#on the other hand the reigning monarch wants us all dead

[nblraevart]

Yeah more stoneworks art

[navree]

henry's first three wives and the mothers of his living children showing up as ghosts towards the end of his life represent the three facets of henry's life and the crimes he's committed within them.

catherine represents henry as a father and the sins he's committed against his children, as seen when she castigates him for mary's unwed status, which was not only a personal difficulty to her given the time period, but also what ended up causing issues in her reign. henry as a father is someone who deliberately puts himself over his children, to their detriment, like not marrying off mary because of the difficulties it would cause him, even though she wanted to be married, to have children, and likely needed that in order to help her not just politically but also personally. it's part of a broader trend of mistreatment that his children suffer at his hands, like mary being separated from her mother and unable to see her for years before she died, mary being made a servant, mary being threatened with execution for not conceding to his religious demands, murdering elizabeth's mother once she was no longer useful, letting elizabeth languish through no fault of her own at all, emotionally neglecting edward as a little boy and leaving him starved for companionship in spite of his love for him. catherine coming to him as a mother is highlighted more here not just because she was the mother of so many of henry's children, even if mary was the only one who lived, as well as the only of his first three queens who had any significant time to act as a mother to her child, but to specifically cast a judgment on him as a father and turn his sins in fatherhood back around to him, as the architect of so much of his children's sufferings.

anne represents henry as a monarch and all the wrongs he's done to his people, as seen when she deliberately brings up his judicial murder of her. the show portrays henry as wholeheartedly believing the allegations against anne, but he still is the one who went hunting for a reason to cast her aside, and likely wanted it done more quickly and with more permanence than his great matter with catherine, and the one who told cromwell to go fishing, well before cromwell lighted on adultery as a possible way to get rid of anne. henry as a monarch was someone who killed his subjects with impunity, oftentimes for no reason, and anne was not the first or last person he murdered using the justice system he controlled. anne is a broader representative of all the people that henry killed just to serve his own ambitions, often on trumped up charges or things that no ordinary person would think is worthy of execution: cromwell,margaret pole, the little pole boy, thomas more, cardinal fisher, what he would have done to wolsey if he hadn't killed himself, francis dereham, robert aske, the other forces in the pilgrimage of grace, etc, to say nothing of anne herself and her "co-conspirators". anne mentioning catherine howard also exemplifies this, that even though catherine was guilty of what she was killed for, it's not her fault for acting the way she'd always acted after she was thrust into the role of queen with zero preparation and with far too many expectations that henry deluded himself into thinking she could accomplish for him. anne's judgment here, as the most famous of henry's victims, and one who was vindicated in her innocence even during his lifetime, within a year of his murder of her, helps shine a spotlight on that, on how henry as a king was a cruel despot who caused so much suffering to the people he, as the monarch, is meant to protect, and that thousands of his subjects are dead and in the cold ground, like anne is, because of him and his own proclivities.

jane represents henry as a legacy and specifically as a failed dynast and how he ultimately did essentially lead to the end of the tudor dynasty, as seen when she reveals to him edward's ultimate fate. jane's main accusation against henry is that, through his actions, he's created the scenario that will lead to edward dying young before he can ensure his own succession. jane is the woman who gave henry what he wanted for close to twenty years by this point, a living son, and thus she is the one who points out that it was all for nothing. the son that henry killed so many people for, the son that led to henry cementing his legacy into what it was in his efforts to get him, the son whose delivery ultimately killed jane while she was barely into her thirties, were all for nothing. everything henry did to secure his dynasty was for nothing. henry's legacy is death and blood and the end of the tudor monarchy. his own reforms meant nothing, given not just elizabeth turning the country firmly to protestantism, but that if mary had lived longer/had heirs the country would have gone back to catholicism. and he is directly responsible for the tudors ending with his own daughter, as the way he behaved in his own marriages throughout her childhood, along with the consequences of not marrying mary and thus leading her to marrying philip of spain, are what determined elizabeth's decision not to marry and have heirs of her own body and end the tudor dynasty by giving the crown to james of scotland. jane coming to him as the one who gave him the attempt at legacy he's wanted for the entire show, that started the show, highlights the futility of that as she tells him it wasn't for anything and that his son will die before his own maturity and that his line does, ultimately, end with him.

henry as a father, as a monarch, as a legacy, is an abject failure, and at the end of his life, it is only fitting that the mother of the majority of his children including one of his most severely mistreated, the wife and subject he murdered to satisfy his own ends, and the woman who died birthing the son he wanted to cement his dynasty in history, are the ones to tell him so and let him know what his death really means in the annals of history.

[steps-to-parnassus]

dead men tell no tales reimagined as horror-action

thinking again about how dead men tell no tales had so much wasted potential to be a fantastic horror-action film. instead of focusing on j*hnny d*pp and his stale, washed-out-drunk “comedy” or trying to shoehorn in yet another love story to replace will and elizabeth, the writers/producers/directors should have taken a look at the absolutely phenomenal make-up, costuming, digital effects, and actors’ performances that they had on their hands for the crew of the Silent Mary, and at how the original script written by Ted and Terry heavily played up the horror element.

a horror-focused film would have been a breath of fresh air for the series and could have even made several other elements of the film (lieutenant scarfield, shansa, etc) work better. it would have made the idea of a “final adventure” ring much more true, and most of all, it would have harkened back to the horror elements prevalent in curse of the black pearl and ESPECIALLY dead man’s chest, which worked very strongly in those films’ favour.

just think about the possibilities (quite long, so i’ll put it under a cut):

ghostly hands coming out of the walls of the Monarch like in the trailer, but the viewer never sees what happens next. all we get are flashes of the massacre and Henry’s perspective, trapped in the brig with no light as he struggles to see and hears screams of terror and demonic shrieks of glee.

we don’t see the ghosts coming into the brig due to the darkness; all we see are golden pinpricks in the dark, noises of shuffling and agonized breaths and the sense that something is terribly wrong. they only appear to the audience as one of them brings a torch down into the brig for Henry’s benefit, and suddenly the Mary’s crew is revealed in all their terrifying glory to both Henry and us.

they stare and leer at him, and crewmembers in the background have red blood around their mouths. the audience gets the sense that they very much don’t want to let Henry go.

when we next see Henry in Saint Martin, he’s raving. he still meets Carina, still speaks with her, still agrees to help her, but he is terrified by what he has seen. he tells her about the corpses and the pools of blood he had to walk through to get to the Monarch’s longboat. he tells her how the demons watched him go with hungry eyes. he tells her that he can still hear the screams.

Scarfield does not seek to kill Henry just because he is a traitor - Scarfield sees him with Carina, whom he lusts after. Henry might help her off the island, might protect her. Scarfield wants him out of the way so that he might possess. he has heard plenty of the ghostly crew and cares not that they are attacking british ships - every officer not himself that dies is a greater chance Scarfield will be promoted in the seniority-obsessed ranking system.

Jack is doing well when we first see him, the cunning fast-talker we’ve always known him to be. it is only after the rumours of a ghostly crew with a captain calling himself Salazar spread like wildfire around Saint Martin that he starts trying to drown himself in liquor to assuage the bone-deep terror. 

when Salazar and his crew are freed, they don’t have a mild little cheer. no, they tear their hair and howl like madmen. they have been storing all their pain and hate against pirates and empires for decades - they are going to bathe the oceans in blood.

when we first see Shansa, she is hooded and cloaked, somehow able to track the movements of the dead. she takes her robe off and we see why: she is covered in scars from blades and fingernails and teeth, wounds left her when she was the “one man left alive” from a voyage into the Triangle many years ago, back when the Mary’s crew could not control their bloodlust as well as they can now. and that is terrifying to us - what they did on the Monarch was their version of being restrained.

we see the news of the dead crew spreading as they attack pirates and british ships alike. churches are overflowing with terrified citizens; people bar their doors and hold fast their rosaries and guns at night.

Jack’s crew were loyal to him up until they heard of the dead - now they must be paid off by Henry to rescue Jack, because every pirate in the Caribbean knows who Salazar is; and now that he is the undead, they daren’t let him find them. the rumours are coming back from men left alive that the crew of the Mary sing and laugh as they butcher without remorse, that the evil curse they lay under forces them to feast on human flesh just to keep going, just to feel anything. Jack’s crew do not mutiny later because he suggests it - they mutiny out of sheer terror.

the scene with Salazar and Barbossa’s first encounter is one of the few in the film where the horror element is quite prominent (the other being Salazar’s intro, and it isn’t a coincidence that these are two of the film’s strongest and most compelling scenes). very little about this would need to be changed to work, save for one thing: Salazar does not tap his sword five times at the end. instead he simply says, “you can take what’s left of them,” and nods to his lieutenant and his men, who all begin to smile as they turn to the crew. when we see them next, Barbossa’s crew are down to less than half. we never find out what happens to them.

when Salazar tells his story and we see the past, we are stunned. here is the crew of the Mary, working together, smiling, laughing at their victory. we see and hear them talking about how finally civilians will be safe; about how they can retire, go back to their wives and children and parents and siblings. we see them as normal men with a noble goal. 

we see them awake and scream in pain and terror, and it is on their agonized screaming at the start of their decades-long imprisonment that we cut back to the present. now we can understand, at least a little, how once-good men became monsters.

Carina, Henry, and Jack would have far more dramatic reactions to the Mary’s crew on the beach. for Henry, these are the demons that slaughtered an entire crew as he sat in the brig, trapped and helpless and terrified that his horrific end was imminent. for Jack, these are men whom he’s seen before as humans, and whose hatred and bloodlust is directed at him. for Carina, who has never seen ghosts before, she is struck dumb. these men have horrific injuries, and they are looking at her with detached curiosity and bloodlust that seems a thousand times more horrifying than the looks Scarfield gave her. she can almost see what they would have done to her had they caught her.

there is no ridiculous wedding scene on at hangman’s bay. instead, the locals saw the giant ghost ship sailing into their waters. they know who it is the demons want, but are not aware that the Mary’s crew cannot set foot on land. they intend to give Jack up to the ghosts in exchange for their own lives.

Salazar still executes Barbossa’s men in the name of the king. he is completely mad, but some part of him still thinks himself a righteous naval officer.

Scarfield wants the trident, but more than that, he wants to use it and Shansa’s knowledge to control these dead men. he remembers the reign of terror Beckett wrought with the Dutchman. he would see it repeated for his own personal gain.

in the ship-to-ship battle, Henry initially tries to defend Carina until he realizes that the ghosts aren’t attacking her. they want her to lead them to the trident so that they can seize it for themselves. our heroes do not yet know that they want to end their curse. in fact, the crew of the Mary don’t really know that themselves - they’d much rather have the pirates surrounding them dead to rights, and then free themselves.

every time one of the Mary’s crew is dissipated due to contact with land, the others react. they scream and howl and gnash their teeth and their eyes flare gold. the viewer can feel how much they would like to crush the heroes’ bones into pulp.

when Henry is captured, the officers of the Mary cannot take their eyes off of him. he is terrified for his life, shaking the whole time. when Lesaro mentions that they have tried possession before, the other officers mourn their comrades who became trapped in human bodies and slowly died of thirst, still unable to leave the Triangle, all because they wanted to see the sun again. the viewer is conflicted - are we supposed to pity these monsters? there are flashes beneath the madness that suggests that deep down, they just want to be human again.

when the crew’s curse is broken, we see more of it. we see limbs regrow, bodies knit together again. we see the bloodthirsty monsters we have come to fear laughing and weeping with joy, embracing each other. we hear their terrified screams for help as Salazar finally demonstrates that his own bloodlust was decidedly not the byproduct of a curse as was the case for his crew and pursues Jack.

Barbossa climbs down the chain to kill Salazar, but the former spanish officer deals a mortal blow. just as he is about to kill Barbossa, Jack himself decides to muster up his courage and sacrifice to save those dear to him, which throughout the films, he has always done. he falls from the anchor, and together with his rival-turned-best-friend, he plummets to his death with one last jaunty sweep of his tricorne hat.

there are many dead from the battle. Barbossa’s pirate empire is in ruins, and british power in the caribbean has taken a massive hit. people everywhere are terrified. Henry, however, finds that his terror has stopped and resolves to be a braver man after witnessing what Barbossa and Jack have done. Carina pledges to honour her father and never again to disbelieve in ghost stories. she decides to become a pirate.

in this bittersweet ending, a glimmer of hope: the Dutchman surfaces, with two new crewmembers. Will hangs up his hat to Jack, with Barbossa as his first mate, and Jack is finally reunited with Bill, who has made amends with Barbossa. the old captain-versus-captain dynamic is back - and destined to play out forever. with uncharacteristic solemnity, Jack vows to ferry Salazar’s crew to the other side so that they can finally rest.

Will climbs aboard the Black Pearl, where the crew has elected Carina Barbossa captain. he asks if she might sail him to Singapore - his wife is the pirate king and lord of the south china sea, and that is where she holds court. Henry and Carina, true pirates, share a kiss as the sun rises and our heroes head off to find new adventure. the nightmare is finally over.

[thiswaycomessomethingwicked]

Was Napoleon a tyrant? I don't necessarily think he was: at least, I believe he was a better alternative to the absolute monarchs he was fighting. But there are those who disagree. What are your thoughts on the subject?

This is a can of worms to be sure.

I mean....how are we defining the word tyrant? All monarchs are tyrants to someone. Monarchy, by its very nature, is tyrannical in one way, shape, or form, no matter who is at its head. Even in the more neutered forms we see now days with the British. The Queen still exerts a ridiculous amount of power, all things considered.

Napoleon was no better or worse than any other monarch in Europe at that time. Indeed, better than some, worse than others. Because you know, he was human!

-

This got VERY long. SO LONG. Choice excerpts from below the cut:

"'Power was encroaching with large strides behind the words order and stability,' as Thibaudeau put it."

"(And I suspect he was concerned about seeming too eager for power/setting up a monarchical system. Fouche: You're about as subtle as a canon going off right next door. Napoleon: Hush.)"

"Theeeeeen the little bastard (affectionate) became Emperor."

"Napoleon Vs. Jeff Bezos: fight! fight! fight! (I'm putting my money on Napoleon.)"

--

tl;dr: a more or less benevolent emperor who had his faults and who was intimately aware, for better or worse, more than most monarchs, that the head is only tenuously attached to the body. (Skim to the bottom for my thoughts on the personal things i.e. how I interpret Napoleon's actions and brain)

But, more seriously, as with most absolute statements, I am opposed to calling him a tyrant because it is reductive and serves no purpose except to make broad sweeping political statements that I believe are far more about the person making the statement exemplifying their modern political, republican position (as in, actual republican-I-support-the-existence-of-republics not the gop) rather than expressing any sort of truth about the past. (wHaT iS tRuTh.)

For historical purposes, it can over-simplify the situation and lead to skewed interpretations of events because you're coming in with this word that has a lot of modern, 20th and 21st century baggage to it.

And, because these people are coming in with this big, bad word of tyrant as a label for Napoleon, it doesn't allow them to engage with the nuance and complexities of his reign.

Anyway.

Napoleon, as emperor, supported centralized power held in his own hands, with support from other governing bodies (senate, council of state etc.). However, Napoleon had a lot of influence in the structuring of these governing bodies and the subsequent appointments as a means to exert control over entities that would otherwise be able to act somewhat independent from him and impinge his power.

We see this consolidation of power beginning, obviously, under the consulate. 'Power was encroaching with large strides behind the words order and stability,' as Thibaudeau put it.

There was the whole theatre around the Tribunate offering to extend Napoleon's tenure as First Consul for another ten years as a means of thanks/showing gratitude for all he did for France (Fouche was like: fuck that, let's just make a statue of the guy). Napoleon played the part of Humble Servant of the Public and refused both statue and the ten year extension. (Very Julius Caesar: You all did see that on the Lupercal, I thrice presented him a kingly crown, which he did thrice refuse. Was this ambition?)

In actuality, though, he was pissed because he wanted it extended for life.

This resulted in the Council of State deciding "independently" (i.e. Napoleon wasn't present but he sure as hell influenced that Council session) to hold a plebiscite in order to ask The People two key questions: 'Should Napoleon Bonaparte be consul for life?' and 'Should he have the right to designate his successor?'

Napoleon nixed the second question saying to Cambaceres, 'The testament of Louis XIV was not respected, so why should mine be? A dead man has nothing to say.' Which is to say, he knew people would vote for him to be Consul for life, but the prospect of him choosing a successor, a la the Roman Empire, and having that choice be without input from the people and respected upon his death? Less clear.

(And, I suspect he was concerned about seeming too eager for power/setting up a monarchical system.

Fouche: You're about as subtle as a canon going off right next door.

Napoleon: Hush.)

For the Plebiscite, there were around 3.56 million votes for Yes to the question of Napoleon as consul for life and only around 8,300 for No.

The turnout rate was 60% which is uhh...impressive! (To be fair, there was no real evidence of tampering with the vote. Unlike in subsequent Plebiscites, such as the results for Do We Make Him Emperor, which were absolutely doctored. But, considering the highest turnout ever seen in the French Revolution was around 30/35%, double that is certainly something.)

Lafayette was pissed with this. He kicked up a fuss in the Senate and wrote to Napoleon saying that his 'restorative dictatorship' had been well and fine for now but has Napoleon thought about restoring liberty? and that he was certain Napoleon, of all people, wouldn't want an 'arbitrary regime' to be installed!

Napoleon: Bold of you to assume that, Lafayette.

There were, at this time, some mumblings and grumblings about tyranny from the liberals and those still wanting to continue the experiment of the French Republic, to be sure. They increased as time went on and Napoleon's power continued to consolidate.

Theeeeeen the little bastard (affectionate) became Emperor.

Lafayette: WhAt Is tHiS??

Napoleon: Look into my face and tell me honestly that you are shocked.

--

His government, as Consul and as Emperor, was centralized and very top-down in how it operated. Little was done without Napoleon's input.

The seemingly democratic institutions that had propped him up into power were retained and Napoleon used them as a means to facilitate his rule. As noted earlier, Napoleon had a heavy hand in appointments and the processes in place to fill various offices. Nothing was really...independent of him and his influence.

Though, in terms of Image Building of Empire, Napoleon worked hard to try and maintain the façade of impartiality as emperor. That he was head of state, sure, but all state apparatuses operated independent of him.

(Why is Napoleon's hat so big? because it is full of lies supporting the imperial image making machine.)

That said, when it came to filling those offices, Napoleon focused on merit more than anything as he wanted his governing officials to be capable, hardworking and, above all else, loyal.

(A good quote from Napoleon in one of his more Eat the Rich moments of the consulate: 'One cannot treat wealth as a title of nobility. A rich man is often a layabout without merit. A rich merchant is often only so by virtue of the art of selling expensively or stealing.'

Napoleon Vs. Jeff Bezos: fight! fight! fight!

(I'm putting my money on Napoleon.) )

--

This is getting really long and I feel that I've not addressed anything in a useful manner, but am I going to stop? No.

--

Napoleon, himself, at least in 1803, did express some conflicted views about assuming an imperial title. To Roederer he said, 'So many great things have been achieved over the past three years under the title of consul. It should be kept.'

Cambaceres said to Napoleon that upon assuming an imperial title 'your position changes and places you at odds with yourself.' No longer are you merely a public servant, an upholder of the Republic's ideals. Now you are a man wearing a crown, trying to be the upholder of the Republic's ideals.

(nb: I feel that duality is something Napoleon never fully got a handle on. He would veer strongly into authoritarian monarch then have moments of Rousseau-ian Idealism.)

Napoleon was insistent that his rule be a parliamentary monarchy (keeping the governance framework implemented in the Constitution of Year VIII, if I am not mistaken. But don't quote me on that.) and that the French were not his subjects but his people.

So, the imperial government worked thus with the Legislative process divided between four bodies:

Council of State which would draw up legislative proposals,

Tribunate which could debate on legislation but not vote on it,

a legislative body which could vote on legislation but not discuss it, and

Senate which would consider whether the proposed legislation conformed to the Constitution.

The Senate and the Legislative body could, theoretically, curtail Napoleon’s freedom/power. However, considering the fact that he was involved in the appointment process of these offices, and the general rhythm of daily governance, how much power they were able to exert over him was limited.

(This is at his height! Of course, towards the end we see a shift in that. But that's largely tied up in his military defeats and the British banging the door knocker demanding to be let in. Also they brought with them some friends. You might have heard of them? Bourbons?)

The initial terms the Senate brought to Napoleon with their offer of accepting him as a hereditary monarch included, but weren't limited to:

liberty cannot be infringed

equality cannot be jeopardized

sovereignty of the people must be maintained

the laws of the nation are inviolable

all institutions were to be free from undue imperial influence (e.g. the press)

the nation should never be put into a position where it needs to behead the head of state. Again.

Napoleon was uh. Not best pleased with this and had a new version drafted up that included acknowledgement of the sovereignty of the people, but a lot of the other things (e.g. freedom of the press) were cut out.

Yet, Napoleon maintained certain parts of the French Revolution's values which were reflected more in the 1804 Code Napoleon and other legislative and legal pieces than in the initial terms of Senatorial acceptance of his imperial title.

Some of the things enshrined in the Code that were carry-over from the Revolution include, but aren't limited to, the abolition of feudalism, equality before the law, freedom of conscience (to practice their own religion), gave fixed title to those who had bought church and émigré lands during the 1790s, and the equality of taxation was maintained (tax those aristos and the church). Also, there was affirmation of the idea of careers being "open to talent" rather than an accident of birth (as touched on above).

The Freedom of Conscience clause in the Code was a further formalization of several Articles Napoleon amended onto the Concordat in 1802. The Articles guaranteed the principle of religious toleration and made the Protestant and Jewish churches similarly subject to state authority (alongside the Catholic).

These are just a brief summary of some of the more liberal/revolution-informed aspects of Napoleon's governing.

The non-liberal ones I believe we're all pretty familiar with: suppression of the free press, roll-back of rights for women (women are for babies!), reinstatement of slavery (which he later reversed circa 1810/12-ish), top-down Emperor-has-final-word approach to ruling (Napoleon was all about Authority From Above, Trust From Below) etc. etc.

At the end of this, I would say Napoleon's empire falls into that "benevolent monarch" situation. For a given value of "benevolent." As stated at the start, he was like most other monarchs in Europe at the time. Better than some, not as great about certain things as others.

--

Really, it all ties back to Order and Stability.

Napoleon's assent, and his approach to strong, centralized ruling, was a result of uncertainty and constant government change over ten years of revolution alongside the growing belief, by 1803, that a republic like the Romans or Greeks was not going to happen any time soon. Not without constant warfare and the forever looming threat of a Bourbon restoration.

In addition, Napoleon was doing imperial drag. (If that makes sense.) He was dialing the notch of Emperor up to 11 - being the most emperor of all emperors. So, state control was absolute because he couldn't show any signs of weakness - either in his own body, his familial body, or the body of state. The court protocols were intense and over-the-top at times because he had to prove he was not just a second son of a parvenu lawyer from the sticks. No! he was worthy of this pomp. He was worthy of imperial majesty. He was worthy of the crown and scepter.

Napoleon was not raised to be anything other than a military officer and a middle-class head of a family (would have been a MASTER at doing Sunday Dad Puttering About the House). When he dawned the mantel of power, particularly that of empire, he had to make it up as he went along. For such a self-conscious and proud man, this was difficult. He never wanted to misstep and be embarrassed - on a personal level, political or military.

At the same time, he was reared on Rousseau and Revolution so still had those values and ideals imbedded in him, and those fears and memories. Napoleon knew as well as any Frenchman that a monarch's head is easily removable should it become necessary. Therefore, he sometimes ran roughshod over the liberty to ensure security. For better or worse, that was the choice he made.

--

Napoleon was a flawed leader with a complex approach to governing that was focused on a centralization of power within him while, at the same time, trying to be the Successor of the Revolution, the Roman Republic and the Roman Empire. Layers! Like an onion.

His approach as emperor really was within the realm of normal-for-the-times when compared to most other monarchs on the European stage in 1800. He also granted liberties to his people that were unheard of in other countries.

I feel like all my Napoleonic ramblings end with the same message: Dude was nuanced. Dude was complex. Dude did good things and bad things. Dude helped people and hurt people. Dude contained multitudes. Because he was simply human, at the end of the day.

--

ANNNNNNND we are done.

Gods bless all y'all who made it this far.

Have my favourite picture of Napoleon at Tuileries as a prize.

hmm that beautiful heavy, handed symbolism.

[heartbaz]

Magpie's happy ending (Renegade)

Of all the calls she imagined, Magpie never thought she would receive one from Tamaya Rae herself asking for help in reorganizing the items in the old weapons and artifacts department.

After "Supernova", the renegade headquarters was closed for months. It was no longer necessary to have a superhero building when superheroes no longer existed. Despite not being such an important issue, some rumors and theories spread, mostly saying that the tower would be demolished at some point.

But apparently that would not be the case.

From what heroin told her, they wanted the renegade headquarters to be a kind of museum on the second floors, which would display the artifacts stored, as well as the costumes of heroes of the old Council, photographs, news and all those things that she found it a waste of time and space to display and risk someone stealing them just like that, especially the dangerous artifacts that were in that place, but the opinion of an 11-year-old orphan girl was not so important.

When he entered the building he studied the place, which was being remodeled. He expected them to build statues of the Council, the Sketch team, a large painting, or something extravagant and flashy, typical of the renegades, especially Hugh, Captain Chromium. But he was surprised to see that it was the same as before, except that everything was new, in fact the quarantine was still under reconstruction, even Max Everhart himself was tidying up the glass city.

She realized too late that she had been staring at him for too long, a certain interest welling up in the girl at the tender expressions the boy was making as best he could arranging a four-story building near a park. Max had looked up for a second and noticed that the little blue eyes were watching him. Before receiving any gesture of greeting from the blond boy, she turned a little blushing and followed his path with a hurried step to enter the elevator and descend.

When the doors opened she could hear in the distance a conversation coming from the room of the dangerous artifacts, the voice was of two girls. when she got a little closer she realized that it was a dispute between Monarch and Nova. Nothing serious, they were just talking about some glasses and their use, something that did not interest her, she was coming for the jewelry and to see if there was something interesting and relevant so she could steal it without anyone noticing her absence.

She looked around and then stood still, she was struck by the silence that reigned in the place, and that was very strange. Something was clearly missing. Rather, someone was missing. Callum's obnoxious voice talking excessively about artifacts was missing. His lips formed a grimace without realizing it.

"This place is so different without him."

She startled to hear a voice behind her. When she turned around she saw Tina staring down the hallway. Maggie wasn't an expert at deciphering people's feelings through their eyes, but she easily saw the sadness and melancholy reflected in them, accompanied by pursed lips, clearly holding back tears.

Maggie looked at her for a few seconds before she began to feel uncomfortable.

"uh... where do I start?"

Tina shook her head and looked at her again.

"Oh right," she cleared her throat, "You need to help Sketch, Red Killer and Smokescreen sort some paperwork in the reception area, I'd assign you something else like sorting the jewelry or some artifacts, but those guys have a lot of work to do."

Magpie let out a grumble but said nothing by way of protest and headed for the reception area. It was chaos, full of papers piled up on the floor. Adrian was already reading and sorting some papers, but the other two present, Ruby and Oscar, were just flirting with each other. He grimaced. He had no idea how he was going to deal with such displays of affection during the day.

...

They had spent almost two hours among all those piles of papers organizing one by one. they were all tired and bored, but that didn't stop very interesting topics of conversation from arising among the four boys, and although at first the redhead didn't have the slightest interest in talking to them, it was inevitable for her to listen and laugh at the crazy stories Oscar had. A circle of trust was created in which even she told them some of the weirdest objects and her most risky adventures when she worked for the renegades. At this point, they were each telling the origin of their power, their faces dumbfounded as they listened to Ruby and Oscar's horrific experiences, even if hers may not have been any prettier than theirs. They had mentioned that both Sketch and Monarch were born with their powers.

"We could say that Nova was also born with one, the gift of putting others to sleep by touch" Ruby mumbled.

Magpie stared at the girl, waiting for her to continue with the explanation of how Nova managed to never sleep, but she did not. She never liked her, neither being Insomnia nor being Nightmare, she still didn't forget what happened the day Agent N was going to be released, but at that moment she aroused her curiosity and she wasn't going to stay with her.

"If he was born with the power to put people to sleep just by touching them, how did he get the power to never sleep?"

Adrian tensed, but decided to tell her.

"When Nova was 7 years old her uncle, Ace Anarchy, had her entire family killed, even her sister who was only months old. She was only saved by putting the man to sleep when he was in front of her. Ace found her and turned her into an Anarchist," he paused a little to put some papers he had just read, "Every time she tried to sleep she repeated the scene in her head, after that she could not sleep until a few months ago when she slept for 24 hours.

An uncomfortable silence reigned in the reception area. Maggie took a few moments to process it all. For a moment she felt a bit like she could relate, she too had lost her family, but she couldn't imagine how it would feel to remember everything that had happened for the rest of her life. For the first time she felt pity and empathy for the ex-villain.

"It's your turn, Urraca" said Oscar to break the silence "how you got your powers."

She grimaced as she didn't know the story for sure.

"I was too little to remember, but at the orphanage they told me that the landlord found me crying, full of blood," she took out her amulet, a bullet, from her pocket and showed it to everyone present" I had the bullet in one hand. Only the bodies of my parents were found, but there was no sign of my sister.

"Was your sister taken away?" Adrian asked, as shocked as she was to hear Nova's story.

"I don't know. For a long time I waited for my sister to come looking for me at the orphanage, but she never came. No one ever came to pick me up. I came to the conclusion that she either didn't want me or she was dead" the last thing she said in a whisper, but loud enough for those present to hear.

"What about the Renegades directory" Oscar pointed to the computer.

"I already tried, there's nothing," sighed the girl."

"Maybe there is something among all these papers of old files and cases?"

Adrian was interrupted.

"I found it!" exclaimed Ruby, who throughout Magpie's story had been sifting through the piles of papers and was now holding up a set of three sheets held together by a rusty paper clip. all she could read was "Maggie's case" and the last name was blurred, someone had splashed coffee on it.

Oscar snatched the papers from his girlfriend's hand and ran. She chased after him while feigning anger. During the two hours those two lovebirds were expressing their love through flirtatious gestures and small frolics. Maggie put up with them all the time without complaining so much, but in those moments she didn't feel like putting up with their romantic idiocies and apparently neither did Sketch, in fact he spoke first asking for a little more seriousness in the matter and for them to read the case quickly. Oscar obeyed without first letting out a "boring" along with a small cloud of smoke straight into his opponent's face.

"Let's see what it says," he began to read, "he has no birth certificate.... His name was chosen by Captain Chromium, what an honor! ... Her parents were killed in the domicile where she was found... only she survived... her sister is missing... she had a bullet in her hand..." Oscar and Ruby read without interest, but as they turned the page they wrinkled their foreheads. "Artino case"

Adrian made the same gesture with his forehead and quickly stopped to read the case. Magpie didn't understand anything but felt excitement anyway.

"Who is Artino? Is that my sister's name?"

Everhart shook his head slowly as he read over the other boy's shoulder.

"No. That's Nova's last name"

The girl sighed wearily. For a moment, the illusion returned that her sister would find her and take her with her to her new home, but it was just a stupid childish fantasy she had. Of course in those papers she would find nothing important about her life before the murder of her parents, much less anything about her missing sister.

When they finished reading, the renegades' gazes turned to her.

"Steaming saints..." Oscar was very overwhelmed. his hands went slack and he dropped the pages. Adrian picked them up with extreme gentleness.

"Margaret White Is that your real last name?"

The named woman looked at him strangely.

"I don't think so, my parents never registered me or anything like that. I was named Margaret White at the orphanage when, supposedly, they got the wrong information."

The Boy looked at her for a few moments and knelt down in front of her. she hated it when they did that. To her it was a sign that something was wrong.

"Your last name doesn't appear on these papers because they are smudged, but," he sighed, "but I believe your full name is Evelyn Artino and your sister..."

He paused for a few seconds that Maggie felt like hours. She already knew what the Renegade's next words would be, but she needed to hear it or she would think it was all just another one of her crazy fantasies.

"Your sister is Nova Artino."

She stood still and wordlessly, processing the information. She just didn't know what to do, feel or say, should she run and hug Nova or leave the place, pretend she never heard all this and believe that her sister was just a figment of her imagination?

All he could manage to do was shout a resounding "How!" at the renegade. Such an action scared him off and he backed up a few steps. Seconds later Nova and Danna arrived to see what had happened.

The girl's small eyes fixed on the shorter of the girls and she lunged at her to attack, but before she could reach out to touch her Adrian grabbed her by the waist and lifted her slightly off the ground. That brought back memories.

"How could you!" shouted Magpie trying to free herself from the Renegade's arms, but it was useless, "You abandoned me!"

Nova looked at her strangely and then at her companions. Ruby handed her the papers. She skimmed the first page, but still didn't understand.

"Look at the second page."

The red-haired girl listened and began to read. Seconds later she covered her mouth in amazement and her eyes filled with tears.

She also began to cry.

"For years I've been waiting for you to come and get me, but you never showed up" she said in a whisper, now calmer.

"But how..." she said in a choked whisper.

"She told us the origin of her powers, or at least what she knows" Adrian replied, "She was found covered in blood with a bullet in her hand, her parents were killed and her older sister disappeared. Read well, everything is very clear."

The renegade picked up the old papers and went back to reread them more patiently, perhaps looking for some word or name that contradicted her boyfriend's words. But judging by her look of disbelief and the tears that began to fall down her cheeks, there was nothing to rule out the theory.

"Why didn't I have any idea about these papers?" asked Nova with her eyes on the sheets, although it was obvious that she was addressing her partner "How come no one remembered such information?"

Adrian looked at her for a few seconds. She, still holding her head in the air, sensed that he was looking for signs of anger. And part of it showed.

"I'm not really sure, but back then they didn't trust computers, so they used paper to file all the cases" he motioned to the mountains of paper scattered around the room.

That was the last that was heard. No one knew what to do or say, and the silence was so thick and uncomfortable that it was becoming unbearable. After a few minutes Oscar decided to give them space and leave the place together with Ruby by the hand, they were also followed by Danna, who still didn't understand what was going on.

The last to leave was Adrian. He went down to Maggie -or Evelyn, she didn't even know what to call herself anymore- and gave her a squeeze on the shoulder, as if giving her strength or a signal not to run out of the building. He walked over to Nova and cupped her face to wipe away her tears. He said something she didn't hear and kissed her on the lips before leaving the room and closing the door.

It was time to talk, but apparently none of them were willing to start. At least Urraca didn't want to.

"I don't know what to say," Nova finally spoke, she had stopped crying a few moments ago, but her voice was broken, "You have no idea how happy I am knowing you're alive."

Magpie wiped her tears and snot with her sleeve.

"I asked you something earlier, why did you abandon me, did you even look for me?"

She shook her head.

"I never looked for you" said Nova, "I didn't because I thought you were dead.... That you had been murdered that night and I couldn't protect you because..." she couldn't continue speaking because a sob escaped from her throat.

Evie grew tired of pretending to be strong. She burst into a disconsolate cry and ran to hug her sister tightly. she hugged her sister back just as tightly. at that moment they couldn't talk, she knew it, the lump in her throat barely let her breathe. She had no intention of admitting it, but the warmth of an older sister along with a strange and curious sensation it brought back an old feeling she had thought she had forgotten, one she had not experienced for years. That of being safe, of having a home.

[i-drink-and-i-write-fics]

Let It Die

Chapter 2: If You Love Me

Summary: Loki makes a plan with Thor to win back Reader’s heart.

Your room had become your personal ice castle. Small frozen ice sculptures were decorating your window sills while a light ring of frost surrounded the window panes. Snow lightly covered your dresser and nightstand while your bed was piled high with thick blankets. Not that you really needed them. As an ice queen once said: the cold never bothered you anyway.

Not that your were like the ice mutant on the X-Men team; you couldn’t turn your whole body into movable ice. But you thrived when the temperature dropped. Which was also a downside. You could never go on missions in desert areas. No moisture in the air meant no powers for you.

When you met Loki, you felt all your dreams came true. You never had to worry about accidentally freezing him in your sleep. And with your mutation, his frost giant skin never harmed you. Not that he showed that form very often.

He had a sweet side to him no one else had seen and could make you feel like the most important person in the world. Loki also had the bad habit of cutting you into pieces, as if dissecting you would help him understand humanity better. All he accomplished was cutting into your self esteem.

You couldn’t understand why you were so upset. It was no secret that he would have outlived you without even trying. There were rumors, whispers that there were ways to make a mortal live as long as an Asgardian - er, frost giant. But since Loki never once brought it up in the two years you had dated, you just assumed there was no truth to them. And you hated the idea of looked so old and worn next to him in 50 years while he looked untouched by time.

There was a gentle knock on the door followed by a familiar voice. “Hey hon. Can we come in? We promise mortals only.”

You smiled and shook your head before opening the door to let Natasha and Wanda in. “Hey guys. Sorry about earlier. I just wasn’t in the mood to look at yet another gift from the dumbass.”

“Don’t worry about it. If anything, it’s been the liveliest we’ve seen you in months!” Wanda sat down on your bed and immediately wrapped a blanket around her. Nat followed suit. Both of their breaths were visible.

“Well, sorry about the temp in here, then.” You chuckled as you sat back down. “I guess I don’t have many guests in here as of late.”

“It’s ok, really. Your comfort is number one right now.” Nat tried to reassure you. “Besides, we were hoping to get you to leave your igloo tonight.”

You laughed again. “Ok, ok. I get it. My powers have been out of control lately. Every time I think I’m back to normal, Loki comes around and fucks it up all over again.”

“Want me to kill him?” Nat asked, deadpanned.

“Thanks, but that won’t help. My problem is I still love the asshole. And I don’t even know why! Yeah, he could be really romantic at times and-“ you paused and gave the girls a side glance, "other reasons as well. I’ll spare you.”

“Thanks,” Nat pretended to gag. “I personally don’t see it, but I also had to battle against him at one time.”

You smirked. “Fair. But man, he could really be a douche at times. I don’t even think he realized he was doing it half the times. I’d do something and instead of being proud, he’d point out what I did wrong. Made me want to punch him in the nuts.”

“So why do you hang on?“ You furrow your eyebrows in confusion. "I mean no offence, but it seems like there a small part of you that still hangs on. Like I get you still love the guy, but what’s there that’s making you hang on instead of trying to move on?”

You sighed and leaned back into your chair. “Ok, so maybe I do know why I still love him. Loki…. has this side that no one but Thor and I have seen and I wish he would let it out around more people. He has an amazingly kind heart. Yeah, I know, I know.” You held up your had as Nat opened her mouth. “I literally just said the man could be a douche at times. The times he criticized me, it was for things that pertained to our job. I didn’t throw the knife right. My stance is too wide. I breathe too loud, the enemy will hear me. But when it came to everyday life…. he could’t praise me enough. He loved to watch me cook and listen to me sing. Snow days…” you sighed, “those were my favorite. But I wanted his approval for work. How could we work together on a mission when all I could think about was how I wasn’t doing something correctly? And then the mortality thing….”

“It all comes down then to if he can reign in how much he criticizes your work would it be worth it to try again when he’ll just outlive you?”

“Pretty much. But I doubt that will happen. That man likes to think he’s the best when it comes to fighting and war. Just because he’s a freakin’ god.”

Wanda looked over at Nat and nodded her head. “Ok, sweetie. Enough moping! We’re getting your out of here and clearing your head. So get dressed, it’s time for a night out!”

You couldn’t help the smile. “Yeah, maybe that is a good idea. If I clear my head maybe I’ll be able to control my powers better even if I never make a decision about Loki.”

“That’s the spirit!” They left you to change your clothes and you opted for dark black pants, black and silver boots, and a icy blue top.

You met the girls in the common area and Nat had opted for a stunning tight, black dress while Wanda wore a dress the same shade of red as her hair. The three of you piled into a car Nat had hired for the night and headed into town. Wanda picked out a very upscale club and the three of you managed to talked you way in past the bouncer and the incredibly long line. The place was packed but the three of you managed to make your way over to the bar to grab a drink before trying to find a table.

“Man, it’s hella packed in here! Maybe we should have invited Stark so we could abuse the VIP section.” You shouted over the music.

“You rang?”

You whirled around to find Tony at your side. “What are you doing here?”

“Night out, of course! I even brought my own lady.” Pepper looped her arm in his. “Actually, Nat told us what she had planned for tonight and we decided to tag along. We’ve been worried about you.”

“I know. I’m sorry.”

Tony leaned over and kissed your forehead. “Don’t worry about it, kid. We’re all here tonight.”

“We?”

Tony just smirked and held out his other arm. You couldn’t help the grin as you took it so he could lead you across the crowded club. People immediately parted out of the way of your entourage as you made your way to the VIP corner. There a mix of your friends were waiting for you: Sam, Steve, Bucky, Thor, Rhodey, Vision, and Maria.

“Young Mr. Parker sends his regards. He was dying to come here, but I wasn’t about to break the rules to sneak him in.”

“Glad to hear you’re trying to be a good influence on the kid, Stark.”

“I have my moments.”

You climbed into the booth next to Thor while Tony and Rhodey pulled over another set of table and chairs. “So you guys subjected yourself to an overly crowded club just because you were worried about me?”

“Of course, Dear ____!” Thor’s voice easily boomed over the music. “We are your friends and we care about you.”

You looked down at your drink as you spoke to Thor. “And what about your brother?”

“Loki sends his regards if you’ll have them. He acknowledges he has been an ass to you lately.”

A corner of your mouth twitched upwards. “It’s what he does best.”

“If I may, I would like to say something on his behalf.” You took a deep breath but nodded your head yes. “My brother is not the best at expressing his feelings. A trait, I am afraid, he learned from Odin. You do not have to give him a second chance, but I would hope you could at least have one last conversation with him before making your finally decision.”

You took a long gulp of your drink before answering. “Alright, I will. For you, Thor. You’ve always been like a brother to me. If this means so much to you, then I will.”

Thor’s face lit up as he smiled at you. “I was hoping you would say yes. Now we can get to your surprise!”

“My what?”

Before Thor could answer, the DJ’s voice rang out through the speakers. “This next one is a request. Dedicated to the Icy Monarch from the Frost Giant!”

You whipped your head to look at Thor. “Loki’s here?! What’s going on?”

Thor held up one hand. “Just listen, Dear _____.”

The song began to swirl around you:

I cut you into pieces Searching for your imperfections I had plans to make you whole But all my threads couldn’t stop the bleeding There’s nothing left, but I’m not leaving When all I know is you

You’re breath caught in your throat as you listened to the lyrics.

I’ve been looking for a way To bring you back to life And if I could find a way, then I would bring you back tonight I’d make you look, I’d make you lie I’d take the coldness from your eyes But you told me, if you love me Let it die

Your eyes stare right through me Ignoring my failed attempts to Breathe back life into your veins But I can’t start your cold heart beating You’re so far gone, but I’m not leaving When all I know is you

It was like your relationship and the last two months following the break up coming to life in front of your eyes. And then he walked into your line of sight and goddamn, he could always make a suit look good. Black suit, black shirt, a tie as green as his eyes, and a small black box in his hands. Your heart raced as he quietly walked up to you and set the box by your drink. Everyone at the table sat as still as statues, not wanting to disturb the scene in front of them.

You reached for the box and began to open it as the end of the song rang out:

And you left me more dead Than you’ll ever know When you left me alone I’ve been looking for a way To bring you back to life And if I could find a way, then I would bring you back tonight I’d make you look, I’d make you lie I’d take the coldness from your eyes But you told me, if you love me Let it die

Inside the box was a single gold apple. It was the oddest thing Loki had ever given you and you weren’t sure as to what it was. Picking it up, it was instantly clear that the apple was far lighter than you expected and softer as well. As if you could actually eat the golden fruit.

You raised your eyes back up to the Trickster God. “My dear, I have behaved horribly towards you. You loved me more than I ever deserved and I couldn’t even give you what you needed. If it is possible, I would like a second chance to prove I can be worthy of your love. And in exchange, I present the Golden Apple of Idun’s orchard.”

“I’m-I’m sorry. A what?”

“A golden apple. It is to be consumed by a mortal wishing to extend their life. Forgive me, I never brought them up before as I feared you would only want the apple. Not me. No one has ever wanted me for what I was.”

You looked up into his eyes. “I did. In any form you would give me.”

He knelt down by your side. “I know that now and I am a fool for not seeing it sooner. I know it is asking for the world, but I would love to give us a second chance. Because you are my world.”

Your lower lip trembled and you placed the apple back before closing the lid on the box. Loki’s face fell. “I cannot accept this apple.”

“Of course. I understand.” He lowered his eyes.

“Loki, please let me finish.” You placed your hand under his chin and lifted his face so he was looking at you again. “I will not accept this apple at this time. We first need to talk about the problems we have and if it’s possible to fix them. Only after we have gotten our footing back will I eat the apple for you.”

“So…”

“Yes, Loki. I will give us a second chance.”

Loki’s joy was clear on his face and beyond words. He stood up, pulling you with him, so he could engulf you in a hug. “I promise to make myself worthy of this chance. You are my love.”

“And you are my Frost Giant.” You gave him a quick kiss.

[ruinationsrp]

It started with a quiet whisper. Glances exchanged and heads leaned towards each other, whispers echoing through the candlelit council chamber. “The queen is coming.” a courtier said and the other replied in a quiet whisper ; “This is so sudden. Is there trouble with Asteria? I believe –” “Unlikely, the New King is wiser than that. But, who knows… even the most docile of creatures turn violent in time. Such is the nature of Man.” a third person interjects from across the room and soon the murmur of numerous voices fills the area - turning louder with each following word, everyone attempting to speak at the same time, to get their doubts and fears out before their beloved queen enters the room and silence falls around them once more. They are concerned and they cannot hide it, the bubble of uncertainty that arose when the queen summoned the Council of Sotera for an emergency meeting.

The door opened with a loud creak - at first, no one noticed the imposing figure of the reigning monarch until her chamberlain called out, demanding silence and attention - and the room fell into a dead silence. The Old Queen inclined her head, greeting her courtiers as she walked towards the throne, soft smile on her lips and a gentle spark igniting her eyes. She paused in front of the throne, hand resting against the cold iron of the, truth be told, rather uncomfortable chair before she took a seat - a last, final seat. The Wise and the Admiral exchange a knowing glance from where they sat, before their attention returns to their Queen. Everything stills as Eliona Angorian looks at her courtiers and rises from the throne, gesturing to the Council to remain seated. 

“Our loyal citizens, a heavy decision prompted us to summon the Council on such short notice. We would like to thank you for your advices and your guidance during our reign, and so with a calm and assured heart that you will continue to advise the throne, we must inform you of our decision. We, Eliona Angorian, by the power of the Storms and Angorian bloodline the Queen of Sotera and the Silvercove Islands, hereby announce our abdication. We have decided that our daughter, The Queen to Be has grown and matured enough to take our illustrious kingdom further on the path of peace and prosperity.” She speaks in a gentle tone, gaze lingering on the Wise and the Admiral, before she continued ; “This is our last edict as your ruling monarch - to further the peace between the kingdoms of Sotera and Asteria, we have decided to honour the the agreement made with the late Benevolent King and wed our youngest daughter The Spare Princess to the New King of Asteria. We hope the monarch rising to our throne will honour our wishes and we hope the Council of Sotera will continue to support the Throne - regardless of who sits upon it.” Eliona finished, head bowed in gratitude to her courtiers and a gentle smile lingering on her lips.

The room is, for once, silent.

The Old Queen’s lip quirks up in a light grin. “Come now, my dear friends. It is not the end of the world. She is ready and I hope you will continue to support my daughter the way you’ve always supported me. She is young, yes, but in many ways wiser than I am - and a change in perspective might be all we need to step into true peace.” She explained and the silent room exploded - everyone wanted to speak with Eliona, to find out more behind her decision. They aren’t exactly unhappy with her decision, but they aren’t too thrilled to have an untried, young princess ascend to the throne in the time of true turmoil - who knows if she will prove to be as successful a queen as her mother was.

Welcome, Ruinations, to Part One of our introductory post. This marks the preparation for the beginning of our gameplay, starting with the event which lands on Monday, May 2nd, 2022. Tomorrow, with Part Two of the introductory post, our current (and future) members will have a chance to prepare for the upcoming event with a little task - the completion of the task is optional, but it’s always nice to get into the groove with some easy writing. Further information on the task will be released along with the Part Two of the introductory post!

[zuraoftheblack]

World of the Magi // Void AU

The Story So Far...

In the midst of the Fifth Astral Era, the great cities of Eorzea have risen through arcane prowess and magical might. Tension hangs in the air between the three main city nations: the noble Ambapor, the intelligent Nym, and the insidious Mhach. By drawing dark power from the enshrouded world known as the Void, Mhach’s strength grows without restriction. It is plain to see for all that war is on the horizon, and minor attacks are already breaking out, with Mhach leading singular assaults against Amdapori outskirts. Yet on the other side of the rift, the denizens of the void stand only to gain from this endeavor, taking every chance they can get to escape their lightless prison and feast upon the aether of the Source.

The only thing keeping the summoned voidsent in check is a Mhachi artifact known as the Nullstone, capable of binding even the strongest of voidsent- or banishing them back to the void, bereft of aether and physical form. However, as best they can, Mhach seeks to hide a most terrible secret... the Nullstone is gone, as is the prince that wields it, ferried away into the sky on a stolen airship of Mhachi design. It is only a matter of time before the enslaved voidsent that make up the bulk of Mhach’s power begin to rebel, and even the archmagi working in tandem would be hard pressed to stop it. The Nullstone must be recovered... at all costs.

The Prince of Mhach

While the coming of age ceremony in which one chooses the name by which one would be known did come to pass, none save for a select few know the full name he chose. When regarded by others, they refer to him as "Crown Prince Zura" or "Your Royal Highness." Regardless of what manner of greeting is used, except under rare circumstances, any passerby would recieve the same reply:

 "How dare you speak to me."

Raised up in the highest household in Mhach and bestowed endless decadence wherever his gaze landed, Zura remains the only son of the reigning monarchs which rule the nation. Waited upon from sunup to sundown, never has he wanted for a single material thing in all his life, surrounded by servants mortal and voidsent alike. And yet, despite the door being left wide open to do whatever he wanted, he had always lacked for direction. His parents constantly busy with seeing to royal necessities and preparing the nation for war, their presence was rare and their love rarer. His ultimately dissolved into a rhythmic, boring lifestyle, finding no joy in the luxuries which surrounded him. He became known as a cloistered prince, never allowed to stray far lest another nation capture him as a hostage or some terrible tragedy befall.

And yet, the one thing that saw him stand before the public in a royal capacity was his single duty, chosen over many others. That when a voidsent of considerable power was found guilty of breaking its contract, it was brought forth in a public execution of sorts where all- mortal and voidsent both- could see the breadth of power Mhach wielded, and the voidsent would be banished by the Nullstone, with Zura as its chosen wielder.

It was on one such occasion that Zura stepped forth, brandishing his royal weapon to banish a handful of unruly upper-crust voidsent that dared betray their masters that he laid eyes upon one unlike any other. This agile fiend, summoned to perfect the first Mhachi airship, had rebelled against her summoners with finesse and chaotic determination, yet she clearly testified that she never actively broke a single command given. Through biting words and fearless jabs, she held her head high, confident in the wild and free life she was dead set on living... a life polar opposite of Zura’s, the likes of which he’d never seen.

In a moment of inner rebellion, he averted the Nullstone at the last second, accidentally eviscerating a voidsent hidden in the crowd. Taking advantage of the chaos, one Lua Mangana broke free of her restrains on the chopping block and came upon the prince, whisking him and the Nullstone away upon her airship, taking to the skies faster than anyone could give chase.

Never one to take kindly to... well... anything, Zura’s life has been one of constant nitpicking and protesting, his privileged expectations falling far short of the dusty, voidsent-packed airship where he lived now. With little to no skills, he gripes and toils the days away as the pirates begrudgingly teach him the ropes. Yet within him, there dwells an air of excitement that he’s never felt before... the steps he takes, no matter how deep into the unknown they are, have been proving to the the most fulfilling of his life. While Captain Mangana seems content to keep the prince as part of the crew, Nullstone by her side, it is unclear how others will accept the renegade prince as they head towards Nym...

The Darkest Night

After an unceremonious demise at the hand of the Nullstone, Azer was quick to seek passage from the Void back to the Source. He had lived so long without attracting attention, how dare he be banished in so insulting a manner! As soon as he step foot within a new vessel, however, it was clear that his strange circumstances were far from gone. He quickly found himself in the presence of two unique individuals, the flighty yet genuine Mogcanta and the poor self-deprecating Fayora, the latter of which was in an unfortunate predicament with a parasitic voidsent, a pitiable little thing called Zephyr, at least such was Azer’s view of the voidling. Even these mortal creatures whom he would so often avoid or consume without a second glance would have their uses. It was clear that both Mogcanta and Zephyr were trying to get away from something, the latter trying to get to Mhach in order to further hide her voidal stench (which simply wasn’t going to happen if Azer had anything to say about it). With such friends- or perhaps a better term would be bait- in tow, surely something worthy of his attention would arrive sooner than later. Then... then he could have a fight worthy of his power!

[kingdomofvellia]

As we know, monarchies tend to have some 'weird' rules (boys have to wear shorts until a certain age, certain words, like toilet, are looked down upon for a royal to use, etc.) that the royals must follow. What's your royal family's 'weirdest' rule?

Oooh interesting ask! I  have a whole bunch of rules I’ve written down for my countries, so here are some rules I’ve been trying to follow throughout my story. As I have three kingdoms, I’ll give you five from each, because why not✨

Anya

The king has the final say in everything, and that means everything.

- Being the king of Anya means that one can decide everything. This goes from how much food the people are gonna get, to who the younger members of the family will marry. Questioning the king is not allowed and will most likely be punished depending on the severity.

Showing your back is a no-no if you’re a woman

- Anyian society thinks that the back is a very intimate area for a woman, so showing it off means you’re a loose woman.

Boys don’t get to wear pants longer than their knees until they are welcomed into the Church of the Father

 - Boys only get to wear pants when they are old enough to be considered accountable for their actions, which is normally the age of 12 when they’re confirmed into the Church of the Father.

Families are sacred and should never be taken for granted - unless you’re the king.

- Families in Anya are seen as the most important part of society. Marriage is seen as a blessing from the Father and parenthood is sacred. Children are expected to respect their elders, and every child is considered a gift. Taking any part of the family for granted is frowned upon. However, the king is excused for doing whatever he wants, as questioning him is not allowed.

Women should never speak over a male family member.

- This one is falling out of favor with the newer generations of Anyian royals, but for most of the Anyian history, women were there to look pretty - not to get involved in politics. Therefore it was seen as offensive for a women to speak over a man in any way. King Alexander and his court is known to not care about this rule at all, which annoys older, more conservative, members of society.

Byukuya

Being royal is seen as a blessing from the Mother.

- As being royal means you’re born as a blessing from the Mother, you’re automatically seen as divine. You’re exempt from the law and does not have any responsibility to enlist, pay taxes or even follow the rules. However, every member of the royal family does those things anyway out of respect for their people.

They only bear given names.

- Members of the royal family are part of the imperial house Shirasagi, but do not have any other name than their given name. When marrying out or leaving the royal family, they have to take a surname to identify them as no longer royal.

Princesses who marry someone who is not royal must leave the royal family.

- Only princes can marry commoners and keep their royal titles. This is a thing as traditionally children are seen as a product of the father’s lineage, not the mother’s. 

None of them bow or shake hands with foreign royals.

- Traditionally handshakes and bows are meant as a sign of an agreement or respect. This means that members of the Byukuyian royal family don’t shake hands with foreign royals, mostly as a result of the constant assaults and broken promises from Anya.

Only boys can inherit the throne

- Girls cannot inherit the throne unless every male descendant of the royal lineage is dead or missing. If a male descendant was to be discovered after the coronation of an empress, she must abdicate.

Vellia

Golden eyes are seen as a blessing from the Mother.

- Children born with golden eyes are seen as a direct blessing from the Mother and the first queen Véllia. This as the goddess Véllia, third daughter of the Mother and the Father, was given golden eyes to signal her divinity upon her descent to earth. When she married the first king, King Cadros of Véllia, her children inherited her eyes, and so on. 

Be polite and approachable - but never explain.

Véllian royals act as a figurehead and need to be seen as nice and approachable. However, they are never expected to explain or complain about anything. This as explaining gives room for more criticism and in turn more explaining. As a result, Véllian royals usually don’t comment on personal matters, gossip or actions taken by family members. 

Politics is okay to be involved in, but not to influence.

Members of the royal family are allowed to be involved in political questions affecting the living standard of their people, but are never allowed to try to influence the public. For example, they may join a charity working with a question or make a speech at an event, but not ask people to vote on something directly.

They have a very strict dress code.

Véllian royal family members all have very strict rules to follow when it comes to their clothes. For example, boys are expected to wear shorts when the weather allow it, girls are expected to wear skirts, women are suppose to cover their thighs, and men are not allowed wear shorts during official engagements.

Walking in front of the monarch is never okay in official circumstances.

When out for work together with the reigning king or queen, no other member of the royal family is suppose to walk in front of them. The king or queen should always be the first to enter a room, to shake a hand or to be told what’s going on. 

I hope it was at least a little interesting, if you have any more questions about it, feel free to ask! And thank you for the interesting ask!!😆

[imagine-that-one-thing]

Her Majesty || 16

Letters patent.

Anastasia’s POV.

The papers fall from my hands, hitting the floor before I step over them, “Excuse me,” I mutter, hurrying past Harry and finding my way to the bathroom. My hands grapple with clutching the edge of the sink as I bow my head in defeat.

This can’t be happening.

One hand stays grasped to the edge, and the other holds my hair back, my stomach twisting at the realisation of everything.

The door creaks open, and Harry steps into the bathroom, thoughtfully pushing my hand away and holding my hair back for me.

“This is why you need a break.” Harry sighs, stroking my back while my stomach violently turns and the remainder of my afternoon tea makes an awful appearance.

I take a breath and press a hand to my stomach, straightening my back slightly, “Now isn’t the time for sly remarks,” I murmur, closing my eyes for a moment, another wave hitting me harshly.

I lift my head again, taking another breath and praying that it’s the last time I throw up.

Harry lets go of my hair as I lean back on him, my energy depleting extremely quickly.

We are stuck. Harry and I are bound to the monarchy with no way out. “He tied me to the monarch?” The words leave my mouth, and Harry nods his head as I gaze at him through the mirror, “We are stuck in it… Why’d he do this?” I softly question, tears falling down my blushed cheeks, “I can’t end it.”

Harry wraps his arm around me carefully, “Sweetheart, I think the point was so that the monarch can’t end at all. Your Dad issued letters patent.”

“The only person who can end this shitshow is my hypothetical child?”

“That’s how it seems.” Harry nods.

“The only way anyone can cause this monarch to end is if I have a baby? Not even Pippa can end it? Parliament can’t even end this fucking shit?”

Harry again shakes his head, “The monarch can only end with your kid.”

“Our,” I correct him, “Our hypothetical kid.”

“What do we do, Anna?”

I take a moment before I take a breath. I step away from his embrace, and I turn to face him, leaning against the counter, and I smile up at him softly, “We rule the monarch with an iron fist, Harry.”

“Excuse me?” Harry’s eyes grow big.

“We do what was intended, to rule the monarch and keep it thriving. But you’re going to call for a dissolution of Parliament. Every seat in the House of Commons will become vacant.”

“Why? Pippa said parliament seats couldn’t change.”

“She is wrong. Call for the dissolution, Harry. Then we can work on getting her disbanded as Primeinsiter.”

“We can’t get rid of her. We can’t vote; royals stay neutral in that branch.”

“Harry, I am aware of how this works. Please, listen to me, clear the seats, order new parliament officials. It’s a strategic dissolution.”

“So, now you want to end Parliament since we can’t end the monarch?”

I nod my head, “You and I both know some of the people who want me dead are currently members of parliament, call for re-election, so they lose their seats. If they are not voted in, you can figure out how to keep them at bay and away from us,” I respond.

“Isn’t there a rule about Parliament only being dissolved at a certain time?” Harry asks.

I shrug my shoulders, “Parliament can be dissolved at the beginning of the 25th working day before a general election… The Fixed-term Parliaments Act, which you are also going to sign and change today. Before the Fixed-term Parliaments Act, the government had the power to call elections at a time of its choosing, and I want that back.”

“I hate being the middle man,” Harry groans, “This is fucking ridiculous.”

“Then let me have the crown back.”

“Talk to your mother about it, Anna. I don’t have a say over having the fucking crown. I have tried to hand it back… Pippa and your mother have not allowed me.”

“The best thing about you being King is that you can sign whatever the fuck you want and not listen to them. You can hand me the crown; you just have to sign it on over or find a loophole as my father did.”

“I much prefer my daily job as security than as King.”

“Listen to me and do this, Harry. When Parliament is dissolved, all unfinished parliamentary business falls, including bills that have not received Royal Assent. Bills cannot be carried over. Whatever plans any of them have will fail. If I can’t abolish this circus, I will join them and end it for them and take back the monarch... You are either with me or against me, Harry.”

“I am with you, Anastasia,” Harry responds instantly, “I will start the process of everything, not that I know what the fuck I am doing,” Harry trails off, “Any other requests while I am here? Perhaps request my blood?”

“Oh, ha, ha, you’re funny,” I roll my eyes, “That’s all for now, I will keep thinking of Royal assents I want you to part take in… Until then, I have to make my first appearance as Queen, even though that is far from the truth. Are you attending?”

“I am,” Harry nods, “Matthew has Oliver and myself on your service.”

“Great… and if you don’t wish to participate in my plan to take back control of the monarch, we can always have a baby and abolish the monarchy.”

“Uhm…” Harry trails off, “No. All due respect, but if we have a kid, I’d rather we talk about it properly, and right now, I don’t want a baby in this mix, no, no— and no.” Harry shakes his head sternly.

“I’m sure parliament would love it.”

“I’m sure that would piss them off and make things worse, no.”

“Great, so you’ll be on my side?”

“Yes. Anna. I have always been on your side. Now I’m going to take a nap until your event. Please, for the love of God, don’t start shit, don’t make any plans, don’t do anything irrational like you did the night with Henry. I don’t need more blood on my hands, literally and metaphorically.”

“I will be the perfect princess everyone knows me to be.”

“You say that with an evil look to your eyes… I really don’t need to do a protocol.”

I shrug my shoulders and step closer to him, “You have my word, I won’t start shit,” I smile, drawing small circles on my stomach, feeling a bit more relaxed, oddly.

“I am confused as to what made you switch from hating the monarch to wanting to control it again?”

I take a breath and shrug my shoulders, “Sometimes you just have to play the cards you are dealt and hope that the hand you have is the winning hand.”

“But you suddenly flipped your switch, Anna… Do I need to be concerned? What happened to the Princess that wanted nothing more than to leave and have a normal life?”

“She realised that it would never happen. This is what I was born for, Harry. I have tried to get away so many times, and I can’t. I have no choice but to deal with it. You can still leave. You don’t have to be stuck in this, Harry. You have an out.”

Harry shakes his head and takes my left hand with his, “Anna,” Harry begins with a soft breath, his thumb rubbing over where my rings would rest if I were able to wear them. He reaches his other hand up to my neck where he follows the thin chain and pulls out my rings from under my shirt, “I gave you this ring and proposed for a reason, I put that wedding band on, for a reason, I wear my wedding band, for a reason. I love you, and I want to be with you. I don’t want an out. I don’t want to leave. I can deal with the monarch. It does not scare me.” Harry informs me sweetly and calmly, “I may not be able to tell the world I love you or act upon things right now, but I don’t want to not live life without being your partner, even if you do despise me for taking your damn crown,” Harry chuckles, breaking the slight tension in the space between us.

I do not despise him for taking the crown. I will admit that him having ownership of it is a better option. I am still in no headspace to hold such power, and I am still struggling with daily activities. Royal life isn’t easy, but it is much more challenging when you lose your father but gain a monarch to run that you are not ready for. My father may have prepared me in a royal status sort of way to run the place, but I was not mentally or emotionally prepared. I don’t think anyone can be emotionally prepared for the loss of a loved one.

“Are you sure?”

Harry nods his head, “I am more than sure, sweetheart. Are you okay? I still don’t understand how you changed your mind about the monarch.”

I shrug my shoulders, “I don’t know if I am truly okay. Today’s news physically made me sick,” I admit, “But this is my family legacy. I would be destroying what generations have built. My father did build a great monarch… It may have some evil people involved in it, but the people are thriving, and the country is doing well. I can sit here and wish to abolish and destroy it all because of my own bitterness, or I can figure out how to lead without being held back.”

Harry smiles softly and nods his head, “It is good to see you coming to your power as Queen, darling.

“I have a great husband and King to back me up.”

“No, baby. You don’t have a King. You have a husband. I am merely the husband to have your back.”

I shake my head, “No, Harry. If I am reigning Queen, you will be known as King. I will be changing that. You will have that title. I can be Queen and reign on my own, don’t get me wrong, but I want a King by my side.”

“We can cross that bridge when we get there… But I want to know when the staff will know about us, and I am tired of hiding us. Surely the staff have figured it out.”

I shake my head, “The staff do not know, but you are still the talk of the ladies,” I laugh, “A lot of the ladies keep their eyes on you. Rumour has it that there is a pool on how long it takes you to get a girlfriend.”

“What?”

“The staff, they make assumptions about you since you’re so private. Some think you have a secret girlfriend, and others think that you’re just a workaholic.”

Harry rolls his eyes, “Jokes on them, I have a secret wife, and I am a workaholic. Do they just sit and talk about me to you?”

I nod my head, “Yeah, I learn new things about you all the time.” I chuckle, unsure how he doesn’t know that many of the female staff swoons over him.

“And you don’t mind?”

“No, I find it amusing,” I respond, “I don’t know how they haven’t figured out we are together. You are always in my room.”

“I am security,” Harry shrugs, “I think a few of them know. They just keep quiet. I know Grace has an idea. She keeps smirking at my ring.”

“Oh well, I don’t care, I am unsure how the people will react, but I guess we will find out. I need to get ready for the event… I am giving a speech.”

“Mhm,” Harry hums, “So Pippa told me. How do you feel about that?”

“I think I am okay, considering I just threw up a handful of times,” I sarcastically respond. “I uh… I haven’t seen the speech. I am not allowed to write my own. They don’t trust me.” I roll my eyes, “I much prefer if I could write things myself. I don’t like being dictated to.”

Harry steps to the side and grabs one of the face towels that are folded neatly. He runs it under the cold water before touching it to my cheeks lightly, “I don’t think you’re okay at all. You don’t have to do this speech.” Harry taps the damp towel to my forehead, my eyes closing as it soothes me. “You look like you need to sit down for a few minutes,” Harry softly enlightens me, and I nod my head in agreement.

My body feels weak and exhausted.

Harry guides me back to the bedroom, being overly protective. I sit on the bed and rest against the soft pillows. Harry sits beside me on the edge and dabs my forehead, “Seriously, if you’re not up to it, you don’t have to do the speech.”

“Harry, I have to be a big girl and face the fear. One way or another. It’s all just a lot to handle,” I sigh, “Will you just ask my lady maids to come in an hour later than usual? So I can lay down.”

Harry nods, “Yes,” He leans over and kisses my forehead, “Try to relax.”

“It’s hard when the damn papers are on the floor and dictate my future.”

Harry shakes his head, “We will figure it out. One way or another, it’ll be okay.”

He is right; one way or another it’ll work out the way it’s meant to. What’s meant to be will always be. Right now, what’s meant to be is taking my world and turning it upside down.

♚ ♚ ♚

With heavy breaths, I try my best to compose myself and steadily speak, but with every word I am forced to utter, I feel a heaviness in my chest that’s threatening to break my walls of resistance and cause me to break. This speech is the first public speech that I have addressed, and it is turning out to be a lot harder than I had anticipated.

I hold back my tears, aware that cameras everywhere and several sets of eyes cast upon me. It was too soon for me to have to do this. Speaking about my father is still raw and cuts me like a knife. I shouldn’t have let Pippa coerce me into delivering a speech, and I should have taken my time with healing and working through things. The monarch and the expectations can wait. My mental and emotional health is more important than addressing the public and all the national leaders who acquire my attention.

I sense a hand to the small of my back, and I take my eyes away from the paper in front of me. I glance to my side and see Harry beside me, my other half, my shoulder to cry on and the person who holds me up when I’m down and praises the happiness with me. “I can’t,” I whisper, choking up with tears, finally allowing them to cascade down my cheeks. I attempt to turn into him so that I can’t be viewed grieving, but I can’t wholly hide, I can’t lean in for a hug and sob like I want to. I have to remember the boundaries between the royal and security guard as the people are viewing.

Harry doesn’t say anything. He naturally places an arm around me, leaving no gaps between us before moving the paper closer to him. Harry clears his throat and, without warning, begins to continue my speech for me. “He was an honorary member of society, a king that will be remembered for his devotion to the nation but most of all will be remembered as a loving father and doting husband.”

I subtly wipe a few of my tears away, doing my best to hold firm as a future Queen. Coronation day hasn’t arrived, so I’m technically not Queen until then, not that it matters considering it will be Harry’s coronation. I stand before my people, vulnerable and emotional, something that is frowned upon and has been for years. It is rare to see a royal display emotions other than pleasure and power, especially when broadcasted over news outlets and social media. A royal is to uphold a particular disposition. We aren’t meant to come across as weak. As I stand here, with tears, I’m aware that I may seem inadequate, but I’d rather appear weak and show the world I have emotions than hide them. Anyone in my shoes would still be mourning the loss of their father, no matter his status, for me to uphold the image that I’m absolutely fine and emotionless is not what I want to support. I do not want to be Queen and viewed as though I have no emotions. Raw emotions show character. It teaches people it’s okay to feel things, it’s okay to break, no matter who you are— it doesn’t make me any less of a Queen. For those who look up to me, I don’t want them to observe me as just another royal or another one who follows all protocols and traditions, and I will not sustain the image of perpetually being emotionless. I am Queen, and I am human.

The speech ends, and Harry guides me away from the small podium, escorting me to escape behind closed doors, where I find a place to sit and compose myself, “Thank you,” I breathe out, “It was too soon,” I whisper, wiping a few tears away from my eyes, doing my best to hold myself together. This is not how I wanted things to go. I didn’t want to break down and for Harry to have to save me from emotional wreckage.

Harry bends down to my level, placing a hand on my knee, “You did a grand job.”

“I started to stutter and cried. I balled my eyes out, Harry.” I don’t feel proud of myself because I couldn’t finish the speech and honour my father in the way he deserves.

“And? That shows that you’re human; you’re normal. Us normal people stutter and have emotions, baby,” Harry winks, managing to pull a chuckle from me, “Pippa did that on purpose, to have you break down in front of people...” Harry trails off.

I would love to say I’m surprised, but I’m not. I’m the centre of attention with the media spotlight, and it would make her night to have me breaking down. Anything in an attempt to continue to prove I’m unfit to take the crown. That’s probably her plan, prove I am incompetent and make sure I never have that royal power. Unlucky for her, Harry is on my side and not hers as she thinks.

“How kind,” I sigh, “Thanks for saving me.”

“Always,” Harry responds, “Wipe the tears away, put on a smile and show them the tough Queen I know you can be, don’t let that speech or Pippa bring you down, okay?”

“Are you giving me a pep talk?” I stifle a laugh as I wipe away a few more tears.

“Someone has to,” Harry responds, standing back to his feet and offering his hand to help me off the chair and to my own feet. He brings me in for a hug and holds me close, “Pippa wants you to fail. She’s watching,” Harry murmurs, “I love you.”

I draw away and nod my head, mouthing an ‘I love you, too’ before taking a step away from him, well aware that it’s only a matter of seconds before someone bursts through the door to summon me. I adjust my dress and posture, taking a deep breath and looking for Harry’s nod and gesture for me to head back to the same room that left me weeping. I stroll in, head held high, my heels hammering the marble flooring and keeping my composure as a strong-willed, calm and collected woman.

I make my rounds by talking to different people and allowing certain photographers at the event to take my photo. With everything that has happened, we need some excellent media coverage within the royals. I am sure Victoria’s death will continue to be in the headlines. I’m sure somewhere down the line, the issue that happened at the palace with Henry’s doppelgänger will arise and spark significant headlines. Royal scandals and murders seem to be the headlines everyone enjoys. I will not be the following headline or humiliation. The media will not predict my downfall or portray me as weak.

As I politely dismiss one of the diplomats, Pippa makes her presence known and offers me a smile, “May I hug you?” She questions and I shake my head.

“Security isn't allowing me to be touched,” I lie, not wanting Pippa’s hug nor anyone else’s. I’m not much in the mood to be touched.

Oliver nods his head, “Correct, strict orders, she isn’t to be touched.”

Pippa rolls her eyes, “Harry’s orders?”

“No,” Oliver instantly responds before I can, “Head of security, please respect the decisions,” Oliver narrows his eyes towards Pippa, not caring that she is a government official. Harry has trained him well, I see.

Pippa nods her head in agreement, “I just wanted to say that the speech was lovely.”

“You wrote it.”

“You’re very hostile, Anna,” Pippa sighs.

“You set me up.” I point out the obvious.

“I’m not sure I understand what you mean,” Pippas' voice is soft as she cocks her head to the side. “It was kind of Harry to step up, but now people will start to speculate,” she trails off into a whisper, making sure nobody can hear her. God forbid if the world knows I have a steady relationship with someone who isn’t royal.

“Perhaps if I weren’t forced to make the speech, he wouldn’t have had to step up and comfort me. I don’t appreciate the events of this evening.”

“Anna, it is not my fault,” she shakes her head, “I followed procedure. It was time you spoke.”

“And as it is time for me to walk away from this conversation, good evening, Pippa,” I dismiss the conversation, walking away before either of us can speak any further. I do not care for what she has to say right now or for the excuses. I’m sure she will blame my mother and say my mother was partly to blame for the speech. Which, I’m sure my mother agreed to the address and for me to speak tonight, and I believe they were both wrong for forcing it upon me and not letting me grieve, but my anger is towards Pippa for now.

♚ ♚ ♚

For the evening, I stood my ground; I didn’t let anything bother me or break me down— I didn’t run to Harry or have him, or Oliver devise an escape plan— I survived my first event without my father and as QUEEN… Just not officially. I know I can do this, it may be arduous, and it may take everything I have inside me, but I can do this. It does make it a little more manageable to know that I have Harry beside me if I need him. That alone gives me a little extra power and support. Sometimes, all someone needs is a bit of confidence and support to thrive.

I escort across the grounds with Oliver, my heels in my hand, while my other hand prevents the hem from dragging across the soft grass that smells of sweet saturnine with every step I take. For the first night in a while, there are no battering winds that howl until the early hours, there is no bitter chill, it finally feels bearable to be outside without the need of heavy coats and wraps, perhaps this is a short-lived moment, but I will take it and relish in it the best that I can. Oliver gently grabs me and pulls back on me, drawing me behind him. “Don’t come any further,” Oliver shouts, his hand reaching for his gun.

“What is it with the men always pulling a gun on me, geez,” Madeleine responds sarcastically.

“Announce yourself formally,” Oliver responds.

“Princess Madeleine Noelle Veil of Denmark. Anastasia, tell him who I am,” Madeleine huffs, holding her hands up as Oliver continues to stare her down.

“She’s fine, Oliver.” I chuckle.

“That’s not what Harry said,'' Oliver responds, causing me to laugh. I am not surprised that Harry and Madeleine don’t get along.

“It’s fine,” I assure Oliver, “Harry has already screened her. She was here for the funeral, remember?” I try to jog Oliver's memory.

Oliver nods his head and steps aside, allowing me to walk closer to Madeleine, “Why are you out here?” I softly ask, looking around, unsure why she is by herself and unaccompanied by a guard.

“Fresh air, Harry said I could come out; he is watching from the doors,” Madeleine gestures towards the Palace doors a little further from our position. “They burned down the Palace, though.”

“Who?” I softly question, walking beside Madeleine.

Madeleine lifts her shoulders into a shrug, “I don’t know. Louis seems to think it is the people who are causing everyone havoc.”

“Why would they target your Palace? I am sorry. Which one? Charlottenlund Palace?”

Madeleine shakes her head, “Amalienborg, lucky nobody was there. It was intentionally set. Mum and Dad were meant to be there.”

“Perhaps it was an accident, surely?” I suggest, unsure of who would purposely do such a thing to Amalienborg. Madeleine’s family have nothing to do with us British royals; they stay mutual and don’t cause issues— They’re the quiet royals that don’t mind being under the radar— They show up for special events and go on about their business.

Madeleine heavily sighs, and I push the Palace doors open, not allowing Oliver to open the door for me, “So, you and Louis have been talking?” I change the subject, not sure how to go about the issue with her Palace catching fire. I don’t fully believe that it was deliberate— there has to be some logical explanation.

Madeleine grows quiet, walking into the Palace behind me, “Madeleine?”

“He is lovely to talk to, a good man.”

“Stay away from him, Madeleine,” I warn her, not wanting to see either of them get hurt or drag me into their mess.

“What? Why?”

I raise a brow and shake my head, “He is my childhood best friend. I can’t choose between you both, so if you break up, I can’t choose.”

Madeleine laughs, “Who said anything about dating?”

“Whatever the two of you are doing, I am sure it is more than talking,” I mutter, knowing both of them too well. They’re stuck in a palace together on the same floor, and I highly doubt they’re talking about royal duties and discussing policies.

“I beg to differ,” Madeleine shakes her head, “He is good company.”

“Whatever you do, be nice to him.”

“You have little faith in me.”

“You tend to be intimidating, be nice. Do you need me, or are you just roaming the palace?” I softly question as we reach my floor. I’m not trying to dismiss her rudely or be a horrible friend, but I think she’d prefer to find comfort in Louis than me.

“Roaming,” she responds, walking off before I can say anything further.

I glance towards Oliver and raise a brow, “Do you think she and Louis are a thing?”

Oliver shrugs his shoulders, “I know nothing and see nothing.”

“Mhm,” I hum, not convinced, “I know that’s a lie, but for now, I’m going to leave it alone. I don’t know if I want to know,” I chuckle and shake my head, “Thank you for your service,” I respond, stepping into my room and closing the door behind me.

I smile over at Harry and walk towards him, “I did it, I survived, and I didn’t need you.”

“Ouch,” Harry laughs, and I sigh, realising how my words came out. “I know,” he shakes his head before I can say anything, “I’m proud of you.”

“Me too,” I grin, stepping closer to him and kissing him sweetly. He pulls me closer, and I wrap my arms around his neck, deepening the sweet kiss.

I have missed the taste of his lips and the burning energy that spreads like wildfire and ignites my soul. He sits on the edge of the bed and pulls me into his lap, where I straddle him at his hips, his hands roaming my body while mine eagerly moves to his button-down, flicking each button before he draws his honey lips from mine. He leans closer and presses his lips to my neck, causing me to go weak instantly. I tilt my head to the side and press my hands to his shoulders, the soft kisses down my slender column already causing my head to spin. I feel him bite down gently before pulling away with a devious smirk and bright, cunning eyes. He drops his hand to my thigh and glides his hand against my soft skin, ever so slowly and delicately, ignoring my dress and inching closer and closer to the material of my underwear. He dances along with the lace band, teasing me before I harshly kiss him, needing to feel him, one way or another. He caresses the lace, causing my breath to hitch when I feel it move slightly to the slide. I pull away from his lips and see him smirk, his eyes gleaming with delight at my eager anticipation and my yearning. “No foreplay, no teasing, let’s go,” I shake my head, my hand moving to his pants and unzipping them. Harry chuckles and disagrees.

He puts me at ease and slides a finger in, a breath exhaling from my lips as I move my hips slightly to his circular motions. His fingers slide upwards, relentlessly moving, dipping, swirling and circling around, adding pressure and attempting to obtain the one spot I have been craving to be touched.

“No, please,” I sigh, the sound of the door knocking echoing through the room, taking me away from the sensational feeling I have been deprived of, “Don’t stop,” I instruct, my hands pressed to his shoulders, my nails digging into the material of his shirt.

“Really want me, huh?”

“Tired of interruptions,” I whisper with all honesty. Every single time we get time alone, we are interrupted. It has been a few weeks, at least six since we had a moment to ourselves, and I’m pretty sure we were also interrupted that time too.

I tilt my head back, my mouth allowing a small groan to escape as I am enthralled with the circular touch and rhythm he’s presenting me with. “Harry,” I huff, “Keep going,” I instruct, feeling the aching desire through my body, the sensations radiating through every nerve possible. I feel my body begin to go weak as he holds me firmly closer to him, my legs starting to quiver, and my body squirming against him. “Harry—“ I breathe out, my chest rising rapidly.

Abruptly, without warning, Harry stops and slides his fingers out, causing my mouth to drop in utter disappointment.

You have to be fucking kidding me. He shakes his head and uses his free hand to adjust his pants, managing to do so without bothering to move me, “Ye’ all wet.”

“No shit, you got me all hot and bothered,” I mutter, my irritation washing away the moment he unzips my dress from the back and takes it off of me with ease.

He stands up, holding me against him, forcing his pants down his legs and leaving them on the floor before setting me down on the bed and wasting no time with moving the lace in his way and teasing me with the tip of his length at my entrance. I curl my fingers into his shirt and draw his chest closer, taking bold possession of his mouth, tasting the honeysuckle flavour and moving my hips to the motions of his. My body absorbs the intimate feel of him, blood humming in both our veins’ with every deep repetitive thrust that takes place. He moans into our kiss, and I tighten my grip on his shirt, the heat between us intensifying. Probing in a slow, repetitive rhythm, he perceives my every desire.

My head spins with the achy feeling of him inside of me, my legs quivering. He takes my hands and forces me to release his shirt, moving my arms over my head and holding them in place, “Hold it,” He instructs, my breath hitching in my throat as I’m getting closer and closer.

Tangy taste and male scent fill the air between us with every powerful thrust that drives us closer and closer to the barrier of resistance I am fighting. Our tongues dip and swirl between the soft groans of the two of us while entangled together in the heat of our bodies.

My breaths become shallow, and I can feel the tingly sensation in my toes that radiate around my body. My body closes tightly around him, and he squeezes my arm slightly, “Anna,” he breathes against my lips, my back beginning to arch, my body fighting the urge and squirming under him.

Our breaths quicken and the desire between us thickens to the point it's almost unbearable, and we can’t get any closer to each other or enough of each other.

He falls beside me, and we catch our breath with crooked grins. I tilt my head to look at him, “Was worth the bloody wait,” I chuckle.

Harry swallows hard, “Had been a while,” he agrees, propping up on his forearm and looking at me with his cheery grin, “Round 2?”

“We’d get interrupted,” I laugh, inching closer and pressing my lips to his just as his phone vibrates on the side table, “Fuckin’ hell, does everyone just have a bell that goes off every time we attempt to be intimate?” Harry pulls away and mutters, reaching over for his phone, “Fuck,” Harry sighs, forcing himself off the bed.

“What now?”

“I’m pretty sure a bell goes off when we try to make love, constantly interrupted,” Harry huffs, walking around the room and finding a clean pair of pants, “Always fucking something,” he shakes his head, his fingers quickly typing away on his screen, “I won’t be coming to bed any time soon, I’ll see you in the morning,” Harry informs me, looking at his shirt and noticing the creases, making the quick decision to change it.

I nod my head and pull the sheet to cover my exposed body, “Is there a problem?”

“I just have to watch the cameras until five in the morning to make sure there’s no suspicious activity from the staff who are currently being blamed for Henry’s murder,” Harry informs me, his eyes narrowing towards me. Whatever Victoria and my father managed to get themselves into has proven to be more than any of us can handle.

Harry claims he can handle it and figure things out, but I’m starting to wonder if it’s just a matter of time before it all catches up to us. He can protect me all he wants, but the plot continues to thicken. “That means you won’t be on my service,” I sigh, remembering my royal duties for tomorrow.

“Probably not. I need to sleep at some point. Matthew or Oliver will look after you. Guess I have to look into the palace fire for Madeleine, too.”

“What about Henry?”

“I don’t know about the arrangements.”

“No, how are you handling it? Sweeping it under the rug? Announcing it?”

“Baby, I do not know. I think they’re going to release that he passed peacefully in his sleep from an unknown cause… The palace doesn’t need any bad publicity, so I’m trying to hide it the best I can.” … “Just don’t talk to anyone about this, okay? Not even the lady’s in waiting or your assistant or publicist, nobody.”

I nod my head, “I know… Eleanor hasn’t mentioned it.” … “Good luck, King, I’m going to sleep now,” I half-smile, not thrilled that he has to handle this circus and not myself.

[jaskier-cult]

Witcher / Eragon

A Jaskier-centric Eragon AU with Jaskier as the first dragon rider in centuries. Witcher still exist, and Geralt is just trying to get this stupid bard he met (and who someone hatched a dragon egg on fucking accident) to Kaer Morhen before King Stregobor finds out that there’s another Rider to challenge his reign. 

I got this idea from this fanart, by the lovely @polarisss

In this au, dragons are not equal in mental prowess to a human; they’re sentient and respond well to their riders, and can communicate their emotions through mental links, but they cannot speak or act like humans. They’re kind of like really intelligent dogs or horses. And they’re magical. 

So, I was violently hit with the idea of this crossover / au, and I had to write the bare bones of it or I swear I would die. Enjoy or don’t, lol 

Dragons were sentient and far more intelligent than most, but not of equal intellect with elves, and so when the elves arrived on the Continent, they viewed them as mere animals. One elf made the mistake of hunting and killing a dragon for sport and presented it to their monarch as a trophy. This angered the dragons, when they found one of their pack dead and their hide being toted around by the two-legged foreigners in their land. The elf was hunted down by the pack of the dragon killed, but more elves continued to hunt down smaller dragons, to prove their strength and power. Surviving a dragon’s revenge became noteworthy and a great tale to tell around the dinner table.

Over time, though, the dragons started to encroach on the territory the elves had claimed, the further they went for revenge. Then one day, a whole band of elves killed the alpha of a dragon pack, unaware of just who they killed, and the whole pack of dragons attacked without mercy. 

Unable to communicate with the dragons or draw a peace treaty, because the dragons could not utilize language or complex thinking the same way as them, the elves were forced to defend themselves.

This started a bloody war, called The Dragon War, between the elves and the dragons. The elves were smart and fast and could utilize magic, but the dragons were big and strong and merciless, and unknown to the elves, could also wield powerful ancient magic, drawn straight from the land. Dragons lived in packs, but they could communicate among each other, and most dragons became aggressive.

It wasn’t until one day, when an elf called Buttercup came across a lone dragon egg. It had been abandoned in a ruined nest, most likely a victim of a battle between dragons and the elves that had attacked the nest (for elves had taken to trying to wipe out the dragon species at this point).

The elf, in awe with the bright white egg, couldn’t bring himself to kill the dragon inside.

He brought it back to his village in secret, and he nursed the egg for months on end, hoping that the cracked little egg could still hatch despite the trauma it had received in the battle.

To his delight, the egg broke on a full moon, and out popped a baby dragon.

Buttercup named it Vaeta, the word for “hope” in the Ancient Language.

The dragon was small – barely the size of a house cat – and was weak and vulnerable. It bore no scales, couldn’t breathe the elements like the adults of its kind, and had tiny razor baby teeth. Buttercup had no idea how fast dragons grew, and he quickly found out just that – they grew like weeds. Within a week the baby dragon was the size of a sheep dog and was beginning to form beautiful scales. Its appetite was ravenous, and it learned to hunt easily. Buttercup learned that Vaeta was a girl.

Despite its instincts obviously forming, the baby dragon stuck close to Buttercup, and would whine like a dog when left for copious amounts of time.

Vaeta also protected Buttercup from things she deemed as “threats” and would curl up in bed with her elf at night. Buttercup kept her well hidden, until his small village was attacked by other dragons, and Vaeta, far smaller than the other dragons attacking, reared up in the air for the first time and scared off the foreign dragons that were hurting her elf.

The rest of the village was wary of trusting Vaeta, and Buttercup bore the brunt of the blame; should she do anything to harm elves, it was his head on a pike, draped with her hide.

Nonetheless, Buttercup soon found a new purpose in life – to stop the Dragon War.

He figured if they could raise elves and dragons together, they could stop the aggression. The more the wild dragons saw the elves making nice with their dragon kind, the less they would attack. After all, dragon packs didn’t attack other dragon packs.

So, slowly, using Vaeta as a go-between, Buttercup was able to tame smaller dragons.

Vaeta soon fell pregnant and laid a clutch of nine eggs within ten months. The elves had no way of knowing if this was a normal pregnancy for dragons, or if the clutch was healthy or large.

The eggs all hatched, in varying shades of silver and black. Out of nine four were female, called Jasny, Niebo, Pływ, and Magia; five were male, called Srebro, Drzazga, Noc, Palić, and Stal. The elves were quick to try and tame them, only to find out the hard way that they weren’t like dogs and cats. They were even more intelligent than their horses, too. Buttercup ended up helping his dragon, Vaeta, raise her hatchlings with other nursing elves, and then Buttercup set off across the Continent with his dragon to try to stop wild dragons from attacking.

For years, Buttercup studied dragons and took notes and realized the hierarchy they held, their social groups, their intelligence – he was astounded. But then he made the discovery of a lifetime; the dragons, though they lived in individual packs, much like wolves, had a reigning monarch above all. They had a queen. And if he could appease the queen dragon, making the other dragons friendly would be child’s play from there.

Eventually, it came to Vaeta challenging the dragon queen for Buttercup.

Unfortunately, she died a bloody death.

The queen of dragons, impressed with the ferocity of the foreign dragon who clung to an elf like he was her mate, spared Buttercup’s life. She admired the loyalty of the dragon, though unguided it was to a two-legged hunter who hurt their kind. The queen also mourned, for she never wanted to kill one of her own kind for an elf. In grief, also watching a grieving and crying elf, she drew upon the land’s magic and nosed Buttercup with her giant scaled snout. The resulting magic was huge.

It was bonding magic. A treaty to be recognized by all parties; no more blood was to be shed between the scaled and the soft, or shall they suffer tenfold the torture they inflicted. This magic treaty also entailed the queen dragon stepping down, so no dragons’ packs would dare.

The elves took this magic and added structure to it, binding all the new dragon eggs to a counterpart.

This was how the Dragon Riders (Shur’tugal in the Ancient Language, or Argetlam meaning “silver hand”) were created.

The Dragon Riders were a coalition of elves and dragons formed at the end of the Dragon War to forge peace and order between the two races. The Riders were created because treaties between the two races would prove useless to stop fighting; a signed piece of paper meant nothing to a dragon. So, an irrevocable bond was wrought by the elves and the dragons: the elves provided the structure of the spell and the dragons provided the strength, thus creating the Dragon Riders.

When a fleet of humans sailed across the sea thousands of year later, they too were added to the elite order of the Dragon Riders. The role of the Riders became more than uniting the elves and dragons; they became keepers of the peace and fighters of monsters throughout the Continent (previously called Alagaësia by the dwarves who lived there first) and were respected and honoured by the people they served.

Unfortunately, Stregobor happened.

Born in the ancient province Inzilbêth, and one of several siblings (Aleksander, Szymon, Edyth, Casimir, Ozella, Sylwia, [Stregobor], Valerie), Stregobor was accepted into the ranks of the Dragon Riders at the young age of ten, after being traditionally tested for great potential. He quickly excelled in all areas of combat and spellcasting, which filled him with pride, arrogance, and vanity.

Although some of his fellow Riders were wary of his swift rise to power, the majority of the order neglected caution, ultimately leading to their downfall.

Stregobor was chosen by a dragon and became a Rider in his early years.

His dragon Smokwia (derived from Polish “smok” for dragon and “kwiat” for flower), was killed by urgals some years later in a careless accident, when she was not yet full grown.

Stregobor was mad with grief and hatred, and he asked the Dragon Rider council to grant him another dragon. But that wasn’t how it worked – the dragon chose the Rider, only hatched for the person destined for them – and forcing that had consequences. The council refused, sensing his mental instability, cut him from the Dragon Rider ranks, and sent him away.

With his request denied, Stregobor took it upon himself to steal another dragon egg.

He convinced another Dragon Rider named Morzan to leave the gates open to the place where the eggs were stored. Stregobor stole a dragon egg. Then, he forced this dragon, whom he named Zwieraln (derived from Polish “zwierzę” for animal and “idealny” for perfect), to hatched and serve him by dark magic.

He formed the Forsworn, a group of thirteen dragon riders and their dragons loyal to only him, and he killed all the other dragons and riders in existence through ambush, propaganda against Riders, and years of spies and long-fought battles. He made sure to smash all the eggs he could find, so that no one else could ever rise above him in power – or so he thought (for there were those who risked neck and tail to save and hide the last few dragon eggs).

Stregobor proceeded to create a kingdom of his own that most of all the Continent’s people called The Empire of Nilfgaard, through which he ruled most of the Continent (with few exceptions of other strong kingdoms, like Cintra).

With the Dragon Riders wiped out, there was suddenly an influx in monsters that no mortal man could battle, and so people set out for a new form of protection against magic and monsters (because obviously Stregobor wasn’t doing that). That’s how witchers came into creation, when those with too much power and those too desperate came together to create the Order of Witchers and Trial of Grasses, to form perfect monster-fighting machines, and whom would not wield as much power as a Rider so that the humans wouldn’t have to fear being oppressed (for many still believed Stregobor’s propaganda against Riders; they thought the Forsworn were the only “untainted” Riders).

Geralt, at a young age, was abandoned in Carvahall to be raised as a nobody and farmhand by his mother Visena, who was a druid and magician in affiliation with Stregobor in the Nilfgaard Empire. He was eventually adopted by Vesemir when the old witcher realized who he was, and the ties he had; also, Vesemir realized he was Geralt’s real father, an old Rider from the time before Stregobor’s reign turned into a witcher.

Vesemir had no idea that Visenna was pregnant, let alone that she gave birth to a son, and promptly took Geralt in under the pretense of him being a Child Surprise.

The older witcher never wanted his son to become a witcher like himself, but he couldn’t stop the school from taking his boy and training him, preparing him for the Trial of Grasses. At least the young boy was able to befriend Eskel, another boy already at the keep.

They went in to take the Trial of Grasses together.

Both came out a little worse for wear, but alive.

Cat-like eyes, Geralt with white hair.

Lambert was later found almost dead at the edge of Carvahall, a real Child Surprise this time, and was also taken in to be trained into a witcher. He also survived the Trial of Grasses.

Then the witcher schools were burned and raided because people were worried about the “mutants,” because another king with too much power decided they weren’t needed anymore, and they were almost all wiped out like Dragon Riders.

Vesemir mourned the loss of another of his families but was beyond glad for the ones who survived because they were still out on The Path; he was the only witcher to survive the sackings.

Vesemir also still mourned his dragon he had lost so long ago in the raids, one that was grey and silver, a male called Jaciel (derived from Polish “przyjaciel” which means “friend”).

Queue the scene in Posada, with Jaskier approaching Geralt out of interest and eventually recognizes him as “The Butcher of Blaviken.” (The same events transpired in Blaviken, except Stregobor had sent others to kill Renfri because she was a threat to his crown, and also boasted about carrying dragon eggs, which she claimed would hatch only for those against the king of Nilfgaard [which wasn’t true, she didn’t have any eggs]; he used the excuse of her being born under the Black Sun, sent assassins, was going to capture her and torture and experiment on her for her magic and questionable birth, and Geralt coming by and murdering her whole gang and her included was just a happy little accident that meant he didn’t have to fight off any accusations on his part). Anyway, Geralt is known to oppose Stregobor, but isn’t actively trying to usurp him, so he is free to go around and do his witcher duties, but he is heavily hated for opposing the, “oh so gracious and powerful king, and murdering innocents in droves.”

So, Jaskier recognizes him, and being a young half-elf noble (being the son of the queen of elves, and the son of a high-ranking human noble), is yearning for adventure, and follows this guy to the end of the Continent because, “oops, I fell in love with him.”

But the two of them are captured on a contract by a group of rogue elves outside of Ellesméra (the “forest of elves,” and while there is one united queen, there are several noble families and different elven territories), reduced to few in numbers because of racist humans, and they don’t recognize who Jaskier is (as Julian Alfred Pankratz [human name], Julek Dìoiasaeil of Ellesméra [elven name], child and heir to Queen of the elves, Meira Banrighflùr of Ellesméra).

[Quick side note, Jaskier knows he’s half elf, and personally knows his mother, but does not know she’s elven royalty? Like, he knows her as “Meira” and “mother,” and only knows enough elven heritage to know about his roots and biology, but that’s it. He grew up as a human with his viscount father].

And the rogue elves reveal that the reason they left Ellesméra and set out on their own was because when Stregobor was toppling the Dragon Riders and smashing the eggs, they [as a highly ranked noble elven family, Filavandrel being the head of the family] were entrusted to protect and hide one of the last clutches of dragon eggs from the Forsworn; unfortunately, they were not successful, and in their escape they were only able to recover one cracked egg, and even then they weren’t sure it would hatch because of the trauma, or if the dragon inside was still alive.

Jaskier was struck with grief from their story (because he grew up under the Nilfgaard Empire, left to study at Oxenfurt in another kingdom, and didn’t know of Stregobor’s evil).

So, the elves gift Jaskier a magical lute and ask for him to sing of their demise so the king may never come looking for them, and in return for Geralt’s help and coin, give Geralt the last known dragon egg in existence, hoping it would find a safe home at Kaer Morhen, away from Stregobor.

Only, Jaskier cradles the egg one night at camp, and in the middle of the night the witcher and bard wake to it fucking hatching for him.

Of course, right?

Suddenly they have a new objective; get to Kaer Morhen as fast as fucking possible, or so god help me Jaskier, someone will see your bright fucking dragon and then we’re all dead.

This au is also staring Yennefer, taking the place of the mysterious Angela with a werecat, who I’m choosing to make half-elf like Jaskier, and who also likes to spread chaos everywhere she goes (and she’ll have less magic, but is just as badass, and is a genius with potions and knows the Ancient Language).

Jaskier’s dragon is blue and beautiful and is a male he names Dandelion, or some shit like that.

Also, this would be a geraskier (Geralt x Jaskier) fic, because obviously.

Anyone who feels like writing a fic, I’m WAYY too lazy, and I also might post more headcanons if anyone wants more??

[middleinthenight21]

Damirae week 2020- Day 2

Royalty AU

Warning: Adult content. 

The kingdom of Nanda Parbat is in the heart of the mountains, separated from society with a small population. However, they have a powerful army, whose warriors are so efficient that each could fight with six men at the same time. The leader calls himself "The Demon's Head", a strict and rigid old man who had reigned for more than fifty years.

Recently, his grandson had assumed the role. A young man who followed in the footsteps of the previous leader and made it his priority to enrich his kingdom through the war. He had obtained an expansion to the north, as he had investigated the new lands that brought a fruitful business in cultivation rice and control of trade routes with neighboring countries.

She pretends to be interested in the information about Nanda Parbat written on the parchment when one of her tutors’ flits around the small room they use to teach her. They had tried to instruct her in politics, history, she had an Arabic lesson for three hours a day and they were trying to teach her religion, all of this with blows.

The teacher's bar gently taps his hands and gives her a sharp look, as if reminding her of what could happen to her if she doesn't cooperate.

Raven is not well regarded in the harem of the palace; she is a foreigner who was brought from revolutionary France in a conquest. She had a background involved in rebel groups in her land conspiring for the fall of the despotic and corrupt monarch. She was not raised by her customs, does not worship the gods themselves (she is not even sure she believes in one), does not speak Arabic fluently, does not possess the traits considered attractive in women in Narba Parbat, and does not have the character or behavior that amass in young ladies from an early age.

Her first day in Nanda Parbat had been sad and confusing. She walked from her country handcuffed by soldiers who hardly gave her sidelong glances and murmured in another language when they first observed her. She was afraid that they would do something to her, and she already misses her friends, they were fine, she knew it in her heart and that brings relief. The monarch had fallen, Richard and the rebel grouping would build something better, it was a matter of time before the demon's head was removed and they could rise from the ashes.

She's just mad that she wasn't there to see that.

When she first observed the kingdom, she thought that she truly was no longer in her land. There was no smoke from the chimneys, nor the vast expanses of forest, there are no abusive noble lords to answer to and that green moss that is impossible to pull off the walls. Everything is very clean, tidy, even the climate is a subordinate, since it is warm, and her clothing made from the wool of the sheep begins to weigh on her body. A drop of sweat falls from her forehead.

She was dragged, tied by ropes around her hands. Held by a soldier dressed all in black, from whom only his slit eyes distinguish, she is forced to walk when the men get into a carriage pushed by a donkey.

Her feet hurt; she feels the pain of two days of walking without rest. She is poorly nourished and the dirt forms as a layer on her body.

She felt like she was about to pass out when her head is boiled by the rays of the sun.

"It would be nice if they gave me water," she asks.

The men gathered in the carriage look at her, some look away without caring about her request, others tilt their heads without understanding what she is saying. Raven repeats her words, but this time she mimics simulating clasping her hands together and drinking water.

No one listens to her.

"Why are you looking away? I am a person asking for something as basic as water. "

Raven knows that it is not because they do not understand, she is aware of the treatment that is given to women in some countries, France had not been the exception, however, the illustration and the books had penetrated deep into her soul. In her land women had been an important part of the revolution. They had united in arms when these soldiers invaded the kingdom and attacked the palace, the people had taken advantage of venting their anger towards the monarchy and bourgeoisie. It was the people who gave victory to the kingdom of the demon's head.

Perhaps she had grown too accustomed to raising her voice and being heard.

The one who she sensed was the captain leaned forward on his horse and hit her on the back with the hilt, silencing her. Raven writhed in pain, her teeth colliding with each other and her hands trembled at her sides, when she looked up the old man was looking at her with satisfaction. She looked at him with rancor and he raised his eyebrows in surprise.

"Shaytan," he growled.

What did that mean?

The captain threw a leather bag at her feet, it is like a horn and from the sound he knows it contains water. She runs to the water, her throat feels dry as if it were made of sandpaper, she realizes that the entire caravan has stopped and there are dozens of eyes on her.

The old man on the horse is watching.

Raven's senses are activated.

She takes a small portion of water, holds it in his mouth for a few minutes trying to take small drinks and her throat thanks her. However, she takes note of the sweet taste, it is fresh as if just brought from a cold spring. She holds it in her slightly puffed cheeks so the soldiers wouldn't notice.

When there is no danger, she swallows the contents of the horn without decorum. The water that falls from her mouth she uses to moisten her body and the warm crown of her head where the sun's rays hit hardest.

"Thank you," she says to the old man, bowing her head in a kind of bow. She thinks that, if it were not for the fact that she was taken from her land, she could come to admire the man, since she had seen him worried about the health of his soldiers and distributing the supplies.

The captain raises his eyebrows, surprised.

He contemplates the empty bowl of water in his hands and looks at his soldiers "Shaytan dhaki."

Raven frowns, confused.

The next thing she remembers is being dragged towards the entrance to the city of Narba Parbat. The city has a rough beauty, the palace is a whitish construction like those foreign paintings of the eastern palaces with straight lines and the towers look like small houses stacked in earth tones. She had thought of Nanda Parbat as a city made of sand in the middle of the desert, but it has a deep oriental inspiration.

Nanba Parbat is surrounded by a wall made of stone.

The captain grabbed the rope when they reached the city gates and veered off in another direction. Her legs tangle with each other, she struggles to keep up with the gracefully trotting horse, and nearly falls several times.

She hasn't eaten anything in days and her feet are pounding. Her head begs her to stay alert, she doesn't know where this shoulder was taking her, she is a foreign girl and nobody would worry if she appears dead in the distance, she has no one to claim her and she needs to defend herself if necessary.

"Where are you taking me? "

The man turns his back on his horse.

They enter the city through another entrance, almost sighing in relief because at least more people would see if something would happen to her, even with all that, she is still a foreign girl.

They pass through a market. People stroll in robes, street vendors shout the prices of their products, there is music in the air somewhat like a flute. Large fabrics work like a makeshift ceiling, everything is cool in the market and there is a powerful smell of spices and incense in the air.

She is impressed by the colors, smells and textures.

In France there is nothing like this.

The women look at her, look scandalized, and some who walk with their children cover their eyes and take them away from her.

What is wrong with her clothing?

The captain pulls the rope, they continue to cross the market until they reach a house that is close to the royal palace. She thinks that perhaps he is going to hand her over to the authorities and they will execute her, but they deviate towards a small construction from which they see young people enter wearing elegant clothes. They are not the dresses that she is accustomed to seeing in the bourgeoisie, but soft fabrics in green and gold tones, their hair is dark, long to their back and their skin is golden or dark.

These women are delicate, like flowers and care about their appearance. She feels dirty and insignificant compared to them.

Raven frowns.

A woman opens the doors, she is plump, and a green veil covers her hair, her face covered in wrinkles, and when her gaze falls on her mouth twists down. She gives her a look from head to toe, to finally look at the man and from her mouth come a series of words that she does not understand, but surely, they are repudiation. She can feel it, she was always an intuitive person and she knows that she would not have the sympathy of this woman.

The captain responds and pulls on the rope, pulling her body forward.

The woman strides over to her and takes her hard by the chin, examining her face and touching her dirty hair. She claps her on the ribs, growling a sentence, and grimaces. She touches her hair again, pulling the strands as if she thinks the color is false, with fingers she from rubs and gem with the other hand and finds no pigment.

Raven pulls away, but her grip on her cheeks is like a hawk's claws on her prey.

The lady continues to touch the dress checking her body under the fabric, when she lifts her skirt Raven grimaces and instinctively kicks her to get away, she screams and hits her in the face. The slap is loud and leaves her cheek burning for a few seconds. She takes her face, digging her nails into her chin, yells at the captain who now looks funny, and pushes her away, as if wanting her to get as far away as possible.

"Shaytan," she growls.

Again, what does that mean?

The captain says something, and the woman looks her directly in the eyes, her mouth opens and closes for a few minutes. Finally, she grabs her arm and takes her into the room.

She doesn't have time to think about anything.

Raven screams and tries to get her to release her several times, but she is weak from walking, dehydration, lack of food and sleep, and the woman is much heavier than she is. That does not prevent her from giving up, she does not want to enter that place and she struggles with all her strength to release her. With a little luck she could escape from the city, but the woman whistles and more people are joining to take her inside.

She quickly learns what can happen for not obeying, she spends more than a month between lessons, flower baths and new clothes, she is forced to visit mosques and meet their gods, however, she does not believe that any entity comes to save her. She learns that ´´Shaytan´´ means demon in Arabic, she earns that nickname for her apparent rebellion against the authorities and the attitude that they disapprove of. She also learns that she is in a harem and that they were preparing to serve the demon head.

She shows no interest.

She is not interested in what they have to say about the leader, nor does she want to please him in any way. She has other things to worry about.

She doesn't make friends inside the harem, with every lawsuit that forms around her. Like when they tried to recite a prayer out loud and he refused, or when she escaped through a small window one night and was caught in the middle of the river in a boat. The gossip spread like wildfire and the women moved further away from her side.

A guard chases her everywhere after her frustrated escape attempt.

Raven just wants to go back to her land, she has no interest in satisfying the leader, in looking beautiful to him and ducking her head when it will happen, she doesn't want to be reminded every day that she is inferior and that her life is wrapped around a thread that supports the demon's head. She does not belong to him.

She walks through the local market pretending to be interested in fabrics and spices, she had invented an excuse ´´I need new perfume and more dresses´´ and they believed her, so they gave her a bag of gold coins to spend, while the guard walked behind her.

Out of the corner of her eye is a merchant who works in the port.

On her first getaway, she traded a handful of coins for a small pot but was unsuccessful as he was in plain sight and soon to be made aware of her absence from the harem. The merchant was famous for helping unfortunate political prisoners or lovers to flee. He bought bribes from certain authorities and infiltrated you in such a way that no one had managed to find one of his clients.

She needed to talk to him, with the coins she had she could buy her way back to her country.

"I have to go to the bathroom," she says to the guard.

The man raises his eyebrows and looks away. Raven hides behind a tent and runs away as fast as she can.

The merchant had turned to the right and when she reached him, she pulls him by the clothes so hard that he almost falls off. The man would be in his forties, of course she wouldn't be scared of a nineteen-year-old, but she is with him.

"Ah, it's you." He shakes his robes from the dust.

She gasps looking everywhere "I needed to go."

He raises one of his graying eyebrows. The language is hard on her tongue, not used to talking to others, she needs practice, Raven does not waste time and puts the bag with the coins in his hands, and the merchants feel it, as if with that she could check how much it was worth.

"No. "

What?

"Why not? "

He winces indifferently "It's very little. "

"They are gold coins."

"Listen, I know you want to abandon your life of luxury in the palace, but what I do is not legal and I risk my head every time someone important is taken out of this kingdom" he answers, as if he was explaining a subject to a little boy. "The Demon’s Head is known for his indulgence and does not like his treasures fleeing to other countries" he looks at her from head to toe.

"I don't belong to him," she spits.

"Think what you want." He rolled his eyes. He puts the bag of coins in her hands, and leaves. "Bring more gold or please your lord, shaytan. "

Raven sighs.

***

She is in the harem garden. Sitting reading on the grass regardless of whether she soils her purple dress.

The old Zaira, the director of the harem, had sent them to make different dresses for Raven, since green or gold does not go with her pale skin and would not be attractive to her lord, so they choose purple, red and blue tones. She does not the fabrics as well as the other girls. She doesn't mind getting his clothes dirty.

"I saw him." There is a murmur in the garden. The young concubines gathered among the flowers to chat with their group of friends. Raven is hidden behind a bush where she had buried a book, since she is prohibited from reading anything else that is not authorized by Zaira. "He is very handsome and young" they laugh.

She put her back against the bush wanting to hear better.

"Did he look at you? "

"He was very busy training with one of his instructors" she says, her voice is low and disappointed ", but Zaira told me that the leader has not looked at any concubine" now she sounds more animated. "He has been heavily involved in politics to have time for women. I heard one of the ministers talk about developing a new map. "

"He's so committed," another sighs.

She rolls her eyes.

"We'll dance for him next week," reports one. There is a group gasp. "Zaira confessed to me that the girl who dances best will spend a night with him, in addition to that on that night she will have access to the royal treasure and will make us choose any jewel as a gift."

Jewel?

She remembers the merchant's words; she needs a gem to secure her exit from this harem and palace which is a true nightmare.

He almost visualizes the faces of her friends, her mother tongue in her mouth and the flavors of her tender native.

She needs that gem.

***

"I want to dance. "

Raven stands in front of Zaira, the woman is giving lessons to the young women who would dance for the Demon's Head and she not included in the list.

"Who are you to demand such a thing?" She gives her a contemptuous look. "Why the sudden interest in the Lord? "

She sighs "I want to know how he is. "

A simple answer.

Raven had had experience lying, being a rebel during the revolution. She grew up on the streets, not like these women who came from wealthy families, are the daughters of soldiers and were made with a gold chisel.

"You are lucky, shaytan" with a gesture the young women open leaving a space for her to enter the group. Before she can put herself in her place, Zaira takes her arm, stopping her. "If you weren't so unusual, I would have let you go a long time ago. I did not accept you out of courtesy, but by the lord. If you make one of your numbers, I will personally see to it that you disappear from this palace."

She smiles sweetly at her. "Don't worry. I matured, I am dedicated to faith now and I understood that I owe everything to the Demon’s Head."

During her time as a rebel she was not a lone player, she was happy to surround herself with a group and find others who would fight for the same thing, the common good above all. She did not expect to find her rebels here, maybe if not they will threaten her so much could look at them well.

Zaira released her arm giving him a suspicious look, but she settled with a smile between the concubines and pretended that the woman's words meant nothing. She had managed to become one of the concubines who would dance for the Demon's Head, now she had to get his attention and win that night where he would give her the most expensive jewel that would ensure her exit from this cursed kingdom.

***

When the night came when they would appear in the Demon's Head’s room, the leader would be sitting on a throne with his back to the doors of his room and when he chose one of the concubines everything would stop, the unselected women would return to the harem where they would not go out, unless the selected one was not liked by the leader and that is a humiliation. The selected one would be chosen not only for her beauty, but for her way of dancing and as it pleases the Lord. When she is chosen, she would make her way through the room and announce herself, as tradition dictates.

Raven had been enlisting all day among scented baths, fragrances, worthless little jewels, and elaborate dresses. She decides again with the dressmaker that there wouldn't be a green dress for her, instead she has a blue dress with gold accents and thinks that's enough.

They are not allowed to show their faces, so they emphasize their eyes with black eyeliner, and she thinks she looks like a blue cat.

"We want the color of your eyes to stand out the most," the woman says with a brush.

She did not know why these people are so obsessed with the color of her eyes and her short hair that is dark, it is supposed to be because she are foreign.

When they walk to the hall where the ceremony would take place, she realizes that she is nervous, her hands itch and she feels like a prey in her dress. The color of her dress draws the attention of the other concubines, since they chose colors such as green and the gold that is used by the Demon's Head, not a bright blue.

The interior of the palace is luxurious, with its gleaming floors and gold trim. The air has a scent of essences and incense, distinguishes small lighted bowls whose smoke perfumes the corridors.

"I don't think the Demon's Head is fixed on the French one."

She knows that she is not appreciated within the harem for her behavior, although she had calmed down in the past few days as she is focused on getting that gem. These girls did not have to worry about her, because she would get the jewel and disappear forever, it would be as if she had never arrived.

Doors open and she stiffens.

"Don't raise your head. Don't look him in the eye unless you are selected” Zaira instructs in a harsh voice.

She feels his eyes on her body, and Raven smiles to herself.

When they enter, they form a perfect circle in the center just as they had rehearsed. Raven turns her back on the throne but knows it's there. The musicians are positioned to the side, their instruments in their hands ready for the signal from the Demon's Head, and they begin to play.

She takes the group's hands; they make a round, tracing patterns with their feet to the rhythm of the music. The typical music of these areas is different from that of her land, Zaira had said that her hips were rough, and she needs to balance them to the sound of the songs, it is like holding an instrument only with her hips. It's very strange.

The others follow the choreography without difficulty, but have trouble keeping up and think this is boring.

The same routine: they hold hands, turn, move their feet and hips, make waves with their hands, hold hands, and they would follow the process.

Zaira said that this dance represents femininity and fertility, an act of seduction, but this is tedious and she does not imagine what it is to have to witness one of these dances once a week, it is not surprising that the man had not decided on anyone.

She decides to look up a bit and is surprised by the youth of the demon's head, he would be about twenty years old, golden skin and green eyes. He had on a jade green robe that revealed a muscular torso, high black pants and there is a ring with a large diamond on his index finger.

He is not even looking; he is concentrating on his sword listening to Zaira who probably talks to him about the concubines because of the way her head glances at each one.

The Demon's Head is a handsome and rich man, with a ring on his finger, if she earned it she would have her ticket paid to her land.

Compared to these girls, she had nothing to lose.

She leaves the dance, the musicians freeze, the concubines stop and look down, Zaira is red with anger and her teeth clench so hard that she is sure to have some chipped teeth.

The leader leans forward following her movements, carrying a sword in his hand that he is not using, so she does not think he considers her as a threat. He looks impartial, his expression is blank, and it is difficult for Raven to know what he is thinking, perhaps he does not consider her prank so funny. There is no way back.

Raven positions herself in front of the concubines, bows her head in reverence, and walks back with her head down; the other women make way for her and step aside. She can feel her anger up to here.

The musicians begin to play a different, softer tune and try to follow her. She is not good at moving her hips like the natives, but she knows her own charm and tries to show it. She raises her arms allowing her wide sleeves to reveal skin up to her elbows.

It is forbidden to show skin.

The harem director is scandalized.

She turns and takes off her shoes, leaving her feet bare. She does not know where she gets so much daring, especially in the face of a society as conservative as that of Nanda Parbat, but the man in front of her has been in battles, contemplating deaths and his army is known as the league of assassins, it´s not like he is a saint.

Her dress had an opening, it is almost invisible, it would only reveal up to the knees, she knows that Zaira has not seen it and it reveals the skin of her leg almost by accident. She is aware that her features are strange, people whispering for her pale tone and servants would try to make her take on a more attractive shade sunbathing, but it has not worked and she does not look cute when the sun hurts her skin giving it a red tone, like a shrimp.

One of the musicians drops his instrument and has to run to pick it up.

He still hadn't killed her or screamed for her daring, that's good.

She raises her eyes, sees how an eyebrow rises when their gazes intertwine, and she has never seen a more beautiful and masculine face like his. Tradition says that concubines should wear veils that cover their hair, face and waist, but they had already broken a rule, why not two?

She had been a rebel in her country, here too.

She takes out the scarf that she keeps around her waist, caresses her face with the fabric, as well as her torso until she reaches her waist, he remains as neutral as ever, but follows the path of the scarf and it is a good sign. She smiles under the scarf that covers her nose and mouth; it is a true smile.

She approaches turning to where the leader is, the handkerchief in her hands flies and moves her hips, letting him see her bare feet and legs, crouches back in strides allowing him to see her cleavage and now he gulps.

Her hair is tied under a veil in a transparent blue shade, she caresses her hair looking at the man directly in the eyes, her hands go down her collarbone, between her breasts and her stomach.

Raven smiles at him as one of her hands quickly goes up to her face cupping her left cheek. She feels the evil, mischief and lust within her intertwined in this dance, it's like a statement.

When the music ends, she is sitting on the floor bowing with a smile on her face. She is tired, but something inside her jumps with happiness to get his attention, she thinks it would be fun to see how far this man would let her go.

"Who are you? "

She feels the tension in his voice and closes her eyes tight. Shit, maybe she was wrong, and her breach of tradition was stronger than she thought.

"She is a foreigner, sir. I'll get her out of here, if ... "

"Did I ask you, Zaira?" He interrupts her.

Raven sighs.

"I asked you a question." Raven shuddered at the harsh sound in the man's voice. "Look me in the eye when I speak to you. "

She looks up, their eyes meet, and she feels a tug in her insides, he probably also felt it because the man recoils a few inches on his throne. Perhaps the maid who had made her up was right and her eyes did stand out through the makeup, it makes her look mysterious and more feline.

She remembers that even with the cold tone of this man, he is still the one who followed the path of the scarf over her figure.

"They call me shaytan, my lord."

"That can't be your real name."

"I have abandoned my old name. Embraced the customs of Nanda Parbat along with my new name."

Zaira shakes her head and narrows her eyes in her direction.

A smile formed on the lips of the Demon's Head "You were noticed when you interrupted the dance of the concubines. Did you know that it is a tradition that takes more than a hundred years? "

The concubines exchanged a look of alert, since the leader had not given them a sideways glance and is conversing with the foreigner.

"I thought you needed entertainment, my lord." She trailed off the nickname justifying the accent and her intermediate command of Arabic. The Demon's Head realized.

The leader observed Zaira and whispered something in her ear, the woman grimaced in disgust and ordered those present to leave.

What did this mean?

Raven looked down again, as the room emptied. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw the concubines open their eyes in surprise, some of them trying to hide their anger and glancing hatefully towards her.

Zaira grimaces, just by seeing her she can see the promise of revenge in her eyes.

The room was completely empty.

Had she succeeded?

She was chosen?

The Demon's Head stood up, the sword is now in its scabbard, and his green cloak rippled through the air as it followed. He opens the doors behind the throne, they lead to a dark room whose only lights are lighted metal fountains, a polished wood floor, the windows are open. She has a view of the entire kingdom that is represented in small lights, there is a bed in the center of the room and small furniture where there is a pile of parchments in different positions.

Sheets hang from the ceiling, swaying to the rhythm of the warm wind. Where they come from, they would not think of having the windows open day and night, since it was always very cold.

The room is beautiful.

"Come in," he orders.

Now his voice has a boring note, as if he had experienced this before and had the predicted ending. Raven's life was never fun, she had a difficult childhood with an abusive father and ran away when she was just a girl. Preferring to live on the streets where she found friends, she had a reason to fight and now she is here in front of a ruler; but his life was written in stone, marked by traditions and customs. What a disappointing life.

He sits on the edge of the bed and leaves the sword on a piece of furniture.

"Take off your veils and clothes."

Is this what this would be like?

Raven is not someone with a sex life as active as Richard or Kory, she had had a short list of loves that had not led to anything important, however, she was not supposed to start a sexual relationship this way. She wonders how little fun this relationship must have been for this man; she surely has a protocol to follow when it comes to these things and she thinks it's horrible.

Not that she is an expert, in fact her experience is limited.

He is now looking at her, as if she had no objections. Raven raises a hand to the scarf that covers her hair, but her hands get tangled and it's a lie.

"I can't take off my scarf."

She realizes that she is nervous, but still needs to make a good impression and leave him so happy that he would guarantee a gem.

Pretend a face of innocence "Can you help me, my lord? "

He sighs and gestures for her to come closer. Raven listens to him, but does not do exactly what he wants, but turns her back on him.

"Are you making fun of me?" He says, undoing the scarf over his hair, there is still one more that covers half her face.

"I never would, my lord."

But he is laughing.

His hands are warm, and he stays longer than necessary at the nape of her neck and traces a path to the clavicle and down to her chest. No one had ever touched her like this, as if she were something soft, and she sighed under his hands, stopping the rapid advance, took his hands stopping him on purpose and gave him a kiss on the palm.

Not yet.

He freezes.

Raven turns around, looks him directly in the eye. His eyes are green like jade, it looks like river water or the color of moss that is born from humidity.

She runs a hand through her hair, her short hair caresses her shoulders and one of her hands buries her buds feeling the texture and the smell of flowers they used to bathe her.

"I've never seen hair this color before," he whispers. He caresses her hair feeling the softness, he looks into her eyes, his eyes are deep, and they leave her breathless. "Where did you come from, shaytan? "

A malicious smile springs from her lips. The protocol of visits to the demon's head had been explained to her, only he could touch and ask to be pleased, the concubine existed to give pleasure, not to receive it.

"Perhaps from a nightmare, sir," she replies.

Raven caresses her chest, feels his bare skin, it’s covered with small scars and tenses when there is skin-to-skin contact, but he doesn't push away. He’s warm, just as she expected, and her thumb traces a scar across his ribs, he gasps and stands up.

"You don't look like a nightmare."

"Oh, I can teach you what I can do, and it will change your mind," she replies. With the back of her hand, she runs through his muscles until it sits on the clavicle, where she traces the protruding bone and notices the scars.

The Demon's Head does nothing.

She thinks she has done something wrong, that he would kick her out, but instead he just looks at her.

He is taller than she, he has a tall head and has to tilt his head to look her in the eye. Violet meets green, Raven could drown in his eyes and die, suddenly she is afraid of being rejected, because he will call someone else and live thinking about what she might have.

He advances, his hands traveling to the veil that covers her nose and mouth, a small dagger in his hand breaks the fabric with agility and it falls to the ground.

He gasps when he looks at her face.

He looks without fabrics to separate them for the first time and Raven feels like they've gotten rid of a wall. Her hands tremble at the sides of her body, her legs are two branches shaken by the wind and the heat settles at the base of the stomach, it is like fire and she doesn't mind burning herself.

He looks like a statue, static, but she feels how his eyes make her feverish, she imagines herself touching and how the most powerful man in the Middle East melts under her palms; she is sure that he is thinking the same. Zaira's voice is strong in her head:

If he chooses you, I don't think so, shaytan. You are not allowed to take the first step, the head of the devil as the supreme leader of your life and the empire must be who determines what the act will be like. No games.

They endorse each other, when their lips meet it is an uncomfortable kiss because it is a collapse of teeth and a fight for whoever has control over the other's lips, and they cannot find a position that accommodates them, but soon he tilts his head and it is much more functional. His hands are all over the place, he touches her torso through the corset, her waist and hip to her rear where his hands stop.

Raven gasps loudly, letting the sound sweep through the room without worrying about being heard; He runs his hands over her torso enjoying the firm skin under the pads of his fingers and runs a hand down her smooth back through the fabric. Sure, the cloth is there and it's annoying, she has to take it off. He throws the robe to the ground without caring about how he does it, the fabric falls apart into threads, leaving half torn in place.

He is kissing her hard and Raven laces his hands around her neck to help wrap her legs around his torso. The openings in the dress don't allow her to do this, but he slides a dagger to break the skirt and ends with two slits down to the hips.

Raven laughs against his mouth, but quickly stops doing it as he shifts his attention to her neck, placing butterfly kisses on her skin until he goes down to her collarbone and is too excited to feel anything else.

Sighs.

He tightens her hair, and feels her tense, now he runs his tongue over her neck to her ear. Raven writhes like a worm.

To punish him she pushes her hips against the base of his stomach, dangerously close to his crotch. The man now stops and watches her, as if she had done something very wrong.

The burning fire plays with his face and Raven gives him a look of innocence deciding to ignore his erection through his pants. This is the same man who had observed her with a neutral face while dancing.

There is a knife in his hands, and he is tearing the dress. The knife comes down through the ribbons on her back and the corset is out, left in a plain dress that falls square in a pale blue hue.

"You destroyed a dressmaker's job, sir," but she's already raising her arms for him to take off her dress.

He has a better idea because he draws her to his body, wraps his arms around her waist, and his hands intertwine at the start of her butt.

"I'll have another one made for you." He kisses her so hard she leans back.

There is a smile on her lips. In her life she has seen beautiful men, she can sit down to contemplate some faces and bodies, but this man is on another level, it seems that he was made by an angel who wants to replicate the most beautiful thing he has seen in an individual.

"Anyway, they did me to take it away from you."

The next time they meet they are slower but want to touch each other. Raven lets him have her entire body exposed like no other man in her life, he may have a kingdom, but her resides within these four walls.

In the tradition it is dictated that the man should always be on top, it is not allowed that the woman is the one who rode him, but they experience everything, and they do not care about customs.

He squeezes her breasts and Raven sighs increasing speed. She would kiss him hard, biting and finding his tongue, the Demon's Head looks like a moldable object under her hands and it's fun, but she’s also slipping.

She gives herself to him and if he asked her for anything, she would do it without thinking.

"Called me Damian," he confesses between kisses, when they are exhausted and sweat drips down their bodies. His chest rises and falls in heavy breaths. "That's my name. "

She looks at him askance. Her body is sore, she is sure she has more than love bite on her neck, stomach and breasts, her hair is a sweaty mess, she cannot even brush it with her fingers due to the number of knots, she feels irritation on her thigh where He had bitten her, it would leave a scar, and her lips are swollen and aching.

"So, you're not called Demon Head, Damian?" mocks.

He clicks his tongue and winces when he turns to look at her. A sheet covers part of his body, but he is naked; looking at his sculpted torso there are scratches, bites and bruises, she does not want to see the chaos that is his back.

Did she do that?

"What about you, Shaytan?"

She grimaces as she looks out, the mountain range looms in the distance and the lights of the kingdom are dimming, welcoming a new dawn.

"I had it somewhere else," she sighs. "When I lived on my land, I had a name, but I discarded it. Now I don't know what to think. "

She drops onto the bed, the mattress is soft, and the sheets are made of a delicate material, it's like butter. Her head does not touch the pillows, the bed is too big for two people to cover the entire space, she is sure that it is made for him, he will invite more than one lover to his rooms.

She wonders how many people have touched him the way she had.

It is now her life, dancing and trying to attract the attention of a man who has at his disposal a multitude of lovers. Maybe she had enjoyed it so much that she held on too soon.

"Do you want me to keep calling you Shaytan?"

She looked at the ceiling. The bed has a ceiling made of carved wood covered by fabrics in golden patterns that fall down the sides, just like the veil that he had torn from her face with his dagger.

Maybe if he hadn't been so permissive with her ...

Could she answer a name nicknamed by others for your attitude?

"They call me Raven," she confesses. Her voice is monotonous, devoid of all humor, and in the bed of the leader of the nation who had ripped her from her land, she realizes that perhaps she had not completely left her name, but she is still a demon. "Can we keep it as our secret, sir? " She watches him.

He focuses his gaze on the ceiling, meditates for a few minutes, and nods.

Raven smiles.

She takes the sheet from him and rises from the bed muttering a complaint about the pain in a certain area, and searches the floor for her clothes, but finds her dress cut. She is not willing to walk to the harem in a torn, dirty and stained dress.

"Where are you going? "

She looks at him.

When she sees him, she thinks that maybe they were too abrupt, since Damian's eyes are swollen and red, as well as his mouth and scratches on his arms, red marks on his neck and torso, as well as pieces of cloth on the bed.

"Isn't it just for one night?" The question. Zaira told her that the selected one would only stay one night with the demon's head, and after a time she would be called, only if she pleased her lord.

"Stay another day."

Raven contemplates the idea, has no objection.

"I have no clothes."

"You don't need them."

Okay, so maybe she could get used to this faster than she thinks.

You're giving me chills at a hundred degrees

Calling your name, the only language I can speak

(FanFiction soon)

[minervacasterly]

The caricature of Margaret Beaufort:

From pop culture POV and the POV of those influenced by it, this powerful matriarch is all of the following: Religious nut case! Bitch. She killed the princes in the tower! Old and ugly! Screw her! She and her son were the worst thing that happened to England!

And yet her son became the founder of a dynasty that reigned for more than a century and continues to fascinate us. Now on to the real Meg Beaufort. In the White Queen she is all this and that but the real Meg was no religious nut case and she certainly didn't plan the murder of the Princes and you can debate me countless times on this but there is no concrete evidence that she did! Richard had more than enough motive and opportunity to kill the Princes and oh wait before I get the Ricardians on my case, I don't hate Richard. I actually find him interesting, I wouldn't find him interesting if he was perfect. Richard had learned from his brother's mistakes but made mistakes of his own. If he produced the boys then that would've propelled them to sainthood and the last thing he wanted was a cult was already building around Henry VI. What happened with this last monarch is fascinating and you might be wondering -hey! Isn't that the guy they smothered with a pillow in the White Queen? Yeah, that's the one. Except there are so many theories abounding to his death. The first one comes from Bettini who wrote three weeks after the Lancastrian king's death that it was Edward NOT Richard who gave the order. At the time the blame was solely pinned on Edward, so let's not confuse contemporary sources with secondary. Rous and Vergil writing in the Tudor period pinned the murder on Richard and even early Ricardians say that he did it, but with one major difference -*under* Edward's orders. If this is so, one thing we can all agree, if Richard gave the order or personally took care of Henry, it was all done under his brother's command. But this backfired, soon people were attributing all sorts of miracles to this guy, he became more famous in death than he had ever been in life. Edward tried hard to suppress this cult but he couldn't and Richard did the next best thing. If you can't beat them, join 'em! He cashed in on the cult and officiated a reburial of the dead monarch and started all new kinds of celebrations for him but people still talked as they always do. Now if he had produced the dead children as he and his brother had done with the Lancastrian king, then it would've been chaos, complete and utter chaos!

Margaret Beaufort's sole aim up until the princes disappearance in the summer of 1483 was to gain back her son's lands and bring him back safely. She was forced to give him up before after the Lancaster line had been wiped out from the face of the earth by Yorkist forces, ending to some historians' view, the wars of the roses in 1471. Margaret would not see him until the aftermath of Bosworth in 1485. She had little to worry about the first years of his exile, he was with his uncle Jasper, his father's brother. They intended to sail to the French court, a court his uncle knew very well but landed in Brittany instead because of the bad weather. Brittany was not on good terms with the French and they had their fair share of enmity with the English so it served the Duke well to have two valuable English hostages, one who had a considerable (if debatable) claim to the English throne via his mother. Edward attempted to coax the old Duke into give up his charge and while the Duke never believed Edward's intentions, some of his ministers did and those who didn't just wanted to cash in on the juicy rewards. Henry was an intelligent youth who was far from the serious and mama's boy he's depicted in today's fiction. He loved to laugh, play, joke and gamble. But he was aware how valuable he was and at one point feigned sickness and took sanctuary in a church when he suspected his future voyage to England was a hoax -which it was -and that small trickery on his part saved him.

By 1480, Margaret had more than enough to worry, but she wasn't giving up on her son's legacy. With Edward's promise to marry him to his eldest daughter, Margaret continued to rely on the faith that gave comfort to so many women in this period, and Edward's promise, albeit a fake one, was something she never let go of. The accession of Richard and Anne changed all that. Always an opportunist at heart, she tried to curry favor with the new regime. Whether she agreed with it or not -we will never know but her husband was an official in Richard's government and she had more than enough reason to believe that Richard would grant her her request to bring her son back. After all he was more busy convincing everyone his brother had never been legally married to Elizabeth and securing his position. But surprise, surprise for Margaret and everyone involved. Her life was never easy, it was one obstacle after another and this was no different. The boys' disappearance changed everything and Buckingham's rebellion gave her a chance she had never considered before. Her moment to shine had come. She was no longer looking to bring her son back as a mere earl but as a king so she started plotting with the queen dowager through her Welsh doctor. After a lot of plotting and intrigue and tragedy at Richard's court, her son's shining moment came and thanks to the defection of his stepfather from Richard's camp to his side, he won. There is a famous myth that his stepfather, Thomas Stanley found the crown in a thorn bush but this is likely Tudor propaganda. Richard's treatment afterwards was one that's always given by the victor to the loser, stripped of all his clothes and shamefully paraded, he was then written as the worst monarch that ever lived.

And while I do agree there needs to be a better assessment of Richard, doing the same to Margaret and Richard is just as dumb. She was born in 1443 and a year after, John Beaufort, her father and Duke of Somerset died. Many said at the time that it was because of suicide because of his terrible leadership in France. Truth or not, Margaret was now a wealthy heiress and her wardship was widely sought after. William de la Pole, the crown's favorite tried to marry her to his son, but after he was murdered, at only nine years old Margaret was brought to court to swear that she never intended to marry his son. Later she rewrote history saying that it was because of a godly vision that told her that it was her destiny to marry Edmund Tudor and establish a great house, that she denied it. Margaret married at only 12 and Edmund Tudor, anxious to get his hands on her wealth, didn't bother to wait. He impregnated her less than a year after and she gave birth in January 1457 when she was months away from being 14, to her only offspring. The birth damaged her, she never had any children with her other spouses. She had a happy marriage with her next spouse, Henry Stafford and they celebrated their anniversary in big style every year and even housed Edward IV in their hunting lodged in one occasion. This doesn't sound like the power hungry, vindictive Margaret of TV. And that's because she wasn't! She was very learned and founded and refounded many colleges, chief among them: Christ's College which had previously been God's House and St. John's in Cambridge. Aware that only the privileged few could attend these institutions she voiced her concerns in 1479, and her attempts bore fruit when Wimborne College was established posthumously in 1509, which was later renamed Queen Elizabeth's school. She also established the Lady Margaret Beaufort Professorship of Divinity at Cambridge in 1502 and the first women's college in Oxford was named after her.

In spite of her joy of seeing her son crowned, she could not help herself. Fisher and many contemporaries described how she cried -a clear sign of a woman that doesn't care about power- and when asked why, she responded because she had lived through so many kings and princes who had been murdered and killed in battle. Who knew if her son was next or if his reign would last. She cried the same tears of grief on her grandson's joint coronation with Katherine, fearing that his reign would face the same troubles.

Margaret passed away days after in 1509, after a long life of hardship and triumph.

[joannalannister]

Anonymous asked:

Hey there, Lauren! I love your blog and metas! I have a question for you, in terms of the book, could you tell me when and where Daenerys shows signs of being a tyrant or a fascist? I see lots of metas say that she is, but from what I've read, I don't see any signs of that? Sure, she kills her enemies, but what powerful monarch doesn't? I just feel like the fandom has a very biased and double standard hatred when it comes to her, and I would like your opinion! Thank you!

Before I answer your question, we need some sort of working definition of fascism. To achieve this, I would like to quote a disabled person who helped lead the fight against fascism for years, and who died in the line of duty:

Over a year and a half ago I said this [...]: "The militarists in Berlin, and Rome and Tokyo started this war, but the massed angered forces of common humanity will finish it."

Today that prophecy is in the process of being fulfilled. The massed, angered forces of common humanity are on the march. They are going forward [...] 

We will have no truck with Fascism in any way, in any shape or manner. We will permit no vestige of Fascism to remain. [...]

In every country conquered by the Nazis and the Fascists, or the Japanese militarists, the people have been reduced to the status of slaves or chattels.

It is our determination to restore these conquered peoples to the dignity of human beings, masters of their own fate, entitled to freedom of speech, freedom of religion, freedom from want, and freedom from fear.

We have started to make good on that promise. I am sorry if I step on the toes of those Americans who, playing party politics at home, call that kind of foreign policy “crazy altruism” and “starry-eyed dreaming.”

--President Franklin D. Roosevelt, July 28th, 1943 Fireside Chat

What did the fascist Nazi Party stand for in WWII?

Historically, there was no Nazi Party apart from their racial and social agenda. It was a party founded on racial distinctions, with a vision to dramatically transform their society. The Nazis disliked and persecuted anyone who they did not consider Aryan. They persecuted and killed Jewish people, homosexuals, Jehovah’s Witnesses, and communists, and they wanted to eliminate people with mental or physical ailments. The Nazis pushed women out of the workplace and actively promoted patriarchy. [x]

But where does GRRM come into this?

I wasn’t a complete pacifist; I couldn’t claim to be that. I was what they called an objector to a particular war. I would have been glad to fight in World War II. But Vietnam was the only war on the menu. [x]

GRRM’s ethical views are at their clearest and most concise while discussing slavery and dehumanization in his (most excellent and highly recommended) vampire novel, Fevre Dream:

I never held much with slavery […]. You can’t just go… usin’ another kind of people, like they wasn’t people at all. Know what I mean? Got to end, sooner or later. Better if it ends peaceful, but it’s got to end even if it has to be with fire and blood, you see? Maybe that’s what them abolitionists been sayin’ all along. You try to be reasonable, that’s only right, but if it don’t work, you got to be ready. Some things is just wrong. They got to be ended.

Some things are worth fighting for. Fascism requires opposition, some form of opposition, or it will steamroller all over you. 

My regret now is not that I stayed my arm, but that I remained aloof in my window while others protested peacefully outside. It would be naïve to think that those marching in neo-Nazi parades could have a change of heart from such efforts, but I am more concerned with those who are not marching for anything. We must convince the apathetic to care, and stop those who are walking down the path of hatred before it becomes too late.

--David Olin, The View from My Window, Berkeley 2018, written for the Elie Wiesel Foundation for Humanity 

Now, let me apply this to ASOIAF piece by piece. 

In every country conquered [...] the people have been reduced to the status of slaves or chattels.

This is Tywin. This is Tywin enslaving people as part of his militaristic campaign of aggressive force in the Riverlands. This is Tywin sanctioning the capture and torture of innocent people. This is Tywin “using” other kinds of people and disregarding the fact that they are human beings. This is Tywin enslaving Arya Stark. This is Tywin impressing people to work in his gold mines on a whim, as we learn in AGOT. This is Tywin reducing people to the status of slaves or chattels. This is Tywin. 

I don’t know how many different ways I can say it, but as I’ve said before and will say again: Tywin is the character in the ASOIAF books who most prominently espouses fascist ideology. 

There are other characters in the main series -- Roose Bolton and Randyll Tarly, for example -- who also exhibit characteristics of fascist ideology, but I would argue that it is Tywin who is the fascist poster boy of ASOIAF ... and it is also Tywin who is one of the main villains who is drawing humanity’s attention south away from the true threat of the Others, who wish to turn every living thing into their slaves and playthings. (Littlefinger also comes to mind.) Tywin is an unwitting general in the Others’ army. Tywin is fighting the Others’ Campaign of Dehumanization on their behalf. 

The Nazis disliked and persecuted anyone who they did not consider Aryan. 

Substitute “Aryan” for “Lannister” and this is Tywin. “a Lannister, and worth more.” It is Tywin who pushes an agenda of Lannister superiority and it is Tywin to whom non-Lannisters aren’t human, to the point that he had to marry his own cousin. He dislikes non-Lannisters so much he had to marry his own cousin!!!! It’s Tywin who passed down his obsession with blood purity to his children to the point that they literally have to fuck each other. It’s Tywin who puts his House (a proxy for his race) above the individuals in it; it’s Tywin who doesn’t care if Cersei and Jaime and Tyrion are ground to dust under his disgusting ideology as long as House Lannister reigns supreme. 

"Spice soldiers and cheese lords," his lord father called them, with contempt. 

This is Tywin. 

Non-Lannisters aren’t fully human to Tywin. This is fascist ideology!!!!

It was a party founded on racial distinctions

This is Tywin and Kevan, refusing to allow the Westerlings to marry into their family because of “doubtful blood”!!!!! (”Ser Kevan seldom had a thought that Lord Tywin had not had first.”) 

It was a party founded on racial distinctions

This is Tywin and his refusal to allow a betrothal between Jaime and Elia. 

they wanted to eliminate people with mental or physical ailments. 

This is Tywin and his hatred toward disabled Tyrion. This is Tywin and his refusal to allow a betrothal between Jaime and disabled Elia. 

The Nazis pushed women out of the workplace and actively promoted patriarchy.

This is Tywin. This is Randyll hating on Brienne of Tarth. (And you can bet your ass Tywin doesn’t approve of women with swords.) 

I don’t know how many ways I can say it: Tywin and others like him are the fascists. 

Tywin is one of the cold fucks the AGOT prologue warns us about in the very beginning: “the real enemy is the cold.” 

The central conflict of ASOIAF is between the living (the fire) and the dead (the cold), those who would recognize your humanity and those who won’t. 

It is our determination to restore these conquered peoples to the dignity of human beings, masters of their own fate

^^ This is Daenerys Targaryen ^^

Daenerys Targaryen is a freedom fighter who kills slavers in the books. 

Her breakup of the economic system of Essos (meaning SLAVERY) is more akin to a communist revolution than a fascist takeover imo. Daenerys associates herself with people of all races, all classes. She gives Missandei, who canonically has dark skin in the books, a place as one of her closest advisors. Unlike Tywin, Daenerys is not pushing an agenda of Targaryen superiority. 

Daenerys is not perfect. She does not always get it right. Daenerys has got some things wrong. But I don’t think there has been any other option for Daenerys. You ... you can’t just look the other way when evil men are crucifying children, and I truly do not think that non-violent opposition would change anything in Essos. “Better if it ends peaceful, but it’s got to end even if it has to be with fire and blood, you see?” 

Sometimes innocents like Hazzea have died on Daenerys’s journey. 

And I fully believe that more people are going to die in TWOW, and that Daenerys will hold herself responsible, whether she is or not. I know that TWOW will give all the antis of every character a lot of ammunition. TWOW is going to be a dark and depressing book. 

I think that Daenerys is going to reach a very low point in TWOW, just as Tyrion is nose-diving in ADWD, but I think that’s just what GRRM does with his greatest heroes. It’s the moment in a movie when the hero falls off the cliff, and the Evil Villain starts cackling maniacally and you think all is lost, and then you see the hero’s hand reach up over the edge and the music crescendos as the hero pulls himself up. Except the real villains that GRRMs heroes are battling are themselves. The cliff is a metaphor for our darkest impulses. 

Characters tell Dany in AGOT that “she is nothing” but Dany’s story is about proving them wrong. It’s about her finding her own dignity and worth as a human being out on the Dothraki Sea, and becoming the master of her own fate. As her story progresses, she helps others to do the same, helping people to rediscover their dignity, to regain their names (or take new ones), to find the humanity that was stolen from them. 

(This is why it’s so important to me that her story intersect with zombie!Jon, so that she can help a dead man remember what it is to be human and remember why it all matters. Because if none of it matters ... if a man can’t find a fuck to give, well, that’s Tywin Lannister, who was a cold dead man long before Tyrion shot him.) 

I brought up FDR in the beginning of this post. Although FDR died before GRRM was born, he was one of the great American cultural figures of the 20th century and I have no doubt FDR’s legacy was a formative influence on GRRM. And that’s the thing - so many of these, these great American cultural figures of GRRM’s life died before their work was completed: FDR, JFK, MLK, so many others... The promised land is somewhere ahead of us, despite the opposition making accusations of “crazy altruism” and “starry-eyed dreaming.” No one is going to drive us there and drop us off; we have to get there by ourselves, and the journey isn’t an easy one. It’s a place we have to keep striving for, working for. A dream of spring...

It’s not Daenerys’s destiny, I think, to rule humanity in the long term; Dany’s destiny is, I think, to make sure that humanity doesn’t, well, lose their humanity. To make sure that humanity doesn’t fall into eldritch slavery.

The Others would make us automatons in their icy, inhuman regime. The Others would steam-roller all over humanity, and take away humanity’s freedom to choose, as Tywin Lannister tries to do to his children, trying to take all of their choices away and control them completely. The Others would take away our self-determination, our freedom to choose good or evil, our freedom to be the rulers of our own fate. 

I don’t think it’s Daenerys job to be a ruler in the end. I think she’s fighting evil now so that other people can keep fighting that good-and-evil “human heart in conflict with itself” fight long after she’s gone ... I’ve never believed in a “Targaryen restoration” ending although I wouldn’t necessarily be opposed to it. 

Like Moses, Daenerys won’t lead us into the promised land ... we have to get there ourselves. 

And I’ve strayed from your question into a topic that’s more interesting to me because I cannot fucking belieeeeeeve that you are even asking me if the compassionate, caring, teenage-girl, sexual-abuse-survivor, messiah-figure Daenerys Targaryen is a fucking fascist when everything Daenerys “the fire is mine” Targaryen does is in narrative opposition to Certified Fucking Fascist Tywin Racist Lannister oh my god I cannot believe this is where we’ve come to as a fandom, I cannot fucking belieeeeeeve. 

Anon. Honey. Baby. I say this gently, with love: Whyyyyyyyyy are you reading “Daenerys is a fascist” metas? That didn’t even work on the show. 

When I googled “Daenerys Targaryen fascist” to try and figure out what you could possibly be reading to argue against it, the top result is an alt-right thinkpiece website about how dangerous Dany was all along in freeing slaves!!!! And the next results are people who think the iron throne actually matters when GRRM himself has said that the political war is a red herring. 

The endgame rulers don’t even particularly matter because what matters in the end is that humanity wins against the Others and we still have control over ourselves, what matters is for that human heart conflict to continue to exist inside ourselves and that we rule over that conflict inside ourselves. 

"We all must choose," she proclaimed.

Practice some self-care; go read Armageddon Rag, and remember this: TWOW is not going to save us. 

[rotten-white-rose]

Well well, I will introduce the protagonist of this blog.

Name: Melody Gheata

Age: Apparently 19 (she really is millennia old although she is younger than Karl Heinz)

Gender: Female

Sexuality: Heterosexual

Birthday: December 29

Zodiac: Capricorn

Nicknames: Mesubuta (by Yuma), Yuki-onna (by Laito), Watermelon (by Ayato), Lilith-san (by Azusa).

Blood type: -A

Status: Dead / Alive

Race: Demon (Succubus) / Vampiress

Height: 1'80 cm

Weight: 60 kg

Eye color: Garnet

Hair Color: White

Body type: Voluptuous

Occupation: 3rd year High School Student, Queen of Hell

Appearance: Melody's style ranges from casual to gothic. What she uses the most are dark colors, such as black, gray, maroon or dark purple. You will never see her in pastel colors or white, since for her, wearing white is wearing a funeral dress. She almost always wears cleavage. Also as an accessory, she wears a special necklace for her that is only removed from her when she goes to sleep, where she leaves safely.

Personality: She is an arrogant and broken woman. She has great pride and always boasts of her benefits. She is flirtatious, she likes to play with fire but she knows the limits and she never gets to the point of burning. Although she flirts more to make the person nervous than to get something. Despite covering herself with an arrogant, frivolous and immature attitude, she hides a woman who wants to be loved just as she is. She always hides her true intentions and feelings.

Hobbies: Studying constellations, reading and playing the piano.

Favorite food: Sarmale (Romanian food)

Relatives:

Father: Lucifer (deceased)

Mother: Rosemary (deceased)

Twin sister: Kuroko (deceased)

Good traits:

Loyal

Charismatic

Compassionate

Kind

Bad traits:

Arrogant

Proud

Immature

Liar

Powers:

Immortality: She cannot die, not even if she wishes it with all her soul.

Self-regeneration: If she receives a fatal wound, she will regenerate, regardless of how long it takes.

Power and custody over two dragons: She ended up ruling hell and with it, by her unwanted power from her, she received the blessing and loyalty of two dragons who rule life and death.

Change in shape or appearance: She can turn into a wolf or change her appearance to hers at a different age.

Clone invocation: She can summon a clone of herself, but said clone is a shell that will only repeat what she wants it to say. Pretty useful if she doesn't feel like doing something.

Story:

In a cold winter, on a night where the moon was bathed in blood, two twins were born who were to be immortal human beings, pure and immaculate beings, all according to the plan devised by Lucifer. However, the older twin was born still alive, with no heartbeat or temperature. A being that was not human, if not a monster corrupted by the demonic and vampiric blood of her progenitors. The younger twin, on the other hand, was born everything as Lucifer had planned, an immortal human. It can be assumed that the monarch of hell was not at all happy with the outcome of it. A plan that ended in disaster, all because of "that thing".

Despite everything, both girls were given love and affection, at least, by her mother, who loved her little and adored Melody with all her soul. From the moment she saw her huge maroon eyes watching her, she fell in love with her tenderness. She was sorry that her husband hated her eldest daughter so much, but she was calm when she saw that she paid attention to her youngest.

"Since Kuroko receives affection from my husband, I will give all my affection to my precious and sweet Melody." Those were her thoughts. However, the demonic blood that ran through the veins of the little one of hers did not take long to blossom, unleashing and corrupting her with only 3 millennia. With an incessant thirst for blood, she slaughtered the army guarding hell and this gave Lucifer the perfect excuse to imprison her. Melody spent 12 millennia imprisoned and tortured. She couldn't die, because her body ended up regenerating even if she didn't want to. She wanted the light, she wanted freedom and wanted with all her soul, her death. But not even that was allowed.

At 15 millennia, she got enough strength to be able to escape from her prison, ending the life of the one who had locked her up and getting the power of hell. Unfortunately, her mother had lost her sanity, due to her guilt and sadness at not being able to rescue her from such an ordeal. Melody fulfilled her mother's request and ended her life in the smoothest possible way. As for Kuroko, the relationship of both sisters was always complex. They hated, envied and at the same time, admired each other. They had a confrontation and the winner was the oldest, although it was not by her own hand. To this day, Melody regrets both the death of her mother and that of her younger sister, she regrets not having been able to do anything. As for her powers, she had become so strong that she ended up gaining the loyalty of the two dragons that today channel her powers. Said dragons were the guardians of life and death: Vitae, the blue-eyed white dragon that hated humans and Mortem, the red-eyed black dragon that, unlike its companion, loved humans.

She decided to stay in hell so she could take over both the kingdom and to investigate her father's writings. She was able to understand the objective that she had set herself to achieve and the reason for those visits with that man who called himself Karl Heinz. That plan ... without a doubt, "that man" had no qualms about using anyone to carry it out. She also found "plan B" and was surprised to see that she was precisely the main target of that plan. She burned the papers after reading them and decided that she would live as a human. It was what she wanted. Freedom and light. She wanted to feel humanity in her own flesh, to feel the warmth and to be able to live among humans. She wouldn't be Lilith… she wouldn't allow herself to be part of a stupid experiment.

Years passed when she had come to the human world and settled in a Transylvanian town. That town was the home of her mother when she was human. Melody achieved a few years of happiness, where she had fallen in love and committed to a human. Just on her wedding day, when she was 17 millennia, she learned secretly that her future husband was only going to marry her to get her fortune and status. She could see that he was with another woman. It was then that she understood that humans were selfish, cruel, capricious, and lying beings. She was carried away by her anger and sadness, letting her emotions speak for her. That is why her snow-white wedding ended up being covered in crimson.

"If my feelings cause this ... if my feelings cause me so much pain ... I don't need a heart!"

She decided to return to hell, where she got a coffin full of white roses. Those flowers were her late mother's favorites and they were her favorites too. She lay down among the roses and decided to sleep for two millennia ... until someone woke her up, for her to continue her reign and receive a visit. Apparently her father's great friend, Karl Heinz, had decided to talk to her about business.

"So, will you accept the proposal, dear?"

“Yes, after all, my life is already boring. Living again between humans and vampires ... fufu, I wonder if your children can really bear it ... I'll make you see that both the plan of "that man" and yours, are not going to bear fruit. Just as my birth was a mistake, the plan to get Lilith and Eve to find two Adam and start a new race… will end in error. "

"We will see if it really is as you say. Until then, I will be a spectator. I hope you don't disappoint me. "

Curiosities:

She has died in every possible way.

She is right-handed.

She has two bodies. The first is the real one, without self-regeneration and the second is the regenerated. Her real body is a decomposing corpse, but due to the self-regeneration that her body unconsciously exerts, she always has a young and immaculate body.

She loves cold temperatures as they make her feel "alive".

She hates and adores winter.

Her fangs are much longer, sharper, and larger than those of an ordinary vampire.

Although she doesn't admit it, she fears loneliness.

She has a great knowledge of the constellations and loves to see the starry sky.

Her hair is extremely long, as she reaches above her ankles.

She is lazy and loves to sleep.

She may feel pain, but she's so used to it that she doesn't notice it anymore.

She tends to woo cute girls, even though she's just kidding.

 When there is a red moon, her powers are increased, while in an eclipse she feels completely weak.

She always wears a necklace that her mother gave her before she died. It consists of a silver cross with five diamond-shaped garnet gems. Behind the cross, there is an inscription in Romanian that says: “You are my light. You are my life. Please live and be happy. " Melody feels extremely attached to that necklace and if it were to break, she would end up devastated, since it is the only memory she has of her mother.

[spell-cleaver]

As he stood opposite the queen of Naboo, he tried to imagine what this had to look like for the adults surrounding them, and he disliked the resemblance between the two of them immensely: two child rulers shaking hands, dressed up in expensive regalia to give this little farce the expected air of dignity.

Previous parts on the masterpost here!

As he stood opposite the Queen of Naboo, he tried to imagine what this had to look like for the adults surrounding them, and he disliked the resemblance between the two of them immensely: two child rulers shaking hands, dressed up in expensive regalia to give this little farce the expected air of dignity.

Queen Dalné smiled politely, and he smiled politely back; for a moment, he had to wish that he had the same ceremonial makeup that she did, to better hide his awkwardness. This... was not what he'd wanted, when Vader had first proposed a retreat. A holiday.

A place to find out more about his mother.

He supposed that she was here, in these walls—she had been queen once, just as Dalné was now, and he had to wonder if the regal name Dalné had been picked to honour Padmé Amidala, the way Nova had called herself Sabé from the moment she served her. There had been several stained glass windows that they'd walked past to get here, that Vader had stiffened and avoided looking at with all his might, but Luke couldn't help but stare.

His mother had been serene.

His mother had been stately.

His mother had been... stunning.

But it also all seemed just superficial.

The place was beautiful. If he'd grown up here, the way his mother and possibly his father had no doubt intended, perhaps he would view it in a far more flattering light. Perhaps he would see the history in the grandeur, the respect for beloved figures, the masks that hid the subtle currents of deception enhancing the beauty in a way that was honest about the reverse that lay beneath.

But the splendour... the politics... the two-faced whispering and judgement raining down on him from every portrait and window...

It reminded him that Palpatine had come from this planet as well.

"Your Majesty," Queen Dalné greeted, her smile passive and reserved. He found nothing to relate to in it. "You honour us with your visit to Naboo—again, so soon after your official tour. As the homeworld of your late, beloved father"—there was a shrewd look in her eye and suddenly everything clicked into place; he knew exactly how he was going to play this, and find the warm presence of his mother that he'd been searching for so fiercely—"or rather, your adoptive father, we welcome you will open arms and the highest regards."

Her gaze tracked down his outfit: a simple dark red robe, embroidered in gold and black with fleur de lis patterning in the Naboo fashion, to pay homage. He could almost sense her distaste for the token, shallow respect of what was clearly a rich, complex culture he had not been raised in, but now... now he knew exactly what game Nova had meant for him to play, when she dressed him in this.

You are an Imperial, raised by a shameful son of our planet, and you are not even of our blood, the Queen had implied. Why are you here?

Luke raised his eyes to the murals of Naboo's historical monarchs, painted on the ceilings and high walls of the throne room. He sought his mother's image, in red and gold, and found his strength.

"Thank you for allowing me to stay, Your Majesty," he said in return. He made sure to put emphasis on the title, to try and show that with equal titles, equal ages... they were equal, in a way. "And thank you for allowing me to use the lake house of Varykino for this retreat; it honours me more than I can say."

There, he saw it, even through the mask of the makeup: a muscle twitched in her jaw.

"I could hardly refuse," she said, and there was anger in her voice. Defensiveness at the perceived forcefulness. The slightest glare at Nova—for what? For working with the Empire? Or for willingly handing over Amidala's sanctuary, as it had come to be known, on top of that?

He bowed his head. "I..." He paused, and began again. "As I am sure you are aware, it recently came to light, for myself and for the galaxy, that my father was not the father I was born to, biologically." He looked her dead in the eye. "Even as I wish for nothing but to honour my father and his legacy, I firmly believe that his mercy in raising me, someone who would've been a war orphan, should be continued and expanded upon—his vision should be altered and improved, to fit a changing galaxy. I know that I come from a family who had very different ideas to my father, but his cooperation with my birth mother saw wonderful results during the age of the Republic, and I hope that by coming here to better connect with the mother I never knew, I can better marry these two ideals to become a better ruler, as well as finding peace in myself and my heritage."

Uncertain, or not. Correct, or not. Clever, or not.

If Palpatine had taught Luke to be one thing, it was a damn good speaker.

Dalné's face was creased ever so slightly in confusion, her makeup smoothing it to indifference, but the Force did not lie and Luke could sense her irritation. What was he playing at? Why was he here? What was he planning?

Luke said, "Hearing from Lady Sabé"—he gestured to her; they studied her, and clocked with certainty that that was Amidala's closest handmaiden from during her reign and service—"that my birth mother was none other than the woman I had always idolised, Padmé Amidala... it meant so much to me. And I may never get to speak to her in person, but I will cherish any part of her I can find, and do my best to follow her vision for a galactic government as I continue my rule."

He bowed, and allowed himself to smile only the slightest bit, eyes closed, at the stunned silence in the throne room. Dalné's advisors stared.

"So thank you for allowing Sabé to host me there, while I try to... try to reconcile my identity." He let himself stumble slightly, show a hint of vulnerability, make him relatable. He'd just told them in as many words that Palpatine had taken Amidala's child from what should've been his home with her relatives and raised him for his own. Right now, they would not be seeing the youthful wisdom they so valued in their teenage rulers. They would be seeing a lost boy—a lost son.

They would be seeing the way the robes swallowed him whole—robes which were identical in colour and pattern to the regal dress she was so often depicting as wearing. A clear homage.

Dalné... smiled, a little. "Well, then, I must welcome you home, Your Majesty," she said. "And we pray that you will find the understanding you seek. Varykino—and the lake country as a whole—is known to be excellent for that."

He bowed his head again. "Thank you, Your Majesty," he intoned, and took that as his cue to leave.

He did not stick around to hear the Queen demand to speak to Nova, to hear her point of view on everything that had happened, all of it—and therefore he did not hear the way Nova asked if she could contact the Naberries for her, to pass on a message.

Within the hour, he was in a speeder and on the way to Varykino, and this time... the splendour Naboo had to offer felt a lot less like his father, and much more like his mother, instead.

Send me the first sentence of a scene from this AU and I might continue it!

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