer's son to come out and whisk him away, fuck him till he's sucked dry, and eat him afterward."

Your lips curled into a small smile at the sound of the mercenary's foul choice of words. Although you didn't hire him for his raggedness or the threat of some usually easily slain harpies, you began to appreciate his no-shit attitude the longer you traveled together.

"By that logic, wouldn't you be more in danger?" you asked, referring to the difference in gender you two had. If the harpies were lusting after young men, then you, as a woman, had less to fear, you figured. But at the same time, with his grey hair and long beard, he probably wasn't on the dinner schedule either.

"Don't be so sure about that, young'un. I've seen beasts that were clearly lasses but had pricks closer to that of giants than any man has. Likewise, male monsters tend to prefer to hunt scarier prey than frail women like those from the villages where everyone is skin and bones except the workers. And they keep them as trophies and pets, doing unspeakable things to the men—and have the man do things to them. Monsters are not always what they seem."

"Why would they need a human then?" you questioned his words, but the mercenary only shrugged.

"Maybe they find their own as ugly as we think 'em to be."

You grimaced, unsure how to react to that information. You had always been sheltered by your family, not quite royalty, but wealthy enough that you'd be married off against your will unless you escaped far out of their reach. Luckily, your jewels and gold chains had managed to buy you a decent mercenary to help with your plans of running, finding a new home, and a new life far away from the expectancies.

"Why aren't they attacking us then? Surely, they see us."

"My, you have lotsa questions, young'un. You can't rationalize those monsters. Maybe they like other prey. Maybe they are just waiting for the right moment. Don't worry your pretty head off about why or why not, just enjoy not being eaten."

He clicked his tongue, spurning his horse forward, and you followed, worry tensing your back as you looked up again, noticing how the clamor now seemed much closer. You could even see individual feathers in the mass now. It was questionable whether drawing more attention with faster movement was a good idea. Still, you wanted to trust the mercenary and his years of experience.

"We're close now!" he yelled back to you. "Into the forest, and we'll be out of their sight!"

Pushing your heels into the side of your steed, you two fell into a speedy gallop. The hood of your coat kept falling over your eyes, but you tried your best to stay focused and keep up with your guide and protector. All you had to do to overcome this first hurdle was reach the forest, and you were so close to it, you could already smell the wood.

That was until the sudden sound of screams ahead of you made you push your hood off completely, just in time to see the silver of the mercenary's breastplate sparkling in the light as he wildly squirmed in the grasp of an enormous monster. He was yelling loudly, only drowned out by shrieking and cackling. Another feathery creature swooped down, and it was his horse next that was carried off, neighing and crying out helplessly, your breath hitching with panic as you rammed your heels into your own stead.

You were so close to the woods when a massive bird passed by just in front of your horse, the animal rearing upwards. You tried desperately to hold on, but when something gripped the horse by the neck, a sharp claw grazing your face, you lost your hold out of surprise, your body falling freely to the ground while your poor stead was carried off mercilessly.

Your head pounded with pain as it hit the dirty field, your bones aching as they tried to feather your fall. But luckily, you were pumped with adrenaline, sitting up before you even realized how much it hurt, blood dripping from your cheek.

"Hi."

The woman standing before you smiled, her eyes unblinking as her lips curled upwards. Your whole body halted in its tracks, your breath stopping. You felt yourself relax at the sight of her and then stiffen up completely, goosebumps pebbling your skin as you forced yourself to realize this couldn't be. Whatever she was, she wasn't human, appearing so suddenly. Instead, she must have been an illusion of the harpies—one of them.

She was, at best, a few steps away from you, at worse, too close to be able to escape. Her head cocked to the side just a little too far to be natural as she regarded you on the ground with unbreakable calm. The peace of a predator, someone who wasn't worried about getting hurt. Silently, you cursed your family for denying you to learn how to wield a sword or dagger. Any kind of self-defense, really. "It wouldn't be necessary," well, now it was. There were no signs of the chaos that had just unfolded, the sounds reduced to the wind softly swaying through the early sprigs of oats growing on the fields.

Don't answer, you cautioned yourself, knowing the best survival tactics when dealing with monsters was not dealing with monsters. You were already pretty vulnerable to the creature as it was; you didn't need to agitate her.

"Clever, are we?" she said, her lips splitting to reveal the teeth of the creatures you were most afraid of all of a sudden. Apparently, the harpies were not disinterested in you, something the mercenary probably hadn't thought about as he led you directly through their flock.

"And so pretty," the harpy chirped, her eyes raking over you as she cocked her head to the other side in a snap. "Want to go to the forest? You can."

Suspicion raised inside of you at her offer. Letting you go so easily? Even if she didn't want to take you away for mating, shouldn't her kind be interested in eating you?

"You'll let me go?" you asked, only realizing your mistake when it was too late, and you slammed your hand over your mouth. The harpies grin only widened, her mouth tearing open unnaturally wide.

"Yes, you can go. A darling girl like you shouldn't be around my sisters. They'd love to taste you."

Your chest was heaving heavily with panic as she spoke. You heard her coo sweetly as she watched you, her gaze dropping from your face all the way to your legs as if she were trying to rip you open and spill your guts with just her eyes. Delighted by the sight, hungry. And you felt so vulnerable under the scrutiny, her eyes on you beyond any look anyone had ever given you, dripping with her full attention and desire.

"Come back sometimes, okay? Let's play together? You're so pretty..."

You gulped. Never before had you heard the tale of a harpy letting someone go because they thought they were pretty. You dared to glance by her, looking at the woods that waited for you behind her form. It was so close, perhaps ten footsteps away, before you breached the edge of the forest.

With your breath escaping you, you staggered to your feet, trying to always keep your eyes on her. You stopped mid-movement as you heard the shuffling of her clothes. Clothes that you realized weren't from fabric at all. Just her convincingly placed feathers. It was scary how well she could imitate an ordinary woman if not for her sharp mannerisms and the way she fixated on you strangely. However, someone less aware and less familiar with the threat of harpies could have easily overlooked these features. Fallen for her illusion that only now started to dissolve as she began reacting to you.

Her wings appeared like a brown dress on her, with a mantle over her shoulders to cover up her lack of arms. Her legs were hidden well beneath the "skirt," and her brown locks perfectly framed what could pass as a pretty face in the city you were from. That was until she opened her mouth to shatter that facade.

"What?" she asked. "Do you think I'm pretty, too?"

It felt wrong to agree and give her more of your time than necessary. If she was well-disposed now, you didn't want to draw her ire. But at the same time, not answering seemed like it would cause her mood to sour, too. This time, instead of speaking, you nodded hesitantly, then firmly.

"Ah, I'm glad!" she hooted, and her "clothes" fluttered with excitement, feathers spreading outwards and destroying the illusion of her wings being garments. Something changed right before your eyes, but you couldn't pinpoint it. Even so, you were no longer fooled by her looks. She really was a monster before all else.

"Go," she cooed, leaning forward and hovering above you, her body now appearing much taller than before. "Before I keep you all to myself, you sweet, sweet thing."

Slowly, avoiding harsh movements, you finally came to a complete stand, realizing you were still at least three heads smaller than the harpy. You wouldn't let her out of your sight, and neither did she, you, as you began rounding her at a respectable distance. It wasn't enough distance to make you feel comfortable, as she could probably close it faster than anything else you knew. But it was your best bet.

She lets me go, just like that? you thought, still in disbelief. Feels like a trap.

But soon enough, your back was turned to the forest. A forest that, presumably, would keep you safe from the harpies if the words of the dead mercenary could still be trusted. He misjudged the situation once, but what were you supposed to do? Between the trees, you at least had the size advantage. Her wings fluttered again as she watched, cocking her head, hooting softly. Not moving from her spot.

Five more steps.

Four.

Three—

Your attention snapped away from her the second you heard the shriek of another monster approaching you from the side. You tumbled to the ground, feeling the force of the gust of wind its wings produced as you were thrown further away from the forest and onto the field, claws scratching you, ripping wounds into your sides. There was a match of voices as even more shrieking and hissing erupted, and you buried face down into the mud, shielding your head with your arms as movement and sounds accumulated right above you.

There must have been more than two harpies fighting above you, but you couldn't determine how many there were from your position. All you knew was that their claws sliced through the air just above your back, every one of them trying to get to you. Every one so close to hurting you—or worse.

"MINE!" one of them roared, and more shrieking occurred as a heavy, clawed foot landed on top of your back, pinning you to the dirty ground and pushing the air out of your lungs. "SHE'S MINE!"

The protest was apparent in the cacophony of sounds directed at the harpy above you, but the tumultuous movements slowly disappeared, only one body remaining. And suddenly, everything went dark, the foot on top of you slipping off until two feet were stomped into the ground on each of your sides.

You dared open your eyes again, trying to see what had happened and gauge how dead you were, but it was way too dark to see. A shudder went through what was blocking out the light, feathers fluttering aside just enough to let a spot of light in and show you were still on the dirty field. It made you realize that something was above you, shielding and enveloping you with its body.

"MINE!" the harpy shrieked again, the sound not directed at you, but it still shook your bones. "Mine," she repeated, this time calmer. You couldn't see, couldn't hear what was going on outside. But when her voice calmed, you could finally recognize it as that of the harpy you had spoken to. Even if her shrieks and caws were barely discernable to you, her voice remained the same.

She squawked a few more times into the direction of who knows where, your nerves completely blank as they couldn't get accustomed to the sounds, but now that the situation was calming down, the pain set in again, and you cursed it, willing it away only for it to blow up again inside of you.

Groaning, you braced yourself onto your arms, trying to lift from the ground, only to be met with the sharp sting of your sliced-up side. The wound was deeper than it had felt at first, and you let out a pitiful howl as you agitated it accidentally. You reckoned that your body was not okay after that attack, and you couldn't fathom how anyone could survive and mate these creatures when their claws did so much damage easily.

Turning onto your healthy side was the only thing you could think of to alleviate the pain temporarily, although the movement hurt so much more than if you had remained on your stomach.

"Oh no," the harpy cooed from above, and you spared her a glance from the one eye that was turned upwards. Her wings unfolded from each other, opening enough for her twisted neck to see through the gap, letting in some light and exposing her grotesque but real form. The legs of a bird, feathery and gnarly, the torso of a woman, and the face was a mix of both. No arms, just wings sprouting from her shoulders, and her hair a mess of feathers and twigs, nothing like the beautiful illusion she had shown you before.

"Poor, poor girl," she hooted, her expression ever so slightly drawing together in a meager display of unhappiness. "My sisters are so mean, aren't they? You were just trying to go to the forest."

You didn't acknowledge her with words as you bit your lip to stifle another sorrowful moan. Still, your body contorted, causing you to cry out in pain.

The harpy moved around you, circling you as she watched you restlessly, sweat and tears falling from your face as you couldn't even stop the bleeding with your hands full of grime and dirt. She danced around you awkwardly, keeping her wings up like a shield but letting in enough light to watch.

"You can't go like this now, can you? Can you? Poor, poor, pretty thing."

You heard her sigh, sounding oddly human, then she leaned down, poking you with the top of her wing where the bone spread to form the limb. Shockwaves of pain went through you as she agitated the wound by moving you, and you sobbed into the dirt, not knowing what to do. You couldn't communicate with her, couldn't tell her to fetch you a doctor. But if you stayed here like this, you'd probably be eaten sooner rather than later, and not unlikely by her.

Even as you cried, you used what little strength you had to sit up. The pain was unbearable, even as you clenched your jaws together tightly. But you were grateful when you felt one of her wings sweep beneath your back, helping you up even if it hurt.

"I need to stand up," you explained through sobs and cries of pain, and she hooted in understanding, lending you the firm part of her wings again to hold onto. She wasn't very deft in how much strength of hers you needed to be supported, but she tried to help—she, a monster. The situation was beyond strange and unimaginable, yet you almost felt some gratitude towards her.

"I need..." you gasped as you finally got to your legs. Pain was stealing your air, your mind twirling, and every thought getting more challenging to form. You stumbled backward, but her body caught you, steadied yours with hers. Dizziness raked at your conscience, the blood loss taking its toll. "A doctor. I need... a doctor..."

"Doctor?" she hooted questioningly. "What's a doctor?"

"A human who helps... injured humans. Medizin..."

"Huh?" With her elongated neck, she could easily look at your face even from behind you, but you didn't dare to look up to see how unnaturally she twisted her head back and forth, as she didn't understand. It wasn't that far off that harpies probably didn't help each other heal. They seemed more of the... cannibalistic type when one of them was weak.

"I need... help. I'm sick."

"Oh."

Finally, she seemed to understand, but unfortunately, instead of helping, she seemed deep in thought when the ground suddenly shook, and you had to grasp her wing tightly to keep your balance.

"Not fair!" another creature squawked, the sound almost shattering your eardrums coming from right in front of you. The ground shook even more as more of them landed, confronting their sister and you.

"Not fair! We want the human, too!"

"No!" the harpy at your back barked at them. "She's mine."

"She's not your mate!" they complained. "She's weak and bleeding! As good as dead!"

The harpies fell into a cacophony of chants, some saying "Dead Human!" in unison while the others shrieked, "Eat! Eat! Eat!"

"NO!" the harpy bellowed, shutting the others up fast. You were shocked by the vibrations of her body at your back, but it almost made you smile a little. What a stupid monster without a reason to be this protective. And yet she kept fighting for you.

"Then... she's a mate?" one of the harpies asked, sounding at her wit's end. The other hooted along to the statement, questioning your protector.

"Yes," she announced firmly, and this time, you did wrench your head upwards. She met your gaze with resolution, adding, "She's my mate. I have decided."

"Wha—?" you managed to wring out when one of her feet suddenly dug beneath your arms, clawed toes wrapping around your upper torso. You groaned in pain even though they didn't touch the wound directly as she placed them with intentions, but before you could complain, your feet lifted up from the ground, and you were just beneath the clouds faster than you could speak.

"Wait!" you screamed, struggling only to be hit with more pain.

"Where are you bringing me?" you asked, much quieter now that the situation finally dawned on you. The harpy tugged her legs in, supporting you with the free one beneath your thighs and giving you a place to sit on while also smushing you lightly against her feathery bottoms.

"To the nest. You said you are hurt, so I must clean your wounds, mate. Need to find herbs and food for you. Maybe there's some left from the hunt earlier. Flesh. You are too skinny."

"But... I'm not even your mate! We're both girls!" you complained heavenward, and she clucked, almost as if she was laughing.

"That makes no difference. You are my mate, I have decided."

"Do I get a chance to decide?" you whined, and for a moment, her wings stopped beating, the flight turning into a glide.

Her neck twisted, face turning back to look at you, and your wounds pounded angrily as her grip tightened.

"You are wounded. Do you want to be eaten?"

You gulped. That sounded much like your previous assumptions that harpies were not usually taken on duties to care for others.

"N-No?" you answered truthfully, but it sounded like a question anyway. Perhaps death was better than whatever "mate" was.

Seemingly satisfied with your answer, she turned forward again, resuming her flight.

"Then you are my mate now. You'll like the nest. We can soften it together, and then we can create young. You'll stay there and heal, and I'll bring you food and gather pretty things for my pretty mate."

She looked down again, and her lips split in an upside-down grin, so very similar to that of her human form. She seemed almost... happy. You swallowed hard as she revealed her plans, unable to come up with anything that would change her mind and not drop you from this height. What else was there but to comply with her—for now? Maybe once you were healed and back on steady ground, you could escape her and still make the run you had planned to make anyway. Just now, you had your own family and a monster gnawing at your heels. At least you'd be safe for now, you hoped.

Hearing no complaints from you, her grin widened even more, feathers puffing as if she was proud of her accomplishments.

"My mate," she cooed, and the clouds cleared up, revealing the sundown over the ocean, a couple hundred more harpies squealing and screeching beneath you as you two made your way towards the cliffside. It was too close to the city you used to live in. Back to point zero, now with an additional struggle to manage. But at least here, they'd have a hard time finding you and perhaps an even harder time retrieving you while you could plan your next moves.

It wasn't what you had imagined when you ran away, but you'd have to do with it for now.

Your new home.

[shinjisdone]

𝑇𝜎 𝑆𝜎𝑓𝜏𝜀𝜋 𝛼 𝑊𝛼𝑟𝑟𝜄𝜎𝑟’𝑠 𝐻𝜀𝛼𝑟𝜏 (Vinland Saga; Thorfinn - 𝑺𝒍𝒂𝒗𝒆 𝑨𝒓𝒄, 𝑷𝒂𝒓𝒕 2)

In which you have joined Askeladd’s band…and grow closer to the Son of Thors - though as your future seemed promising, his thirst for revenge devastated all that you had left.

[Headcanons of how it would be like to meet Thorfinn again after he shattered your heart (based on season 2; both platonic and romantic)

Sᴇᴀsᴏɴ ₁ ﹙Wᴀʀ Aʀᴄ﹚ is here

Part 1: - (Thorfinn as a slave and his struggles)

Tag list:

@luopenis , @jinsecho , @mitsureigen , @theknightssecrets , @lana-del-stan , @theghostofanficpresent ,  @night-shadowblood-writes2

[Mentions of murder, death, war, slave trade, harrasment against women and whatever awful things happened in the viking era. Slavery will be a main subject throughout the entire arc. Mostly gender-neutral examples but female-leaning ones are there, too.]

[This part will specifically mention: Slavery, mentioning of cutting a tongue off, angst, crying, belittling, mentions of the piss bucket, su*cidal thoughts, Thorfinn isnt doing good]

I Played The Game Of Life And Had A Ball...

The battered hands were whipped away from his face.

Pater took ahold of them, dragged them away by their shoulder with a harsh tug back to Ketil. The man simply blinked in surprise, back straight as he watched the slave easily give in.

"How strange." He said more to himself, "This is the first time they spoke."

Though his face bore utter shock, Thorfinn managed to meet Ketil's, up on horseback.

"Apologies, Thorfinn and Einar but the trader told me this one never once spoke a word - so I was a bit startled." A chuckle escaped him, "Well, that's why I wanted to introduce you three. They seemed strong enough for farm work but don't tell anyone of what they can do or what they learned to do as a worker."

"It's idiotic if I may share my thoughts." Pater stepped in, having shoved the new slave behind him. Wordlessly and without fight they stumbled to the back, lowering their head. The man threw them one last glance before continuing. "Their tongue hasn't been cut off, so they just refuse to speak. If you want to some worth as a slave, you ought to let your master know of your skills, let alone your name."

"Well," Ketil let out a dry laugh, "Since we don't know what they'll likely do, I will probably send them around the farm to see what they can do best. I just wanted to introduce you to a new face."

Einar's gaze flickered between Thorfinn and Ketil, clearing his throat abruptly before stepping up. "Of course, thank you, master! We will...teach them when they're send to us." Once again, Einar looked back to the blonde, who stood still.

With a nod, Ketil lead the horse back to his house with Pater watching the new slave's steps. They followed without looking back.

So did Thorfinn.

Slowly he turned around, axe in hand as he aimed for a tree. Just as he almost reached it, Einar was quick to catch up. "Hey, what was that?" With wide eyes and an unnerved gaze he watched the blonde cut again and again. "Does that person know you?"

The axe cut against the wood again.

"Hey, Thorfinn!" Einar contemplated getting in his way but the Thorfinn seemed so in trance that he feared he'd cut him down too, "They said something to you, I heard that! You said you were from Iceland, didn't you?! Someone who doesn't talk doesn't suddenly decide to!"

For a moment, he swallowed down his anger. Thorfinn doesn't respond, not when it's important, not when its from the master. He's only known him for a few days but knows enough that letting his emotions out will drain him - and he has work to do as a slave.

"Maybe they were just seeing things," He ran a hand through his hair, huffing, "Poor thing was probably tired and hungry. They looked like they've seen hell. Maybe it's best to leave 'em be..."

Another swing and the blade gets stuck.

Einar noted the freeze, how Thorfinn barely made an attempt to get the axe out - even though he's one of the strongest men he has ever seen.

The blade quivered. Down from the tip, right through the wooden handle, through the clenched fingers and the cramped arms shaking. His eyes traveled up to the man's contorted face and the tears falling down. They fell on his arms and the soil below.

"Thorfinn! Hey, what's wrong?!"

Silently, the blonde rose and turned his head. Over his shoulder, the entrance to the woods looked so serene. Not a soul to be found.

Crazy Of Me To Think I Had It All...

/It may have been the third time he has seen any emotions on his face.

But as always, he shrugged it all of. As if nothing happened, as if Einar was stupid and didn't see anything.

This time, he did not give an answer. Not an excuse. Thorfinn briefly shed tears, stared back where Ketil stood and continued to cut.

In the middle of the night, he screamed as usual. There was an ounce of normalcy left in his daily life at least.

With a sigh, he followed him again. Axe over his shoulder, and tools in Einar's hands. They figured that while Thorfinn cuts down the trunk, Einar can dig around the soil and loosen the roots.

At least, there was water. Cool, refreshing water in the well in the morning, something to look forward to, something to enjoy. The young rays of the sun, the dew around the barn that decorated the grass tips quite delicately, feeling the air outside of the barn that didn't stink of manure.

And there, among these lovely things, was the most loveliest, Arnheid, as he has come to know her, greeting him again with towel in hand.

Her attire was simple but sturdy, so she was looked after well as Ketil's slave. Her long, blonde hair open as she wiped her long, pale face. Baby blue eyes accompanied with long, blonde lashes. He felt a bit embarassed that he noticed all of it so much.

But she made every morning lovely.

Though as they began their chat, another figure appeared around the corner, a used cloth handed to them as they approach the well, too. Their eyes drooped as they were on the first day. Arnheid and Einar instinctively made space as they washed their face.

"Hey, do you know anything about the new one?" Einar whispered, and Arnheid shook her head. "No, I saw them once. But I don't know if they will stay in the house, like me."

She gestured to the master's abode where his wife was impatiently waiting. That was her cue to go inside but alongside Einar, she couldn't help but watch as the new slave's eyes met that of Thorfinn's.

He stopped still like a hunchback, a good and cold distance away from each other. Water dripped down their unexpressive face before wiping it off and disappearing from once they came.

It was brief yet to all of them it felt like an eternity. To Thorfinn it was like witnessing a creature from fables curse him with their presence.

But It Doesn't Matter Anymore...

The land is vast and rich.

Summer is slowly ending and as the rays of the sun vanish quicker with the moon, the wheat on the ground stays golden.

Meticulously cut and sown through each field. The master is careful and planning, working alongside the slave children as they laugh and cut. Their feet swollen and dirty without any shoes or gear for protection.

Yet they smile and are joyous for each day they get to live.

In peace. On a farm.

Working on one is a dream for many, they presumed. So it couldn't be so bad.

But the ripped, same clothes and the scars around their wrist couldn't convince them of such a reality. Scars earned from battle should now be replaced with honest work? As a slave? Nothing of it seemed genuine nor right.

Being send around like goods from one point of the farm to another to find suitable work wasn't genuine as well.

Fieldwork, domestic labor, animal care, wood cutting...

Whatever they could be useful for, they'd do. They were cheap after all. Almost a free ware.

So Ketil had no qualms or second guesses when taking them home with him.

Extra pair of hands was helpful for lacking ones in certain fields. The two young men could need help...but he wouldn't want to promise a third member freedom when they were so cheap. Besides, it could cause tension between them.

Pater was patient but strict. Repeating himself again and again of the role of a slave and that hard work and amicable business between master and property can lead to freedom. To a good position that fills an empty stomach. However many times he taught them, the new slave never replied.

He checked for the second time if their tongue got cut out or if there were any infections in the throat but he didn't find anything.

Master Olmar, Ketil's son, was not interested in a helping companion or maid. He is not interested in farm work or anything his father does and a slave would slow him down on his quest for England.

Arnheid was open but confused at the newbie. Ketil found that, with her help, domestic work was easy for them to learn but the extra help was unneccessary.

Somewhere, somehow...they were not needed.

It was when they were cutting wood, rising the axe to slash and cut again and again, when they were stopped.

It was the call of some workers, neither not knowing each other.

"What on earth are ya doing?! The hardwood's uneven! And there are splinters everywhere! How can you even think of giving us any of that measly stuff?!"

A man came stomping forward, leering dangerously close. Another one lazily followed. "Are you sure you're even talking to a slave?"

"Oh, I'm sure. They got the eyes of one." The man finished with a spit, before continuing the scolding.

The slave blinked listlessly, droning out the insults and ignoring the spit befalling their face. "Are you even listening to me!? Answer me, you measly slave!" Another quivering stomp and the worker rose their hand, opening their palm - before jumping back with a gasp.

Just barely and in a speed neither could follow, a small but broad figure squeezed itself between the worker and slave. A thud followed quickly and the worker shrieked. "Agh, my leg! Be careful, you bastard!" He hopped further back, holding his wet leg over his knee. Thorfinn hunched down to retrieve the bucket. "Ew, it stinks...!", He cringed and covered his nose, "Is that piss?! Ew, don't tell me its piss!"

"Apologies," Thorfinn muttered, holding his head low, "I tripped." "Gods, you threw your piss bucket at me! You'll pay for that, you dwarf!"

With wide, flickering eyes, the new slave watched as the worker hopped away as his friend reluctantly helped him, while trying to keep a good distance. Taking a step back and lowering the axe, they looked down to Thorfinn.

His back was hunched and his gaze empty as it stared holes into the air. Scars decorated his muscular arms and he seemed to have grown. Hair longer, less unruly and draping over his face like wet cloth.

He seemed to hesitate to glance back at them - yet as he did, he was just as quickly on his way, wordlessly and full of regret.

"Hey, Thorfinn!" The slave looked over their shoulder, staring at the waving brunette who called out to him. The man raised a brow as their eyes met.

And I Kept Holding On To The Power And Lost My Freedom...

Once again the day turned into night as the cycle continued on throughout the summer. Cicadas chirped nearby and to Einar - the noise so loud and distracting - it seemed once again as if they were stuck in his ear - though, he got used to it.

Chirping of critters and rustling of hay was the least of his concerns. As he laid there in the barn, watching Thorfinn rest on the other side, he couldn't help but let out what he's been thinking.

"Hey...Thorfinn," Einar paused for the blonde to give any reply but contined when he didn't receive one. He got used to that as well. "Why...were you helpin' the newbie?"

Thorfinn shifted ever so slightly, "...I don't know what you mean."

"Now, Thorfinn...you aren't as slick as you think you are. I'm not the only one who noticed that you keep on staring at 'em whenever we bump into each other. Stop that, alright? Or else you'll get in trouble with the Master."

The blonde gave a low hum, not moving an inch.

Einar took a deep breath. "...Do...you know them from somewhere? Somewhere that isn't here?"

Once again, he paused. His companion barely moved, barely breathed as he laid there, thinking, thinking, thinking...

"...I don't know."

The stars finally greeted him. His cue was Einar's booming snores. Its alright. He got used to it.

Sitting up, he went out and leaned on the entrance's pillar. The wood was cold and the lights at Master Ketil's house were out.

That's where he last saw them. Inside, through the window, listening and nodding as Ketil talked. The light of the candles illuminated their face and Thorfinn couldn't help but focus and stare.

They're taller. Bigger. The color of the hair was the same but grew longer. Their eyes may be lidded and red, but the color stayed the same.

His gaze traveled towards their body, to potential scars. Just to be sure. Did they bear the same ones? Were there any new ones?

Did they bear the same gear? The same possessions? The same trinkets? The same smile?

Was that really you?

Thorfinn wasn't sure and it terrified him. Each and every day seeing your silhouette somewhere, either far away as a figure or right beside him. Being able to see, to distinguish, to smell you.

Just like in his dreams.

Why? Why has it to be you?

Is this his nightmare come to life? Is this his punishment for all that he's done?

Why does he keep forgetting these important things but has a clear image of you? And why does this haunt him more than anything else?

It's killing him. Killing him, killing him...

He wished you were dead.

Yet still here he was, a slave, keeping an eye on this stranger, protecting them from the workers...all because they look like you.

They spoke, didn't they?

Spoke of Iceland...

It has to be you.

Why? Why?!

Why can't you be dead?!

After all that has happened...when he arrived on this farm...

When he became a slave and cuts down the trees in the forest...

A beast like him, as Einar called them...

Warriors as beasts...

When he inevitably would die out here...

He had hoped everything would die with him.

[This one is short...and somewhere along the lines my english just left my brain lol. Im not really satisfied with how these sentences turned out.

But I really feel like im on a Roll with this. I wanna continue TSAWH so badly rn haha. The current situatuon and characters are stagnant so i better get to the *rubbing my hands* important plot point of the story ]

[futurecorps3]

okay but imagine meeting nikolai at a masquerade ball :00

𝐅��𝐜𝐚𝐝𝐞

Masterlist<3

Summary: A pleasant surprise in the masquerade's ball. Pairing: Nikolai Lantsov x fem!reader Warnings: None I think!! Word Count: 1.4K Requested: Yes

A/N: THE ROMANCE THAT MASQUERADES CARRY HAS ME ON A CHOKEHOLD SINCE I SAW THIS REQUEST TYSM NONNIE! hope u like it and don't mind it's a bit short. <3

˚ · • . ° .

The corset was far too tight. She didn't get to wear her favorite color. The heels were killing her. More than two men had already approached her with terrible openers and she just wanted to go home. Y/N was really trying not to be selfish. She truly was; this night was very special for her father, as the masquerade ball was the first royal event her family could attend.

After years of bad luck with her parents' work, somehow, with savings and a recent escalade of people needing construction materials from all over the continent, they developed a small fortune into a big family-owned business that produced lots of money, meaning they went from being a middle-class family in Os Alta to making business with nobles on behalf of the king.

Word got around, and long-story short, his youngest daughter was forced to attend this ball with her parents. Looking around the room, there was no way they fit in here, but it was a dream of her father's, so she opted to get a tad tipsy with champagne and dance a little before she could go home. The room smelt like booze, expensive perfume, and laughter could be heard from every corner.

What did they find so amusing? From her point of view, the things she now had to get used to were pointless, boring and merely there to make positive appearances with the royal family, who wouldn't bat an eye at them, scarcely noticing their attempts. The girl sighed, watching some other boy in a fancy suit and golden mask approach her from the front, ready to reject him "nicely" as her father had suggested.

Then, a voice.

"This is all incredibly stupid." Simple.

Y/N turned around, finding a blonde head of hair with a blue mask staring at her. He was sporting a uniform like jacket with some medals over it and golden details all over... a general's son, surely. She wasn't sure if he was speaking to her or just wondering out loud since he was sweaty and short of breath, probably from dancing. However, he seemed to have read her mind, and that was enough to start a conversation.

"It is, people trying to impress people who won't even look at them directly in the eye." She chuckled, sinking into her glass of champagne, to which the boy gave a surprised stare. "You seem to have it against the royal family". Oh no. This was in no way a good start, or the setting to voice her complaints about the general injustice lived in her country.

"No! Not at all! I just-" "It's okay. I get it. They think they're too good for anyone, even though all these people are the backbone of their country, not the institution they represent. Ravka would be nothing without its people". A sigh of relief. Did this mystery man get it? He surely wasn't poor or looked like he could care less about social injustice and unfair judgments.

"How would you know?" She questioned, and he was amused, very amused. "Well, let's say I've done my own research over this land, contrary to my family's wishes". His family's wishes? Military men and women came from usually underprivileged areas. Maybe he was the son of some snobbish general who didn't want his precious boy to hang around peasants, but he decided against it.

Suddenly, he enveloped her hand in his, kissing the back of it while looking into her eyes. "Nikolai Lantsov", he introduced himself, lowering it back next to a seemingly limp body.

Oh.

People said he'd show up, but no one really believed it after many failed reunions who promised the prince's attendance. She should bow, her mom told her that she should if she ran into some member of the royal family. Her body reacted to her thoughts, grabbing a fistful of fabric around her and bending her knees in a polite bow. "Moi tsarevich... I'm so sorry, you must know I don't think sorely of our king and queen, it was merely an observation. Apologies".

Nikolai was awfully quiet. Y/N's head was down and all she could see were his shoes and people passing by. Then he laughed. He laughed. "Come on, dear, get up" he offered her his hand and stood straight once again, red in her cheeks. "First of all, call me Nikolai-" "Y/N" "-call me Nikolai, Y/N. Second, no need to apologize as I do think sorely of my family's ruling over the country. And third, that's not how I wanted to make you blush so please calm down, it's okay".

How could that ever be okay? Yes, the younger prince was greatly known for having major discrepancies with his parents and the model of government that was being followed, but it was only okay if HE said it. Not some random girl who just showed up and ran her mouth over the literal king and queen of her nation. She always found a way of fucking up.

"I always talk too much, I'm really sorry moi tsa-" "Nikolai". It felt wrong in her mouth, to be on first-name terms with such an important figure. She said it anyway, that charming smile of his making her weak on the knees and forgetting any kind of stupid hierarchy she was supposed to follow. "Nikolai".

"Why do you assume that's a bad thing?" he said, taking two glasses of whiskey from a waiter who was passing by, downing one and giving her the other "Hm?". She didn't quite hear the question, too focused on how his hands looked with so many pretty rings to the way his eyebrows furrowed briefly at the burning liquid. "Why do you assume talking too much is a bad thing?"

Well, that was new. This entire exchange was, really.

"Well I-" no words. She didn't know. He laughed. "You've been told it is, and I think it to be awfully human, therefore awfully lovely. We like being heard, and there is no reason why we shouldn't be". Another blush crept up her cheeks. Was he always like this? Y/N found, years later, that he had a certain fixation on questioning anything and everything around him.

He questioned limits, pre-impossed ideas, authority, words and virtually anything those beautiful blue eyes laid. Nikolai was that kind of special you find once in your life. "Do you uhm... want to get out of here?" she spat, not really thinking anymore. She wanted more of that. Whatever spell his charm casted upon her was doing wonders. "To where, exactly, darling?" he said, raising his left eyebrow slightly.

Teasingly.

"No, no! By no means am I suggesting something of such nature... I just want to talk to you" "We already are, love" "I'm aware, love. I mean, away from the noise and all these creepily masked people". Silence for a tiny moment. Then he offered his arm out to her, placing the glass he was holding previously on a table and directing his new acquaintance to the back exit.

When they got to the garden, the moon was up and she was the only witness to such an enchanting night for the young prince and the girl. At the time, their lifes didn't fit at all. Two opposites. But oh did their souls knew how to dance. Nikolai found himself at peace, away from the facade he kept around and the appearances to be kept long forgotten as he laughed with Y/N.

"You talk like a book," he said, smiling as they sat near one of the many fountains. You could hear the water streaming down cobblestones and some noises coming from the bushes, the noise from the party becoming merely a background behind their chat. Y/n couldn't help but laugh. "What is that supposed to mean?". Their thighs were touching and she could feel Nikolai tense up a little.

"You do! There are some... things you say that seem taken out of a poetry book." "Like what?" Her cheeks warmed at that, waiting eagerly for an answer to one of the most creative observations someone had made about her. "You said that if love isn't passionate and extraordinary, then it's a waste of time because there are too many mediocre things in life and love shouldn't be one of them" "It's just what I think" she shyly replied, fidgeting with her mask, long gone since they started their walk.

"Then that pretty little mind of yours must be a thrill to discover" "Would you?" "What?" "Like to discover it" "I'd love to, dear" Nikolai smiled sweetly, blue orbs swimming in hers. It was the night the fox found shelter. The night they fell in love.

[starogeorgina]

𝐁𝐫𝐨𝐤𝐞𝐧 𝐛𝐨𝐧𝐝𝐬

Pairing: Harwin Strong x Targ oc

Warnings: Character death

3.07

Vaegon’s brows pull together as you walk slowly through the outer yard, your hand resting on your lower back. His eyes are full of concern. Your sons were of an age where they started to understand the dangers of pregnancy and labor but were still too embarrassed to ask you about it.

“My mother used to tell me discomfort is how we serve the realm,” you say softly. “I had no idea what she truly meant until I was pregnant with you and Aerion, but the discomfort is completely normal. It’s just our bodies changing to make room for the baby.”

“Is it painful?”

“It’s nothing for you to worry about, my sweet; besides, it’s completely worth it.” You squeezed his shoulder with your free hand, but Vaegon still didn’t look convinced. “If women didn’t endure childbirth, then we would never have our children, and I would be without the best thing that ever happened to me.”

Feeling light drops of water on your face, you look up. The ride over from Dragonstone has been peaceful, but since you landed, the sky has become much murkier, and the sun is disappearing quickly behind the thick gray clouds.

You glance back at the knight walking not far behind. “You don’t need to come in if you don’t wish to; the meetings can be rather dull.”

“No, I think being the king's cupbearer would be an honor.”

You smile and stroke his cheek. “Very well then.”

Holding your head high, you enter the same room you have been in countless times, yet you feel as if you don’t belong.

—

It was hard for you to read the expressions of the small council members, especially when they seem to be sleeping with their eyes open after rehashing the same issue over and over again. It was clear Alicent was the ruling force during these meetings, and although many times she was right when it came to saving money for the realm, she left no room for negotiation.

You attempt to hide a yawn with the back of your hand, but it is poorly done. Alicent narrows her eyes and asks, “Are the overcrowded cells not enough of a threat to keep you awake, princess?”

“I recall how tired you were towards the end of each pregnancy,” your father chuckles. “As is the case with most women.”

“I say cut their cocks off and be done with it.”

While a few of the lords nodded in agreement, Alicent scoffs, “That is the type of barbaric method I would expect to hear from Daemon.”

“It was Prince Daemon, the former commander of the gold cloaks, who suggested it many years ago; however, since his methods have stopped, the crime level has risen. And I don’t see how permanently taking away the weapon of men who commit the most heinous acts to stop them from repeating them is any more barbaric than cutting the hands of little children who only stole a loaf of bread so that they wouldn’t starve to death.”

Alicent grinds her teeth. “Then please, share what great solution to these problems you have conjured while sitting comfortably upon the throne of Dragonstone.”

“I don’t sit upon the throne; that is my sister’s seat. As will my fathers be one day.” Alicent rolls her eyes, and you tilt your head to look directly at your father, who looked less than impressed. “These men have been charged with being rapists and will remain a threat to the people of King's Land. Give them two options: they can have their cocks cut off and go north, or they can be put to the sword. The night’s watch is always looking for new blood, and the lords of Winterfell will be thankful for the extra men.”

You pause when Vaegon refills Alicent’s cup for her, and her hateful gaze burns into him. When he goes to refill the kings, your father smiles at him and says, “Good lad.”

“As for the children stealing, Lord Lyonel informed me that nearly all of them are from orphanages. If the crown isn’t feeding the poor, then it’s us who have failed.” Alicent opens her mouth to cut in, but you continue before she can. “Princess Rhaenyra has hired a stonemason to build ovens and will have fresh bread made every morning that will be delivered to the orphanages, and whatever is left will be given to the hungry living on the streets.”

“That is the most hono-”

“And how much will this cost the crown?” Alicent asks, cutting the lord who was speaking off.

“It will cost nothing, your grace. The stonemason did it in exchange for his daughter being allowed to assist the dragon keepers in the dragon pit from time to time. She is fascinated by our dragons.”

Alicent raises her eyebrows, challenging you silently.

“It will be the dragon riders on Dragonstone who will fly back and forth to the docks of the keep with the food from the bakery, and hopefully in the future, fresh fruit and vegetables as well.”

“Very well then,” your father smiles. “We will go forth with the ideas Princess Vaella has put forward. What is next?”

“The Stepstones are under threat again, your grace,” Jasper Wylde, master of law, says. “The pirates are taking root, and we must act as a matter of urgency.”

A sense of dread comes over you. “Many good knights died while defeating Craghas Drahar and his army. My king, you cannot allow this to happen again. Seasmoke and Varos are all familiar with the territory; I shall speak to Ser Laenor when I return home, and I will send a raven to my uncle.”

“Would you not fly out, yourself this time, princess?” The maester asks.

“Not while I’m with a child. Vhagar will most likely follow Caraxes, and hopefully the sight of the largest dragon in the world will be enough to sway anyone foolish enough to try and reclaim the stepstones for themselves.”

The council meeting continues until your father eventually ends it, after covering each subject brought up even though he didn’t seem fully satisfied with the solutions. Just as the lords were rising from their seats, a low rumbling came from outside, and a plume of fire was seen above.

“It’s Aegon returning on Sunfyre and Helaena on Dreamfyre!” Vaegon runs to the window and looks up. Excitedly, he asks, “Mother, may I go to the dragon pit?”

You wanted to say yes, knowing how disappointed he was when he never saw the other dragons when you arrived, but you didn’t feel it was safe for him to go alone, and the majority of the knights and you needed to speak to your father. “I’m afraid—”

“Forgive me, princess,” Ser Tyland says. “But I can escort my nephew to the dragonpit. I’ve been dying to see Nightmare and Ashwing.”

Ser Tyland looks genuinely intrigued as he walks to the door with your son. Just as the knight opens the door for them to leave, Alicent takes a gulp of wine and then asks, “Why those names?”

You weren’t sure who the question was directed at, but Vaegon answered. “I cannot recall why my brother chose that name for his dragon, your grace, but I named my dragon Nightmare because of Ser Harwin.”

Your breath catches in your throat.

“Ser Harwin?”

“Yes, your grace. My stepfather thought he was having a nightmare when he woke during the night and saw something black moving in my crib. He had never seen a baby dragon before and got a fright.”

You smile at the memory; it was one of the few times you’d ever seen Harwin look terrified. The look on his face when you insisted it was cute watching the dragon sleep beside your son and go back to bed was priceless. To you, it was normal, as you used to sleep with your dragon as a baby, but Harwin wasn’t convinced and spent the full night watching over the cribs, doing the same thing when Ashwing hatched.

The queen gives him a doubtful look. “Ser Harwin just happened to be checking on your nursery during the late hours of the night when your dragon hatched?”

“All my children sleep in my bedchambers until they have grown out of their cribs.” You look past her and smile at your son and Ser Tyland. “You better go now if you wish to catch your uncle and auntie before they leave the dragonpit.”

—

Your father makes small talk while the room is cleared, and when it is empty, he cuts straight to the point. “How are the king's hand and his son-in-law holding up?”

“They are both devastated. And I’m afraid Lord Lyonel might not recover from this, and you may need to find yourself a new hand.”

Visibly upset Your father sighs into his hand. “He is a loyal man, a good hand. Lord Lyonel will be difficult to replace.”

“I hope I’m wrong, and he does recover from this.”

“I thought he was no longer ill. The raven Rhaenyra sent suggested he was on the mend.”

“He is no longer physically ill, but mentally, I see him giving up. I hoped being around Harwin and his granddaughter would give him motivation, but he’s sinking deeper into depression.” You take a deep breath as the feeling of dread returns. “Father I… I saw the fire at Harrenhal in a dream years ago. That's why we never returned.”

His face crinkles with concern. “What? You never told me this before.”

“I saw my husband burning in the flames, screaming for his father. So I forbid Harwin from going back; that is why he and his father changed course and returned to Dragonstone. But the same night I had that vision, I had another. I believe it was a prophecy of some kind; on my Valyrian steel, it was written in our mother tongue that my son would be a bringer of blood and flames. I think there is war upon us.”

“Vaella…”

“I’ve been terrified all these years,” you admit. “I never told Harwin because I didn’t want to burden him; he loves those boys as if they were his own. He would gladly give them his house name. and I just never knew how to tell him. Every time I pray, I pray to see which son it is so I can change it and keep them safe.”

“Do you know when this war will start?”

“No, I don’t. This is why it’s so important that if Lord Lyonel doesn’t return to his post, you seek Corlys Velaryon to be your new hand. He is of our blood. He will help keep my children safe, as well as Jace, Luke, and Joff.”

“I think this is premature.”

You reach for his hand and say, “I believe there are vipers hiding amongst the grass, and we will most likely cut them off at the head before they can spread any more venom.”

“And what poison are you alluding to?”

Tears swell in your eyes; you could see it plain as day written on your father's face that he wants to listen to you. “Do not allow Otto Hightower to return to your council; this I beg of you. We spoke of crimes earlier, yet you haven’t addressed the crime of treason. What of those who call Rhaenyra’s sons bastards?”

He wipes your fallen tears away. “I will cut out the tongue of any man or woman who dares say such a thing.”

��

Walking down towards the dragonpit, you feel deflated, knowing your father was blinded by his devotion to his wife to see how the greens plotted against Rhaenyra. You speed up your steps as you smile politely to the lords and ladies you pass. The knight escorting you insisted you slow down; you just needed to leave the red keep.

When you reach the bottom of the staircase, you see Ser Tyland speaking with some other lords. You were confused as to how they made it to the Hill of Rhaenys and back so fast. “Ser Tyland?”

“Princess,” he says. “Prince Vaegon’s dragon is a lot larger than I believed. It must be true what they say about the magic in Dragonstone.”

“Did you travel to the dragonpit?” You ask, trying to catch sight of Vaegon.

“No, when we went outside to the courtyard, Nightmare was flying overhead, so we watched from there. A rare sight indeed.”

Nightmare usually comes and goes from the dragonpit in Dragonstone whenever she wants, so it was expected she’d do so in the keep. You quickly glance around and ask, “Where is my son?”

“With Prince Aegon. He returned shortly after we went outside and went off with him.”

“I just passed my brother in the hallway; my son was not with him.”

Your heart races as you frantically search for any sign of your missing son. Fear grips you like a vice, making it difficult to breathe as you call out for Vaegon. You rush through the different hallways, ignoring Ser Tyland as he calls after you. You feel this new terror could consume you until you spot the one knight in the keep you truly trust.

“Ser Harrold, Ser Harrold!”

He comes to an abrupt stop, as do the knights following behind him, “princess.”

“My son, Prince Vaegon, is missing.”

“You heard the princess; find the prince.” Ser Harrold waves a couple of ladies over. “See to it the princess is resting until we find the prince.”

—

You pace back and forth; fear and panic have a tight grip on your heart. You would not leave until he was found. Feeling a sudden heaviness, you sit with your head in your hands, rethinking your last conversation with Harwin before you leave.

“Stop,” you giggle, feeling your husband's hands roaming over your body. His hands move from your hips to cup your swollen breasts while kissing the back of your neck. “I’ll be leaving in a few minutes.”

“I can work with that,” he laughs.

“It will take more than ten just to remove my skirts,” you say, spinning around to face him. “I’m afraid you’ll need to wait until I return, and then we shall have all night.”

“Oh, it shall be a long wait.”

You peck at his lips and say, “But you’ll survive it.”

Since the night you first kissed Harwin, your desire for him has never ceased, nor has his for you. Over the years, you have become more obsessed with each other. Hearing footsteps approaching inside your rooms, you turn to face your son and ask, “Are you ready?”

He nods.

“Have a safe flight.” Harwin kisses you on the cheek, then goes over to Vaegon and pulls him in for a hug. “Be a good lad and look after your mother, eh?”

He nods again, but smiles this time and says, “I will.”

Your sweet, precious boy, you should never have let him out of your sight. You’d never forgive yourself if anything happened to him. When the door opens, your head snaps up and you look at the knight, whose face is still badly swollen and bruised from Harwin. “Ser Criston, has my son been found?”

“The prince has been located; he and princess Helaena are in Godswood.”

Tears fall as you get to your feet. You brush by Criston, and the other knights mumble a thank you before going to the godswood.

���

“My sweet boy!” You kiss your son on the head multiple times, trying your best not to cry again. “God be good; you had me so worried.”

“I’m sorry, mother; Princess Helaena wanted to show me her bug collection.” His eyes were full of regret. “I told Uncle Tyland I was going with her into the godswood; I thought it would be okay.”

Bloody Tyland.

“You didn’t do anything wrong, my sweet,” you sigh. “I just didn’t know where you went and got a fright.”

You look around, surprised that there aren’t any knights nearby. You watch your younger sister, who was happily sitting on the roots of the tree, playing without bugs, and smile softly. “Helaena, don’t you have a sworn protector?”

She doesn’t answer you because she's caught up in what she’s doing. You were desperate to leave, but don’t feel comfortable leaving Helaena alone outside. You place your hand on her shoulder and ask, “Sister, did a knight come out here with you?”

The young girl flinches at your touch. Tilting her head up, she says, “He’ll always fly but never run again.”

“Okay…”

“Three rivers; three dragon heads; weaving the colors of blue, red, green, black, and white. But no, he will never run again.”

—

The adrenaline from fear and panic was still fresh when you stepped into the great hall. Food was still being brought to the high table, and your family was still sitting around it. When you got closer, you noticed Rhaenyra and your cousin's absence. But Jacaerys and Lucerys were sitting with Aerion and Ada.

You motion for your son to go join his siblings, then look to Harwin. “Are my sister and Laenor not joining us?”

Harwin wraps his arms around you in a comforting embrace. He kisses the crown of your bed; his touch offers a small measure of solace amidst the overwhelming feeling that something terrible has happened.

“Harwin?”

He whispers into your ear so that the children don’t hear. “Rhaenyra is trying to console Ser Laenor. A raven arrived from Pentos.”

“Daemon?”

“I’m afraid Lady Laena has died during childbirth.”

[gojos-thot-patrol]

Now Loading...

Some more supplementary material for the Frat Boy! Au, this time starring blorbo of the hour: Kento Nanami

Because he’s been heavy on my mind. Starting with his basic info!

Nanami grew up very middle class, not as poor as Suguru or Ryomen, but nowhere near as well off as Satoru.

He’s a business major not because he wants to, but because he feels he has too. If he had it his way, he would be a culinary student. But according to his father, there's no money in being a line cook, so accounting it is. 

Still, he hopes to use his degree to open his own restaurant one day. His father would never approve of a line cook for a son, but maybe Nanami could sell him on a business owner for a son. 

He says the main reason he joined the ABO frat was to try and make business connections, he knew that some people would hire one applicant over another just because they were alumni of the same fraternity. In reality though, he’d have more room in the frat and unlimited access to the kitchen. 

His room is full of plants. Plants of all kinds everywhere, including some herbs. It used to kinda annoy Ryomen (his roommate) but, he’s grown to actually kinda appreciate it. It makes the room feel less dead. 

Phenomenal cook who can not bake to save his life. Cooking is an art but baking is a science and somewhere along the way he fucks it up every time. Be it mixing the batter too much or too little, not letting it sit long enough or letting it sit too long- he doesn't know. He can handle box cake mix that’s about it. 

Now if you want a steak cooked to perfection with perfectly roasted veggies and the creamiest mashed potatoes you've ever put in your mouth on the side he’s you’re guy. If you want an authentic lasagna with homemade everything including the noodles and sauce, he can do that for you. Do not ask him to make bread. 

He’s also insanely good at fighting games. Every version of Nanami in my heart is a God when it comes to fighting games, there is not a universe in which Nanami exists where he doesn’t dominate at Tekken, argue with the wall if you don’t agree.

Adding to that, he’s also in love with D&D. He’s a forever DM that spends hours of time planning campaigns, hours he should be spending on his school work but shhhh. If you really want to make him swoon, offer to let him be a player in a campaign. He’d pull out a ring on the spot. 

That being said, I think it’s time to get into some relationship headcanons ;)

HE’S A TSUNDERE! Look at that man, he has such big Tsundere energy.

Out of all his frat brothers, Nanami is probably the one that gets laid the least. Not from a lack of opportunity, nay nay, women (and men) throw themselves at him all the time. He’s just picky and not a fan of being touched by stragers. 

You though? You’re different (of course you are, you’re the main character!) The two of you really started to click after you had to work on a pretty big project together. Little things you did softened his heart for you.

Small things like asking him more about his D&D campaign plans, excitedly showing him pictures of the plants that you kept in your dorm, and offering to help him out in the kitchen. Little moments of quality time and tenderness while you were working on this project together nurtured his small crush into full blown butterflies when you were around.

He finally admitted to himself he was in love with you when you beat him in Street Fighter. He wasn’t used to losing at fighting games. You bragged about using his tips against him (you listened to what he said) and laughed about the weeks you spent training to destroy him (otherwise known as taking a genuine interest in his hobbies.) 

He asked you out on a date that night and you were taken completely off guard! You had no idea the fool even liked you! He was cold on the best of days, spending more time scowling at his notebooks than listening to what you said (or so you thought.) He never contacted you unless it was in regards to your project, and most of the time you spent hanging out outside of it was just because you had become friends with his frat brothers and happened to be at the house. You mean he liked you?! 

Of course you said yes, if for no other reason than to see where the hell this goes. You were 40% sure it was a prank, but hey- a free meal was a free meal. It helped he was hot as hell, what was the harm in one date?

You saw a whole new side of Kento Nanami that night. He was warm and attentive, and fucking hilarious when he wasn’t just keeping all of his jokes to himself. 

It was a simple date. A moonlit picnic in the nearby park, one where he brought his laptop and used his phone hotspot so the two of you could watch movies together. 

That was the night when you found out Kento Nanami considered himself to be a hopeless romantic. 

When he took you back to your dorm, he walked you to the door and actually asked if he could kiss you goodnight. 

And now you’re both smitten! 

Once you’re officially his girlfriend, You’re gonna find out he’s genuinely pretty chill. Happy to give you your space and recognize you’re a person outside of your relationship. That being said, let some asshole start getting a little too comfortable with you at a part and he’s quick to throw hands.

You would think nerdy little Nanami wasn’t that good in a fight, but nay nay, he was forced to play football in highschool and will leave a bastard concussed. 

He says he’s not a cuddler, but every time you sleep in his bed you wake up with him cuddled close to you. 

Nanami loves kisses, and is always planting them on you when you’re in kissing range. Your lips, cheeks, forehead, everything is fair game. 

You’re the only person in the world other than like, his parents that can call him Kento. He’s always gone by his last name, to the point that his first name makes him feel like he’s in trouble. Only authority figures use it when they’re pissed off at him. But it hits him different when it comes from your lips. When you say it, it feels tender and intimate. It’s the closest he gets to liking his name.

He always tries to make time for you and your relationship. Even if that sometimes means that your date nights are just study dates, he always strives to make you feel like a priority. 

He’s a soft guy that falls in love easily. You may not know it yet, but he has full intentions to marry you after graduation. A fact his frat brothers are quick to tease him about, while also making him promise to make them groomsmen. 

[blazinghotfoggynights]

I promised to share my vote after the poll closed.

If you want to see the poll, you can view it here.

Here is my headcanon:

Eddie will go to a therapist that is not Frank. That therapist will help him figure out he is attracted to men. Eddie will deny that he is only attracted to men, in some misguided, religious guilt fueled attempt to retain some semblance of attraction to women. I don't know if he's bi or gay, but the only way Eddie makes sense, imho, is when you view him as repressing an attraction to males.

Eddie will bust out the closet so hard it will explode into tiny little shards of glass. (That only way that closet could be more transparent is if he used Windex to remove any smudges.)

Anyway...Eddie secretly explores what he thinks being attracted to men means. He goes to gay bars. He may even kiss a guy or two. I would go so far as to say he gives and receives lip service and helping hands. But he can't take that final step. He doesn't know why. He chalks it up to needing to be in love to do that. (That poor, technologically challenged man won't do the sensible thing and consult a search engine. 🙄 He could go somewhere with even better information, firsthand accounts, and endless wit. (Hint: We're there right now.)

But, one of his playmates worked a finger in while trying to convince Eddie to give up the goods. Eddie declined, but the introduction to his prostate left a lasting impression. He began with fingers. Then he found a discreet store online. With an empty house, son still halfway across the country and Buck with ... a distraction, Eddie has a lot of time on his hands.

He has a lot of toys in his footlocker, too.

Cue the distraction disappearing, Buck being single, those two finally getting a damn clue, and Buck insisting he will have to bottom first because even some women had issues taking him.

Eddie, always an overachiever and someone who refuses to be told he can't do something, rolls his eyes, opens his treasure chest, points to the impressively large items and tells Buck they're his favorite.

Hours later, Eddie is limping, Buck is looking smug af, and Buddie fandom is having a collective meltdown.

The End

[patrochillesvibes]

Hey so i remember coming across a post which says that TSOA's patroclus is not too different from the og illiad one. Is that true?/genq

First, I want my readers to go read Lolita by Vladimir Nabokov. When you’re done, come back to this post and read under the cut.

Great! Now having read over 350 pages of a pedophile who lusts after prepubescent girls and tries to explain how his love of them was pure and consensual, I’m assuming you now understand the concept of an unreliable narrator. If you don’t and believe Humbert Humbert at face value, consider killing yourself. The world doesn’t need anymore pedophile apologists.

For the rest of you still alive, keep reading.

Point 1

Patroclus is, at his core, an unreliable narrator.

How do we know this?

The ending scene is Thetis visiting Patroclus and asking him to share memories of her son, Achilles. Being a goddess, she cannot visit her son in the Underworld. She only has his memory to comfort her in his grief over his death. Patroclus, is one of the last people alive she can share memories with.

Thus, the actual book, The Song of Achilles itself, is Patroclus sharing his memories with Thetis.

Now, consider a loved one of yours who has passed away. Got a person in mind? Great. Now I want you to think about them. And also consider the last time you exchanged memories about them. Mostly good memories came to mind, right? Perhaps you skipped over their flaws or reworked them in your grieving mind as having been not so bad? Many cultures have superstitions and cultural/religious practices about being nice to the dead, so I’m not surprised that you only thought of good things.

(But honestly, a loved one doesn't need to be dead for people to wear rose colored glasses and miss red flags and excuse bad behavior etc. It's called bias, sweeties.)

My point? Patroclus told Thetis mainly good things about her son including even embellishing a little. It’s in our grieving nature to do this.

This is why you can’t trust Patroclus.

Patroclus, for a variety of speculative reasons that I don’t want to get into here, will tell you he is ugly, weak, stupid, and a poor soldier. He will tell you he was always respectful of women and didn’t believe in war. He will paint himself as innocent of war crimes. And he will do all of this looking you directly in the eye.

You cannot trust this self-image.

Patroclus has very little screen time in the Iliad itself. We get even less insight into his internal thoughts and motivations.

Because TSoA Patroclus is unreliable at best and we know very little about Iliad Patroclus, it is unfair to say there are exclusively two separate characters and incompatible. It is unfair and even ignorant (from lack of anything below a surface reading of the text) to say that TSoA Patroclus is “out of character.”

Point 2

I have a second point as to why I think TSoA Patroclus and Iliad Patroclus can be read as the same. The majority of Antis hate Patroclus because “MM made him a women.” Here’s a collage I made of quotes from some of the Antis.

Now, why on earth is Pataroclus considered a woman? Or in some cases a related degrading term, twink?

Let’s see...

He wants to be a doctor instead of a soldier.

He is anti-war.

He is soft and emotional about his love for Achilles, even deigning to cry.

All thing are more associated with female characters.

Why? Toxic Masculinity.

It is not masculine to cry. It is not masculine to deeply love your partner. It is not masculine to want to not fight in a war. It is not masculine to have low self-esteem and lack confidence. These things are all unnatural and abnormal for a MAN™ to feel, especially soldiers.

So when you read The Song of Achilles and your takeaway is “Patroclus is a twink” or "Patroclus is a woman/Achilles' wife/Achilles' bitch," you are reinforcing gender stereotypes and gender roles. Nice work 👍

I pity people who have this sexist take on men.

Side Comment

Many patrochilles fans see the main patrochilles works (The Iliad, TsoA, Hades Game) as interconnected. TSoA is the story of the life of Patroclus and Achilles before the war. The Iliad follows and specifically tells the tale of the 9th year of the war. Hades Game picks up after their deaths.

But at the end of the day, your Patroclus hc is whatever you want it to be. You also don't have to like any of the patrochilles media out there. I myself FUCKING LOATH The Iliad. But please don't bring your racist and toxic takes into your defense. If you don't like a thing, just say 'I don't like it' full stop and move on.

[dontforgetukraine]

A “little man” is the alpha and omega of the “great russian culture.” A little, despicable, cowardly, uncomplaining, gray, voiceless someone. Whatever and wherever they are, their ability to act is non-existent. A burly, deaf and mute Gerasim obediently drowns the only soul that loves him. Looking into his dog’s eyes, he wraps a rope around a brick, makes a loop, and ties it round his neck… He betrays his dog and kills him. He could have taken him somewhere, sold him or given him away. He could have tied the dog to a tree in the forest and visited him every day, feeding and loving him. But no. Gerasim is a little man. He is too weak to resist the circumstances. But he is strong enough to kill. A “trembling creature,” Raskolnikov decided to measure his largess and height with murder. A murder out of curiosity. He is a little man who believes that he has to kill another person to grow bigger. A little man is an unknown soldier, a nameless hero, a missing warrior. Their name is legion. And they don’t have a name, at the same time, being fused together into the body of a machine that either devours or kills. For many decades, the “great russian culture” has been trying to make the world choke on its tears over the destiny of people who trembled with fear, doubt, and helplessness and committed crimes, unable to resist them.   When the war broke out, my older children’s landlords called them and said, “Well, now that this happened, you can pay only for utilities, if you can afford it. It’s alright if you don’t pay the rent. We’re good people, after all.” I wouldn’t call them good people before the war. The landlords, a mother and daughter, were “half-Vatniks.” * Lots of people like them lived in Kyiv back in the day. Their opinion about what moscovia did in 2014 fit the pattern of “it’s not so straightforward,” “we’re brotherly nations, after all,” and “we have no power over anything.” I am not sure if their opinion has changed now that the “brotherly nation” is skinning people alive out of curiosity or helplessness. I hope it has. But even if it hasn’t. They called us to clarify what kind of people they were. Between the “little” (those who don’t decide anything) and the “good” (those capable of doing something), they chose the latter. Ever since the war started, I have been using the crime series — about riot squads, police departments, and private detectives — as my sleeping pills. They lull me into confidence that good really wins over evil. They drew my attention to the fact that even the most cruel maniacs put the guns down; the filthiest bastards willingly cooperate with the investigation; and the most corrupt police officers admit their treason and often shield their colleagues from bullets to remain — at least for a little bit — good people. “Are you a good person?” — this question, a key one in the negotiations with the criminals, creates a completely different mirror in which the civilization is looking. Not a nameless soldier, but Private Ryan who has to be saved, for he is his mother’s sole surviving son. “Am I a good person?” is a question that teenagers and seniors, the rich and the poor, men and women keep asking. What’s more, even zombies from apocalyptic movies say, “I’m a good person,” refusing to bite a child. This is the difference. The war between “the little” and “the good.” The ruthless, cruel, mindless, unscrupulous, filthy little people — and the good people. If the civilization shaped around the question “Am I a good person?” loses, Gerasim will consistently drown dogs, and Raskolnikov will methodically kill old people. A new Z-swastika, sanctified by the “great russian culture,” will leave no chance for anything human. Anywhere in the world. White Fang will never find its Weedon Scott, and Private Ryan will be buried, unrecognized, in a mass grave.

From the flash essay "Olena Stiazhkina: Kyiv. March 23" from the collection “Wars. Ukrainians. Humanity”.

Source: Oksana Stomina, Olena Stiazhkina, Taras Prokhasko, Valerii Pekar, Mychailo Wynnyckyj — March 22-26, 2022

[butmog]

hello good day im here to ask abt the mcr au

YES YES HELLO YES!!!!

APOLOGIES IN ADVANCE FOR HOW MUCH YAPPING THIS IS, ALL OF THE PARENTHESIS I USE TO EXPLAIN SIDE THINGS, AND THE POOR GRAMMAR THIS HAS LOL.

ALSO warnings!!! - Forced prostitution (and murder that isint violently described or anything. Just a lot of people dying)

ALSO ALSO i talk about the forced prostitution in a casual manner, but obviously, none of that is casual and shouldnt be taken lightly. I talk about it in such a way, as i am still processing my own sexual trauma (which was absolutely not to the degree of forced sex work), and its just how i cope or however you want to call it.

Anyways, if you want to read this mess, please enjoy below the cut!

Okay. Listen. I have to explain the Kabaret Sybarit lore before i get into the MCR / suprise mystery other band. There is so much shit going on in these 2 goddamn albums. Im just gonna get into this. So like i said, everything takes place in the Kabaret Sybarit (KS) universe/story the sister albums set up (The Poodle/ The Grand Finale), where a woman (who is reffered to in like 3 different ways, Honey, Kirsten, and The Poodle. Im going to just call her Honey, even though she usually isint called that. Just for my sanity.) leaves behind her life in Germany and immigrates to a city in France called (The) Sybaris, likely to look for work. This backfires on her almost immediately, she cant find any jobs and ends up getting hooked into a burlesque troupe, which is actually a front for a woman named Madame Marcelle to force her and 3 others to do sex work for her profit. Pretty much all that needs to be known about Madame Marcelle is that shes a fucking asshole, that she treats the women she uses like shit (as expected), her husband (reffered to as The Rubber Man) mostly covers the cabaret part of things (and he gets killed by Marcelle because why not), and she's in debt to a guy simply reffered to as the Elephant Man. Anyways, Honey gets romantically involved with a lot of people during her time in the troupe, the first being Cherry. Cherry is actually such an airheaded sweetheart and deserves the whole world. Best KS character. Anyways, sorry for the sidetracking, let me get into everything going on with her. Honey and Cherry meet while working for Marcelle, obviously. They end up being either friends with benefits or partners. They're awesome. They fuck crazy style while talking about life and whatnot. Anyways, during all of this Cherry has a (SHITTY ASS) boyfriend named Jaques who really only used Cherry for sex. And then Honey is also involved with the Elephant man. His part in the story isint as important, they end sleeping together behind everyone's backs. Madame Marcelle finds out and is understandably not very happy about it. And she just fucking kills Honey because we cannot have a liability in the traveling burlesque prostitute troupe.

Thats essentially all of the important stuff. Other things that happen in canon that i thought i should mention just because they're insane:

-Honey, Cherry, and the other 2 women (Sally and Sugar) have an orgy in front of a crowd of men because Madame Marcelle told them to

- After Madame Marcelle kills the rubber man she stitches him back together for no apparent reason

- Madame Marcelle also killed the Elephant Man so she didnt have to pay him back. Valid tbh.

- Honey has a son who she just left in germany (a lyric in one of the songs: Honey fled her past, the boy grew up without a mother)

- the cabaret front is literally just called the Kabaret. So creative, thank you people behind KS

And thats pretty much the story of KS. Now what in the world does this have to do with MCR? Im SO GLAD you asked and then patiently waited for me to explain an unrelated band's lore! The AU i thought up was the MCR (and some of the FOB members) as the KS characters. Essentially i thought of it as follows:

Gerard - Honey

Frank - Cherry

Ray - The Elephant Man

Mikey - Madame Marcelle

Pete - The Rubber Man (Madame Marcelle's husband)

(Then just whatever the fuck else for the other FOB members, i didnt think it through too much)

Essentially whatever can be done with the idea. The guys are gals to fit into the story better? Hell yeah! You switch around the guys' parts in the story? I fw that! The real only rule of thumb is that one of the Way siblings HAS to be Madame Marcelle, as to prevent waycest. Waycest is icky asf.

AND THATS PRETTY MUCH IT!!!! Ive been referring to the au in my mind as My Kabaret Romance but thats whatever. Im also working on drawing the guys in the au as well so look out for that, even though i might just not do it.

[gizkasparadise]

What is the worst, most technically inept drama that you secretly love? Tell us of the best badgood drama, the clunkiest dialogue, the most inexplicable casting, the hideously costumed yet most fun dramas, please.

🫥Anonymously yours🫥,

💜Purplehanfu😈💜🍇👾

dear complete stranger (<3),

man i love badgood dramas so much!!! i chose ones that are flatout objectively not good, but i was glued for them all. here's a few that are jumping out

triad princess (taiwan). it ends on a cliffhanger that will never be continued, the relationship building is non-existent, jasper liu basically plays himself yet still acts like he's doing a community service project, but omg it's cute and hit all the right notes for me. fave bonus is that one of the gangster henchmen falls in love with the FL's best friend, a shy boy who works at a mart and makes youtube covers

hold on, my lady (chinese). a bandit is offered a choice when she's caught during a heist: be executed or marry this aloof but beautiful but delicate son of the general. she chooses the latter, and hijinks ensue. made on a budget of pocket lint and just wacky, im going to rewatch this today, actually. fave bonus moment: the FL falls dramatically down and the ML breaks both his arms instantly when he tries to catch her

thumping spike & thumping spike 2 (korean). the two are barely related, but both deal with a competitive men's volleyball team! thumping spike 1 is about a washed up competitive female player going to coach a high school team to glory (just dont...think too critically about the age difference, there) and the second is COLLEGE EDITION with a love quadrangle between two identical twins, one of whom is a cheerleader for the team, the ace volleyball player who's too cool for school, and the WILDCARD volleyball player who gets mad when people call him gorilla. the second one is definitely worse than the first one, but neither are bringing home awards. i still watched them both in one sitting.

my heart twinkle twinkle (korean). this show is actually insane and a parade of toxic that i can never, in good conscience, ever rec to anyone. but gd did i watch the whole fucking thing. look at this fucking poster. this fucking poster looks like it was doused by a fake snow machine.

premise: Noble But Poor family has 3 daughters: the eldest, who is the caretaker; the middle who is Aloof and Ambitious; and the youngest who is A Fucking Menace. they are lead by their single father, who owns a fried chicken store

Rich but Dysfunctional family also has 3 children: the eldest, who is the only son and a fucking piece of work, the middle who is school colleagues with the other family's middle daughter and a hot mess who loves Da Club, and the youngest, who is clingy and gets into a ton of fights with the other family's youngest but is otherwise ok. they run AN EVIL FRIED CHICKEN FRANCHISE that is poisoning people through subpar ingredients!!

there's so much that's so wrong with this, im going to bullet point it from another post i made:

the entire premise is that there’s a fried chicken restaurant rivalry between two families but somehow there’s murder and slush funds and this guy who owns a string of fried chicken franchises named after himself (yeah) has direct access to seoul’s police commissioner at any given moment

one of the main actresses was involved in a scandal a little over halfway through production so they just….vanish her character/entire plotline like it never happened

the main male lead is toxic personified. him and li chengyin from goodbye my princess could co-author a dating strategy/forced-marriage-after-you-kill-your-girlfriend’s-head-of-household book because jesus christ. he literally screams that he hates women and he ends the drama (rightfully!!) in fucking prison

the second female lead disappears/creates a new identity and becomes a chicken chef student of the world. shes later in a love triangle between a single dad chicken shop interior designer and another vanilla guy

that's right, one guy’s job is he’s an architect for chicken restaurant interiors i cant

the main male lead leaves the main female lead’s father to die in a chicken-coop-themed arsony and then cha-cha slides into the son-in-law’s role during the father’s funeral and later MARRIES the female lead

the main male lead tells the female lead’s father’s grave that HE WON AND DAD LOST because the male lead is standing and the father’s in the dirt?!

a friend/almost!love interest of the second female lead dies tragically in a chicken delivery motorcycle chase????

it's the worst drama i've ever seen. i watched all of it.

kakafukaka (japanese)

this one is so gd weird and unappealing it somehow circled back around and became off-puttingly charming to me? so the premise is that there's a 20something year old woman whose life has gone to shit and she ends up in a sharehome with the most sexually dysfunctional bunch of people in the world. one of these is her ex, who tells her that she's the only one he can get a boner with (yeah) and asks her to help him get over his impotence in order to write his novel (yeah). if you read the whole show as kind of an exploration into sex without romance/love, it's as not bad, and there's something weirdly endearing about everyone--i really love the second female lead akari in particular. but it's not a good show, not by a long shot (MDL rating? 6.6), and the ship is dysfunctional at the very best. the ost somehow is great though?

speaking of trash dramas with great OSTs, love in sadness has some of my favorite songs:

okay that's enough for now!!!!

[knightofpisces]

"love is the beauty of the soul"

tfem!thoma x ayato

in which thoma has always longed for something he's never been allowed to indulge, and ayato is the one to heal his battered heart.

. . . hurt/comfort, angst, fluff, transphobia

Thoma wanted to be beautiful from the day he was born.

He was born to be beautiful, actually. Thoma was born the prettiest little boy the small Mondstadtian town had ever seen. Really, he was the local miracle–a little bundle of joy and with bright green eyes that made your heart stop. When he looked at you, you were blessed. When he smiled at you, all your troubles went away. Everyone wanted a chance to see the little blonde missile, whose tiny feet stumbled wildly through the tall grasses of Windrise, chasing after crystalflies and Barbatos knows what else.

The day he got his first haircut, he cried. Oh, he cried and cried. He looked in the mirror and positively broke down into tiny little sobs, blubbering about how he couldn’t be the princess anymore when he played knights with his friends in the square. Thoma’s father, on the other hand, said ‘good riddance’ to that and never let him grow it out again. No son of his would be parading around as some damsel in distress. 

All Thoma could remember was running all the way up to the chapel with some clippings of his hair and breaking down in front of Barbatos’ statue until Diluc came skidding around the corner. He nearly lost his bearings. Diluc was one of the older boys he was friends with, his senior only by a year or two, and they usually played knights with his little brother, Kaeya.

Diluc knelt by his side for a few minutes, trying to make sense of things before Thoma forced his words out through itty bitty hiccups and gasps. Diluc still couldn’t seem to understand what the younger boy’s fit was about. 

“I think that’s a good thing, isn’t it?” Diluc asked honestly. “You don’t have to be the princess anymore.”

Thoma just stood up quietly, brushed himself off, wiped his eyes, and left. His own strands of hair fell loose from his palm, drifting gently into the wind. He would never forget those words. If Diluc and his father said it, then they were probably right. He didn’t have to be the princess anymore, and that was a good thing.

It was a good thing, so why did it make him so sad? Why did it crush his little heart? Was it so wrong to want to be the princess?

It was, and Thoma wouldn’t indulge himself like that again for a long time to come. 

The blonde grew older, and as he did, so did his beauty. Women swooned, as did men, and the steps outside his front door were always filled with gifts of love, much to his parents’ dismay. He would always be the town’s little miracle, even as the times seemed to change, even more so when tensions between his mother and father grew tumultuous. 

Their split happened on a normal Tuesday, Thoma holed up in his room sorting herbs from his satchel, planning to go sell them at the market, when his father mounted the stairs. A few simple words, as if he were merely announcing tonight’s dinner plans, and that was that. He was leaving. He was taking his things and returning to Inazuma in a week, and Thoma was to stay home with his mother. 

Thoma asked why, of course. He stood up and stumbled down the stairs after him just to try and wrap his head around what the hell was happening. He was barely a teenager, after all. What was he expected to do when the man of the house left?

“Why not take me?”

The words slipped out, and Thoma’s father only looked at him with contempt. 

“I will not live in a house with that woman, and I will not live in a house with a son who thinks he’s my daughter.”

The words utterly blindsided the poor, confused boy. A son who thinks he’s his daughter? Thoma just stood there frozen as his father turned on his heels and left.

But why?

How?

Thoma had been so-.. so good. So why was his father saying these awful things? Thoma wasn’t a girl, he would never be a girl, he would never want something like that. It was wrong, it was insulting, but why did it hurt his heart so much? Thoma really had been good. He hadn’t wished to be a princess in a long time. He dreamt about it, sure, he thought about it, but he would never want something so… utterly ridiculous.

Boys shouldn’t want to be girls.

Thoma didn’t want to be a girl.

So why would his father ever say that?

Why was it his fault as much as his mother’s?

Thoma thought about it for a long time. News traveled fast in the small town, and it was almost like the townspeople knew of his father’s departure before he did. The boy’s chest felt heavy for a long time, though his mother seemed to shine brighter than ever. It was like a side of her he’d never seen, one weightless and free from restraint. Thoma, on the other hand, tried to forget about it all. He was admired there, he had a life, he had his friends, he had his mother. Why would he dwell on something so baseless his father said in a fit of anger? Something so stupid? Just thinking about indulging himself–about being that beautiful princess–had driven his own family away. Why was it so wrong? Why was even just thinking about wanting something so taboo?

Thoma had washed himself up on an Inazuman beach trying to find answers. A wrecked rowboat, bloody face, spinning head, and it was some kind of blessing from the archons he’d made it there alive. It was definitely one of the lower points in his life; eyes bleary and burning with salt, breaths labored by his waterlogged chest. He barely made it halfway up the hill to Kamisato Estate before his vision went spotty and he passed out in the sand. 

Thus began a friendship with a kind man, one insistent on nursing him back to health, on finding his father, on satisfying his every need. And when he couldn’t do that, he offered him a job.

Kamisato Ayato was a kind man. He was a man in possession of the same kind of beauty Mondstadtian townspeople fussed over for years. He carried himself with grace, with vigor, and a certain type of kindness Thoma yearned to witness every day for the rest of his life. Over time, Kamisato Ayato made him feel… beautiful.

And beauty was a terrifying, terrifying thing. 

Whenever Ayato neared, he clammed up. He dismissed himself, made excuses not to see him, only cleaned and tidied his room when he knew the other was out on business. He went out of his way to avoid him every day for weeks until the Kamisato couldn’t stand it. Oh, he could strangle his housekeeper for being such a slippery little weasel. It was impossible to find him, even harder to pin him down, and it was driving the man insane. 

Thoma felt like he was being driven insane by Ayato in turn. Ayato spurred on awful thoughts that made him utterly restless; awful thoughts he could never, ever indulge himself in. Ayato made him feel pretty, made him feel safe, made him feel like some princess saved by her knight in shining armor, and it made his skin crawl. Thoma couldn’t choke back those thoughts when he was around the other man. He wanted to be pretty, wanted to be beautiful, wanted to be his gorgeous princess and never leave his side. All were thoughts that instilled him with fearful nausea. Every time they spoke he felt less and less self control.

Ayato couldn’t box Thoma in until he accidentally walked in on the housekeeper in one of Ayaka’s pretty dresses. Thoma hadn’t seen him at first. Ayato was standing frozen stiff in the doorway, and he couldn’t even will himself to breathe. The sight in front of him was so… gorgeous. The long, deep red dress was an uncharacteristic style for Ayaka, but it fit Thoma’s tall, slender frame so perfectly Ayato could cry. He wanted to say something, to reach out and touch, but he didn’t want to ruin the moment. He didn’t want to scare Thoma away before he inevitably spotted him watching like a creep. 

Thoma felt so at home in that dress. Every time he so sneakily put it on he felt like his heart was mended and stitched back into his chest. He just felt so… real, so pretty, and he hated himself for it more than anything. When he finally turned and saw Ayato standing there, it was like his entire world shattered. Oh, Archons, he wanted to lay down and die right at that moment. He felt defensive, like a caged animal, and he tried to stop himself from tearing up. Fuck, it was awful. He would be kicked out, wouldn’t he? Wearing his sister’s clothes and enjoying it like some freak? He opened his mouth to say something, anything, but nothing came out.

Ayato saw his silent, pleading expression, and he couldn’t even think to feel bad about what he had seen. He just stepped forward, reached, rested his hand on Thoma’s shoulder, not even hesitating when he flinched back.

“You look beautiful.”

He said breathlessly; something Thoma would never forget, but this time for good reason.

Ayato spoke those words and his eyes shot up, searching his face for any hint of hatred, any signs of disgust or resentment. Nothing. None at all. Just… pure love, reverence, like he couldn’t believe the perfect sight in front of him. Thoma felt his shoulders slouch and his body slump forward, body instinctively relaxing like he knew Ayato would be there to catch him. He was. Ayato’s palm found his cheek, his other arm wrapping around his waist as he drew the other’s trembling body close.

“I mean it, Thoma. You’re the most breathtaking princess I’ve ever laid eyes on.”

The Kamisato whispered, and Thoma just broke. His face scrunched up like he was desperately trying to will something back before he leaned against him and broke down into teary sobs. Ayato made him feel so pretty. Ayato made him feel so seen and loved it hurt.

If Ayato was here holding him, whispering sweet nothings, kissing his head, holding his face, maybe it wasn’t so wrong. 

Maybe it was okay to be beautiful.

[leuke-rants]

How different are the four heroes in my AU vs my rewrite:

Motoyasu (Rewrite):

- A social butterfly who loves to hang out

- Trusts women more than men

- Still in university and a linguistics major

- Has a complicated relationship with his mother and doesn't really like his father

- Hates making people upset and can be a pushover

- Not the sharpest tool in the shed but not dumb either

Motoyasu (AU):

- Traumatized AF

- Dropped out of university and works at his parents tailor shop

- The only woman he trusts is his mother

- An introvert who doesn't talk to his friends anymore

- Is way smarter and won't take anyone's shit

- An insomanic who runs on black coffee

- Can be very sarcastic at times

- Hides his face (especially from women)

Naofumi ( Rewrite):

- Pretty chill

- Still, he will go ape shit if you wrong him

- Loves his little brother and is doting on him like crazy

- Cannot talk to a girl without making a fool of himself

- Has an ok relationship with his parents

- Wants to follow his father's footsteps and become a trader

- Can control his anger just fine

Naofumi (AU):

- Angry boi

- Will wreck your shit if you piss him off

- Cares about his little brother but more in a "tough love" way

- Doesn't really like his parents but doesn't hate them either

- More rebellious and questioning towards authority figures

- Is more interested in computers than in trading

- Works a part time job as a delivery man

- Talks to girls just fine, though he is still awkward

- Sass machine

Ren (Rewrite):

- Introvert

- Hates people and going out

- Doesn't want any friends and is cold to everyone

- Loves his parents but they don't seem to understand him very well

- Gaming master

- Pretends to be cool even though he knows he isn't

- Pretty good grades

- Will give you the death stare if you look at him for too long

- Game and anime nerd

Ren (AU):

- Has social anxiety and is very shy

- Was homeschooled when he was younger because of this

- Wants to have friends but finds it difficult

- Also traumatized af

- Became homeschooled again after the "incident"

- Has a great relationship with his parents and they try their best to help their son

- Really low self esteem

- Tries to pretend that everything is fine and move on (it doesn't go well)

- Still a gaming master and a nerd

Itsuki (Rewrite):

- Hero complex

- Can be irrational at times

- Also has self esteem issues

- Lives in a poor apartment complex where everyone knows eachother and act as a community

- Has a lot of hands me downs from the older kids

- Has average grades

- Archery is his passion and uses it as a means to gain money from competitions to help his mom out

- Unintentionally rude sometimes

Itsuki (AU):

- Rich bitch cause daddy is a lawyer

- Obsessed with justice after what happened to his father

- Is easier to anger but knows how to keep his cool

- Wants to become a lawyer

-Still average grades though

- Goes to a private school

- What's with this sassy lost child

- Archery is still his passion

- Can come off as snobbish sometimes

- Is way more cautious and calculating

- Cares about appearances

- Is a great actor.

That's all for now. If you have any questions feel free to ask and I'll answer them to the best of my abilities.

[jewishregulus]

hold on because your thing with alecto carrow & the carrow twins……… you really did something there

listen okay i could go so crazy about them . i have so much lore trapped away in my brain . but i am going to summarize so fast and quick bc they drive me crazy….

general info abt both of them : they r born in japan bc the carrow family moves there post grindlewald and their mom dies and when she dies they move back to the england but they r poor af after everything so pureblood society looks down on them for being traitors. cue them fighting the entire wizaridng war to be given respect and seen as a genuine member of the sacred 28 and using intimidation and violence to do so… a if i cannot be better than them i will be so much worse moment . their dad is normal and loves them very much they just choose to be evil like that. their mom was a sweet angel also and everyday i cry over her even tho i invented her to be dead . whatever

alecto has a weird misandrist complex in which she hates men but is also performing for them all the time , a man hating lesbian who also can’t escape using the patriarchy to validate her skills and ambition. she loves spiders bc they are matriarchal . she bases her worth off of how well she appeals to others and has so her whole life to the point she barely has a sense of self . she wants to kiss lily evans on the mouth and she worships her like an absolute angel it’s serious and vicious . the few scraps of herself she has left are all about knowledge. she is obsessed w language and translation and tries to learn literally any language she can ever . despite this she still can’t give herself a voice . she wants barty crouch jr dead for the crime of being a man and a degenerate which like fair of her . evan n reg r chill tho bc game respects game . i think if she got the chance to explore Life she’d actually choose to become a teacher like voldemort Made her become , but she would be actually pretty good tbh. her and barty regularly brawl in the teachers lounge. alecto kicks his ass. in the modern college au in my head they are regrettably roommates and each conversation they have sets gay lesbian solidarity back 15 years . alecto is studying classics and women’s studies as a minor …. ik feminism is a big part of her character but chat do not reduce her to this u don’t get it … she has a deep connection to lady macbeth and the movie the handmaids tale . here is her vibe :

and amycus is his mothers son who does whatever alecto wants him to bc he just wants to be by her side. they are so aggressively co dependent . he is obsessed w magical plants and herbology and his favorite thing in the world is a magical venus flytrap he keeps in his dorm that evan keeps putting random drops of blood into the mouth of . his dream career would probably be using magical plants to make new medicines n poisons n such . hogwarts resident weed dealer . therefore he n barty r actually chill . he just misses his mom like so much 😭 he is consistently in morning over the life he could have had . he’s pretty good friends w everyone he’s not like a loner but he is lonely deep in his chest…… of course bc alecto is his sister #feministwomenloveamycuscarrow . every carrow is linked to an insect in my head and amycus is a praying mantis . …. he has the same capability for cruelty like he also is on the field w alecto during the war but like he’d rather be gardening :/. modern college au he’s probably studying biology and is the rlly menacing president of the gardening club. and u think this means he is secretly sweet but he’s literally evil. him n reg have a crazy friendship going in in which they do the craziest romantic shit but it is completely platonic. i’m talking like candle lit dinners . in my head he has a weird situationship w rabastan (who is another story….) but also i have a *whispers* oc….. who in the fic i have planned for them in my head (which i will never write) he ends up w and his name is maxx <3 but i will never talk abt ocs on here . i have some shame. amycus would follow alecto to hell if she asked (he just wishes she would stop going the- *car runs me over*)

here’s amycus vibes

i have so much more i could say abt them . there is so much in my head they have such a deep and complex story … i will take any excuse to yap abt them . anyways they are both gay and one day i will write the alectolily sugar mommy au in which lily is the sugar mommy bc she’s a super famous author n alecto works at an antique book store doing translation n repair <3333 and it’s completely accidental lily keeps paying to borrow these super old books and eventually she just pays for alecto to come over and help her research and then one thing leads to another . and alecto is guffawed when she realizes. amycus. thinks it his hilarious. i think her and lily would have an academic rivals to loves thing going on in canon and in like Any school setting but also just in general. they could be 5 years into their relationship and still competing to be the smartest . i think there is rosekiller alectolily double date hilarity potential. also have a lot of thoughts abt them paralleling to the rosier twins but what do i know … i will leave that to the masters ….

anyways that was my yapping . hope someone felt enthralled .

[alishaaxo]

The Green Queen And A Greener Future

Chapter 2

ao3 edition

King Viserys had sent for her to meet in his chambers once more.

Alicent tempered herself and quietly prepared to speak to the man who ruined her life in his pursuit to resolve his guilt for the butchering of Aemma Arryn. Yet she knew that for Aegon’s sake, for Helaena and the poor children, she couldn’t act rashly. Alicent had to act the way she was brought up to be: an obedient maiden, yet she knew that as a supposed submissive maiden, she could also manipulate and control a weak man the likes of Viserys, and influence his frail mind to finally give her children what they deserve.

As she reached the guarded door, King Viserys stood upright, welcoming Alicent to his chambers.

“Lady Alicent, please sit down.” He states and they both gather at his model of Valyria, Alicent sitting idly and awkwardly, unsure of how to speak the man that ruined her livelihood.

This was the neglectful coward that haunted her. The man whose twisted guilt tore their family, and Westeros as a whole, apart all to appease his impudent daughter who he abandoned in his pursuit for a son.

“My King,” She stammered, the confrontation of Viserys causing a lapse in her mind, making it hard to manipulate this pathetic man for her cause. “Forgive me, but I was blindsided by you picking me as your new wife.” The Hightower women uttered, after all, Viserys was unaware of the true intention of Otto Hightower regarding Alicent’s meetings with him, which were innocent in their outward nature and he never told Alicent of her perverse feelings toward her.

King Viserys looked upward at her finally, a confused bewilderment on his face, as if only now realising that Alicent had her own thoughts and perhaps did not wish to be married to the King. “Lady Alicent, I’ll admit I was too hasty in declaring my intentions, but I enjoyed our conversations about Valyria, and I believe that you would make a good Queen.”

The future Green Queen replies hastily, portraying her truthful shame regarding Rhaenyra’s inclusion in their courtship of betrayal, “Thank you, My King. But I’m worried about Rhaenyra. She confronted me just before I arrived here. As I’m her close friend, she feels betrayed that her father proposed to me.” Alicent then has a moment of realisation.

She could begin her destruction of Rhaenyra in the mind of Viserys now. By planting a seed in his mind that Rhaenyra wasn’t the perfect respectful heir, he falsely believes she can become.

The Hightower maiden continues acting mortified and utters Rhaenyra’s insults, “She even called me immoral words I can’t dare speak aloud.”

The Targaryen Patriarch’s face hardens with anger, “Alicent, it’s okay you can tell me exactly what she said.” he instructed, playing into Alicent’s scheming hands.

“She called me a scheming harlot!” The Hightower girl ushers out rapidly, “I was so scared, she shamed me publicly, I am glad nobody was present but Rhaenyra’s words might ruin me if she continues believing this.”

Viserys’ fuming expression continued, reddening in anger, “I must deal with her.”

“Alicent, I have to cut our time short and speak to my daughter, I’ll see you soon, my wife-to-be.” He states, briefly pausing his animosity to glance at Alicent with love in his gaze, as he grasps her hand carefully portraying his fleeting fondness for the young maiden before striding out of his chambers, intent encompassing his angered stride.

Alicent now was left alone in his chambers with her thoughts. She had finally confronted her neglectful husband, the man who excessively indulged Rhaenyra’s heedless actions and ignored the family he desired so heavily.

All that was left now, was to marry Viserys.

And Alicent subsequently could begin her plan and consolidate her own power-base, away from the hands of the men who destroyed her innocence.

———————————

It was time for the greatest wedding of many years to occur in Westeros today.

Alicent Hightower was to join the Royal Household, and after months of subtle manipulation toward King Viserys, Alicent knew that once the wedding ceremony had occurred that she would be relegated the duties of a strong Queen with authority and responsibilities and finally have the power she needed to protect her children’s lives.

She glanced down at herself, wearing a beautiful dress unlike her previous wedding; she didn’t want to portray herself as a submissive little girl. She wanted to illustrate the power women had the ability to hold, while claiming her femininity. The gown was lustrous and elegant, stitched and sewn with the colours of the Targaryen House, yet Alicent almost in a sneaky manner, contained the colours that dictated her life once before, emerald green earings dangling and a viridescent necklace framing her frail collarbones.

Her father, Otto Hightower stood beside her, his eyes portraying a rare softness flickering on his countenance, “You look just like your mother.”

“I’m so proud of you, my darling daughter.” the typically solemn man outwardly betrayed his emotions, rushing Alicent into a hug, lingering on for a moment too long.

Regret glistened in his eyes for a small moment, before Alicent muttered half-false platitudes, both comforting her father truthfully, understanding that the man did what he believed was right for their families standing, yet also feeling betrayed that she was used in his goals, razing her innocence to the ground.

The father and daughter then walked together side-by-side, the daunting gates of The Sept Of Baelor lumbering into their view as they entered in, meeting the gaze of a multitude of nobles glancing their way, eager to gather a glimpse at the Hightowers, wanting to see the true power behind the throne and longing to ally themselves with the Queen and the Hand.

Alicent had then reached her husband-to-be, standing together as she heard the High Septon give his prayers and instruct her father to remove her maidencloak, shades of smoky silver with a sliver of green embroidered within removed from the shoulders of the maiden, now temporarily bare as King Viserys placed onto her youthful frame a cloak of his own house colours: red and black, signifying the passing of Alicent’s protection into the hands of Viserys from his Hand.

The Hightower Queen-to-be idly listened to the High Septon, words flickering in-and-out her mind as she recalled how tense her previous wedding had felt with anxiety and regret in following her father’s orders.

She then heard the Most Devout man instruct her and Viserys to speak aloud their vows in the name of The Seven.

They both verbalised the holy words, “With this kiss I pledge my love” subsequently pausing with Viserys Targaryen giving the Hightower girl a brief kiss.

Thereafter they spoke once more, their speeches then diverting in words, Alicent enunciated “…and take you for my lord and husband” spoken concurrently with King Viserys who exclaimed “..and take you for my lady and wife”.

The newly-wed spouses then ended their ceremonial vows with the Septon declaring them to be “One flesh, one heart, one soul, now and forever.” Alicent’s thoughts turned melancholy, knowing the High Septons words were false and King Viserys would rather reminisce on the wife he butchered than the women who birthed him four children and cared for his ailing body.

The Spouse then subsequently walked onwards to sit at the extravagant table surrounded by a clutter of their relatives and a multitude of nobles all scurrying for the attention and allyship of their Queen.

Rhaenyra looking snidely, anger pulsing in her veins, witnessing her closest friend marry her father moons after her mother’s death. Alicent could sympathise with Rhaenyra but didn’t care as the Princess had proven herself a hypocrite, seducing Daemon at his wife’s funeral and marrying him only a moon after Laenor’s suspicious death.

Alicent felt fit to ignore her ire, instead focusing on gaining strong allegiances in the Great Noble houses.

The grand feast was to commence. The Queen deciding to use it as one of the latest ventures of Alicents to gain nobility to join her in affiliation to the Team Green side.

She will not let Rhaenyra even have the possibility to have the option to create a foothold in the courts of Kingslanding and gain influence in Westeros. Though she has love for Rhaenyra deep inside her heart, the Green Queen knows that she cannot allow this reckless hubristic princess, who never grew out of her spoiled girlhood to possess the title and political standing which Aegon deserves. Rhaenyra Targaryen believes that she has the right to be Queen solely because of Viserys’ pitiful actions yet treats herself as the exception, unwilling to uphold this succession of hypocrisy toward other women who have brothers and uncles taking precedent over them.

As the extravagant feast commenced, Viserys indulging in piles of meaty goods given by servants and barrels of luscious burgundy wine, Alicent descended downwards to the other nobles in the ballroom, greeting her cousin on her mother’s side, the Lady Margarey Redwyne, eldest daughter of Helene Hightower nee Redwyne’s brother and her younger sister Delena Redwyne, a maiden matching Alicent in age.

Giving a respectful bow, Lady Margarey congratulates her cousin in a joyful tone, spreading platitudes of falsity, understanding that Alicent’s true wish was to marry a handsome knight who loved her deeply.

A women encased in green gathers toward them, slight jealousy in her eyes. Rose Tyrell addresses the women with meaningless positive trite, possibly believing the Hightowers to be overtaking their Liege Lord.

As Alicent traded words with her relatives and fellow women of the Reach envious of her position yet vying for her attention, Jason Lannister strided over, arrogance permeating in his steps.

“Ah, here lays the Queen of Westeros!” He roared jubilantly, drunkness clear in his actions. “And who are these ladies with you, Queen Alicent?” He asks after a brief pause, intrigue laying in his eyes.

The Hightower women knew this was her time to strike, time to gain allies and consolidate her power quickly, no time for dilly-dallying in her pursuit of the Targaryen Princesses’ love; no ignoring the importance of the years before Rhaenyra marries, before she can get her own heir.

“Here lies my dearest cousins, Lady Margarey and her sister Lady Delena. And the Lady Rose Tyrell.” The Hightower women declares, set on gaining allies through marriage and not solely relying on the nobility’s reluctance to have a woman as heir. “They are wondering what being a courted lady and wife is like for me as they aren’t betrothed as of yet.”

Alicent stops in a false pause, deciding to introduce an influential position to her cousins, “I believe I may make my cousins my lady-in-waitings if they wish to join me here in Kingslanding but their father may believe giving me responsibility over their betrothals is too hearty of a decision.” Jason’s eyes gleam in intrigue, clearly susceptible to Alicent’s manipulation in presenting the idea of marriage in his mind.

“Ah, I see.” The golden-haired man spoke calmly, clearly intrigued by the influential ladies but not wanting to involve himself with the flowery words of maiden, unfit for men. “Well, I’ll leave you ladies to discuss, I believe my brother is looking for me.” He murmurs, looking for an excuse to vacate and discuss potential allegiances with his brother of higher intelligence, Tyland Lannister.

The women now alone in their small gathering in the Royal Ballroom, not being interrupted by the increasingly drunken hordes of men intent of celebration. “Oh, I forgot to ask!” The Hightower Queen declares insincerely, “Lady Rose, would your father allow you to be my lady-in-waiting, having a woman like you join the Women’s Courts in Kingslanding would be a joy!” Alicent intent on turning the Tyrells onto her side, as they were neutral during the war, unwilling to join Rhaenyra in her cause yet also reluctant to join what they perceived were their overreaching bannermen.

Just as Rose Tyrell murmured regarding her father being likely to agree, and eruption of roaring materialised, illustrating that the celebration was over.

It was time for the dreadful bedding ceremony, yet that was not the significant event haunting Alicent, for she would also have to lose her maidenhead to King Viserys, much more haunting than confronting vulgar, raucous men. However Alicent was at least thankful that the Viserys of this time was not the crumbling rotting corpse of a man but instead was fairly handsome, the only deterring factor of his being his age coinciding closer to ber father, rather than herself.

Waves of men and women, drunk on mead and wind stormed in excitement, gathering in hordes to cluster around the spouses, pushing them toward their bedding chambers.

Alicent and Viserys had arrived, clothes halfheartedly torn away and stumbled into their room, decorated intricately by servants to portray an elegant facade, hiding away the true perception Alicent had regarding this monumentous event.

King Viserys and his new wife, Queen Alicent had officially consummated their marriage, unlike the untoward perceptions of Rhaenyra.

Whilst her maidenblood struck the bedsheets, Alicent prayed to the Gods, praying to the Seven and especially to the Mother, in the hopes that her dear firstborn was on his way, and that she could make up for her detrimental mistakes and instead give him the love she truly felt for him, instead of screaming at him in pressure regarding their duties.

All this was for her children.

Alicent no longer cares for the false duties her father gives her, but instead is acting in pursuit of her dear children.

Aegon her firstborn depressed due to the pressure Otto placed on them.

Aemond her dutiful boy, yet angered and susceptible to taunts.

And Helaena, her ethereal darling, whispering words that had once seemed nonsensical, and caring for her sweet babies.

[felixcloud6288]

My biggest takeaway after reading Fire & Blood revolves around the constant goalpost moving revolving around a woman's right and what they are allowed to be in a society. House of the Dragon starts at the events right before the Dance of the Dragons, but really it was a powder keg that existed since Aegon the Conqueror's time and each new succession just added more fuel.

So the Targaryen history starts with Aegon and his sister-wives conquer Westeros and Aegon's crowning as king becomes the year 1 AC(after conquest).

In 37 AC, Aegon dies leaving behind two sons:

Aenys: Aegon's older son through his younger wife

Maegor: aegon's younger son through his older wife

It's ultimately decided that Aenys will succeed Aegon. So the precedent set is "Succession goes to the eldest child and their heirs followed by the second eldest and their heirs, etc"

In 42 AC, Aenys dies leaving behind 5 children:

Rhaena: his eldest, a daughter

Aegon: his eldest son, married to Rhaena

Viserys

Jaehaerys

Alysanne

Before Aenys's successor can be decided, Maegor usurps the throne but dies in 48 AC without an heir. But during his rule, he killed Aegon and Viserys.

When discussions about Aenys's successor are finally able to begin Rhaena is suggested due to being the eldest child but she ultimately declines and lets Jaehaerys take the crown. So now this precedent suddenly changes the rule of succession to "Succession first goes to the eldest son and his heirs, then the second son and his heirs, etc, then the eldest daughter and her heirs, then the second daughter and her heirs, etc. "

Jaehaerys's two eldest children who survived to adulthood were Aemon and Baelon. Aemon, being the eldest was Jaehaerys's heir but in 92 AC, he died in battle leaving behind a daughter Rhaenys. Jaehaerys decided to declare Baelon his heir at that point only for him to die in 101 AC from what I would assume is appendicitis. Baelon left behind two sons, Viserys and Daemon.

In 103 AC, Jaehaerys dies and Rhaenys and Viserys were the primary candidates for succession. When Rhaenys pointed out by rite she has the greater claim due to being the first heir of the king's eldest son and she has a son of her own, the council (who were all men I should mention) rewrote the rules during the council. Now the rite of succession was "Succession first goes to the eldest son and his heirs who have an unbroken male ancestry, then the second son and his heirs who have an unbroken male ancestry, etc, then the eldest daughter and her heirs, then the second daughter and her heirs, etc."

So Viserys becomes king. The only child he has through his first marriage is his daughter Rhaenyra. He decides to publicly and frequently declare her his heir and keeps insisting she is even after he has sons through his second marriage. To his dying breath, he said Rhaenyra was to succeed him.

After his death in 129 AC, his second wife, Alicent Hightower, stages a coup to place her eldest son Aegon on the throne, beginning the Dance of the Dragons.

At one point, Rhaenyra manages to take King's Landing and assumes her rule as queen. Her time ruling was so disastrous due to the war causing food shortages and due to her own poor mismanagement that she was chased out of King's Landing by an angry mob 6 months into her reign.

And now, the old men who never wanted a woman to rule could use her as a scapegoat to justify why women shouldn't. "We let Rhaenyra rule and look how bad that turned out. Women shouldn't be allowed to rule."

It's worth noting that it's impossible to know if she would have been a good ruler or not under normal circumstances. Maybe if she had gotten the crown with no fuss, she would have been a great ruler. Instead, the Rhaenyra who took the throne was the one who had to fight for what she and everyone had been told was hers. This Rhaenyra was the one who lost three sons during the war, one of whom was murdered while acting as a diplomatic envoy. This Rhaenyra had been betrayed by her brothers and many of the lords who had sworn fealty.

So yeah, the unjust will always try to move the goalpost and will use the flimsiest excuses to justify themselves.

[fiberpunk027]

Writing Process Updates

I don't know that I will ever go back to not prewriting a story ever again. This has been a really lovely experience. While I'm grateful that writing Eat Your Young got me back into writing, this next fic when it's done I think will be a much higher quality because I've taken my time to connect the dots before even thinking about posting. It will probably be difficult to return to posting in a more serialized style with my BG3 fic, but I think I've learned a lot taking this time to follow where my summer brain rot has led me.

That being said enjoy a tiny sneak peek below the break.

The weather was just beginning to turn cold when another Landsmeet assembled in Denerim. The Arls, Banns, Teryns, and their entourages arrived in the early afternoon, as the frost-covered ground of morning was now long forgotten in the sun's rays. Landsmeets could be tedious multi-day affairs especially if agreements could not be made, which had been the case as of late. The reconstruction of the Circle’s Tower, Kinloch Hold, was the major concern at this meeting. Temporary repairs made during the Blight had begun to degrade and a more permanent solution was needed soon. He knew many of the nobles would disagree with wasting any of their rebuilding efforts on the Circle of Mages, considering it a matter for the Chantry and their templars. On the contrary, there were enough in the group who counted Mages within their bloodline that would care about the circle’s safety and comfort. It was bound to be a hotly debated topic. 

As he greeted each guest warmly. One thing he was confident in was his ability to play host. He may not have been raised to become a King like Cailan had, but that was something that set him apart from his half-brother. He was not bound by an ingrained decorum and often stepped outside of the strict boundaries that others tried to set for him. Just because he was King Alistair didn’t mean he would cease being Alistair altogether. 

And it didn’t stop him from watching expectantly to see if a familiar face would show themselves. Not that he expected to see the Arlessa of Amaranthine. So far she had sent her Seneschal to each Landsmeet that had been called. Still, news would always trickle in during these gatherings from gossiping nobles, their lips loosened by company and too much wine too early in the day. He could not resist eavesdropping. 

“Did you hear of the Darkspawn attack on Vigil’s Keep?” 

“All of the Orlesian Wardens were killed in the fighting.” 

“Served them right for stepping into Ferelden unwelcome.” 

“The Hero of Ferelden showed the Darkspawn what's what she did.” 

“I heard she had to conscript poor Arl Howe’s son. What a way to learn about your father’s legacy.” 

“She’s got an apostate with her too, a handsome fella, but still completely dangerous, Warden or not. I can’t believe they would trust Mages in their ranks.”

“It doesn’t seem safe, you never know when they’ll think enough's enough and turn to blood magic or worse demons!”

“It’s not any different from the elves. You can’t tell from lookin’ which ones have at least been civilized in an Alienage and which are still wild beasts.”

“Never thought I would live to see a ‘knife ears’ running Amaranthine, it does seem almost fitting after what Howe did to the Alienage.”

“I didn’t even know women could be Wardens, let alone elven women.”

“Such a pretty little thing. Too bad she never joins these meets. Could use something nice to look at.”

“Do Wardens take vows of chastity?”

“I sure hope not! T’would be a waste of a good body.”

When the conversations became too inappropriate a loud clearing of his throat was all that was needed to remind the present company that he was within earshot. He couldn’t control the thoughts of men as much as he couldn’t control his own at times, but it was better not to hear such unnecessary slander about someone he was once close to. There was a part of him that wished she could overhear, and present the offending parties with the gleaming edge of her daggers. 

The afternoon dragged on and the flood of arriving nobles seemed to have slowed to a mere trickle. He was just about to call it quits and return to his quarters for a quick break when there was the announcement of another arrival. 

“Presenting the company of the Arlessa of Amaranthine!” the caller shouted. 

“Ahh Seneschal Varel, I nearly missed you. You’re not typically running this late,” he said, greeting the man warmly. 

“Your Majesty, we had a slight delay upon leaving, but you trouble yourself too much with these pleasantries,” he replied, shaking the King’s outstretched hand.

“We? Have you finally decided to bring your lovely wife along with you?”

Varel cleared his throat, “May I announce to you the Arlessa of Amaranthine, Warden Commander Tabris.”

As Varel stepped to the side allowing her to greet him he could feel his stomach drop to his feet. 

Her head was bowed, hands clasped tightly behind her back. The ashy brown hair that had once danced along the edge of her chin had grown long in the many months since he’d last seen her, now grazing past her shoulders. The pointed tips of her ears sticking out between elaborate braids in the traditional Ferelden style. Shockingly, instead of her usual leather armor she was dressed in a simple but elegant blue and gray gown, emblazoned with the crest of the Wardens. He was certain he’d never seen her dressed so much like a normal woman as long as he had known her. Despite the circumstance, she looked calm and serene, not as if the whole of Thedas had come to a complete halt around them. 

The first time they met he’d been surprised by her lithe frame. She looked so small and frail in the ill-fitting leather armor she’d been issued, clearly built for a much larger woman. But the steely resolve in her bright hazel eyes had been clear from the moment they first locked eyes. 

Even so, Alistair couldn’t remember the last time Warden Tabris had actually looked him in the eye. Sure she had addressed him cordially, given him a tight-lipped smile on occasion, and even smiled politely at the odd terrible joke he’d cracked in her presence. But her gaze was always shifted ever so slightly from his own, her eyes never managing to reach his, always sliding away to his chin or his hairline.

“Seneschal, you say that as if the Warden Commander and I hadn’t slayed the Archdemon and ended the Blight together,” he laughed trying to hide the nervous crack in his voice. 

The Seneschal chuckled as did another man he hadn’t noticed standing slightly behind her. He wore the tell tale blues and grays of the wardens, his long sandy hair partially tied back from his face and loosely framing the comfortable smile on his face. Even without carrying a staff, it was clear to Alistair this man was a mage. He could practically smell the magic that crackled within him, one small thing he was grateful to know from his Templar training. As if suddenly realizing he was in the presence of the King of his country the man quickly bowed alongside the Warden Commander and mumbled his apologies. 

“This is Anders,” she said, straightening back up, her face the very picture of stoicism. He wondered how she could appear so calm when inside he was burning alive. “I believe you met briefly during your last visit to Vigil’s Keep?”

He squinted at the man before him trying to place him.

“I suspected there would be a lack of perspective from inside the circle. I’ve brought Anders along to ensure we had adequate representation,” she continued.

“I tried to convince her not to,” Varel added quickly, his eyes darting back and forth between the Warden and the King. 

“I believe it was at your suggestion that I be conscripted, Your Majesty.” Anders gave a lopsided smile as the pieces fell into place. 

“Please tell me you did not just bring an Apostate mage into a Landsmeet, Zukal?” he hissed, looking around to ensure he wasn’t overheard. A throbbing pressure was beginning to build just behind his right eye. He pinched the bridge of his nose and wondered if she brought this man along specifically to pain him. 

“Warden Commander is my title, Your Majesty,” she quickly corrected him, her eyes narrowing. The men beside her looked at each other nervously seeing how brusquely she corrected their King.

He took a slow breath to steady himself. When was the last time anyone had spoken to him so harshly? “Apologies, Warden Commander,” he said, giving her a small bow of his own. He knew better than to be so familiar with her, but her faint glimmer of anger gave him a perverse sense of pride. Making her angry meant he had some sort of affect on her, positive or not.  “It’s been so long since I’ve been able to address you as anything, let alone your given title. Old habits and whatnot.”

“Should I have forgotten to address you by your title I would be promptly thrown into Fort Drakon,” she said coldly, “Regardless of our history, Your Majesty.” Her eyes bored into his forehead, but he was grateful for once to not have to take the full intensity of her stare. Much like the daggers she was fond of wielding her words and gaze cut into him, wounding his pride, but more importantly fanning the flames of his anger. 

“It won’t happen again,” he promised, offering her a calm smile and a clenched jaw, “I’m sure the Seneschal has been able to explain to you both the process here. Please feel free to join the others in the main hall once you’re settled.” He quickly turned on his heel and made his escape. It wasn’t lost on him how much this felt like a retreat from battle, instead of a graceful exit. But it didn’t matter, he needed to leave and clear his head before he said anything else she could hold against him. 

“Your Majesty?” she called after him, bringing him to a halt and cocking his ear toward her. 

“Anders is a Grey Warden, conscripted to the same noble calling we both took on willingly. I would appreciate it if his former status as an Apostate were not mentioned, less it ruins any chance we have of being heard without bias,” she said.

“Of course,” he answered, continuing to walk away, “I look forward to learning from him over the course of this Landsmeet. I’m sure there will be much anticipation to hear from one of Kinloch’s own.” He turned down the hall and out of their sight. 

“Next time you should just ask him outright to arrest us for treason,” he heard the mage sarcastically comment as he left. 

“If he expects respect then he needs to provide it as well,” she replied as casually as if talking about the weather. 

The kindling in his stomach she’d ignited burned a little brighter at those words. He wanted to turn back around and remind her he hadn’t wanted this respect, this role, or this life. If he had still been just a Bastard and a Warden he would have, but if he remained either of those things she would have been able to look him in the eye wouldn’t she? Neither of them would be in this awful mess in the first place. 

He did his best not to stomp his way to his quarters, his refuge since he’d become King. He threw himself into a massive wingback chair propped up near his favorite window and brooded. How dare she treat him like one of her wet behind-the-ear recruits when she couldn’t even bear to look him in the eye. Of course, maybe that was preferable knowing their history. It had been quite some time since they traveled across Ferelden urging their countrymen to honor the Warden’s treaties and prepare for the oncoming Blight. Shouldn’t time have made this easier for her?

Then again, time clearly hadn’t made it any easier on him. It wasn’t often he found himself in her presence. Vigil’s Keep was far enough away from Denerim that they rarely crossed paths and the burdens of running a kingdom didn’t exactly leave him time to travel aimlessly. But in the idle hours when he was finally alone with his thoughts, they always drifted to the past. Back to the dark days when all of Ferelden seemed to be against them and the single bright spot in his life was her gaze searching for him after every battle. 

This Landsmeet won’t last forever, he thought to himself as he stared out the window into the gardens below, maybe the discussions would be brief and the gathered nobles would be back on their way by tomorrow evening. Maybe the leaders of Ferelden would come together and unite in their unequivocal support of restoring Kinloch Hold to a more livable state. Or more likely they would band together against the mages expecting them to live in squalor or worse turn them over to the Templars entirely. But this was his time, he could fantasize about whatever unrealistic reality he wished. And right now he wished to think about a reality where he didn’t have to face Warden Tabris again so soon.