#pit babe's legacy

[spicyvampire]

And then Charlie explains to Babe that Tony wants Babe because Babe is a special alpha and if he fucks an enigma the Child Babe will give birth to will be very special and they will be able to sell the child for a lot of money

[tm-trx]

currents.48/2023

selections from my week in media [26 november - 2 december 2023]

[listening]

"Crazy Form" / ATEEZ

SHINee - The streaming services released their Year in Review this week. Three guesses and the first two don't count: who dominated my 2023 stats?

"To. X" / Taeyeon

I also spent some time over the last couple weeks creating a spreadsheet for all the songs I added to my playlist in 2023. I was curious to see what those numbers look like. (I also track books and tv.) Unlike Apple, I'll be counting December because the year isn't over yet. (The organization nerd in me is baffled as to why they release the lists in late November instead of January.)

[watching]

Bodies - Time travel is one of my favorite genres. Although this kind of time loop confuses me because how does it start? But other than that, I loved the setup of four detectives across four time periods, all working on the same case. Each of their stories were so compelling. I cried so many tears though. As soon as it was over, I went and checked AO3 and yep there's fic. \o/

Monarch: Legacy of Monsters - I'm not a huge Godzilla fan (that'd be my partner), but I love Kong Skull Island and that kind of opened the door for me. So far, the series is great and I'm looking forward to keeping up with it every week.

Moon in the Day - I've been waiting for Kim Young Dae's new drama for ages and now that it's well into airing I started it. He's so good and I love it. I never get tired of the reincarnation trope.

Pit Babe - I have several questions around the world-building of this show, but that's a whole post on its own that I don't have time or energy for right now. It's fun though. I appreciate that a racing show is giving us actual racing.

previous Currents posts

[jedimaesteryoda]

Every once in a while on Twitter (not X, Elon can go screw himself), someone circulates a complaint about A Song of Ice and Fire that is basically some version of "GRRM's series is nihilistic where everyone is gray, there are no heroes and villains, or heroes die and villains win compared to Tolkien's magnum opus where there are clear heroes and villains with the heroes being upright and good always wins."

It's written by people who either never read nor understood the series nor understands the author.

Firstly, Martin himself is a fan of Tolkien stating "I revere Lord of the Rings, I reread it every few years, it had an enormous effect on me as a kid," and is such a huge fan of Tolkien he complains of "Tolkien imitators" who "cheapened it. The audience were being sold degraded goods. I thought: 'This is not how it should be done.' "

Tolkien was a clear inspiration for Martin's magnum opus given in the same interview he stated "I wanted to combine the wonder and image of Tolkien fantasy with the gloom of historical fiction." You can even find nods to Tolkien throughout the series from names like "Oakenshield" to a dwarven heir to a mighty mountain fastness filled with gold. Underneath the gloom on the surface, there is a layer of Tolkien-esque romanticism.

ASOIAF isn't nihilistic. No one would call characters like war criminal and murderer-rapists like Gregor Clegane, Ramsay Bolton and Euron Greyjoy or the vivisectionist and torturer Qyburn morally grey. There are heroes like Brienne of Tarth who risked her life in a hopeless fight to save an inn full of orphans, Sam who stayed with Gilly and her babe beyond the Wall in a forest filled with wights and Dunk who defended a puppeteer from a prince. Then, there is Daenerys whose experience as a domestic abuse victim and child bride lead her to put her plan to take back the Iron Throne on hold to liberate slaves.

My own heroes are the dreamers, those men and women who tried to make the world a better place than when they found it, whether in small ways or great ones. Some succeeded, some failed, most had mixed results… but it is the effort that’s heroic, as I see it. Win or lose, I admire those who fight the good fight. -George R.R. Martin

These characters go out of their way to help others and live up to their ideals in a world they know won't reward them for it. That's what helps to make their actions truly heroic. In the end, it's their striving that sets them apart.

The ones who are villains don't seem to win in the end. Tywin was killed by his own abused son on the privy over his mistreatment of a peasant girl, and his legacy is already crumbling. Jaime lost his sword hand and is becoming increasingly disillusioned with his house, slowly realizing that they're not the good guys. The Boltons are facing a rebellion and their new bannermen don't want Ramsay as their liege lord. More Freys have been killed as a result of the Red Wedding than fighting for Robb, and they're being overextended. Not to mention, one of their victims has come back from the dead to enact vengeance on their house. House Greyjoy is destined to fall to ruin as the Greyjoys suffer and die in their fruitless pursuits for crowns.

It's also a superficial reading of Tolkien. Tolkien has moments in his series where heroes fail like Isildur, the guy who slew Sauron, failing to do the one thing he needed to do to end the threat for all time by keeping the One Ring, and Frodo, the purported hero of the series, doing the same thing at the end. Thorin Oakenshield refused to provide money to the people of Lake-town over the destruction of their city at Smaug's hands as a result of his party's actions. There's also plenty of stories of heroes failing in The Silmarillion like Turin.

Both are great series in their own right, and if you don't like Martin's series, that's okay, no series is for everyone. But don't mischaracterize it and pit it against a dumbed down, mischaracterized version of Tolkien's work.

[franzkafkagf]

The way Aegon desperately wants to fill the conqueror's armor, even when it's evidently too large for him to fully take up. He looks like a boy slipping into his father's coat, a boy whose idea of his father as this invincible figure, who he can never quite reach, is destined to be popped some way or another.

Aegon isn't the only one who clings to the idea of the conqueror as this ideal. His shadow looms large over all of House Targaryen, this almost mythical figure whose legacy all Targaryen try to claim for themselves. They chase after his ghost, believing that to truly be a Targaryen, one must be like him: ruthless, powerful, and above all, victorious. They forget—or perhaps choose to ignore—that his victories were bathed in blood, that his crown was forged in fire and brutality. His legacy is a cursed throne, a throne that cuts most who sit upon it, a throne that pits people against each other.

Generation after generation, Targaryens name their children are after him. Aegon. A name dripping in history and blood and crushed dreams. They hope that this name will bring with them the strength and glory. A babe born to me, wearing the Conqueror's crown. But these hopes are often dashed. These children are caught in the endless cycle of violence that defines their bloodline. They keep meeting more and more horrific fates—murder, madness, betrayal.

The prophecy that the Conqueror himself used as justification for all the blood he spilt, the prophecy so many Targaryen feel like is theirs to fulfill—the promise of a hero who will save the world—only serves to further the rot. This prophecy, ever so vague and open to interpretation, is a way for them to give purpose to the endless wars and the pain. The Conqueror was no savior; he was a man driven by ambition and thirst for power, a man who saw kingdoms as prizes to be won and people as obstacles to be removed. He was a man who saw himself to be superior to others on the basis of what flowed through his veins.

[hllywdwhre]

Dreamer, Queen, Prince - Chapter 1

Pairing: Daemyra x fem!OC

Warnings: Please check masterlist for warnings. This work is 18+, MDNI

Masterlist

*112 AC

Viserea leaned down low against the saddle of Tessarion,

“Aderī! (Quickly.)” She shouted, smiling as the wind whipped in her face. Rhaenyra and Syrax were close behind them as they neared the dragonpit and Viserea was determined to win their race. As the four came dangerously close to the pit, Viserea called out to Tessarion again,

“Paerī, nepot. (Slow, to the pit).”

The dragons touched down at the same time and Viserea waited until the two dragonkeepers had Tessarion’s attention before dismounting. Giving her dragon one last loving pat on her neck, Viserea made her way over to where Rhaenyra stood with Lady Alicent Hightower.

Viserea bit her tongue and forced a polite smile onto her face as Rhaenyra and Alicent spoke for a moment more. They boarded the carriage together and Viserea kept her eyes out of the carriage window while they rode through the streets of King’s Landing. She didn’t bother joining in on the conversation. She and Alicent had never seen eye-to-eye on most things and she wouldn’t be the one to make Rhaenyra choose between her two closest friends, so staying quiet during the conversations between the two was the best thing she could think to do. Mayhaps it was jealousy, but Viserea refused to let her mind wander down that path. Every time she thought about it, she was left even more confused than before.

After exiting the carriage, Viserea stayed in step with Rhaenyra and Alicent, participating in their conversation just enough to not be considered rude. They approached Queen Aemma’s door and all three were swiftly let inside the Queen’s chambers. Alicent greeted the Queen, then gave a small bow to the Princesses, excusing herself to allow the two to visit with Aemma.

“My girls,” Aemma greeted with a warm smile which the Targaryens returned. “Must you two continue flying while I am in this condition? You know I do not like it.”

“Your Grace-” Viserea started, only to be stopped when Aemma held her hand up,

“Viserea, you have been my daughter for years now. Unless you wish for me to only address you as Princess, I ask you to stop referring to me as your Queen. Aemma will do fine,” Aemma told her, causing the girl to smile and nod her head.

“You don’t really prefer us flying while you're in any condition, mother,” Rhaenyra pointed out, causing her mother to chuckle, “Did you sleep?”

“I did,” Aemma answered.

“For how long?”

“You know I am the mother here, I do not need looking after.”

“Well all the attendants surrounding you seem to be focused on the babe, I can only count on myself and Viserea to attend to your needs.”

“Soon enough you two will both be going through the same discomfort. It is our duty to the realm,” Upon seeing both girls grimace, Aemma continued, “The knights ride into battle and we fight a battle here, ensuring our legacy lives on, and doing so with a stiff lip. Now go bathe, both of you. You smell of dragon.”

Viserea and Rhaenyra both bid the Queen goodbye and placed a kiss on her forehead before exiting the room.

“I know it is our duty, but I do not want to become a slave to that bed,” Rhaenyra said once they were far enough away that they could not be heard.

“Neither do I. I do not wish to become a slave to my husband either. Only viewed as a title with a womb that can give him and his house more power,” Viserea replied. This was a topic the two had discussed multiple times at depth.

“What is it you wish for in a marriage?” Rhaenyra asked Viserea, looking to her with genuine curiosity written across her features. Viserea blushed lightly as she answered,

“A marriage to rival Aegon, Visenya, and Rhaenys’. We would be wed in the Valyrian manner with cut lips and palms to bind us to each other. Someone who looked at me and did not view me as just a Targaryen Princess, but looked at me and recognized the power Targaryen Princesses truly held. Aegon did not lock Visenya and Rhaenys away to their bed chambers and force them to provide him with heirs. He had them fight alongside him and gave them a voice in his court by always taking their opinions into account.”

“You seem to have thought about this before.”

“And you have not?” Viserea asked, already knowing the answer.

“I am to be wed to Syrax and cake alone. Never to a man,” Rhaenyra joked, causing both her and Viserea to burst into a fit of laughter.

The two told each other they would meet at the Godswood and Rhaenyra made her way to the Small Council room as it was her day to be the cupbearer for the King.

It was one of the first things Viserys did. After making Viserea a member of his family, he declared both her and Rhaenyra to be cupbearers, saying they could each spend a day by his side, and that if there was a matter of extreme importance being discussed, there would simply be two cupbearers in the chamber.

While Rhaenyra carried out her duties, Viserea was bathed, redressed, and her hair was freshly braided. Ser Ryden met her at her door when she went to exit and begin heading to the tourney.

“Princess, there is someone here that wishes to see you in the throne room,” he informed her as he began guiding her to the throne room.

A wide smile came across Viserea’s face, already knowing who awaited. When she entered the throne room, it was to no surprise of hers that she saw Daemon seated upon the Iron Throne, though she could hear Ser Ryden behind her gasp at the disrespect.

“You play a dangerous game, Uncle. One might think your actions disrespectful and let you feel the wrath of a dragon,” Viserea greeted in their mother tongue of High Valyrian.

“Are we so sure that the Queen is to have a boy? This throne might end up mine yet,” Daemon said, a playful smirk on his face as he looked down at the Princess from where he sat.

“The King said he had a dream that it was a boy. Though he also said the boy was born wearing the crown of Aegon the Conquere so I am unsure of how much faith to place in his dream.”

“Is it not possible that the babe being born with a crown is a metaphor for him being crowned king later in life?” Daemon asked Viserea. She gave a shrug in response,

“Every dreamer is different. My dream of Rhaenyra and I was straightforward, but I do not know what Danys saw. It is alway possible that her dream was not actually of Valyria burning and she was left to decipher the meaning of her dream.” The limited knowledge on dragon dreams was something that had driven Viserea to tears many times; unable to tell if nightmares were just bad dreams, or if her family would truly face the fates she dreamed of.

“Describe the dream again,” Daemon commanded with a voice full of curiosity.

Viserea had explained the dream to him multiple times over by now, yet he asked to hear the story of it every time. She had no qualms with explaining it again and again to Daemon, for he seemed to be the only one, aside from Rhaenyra, who seemed curious about the dreams. Others seemed to be in a state of awe after hearing it and many at court used “meeting the dreamer” as a bragging right to their peers. Daemon and Rhaenyra were the two that helped her look at every possible angle with her dreams, prophetic or not, and decipher if there was another meaning to them. So Viserea retold the story of her dream and the events that had taken place the next day.

“If the whispers are to be believed, I will be gifting you a new saddle for your dragon, soon,” Daemon said, apparently not being able to come up with any other meaning for Viserea’s dream and changing the topic of conversation.

“The dragonmasters say she will outgrow the pit at the rate she is growing and possibly grow larger than Meleys and Caraxes in the coming years. There are many adult dragons down there that Tessarion has grown larger than,” Viserea spoke in the common tongue now, though anyone could have told she was proud of her dragon by the look on her face.

“It seems fitting that the Targaryen princess named for Visenya would hatch and bond to her own dragon that is bound to reach the same size as Vhagar.” Daemon wore a proud look on his face as he spoke.

“I believe Tessarion will outgrow Vhagar and that we are looking at the next Balerion.”

The voice came from behind Viserea and she turned to see Rhaenyra approaching her. “Nice to see you again, Uncle. What has brought you back?”

“The tourney in my honor, Princess,” Daemon answered, stepping down from the Iron Throne.

“He still is not sure that mother's babe is the heir,” Viserea told Rhaenyra, to which she nodded.

“And until she brings forth a son, you are all stuck with me.” Daemon stopped in front of the two girls, looking down at them.

“Then Viserea and I shall both hope for a son,” Rhaenyra said, smirking up at Daemon and causing Viserea to giggle.

Daemon smirked back at Rhaenyra then looked to Viserea with the same fond expression before pulling something out for each of them.

“I brought each of you something. Do you know what they are?”

Viserea and Rhaenyra each reached for the object he held out towards them. He had brought Viserea back a ring and earrings, which she gently took. The steel felt cold in her hands and she realized what it was at the same time as Rhaenyra.

“Valyrian steel,” they said at the same moment.

“So we can all have a piece of our ancestry. Turn around,” Daemon said to Rhaenyra.

Viserea took out the earrings she wore currently and put in the earrings Daemon had brought her while Daemon helped Rhaenyra fasten the new necklace. After he had fastened Rhaenyra’s necklace, he took the ring from Viserea and gently placed it on her hand.

“They were intended to be worn together, but I do believe you two are one of the same. If both of you wear it, the set might as well be worn by the same person,” Daemon remarked, causing both of the girls to look at each other and exchange smiles. “I’ll see you both at the Tourney.” He said, dipping his head respectfully to the girls before leaving the throne room.

Rhaenyra and Viserea looked at each other after they had watched him leave, then began making their way to the Godswood, where they were both due to go over their studies with Alicent.

“How was the Council?” Viserea asked, reverting back to speaking in Valyrian so that the matters handled in the council would stay private.

“The Maester asked about the Rogue’s progress on the City Watch, father brushed it off and said he was ‘occupied’,” Rhaenyra started, distaste clear in her voice and it was obvious to Viserea that Rhaenyra was giving her the nice version of what was really said, “the Sea Snake is worried about a Triarchy in the Stepstones being led by a man who calls himself the Crabfeeder and what it could mean for our ports. No one paid that any mind because soon the Tourney was brought up.”

Viserea interjected before Rhaenyra could continue, “The trading ports? If there is danger near them, I side with the Sea Snake. Those ports cannot be lost.”

Rhaenyra gave Viserea a look that said she agreed, “The Tourney holds father’s attention over the ports. Who wants to think of war when the future king is supposed to be born?”

Viserea did not reply, knowing the question was a rhetorical one. Her thoughts raced everywhere as they continued walking to the Godswood; some of them on Aemma’s labors, others thinking of the Tourney, others thinking of the ports in the Stepstones, and a small portion of her thoughts thinking of the ring on her finger, the necklace around Rhaenyra’s neck, and the earrings adorning her ears.

For once, Viserea was happy to see Alicent. She offered a distraction. Viserea could focus on the stories of the rulers before them instead of the matters at hand. She answered all of Alicent’s questions, and helped Rhaenyra answer the ones she tried to simply play off. Viserea watched as Rhaenyra laid her head in Alicent’s lap and continued brushing off all of Alicent’s questions, even as Alicent grew frustrated.

She stayed seated when Alicent stood up and let a smirk play across her face when Rhaenyra recited Princess Nymeria’s tale of fleeing across the Narrow Sea. Viserea knew Rhaenyra could recite most of the book, and that she was much smarter than she let on, and in the moments she showed it, pride would flow through Viserea.

As they walked back to the castle, the three of them laughed as Rhaenyra cussed the Septa, and let their topic of conversation change to that of who was attending the Tourney.

Viserea was awoken early the next morning, the light of day not even shining through her windows yet. Groggily, she stumbled to the door of her chambers, opening it and finding two handmaidens standing there.

“The Lord Hand sent us to ready you, Princess. A Small Council meeting has been called.” Stepping back, Viserea allowed the handmaidens to enter.

They dressed her quickly, and one of them styled her hair in a simple braid, given the short amount of time they had. Neither of them spoke to Viserea, knowing she was not talkative in the mornings, and Viserea was grateful. She thanked both of them once they were finished and stepped out of her room, being greeted by Ser Ryden.

“You look as lovely as ever, Princess,” he greeted, walking beside her as they made their way to the Council room.

“I do not feel it, Ser. I feel as though I have just been called out of bed before the sun has risen,” Viserea said bitterly, though the knight knew none of the bitterness was directed towards him.

The two met with Otto and the King as they neared the room,

“…it was an unprecedented roundup of alleged criminals of every ilk. Your brother made a public show of it, meting out the summary judgments himself. I'm told they needed a two-horse cart to haul away the resulting… dismemberments when it was done,” Otto said, paying no mind to Viserea as she joined them.

“Gods be good…” She heard Viserys mumble as the entered the Council room.

“The Prince cannot be allowed to act with this kind of unchecked impunity,” Otto continued before being interrupted by the Lord Commander, Redwyne.

Daemon’s presence sent a jolt through Viserea and it took her a moment to remember her duties. She walked to the side of the room and picked up the wine, beginning to fill the cups of the attending council members, though Daemon and Corlys were the only two to acknowledge her with a thanks.

Viserea stopped behind Otto’s chair, her eyes on the blood streak that stained Daemon’s gold cloak.

“Do not let me interrupt, my Lord Hand. You were saying something about my impunity?” Daemon spoke, both he and Viserea watching as Otto looked to the king to continue the conversation.

When he stayed silent, Otto moved to his seat, causing Viserea to have to quickly step to the side to avoid being hit by the chair. Lyonel Strong reached for Viserea’s arm to steady her and Daemon’s look towards Otto turned to a glare.

“You are to explain your doings with the City Watch,” Otto said, paying no mind to Viserea.

“What about them?” Daemons questioned. He sat down along with the rest of the council when the king sat down.

“Your new “gold cloaks” made quite an impression last night,” King Viserys finally spoke.

“Did they?” Daemon replied, causing Viserea to force back a smile.

“The City Watch is not a sword to be wielded at your whim. They are an extension of the crown,” Otto continued before being cut off.

“The Watch was enforcing the crown’s laws. Wouldn’t you say, Lord Strong?” Daemon and Viserea both looked to Lord Strong, who looked taken aback. He stuttered out a “My Prince” before Otto was speaking over him again.

“Making a public spectacle of wanton brutality is hardly in line with our laws,” the Hand said.

Viserea couldn’t help herself as she stood still between the Hand and the Master of Laws and let her eyes flicker between Otto and Daemon.

“Nobles from every corner of the realm are right now descending King’s Landing for my brother’s tourney. Do you want them to be mugged, raped, murdered?” Daemon’s face looked bored as he continued speaking to Otto, “You mightn’t know this unless you stepped out of the Red Keep, Lord Hightower, but much of King’s Landing is seen by the smallfolk as lawless and terrifying. Our city should be safe for all its people.”

“It’s true,” Viserea spoke, causing all heads to turn towards her. The blush that graced her cheeks matched the red in the gems of the jewelry gifted to her by Daemon which she currently wore. “The smallfolk don’t allow their children to roam the streets as they once did.”

“And how would you be aware of this?” Otto asked, looking up at her.

“Princess Rhaenyra and I notice it when we fly above. The children used to chase our dragons through the streets and now their parents keep a hand on them to prevent them from doing so,” She replied confidently, the lie coming easy to her. She would not tell them how she truly knew, though Viserys and Daemon both knew the truth and she could tell by the look the King was giving her.

“I agree that the city should be safe for all of its people, I just hope you don’t have to maim half my city to achieve this,” Viserys said, trying to calm the tension in the room.

“Time will tell,” Daemon answered easily, still looking up at Viserea.

Viserea looked away when Corlys voiced his support for Daemon and made her way around the table to top off anyone’s cups that needed it. She came to a stop next to Daemon when Otto brought up Daemon’s marriage. A sour taste filled Viserea’s mouth but she forced her face to remain blank.

“We understand from Lord Yorkers that you’ve not been seen in the Vale or at Runestone in some time. Queen Aemma was very proud to have arranged your union with Lady Rhea,” Otto continued on.

“I would think my bronze bitch is happier for my absence.” Daemon’s statement caused Lyman Beesbury and Lord Strong to both take sips of their wine, while Corlys and Viserea made eye contact and exchanged similar looks of amusement.

“Lady Rhea is your wife, a good and honorable lady of the Vale-“

“In the Vale, men are said to fuck sheep instead of women. I can assure you, the sheep are prettier.”

“You took a vow before the eyes of the Seven to honor the Lady Rhea in marriage.”

“Lady Rhea doesn’t seem to enjoy the Prince’s company either, is he to force himself on her?” Viserea quipped, an eyebrow raised toward the Hand.

Before Otto could reply, Daemon cut in again, seeing that Otto’s temper was about to turn on Viserea.

“I’d gladly give Lady Rhea to you, Lord Hightower, if you’re in need of a woman to warm your bed. Your own lady wife passed recently, did she not?”

Viserea nor Daemon flinched when Otto jumped from his chair, sending it toppling over.

“Perhaps you aren’t ready to move on just yet,” Daemon said, causing Viserea to cover her chuckle with a small cough.

“You know my brother makes sport of provoking you, Otto. Must you indulge him?” Viserys asked, his own exhaustion at the dynamic evident in his voice.

As Otto utters an apology and picks up his chair, Viserys looks up at Viserea, silently reprimanding her for aiding in Daemon’s comments. The King turned to Daemon and spoke once Otto had sat back down.

“The council has, at great expense, bettered the City Watch to your exact standards. Enforce my laws, but know that any further performances like last night’s will be answered.”

“Understood, Your Grace,” Daemon said, standing up from his spot, “Was there anything else?”

“That is all. You and Viserea can both be dismissed.”

Viserea was not surprised at her early dismissal, knowing it was the response to her comments and to her admitting she was sneaking around the city again.

She placed the wine down on its table and walked to the end of the table, where she took Daemon’s arm that he offered to her. She looked up at him as they left the room, clear confusion written on her face but no answers were given until the doors of the room were shut behind them.

Daemon answered her unspoken question, “I really do enjoy getting under our dear Hand’s skin, and offering the Princess my arm to escort her from the room and show that I do know how to use my manners is a great way of doing so.”

Viserea forced herself not to let the laughter consume her body, though the broad smile she wore showed just how amused she was at Daemon’s actions.

“I am glad I’m not the only one who enjoys watching his face turn red. It was worth being dismissed from the meeting early and any stern words I’ll receive from the King about my sneaking into the city if it means taking him down a peg.”

“You should be more careful, Princess. I am watching how you handle yourself in these meetings, and I cannot offer such a rebellious person a place in my council,” Daemon teased.

“Your council?” Viserea questioned, “Going by the King’s word, it will not be your council. It will be his son’s. I will be promised no place on the future King’s council so I might as well make sure my place is noted in the books. I do not wish to just be remembered as another Targaryen Princess married off to a Lord in order to further whichever King’s political gain.” Though her tone was light, her words held some weight.

“I shall see to it that you are remembered as more than that,” Daemon told her, his words completely erasing the joking atmosphere between the two. Viserea doesn’t doubt his words for a moment, looking up at him and offering him a small smile.

“I look forward to seeing how you carry out that promise,” she told him.

The rest of the day flew by uneventfully for Viserea. She had attended another council meeting of little importance later in the day, and recited the events of the two meetings to Rhaenyra in her chambers before they went to bed.

She did well when the Septa tested her on the histories and the Septa rewarded her with another book from the North, specifically from Winterfell, though this one was clearly written for her. It was a detailed history of the Starks and must have been written by the Starks own maester. The book was heavier than most, but Viserea knew some of that weight was mental. She had learned what she must about her family in her classes, but couldn’t bring herself to study more about them. It made her feel closer to her mother, but she found the cost to be just as large as the reward.

Viserea was never ashamed of who her mother was, in fact, she frequently wore dresses of Stark grey intertwined with Targaryen red to honor her mother and her mother’s family. However, she could only sometimes bring herself to do more than that. She loved Aemma as a mother figure, and she knew that Aemma loved her as if she was her own. Viserea was grateful for the love she received from her father’s family, but that did not fill the hole she felt of not having her own mother there with her. Learning about the Starks made her feel closer to her mother and farther away at the same time.

Viserea was more than grateful for the afternoon dragon ride she was able to take with Rhaenyra, though they kept the flight short in case Aemma’s condition changed at all. The short time in the air helped clear her head and she was back to her usual self by the time they returned to the pit.

That night, after Viserea had told Rhaenyra of the council meeting and they had bid each other a good night, Viserea fell asleep quickly. The sleep did not last long though.

She did not remember what the dream started as, but it quickly turned to one of horror. Aemma in pain, blood soaked sheets, and two pyres being burned by dragonfire at Rhaenyra’s command. She was shaken awake by Ser Ryden, concern written on his face as he checked her over for injuries and started to call for the maesters.

“No, don’t!” Viserea commanded, through a tear soaked face. “It was a dream, nothing is wrong with me.” She said, falling against Ser Ryden and sobbing into the cool metal of his armor.

“I need Nyra and Daemon.” She told him, pulling away. There wasn’t a single protest from him as he left the room to retrieve the two, coming back less than a moment later with a disheveled and concerned Rhaenyra.

“The Prince is not in his chambers.” Ser Ryden said, “I checked them myself on the way to the Princess’.”

Rhaenyra quickly made her way to Viserea’s bed and the two hugged each other tightly.

“Is it bad?” Rhaenyra asked her after a couple minutes of their embrace. Viserea took a shaky breath and nodded,

“Horrible. The other nightmares were nothing like this, they weren’t prophecies, this was.” Viserea told her, pulling away to look at Rhaenyra.

“What is it about?” Rhaenyra asked. Viserea tried to reply, but felt the tears start again and took a couple deep breaths to calm herself,

“I feel like if I say it out loud, it will make it come true and you will hate me for it.”

“I could never hate you.” Rhaenyra said quickly, taking Viserea’s hands in her own. “You see prophecies. They are already set in stone, you do not make them.”

“It’s mother.” Viserea said.

She gave Rhaenyra a moment to decide if she wanted to hear more and, once she nodded for her to continue, told her of the prophecy. She left out the gruesome details, telling her only that she saw Rhaenyra giving Syrax the command to burn their pyres.

“There’s more.” Rhaenyra wasn't asking, she knew that Viserea was withholding part of the dream.

“Trust me and hear me when I say that you do not want to know. It is not something you need to be haunted with.” Viserea’s voice was cold and serious, making Rhaenyra nod.

“Do you want me to stay with you?” Rhaenyra asked her, though she had already begun pulling the blankets back for herself.

“Please.” Viserea replied.

The two girls laid down next to each other, with Viserea pulling Rhaenyra into her side. Neither of them said another word. Neither of them knew what to say. They simply took what little comfort they could in each other’s presence.

Rhaenyra nor Viserea slept much the rest of the night, the two waking each other up due to a bad dream or anxiety the moment the other fell asleep. When their handmaidens saw to them the next morning, both girls looked as exhausted as they felt and neither of them wanted to attend breakfast.

The Princesses’ late arrival to the tourney did not go unnoticed by Viserys, who threw both girls a sidelong glance. Viserea and Rhaenyra both apologized to the nobles they had to climb across and Viserea sat on the side of Rhaenyra not occupied by Alicent.

When Viserea nor Rhaenyra showed much interest in Alicent’s gossip of Lady Elinor being secretly pregnant, Viserea saw her curve her body to face them and she dropped her voice.

“Are you feeling well?” She asked with a voice of genuine concern.

“Rea was sick last night, I stayed with her.” Rhaenyra lied quickly, though Viserea shook her head.

“She can know.” Viserea said, dropping her voice down and turning herself to the two girls beside her. “I had another dream last night. It was… gruesome to say the least.”

“Might I know the subject?” Alicent asked the two.

Viserys stood from behind the three of the girls,

“It has just been told to me that Queen Aemma has begun her labors!” He announced, smiling widely as the crowd cheered loudly.

Upon seeing Rhaenyra and Viserea exchange glances with clear worry written on their faces, Alicent quickly realized what the dream was about.

“Is there a way to stop it?” Alicent asked, but quickly backtracked “Apologies, you two would have already done it if you could.” She told them, taking one of their hands in each of her own.

“I won’t discuss the details of what I did see. They aren’t pleasant.” Viserea looked to Alicent, whose face was laced with curiosity and a sad look.

“She would not even tell me, only that she saw me burning the two pyres.” Rhaenyra said, her voice still dropped low, though all eyes were on the knights dueling below.

The three girls’ attention was drawn away from each other for a moment as the Master of Revels introduced Daemon and watched as he and his horse passed along the knights lined up.

When he pointed his lance to Gwayne Hightower, Viserea forced herself to keep the amused smile off of her face. Alicent was okay sometimes and Viserea had grown used to her presence due to Rhaenyra’s close friendship with her and she trusted her not to wrong them, but that was the nicest she could speak of the Hightower family.

Daemon dismounting Alicent’s brother caused all of the nobles and royals in the box to lean forward and Rhaenyra to gently rub Alicent’s back in a calming manner once her brother stood up.

“Nicely done, Uncle.” Rhaenyra told him.

“Quite a skilled performance.” Viserea said.

“Thank you, my Princesses.” He tells them both, smiling at them after removing his helmet. He lowers his lance towards Alicent, “I’m fairly certain I can win these games, Lady Alicent. Having your favor would all but assure it.”

The same feelings of jealousy that Viserea had spent hours in solitude debating rose as a bile in her throat as she watched Alicent blush and stand up before placing the favor on Daemon’s lance.

“Good luck, my Prince.” Alicent wished him.

Viserea looked to Rhaenyra who was already looking at her. Both of them had frowns on their faces that they forced away when Alicent returned.

As the tourney continued on, Viserea’s favor was given to her cousin, Rickon, who invited her to see Winterfell.

Upon seeing Ser Criston Cole dismount Lord Boremund Baratheon, Rhaenyra called over Ser Harrold and Ser Ryden and questioned if either of them knew of the Cole man.

“We have been asking the same thing, Princesses and my Lady. I’m told Ser Criston is common-born, the son of Lord Blackhaven’s steward. Other than that, and the fact he has now unhorsed both the Baratheon lads, I could not say.” Ser Harrold told the three girls.

The three move to the guard-rail when it is announced that Ser Criston has chosen Daemon to tilt against. Viserea’s attention is drawn away from the fight and she grips the guard-rail tight enough that her knuckles turn white due to the strange feeling taking over body.

“Prince Daemon Targaryen wishes to continue in a melee!” The voice barely breaks through Viserea’s trance while she concentrates on taking deep breaths to steady herself. She hardly registers the rest of the world, only noticing from the sound of the crowd that Daemon had apparently been bested by Ser Criston and feeling Rhaenyra’s hand rest on top of hers.

“Sit.” Rhaenyra commands her, leaving no room in her voice for argument and Viserea doesn’t try to.

She begins to make her way to her seat, but is waved over by Princess Rhaenys, while Corlys stands and allows her to take his seat.

“Thank you, my Lord, but you did not have to give up your seat.” Viserea tells him.

“Nonsense. You looked as though you were about to faint.” Corlys spoke in Valyrian to the Princess, avoiding drawing any concern to them.

“Are you that concerned for your uncle’s wellbeing?” Rhaenys asked though she knew that was not the cause for Viserea’s episode.

Viserea looked to her cousin, her dark hair and lilac eyes complimented each other and the rare combination radiated power that Viserea had nothing but respect for.

“I always worry for my uncle, but no, that is not the reason for my… unease.” Viserea struggled to find the word that fit exactly what she was feeling.

The three of them turned their heads when they noticed Viserys and Otto leaving the box, and though she had not eaten anything since the night before, Viserea still felt she might be sick. She looked back to Rhaenyra and Alicent and was grateful neither of them had seemed to notice the absence.

“It is the Queen. You’ve had another dream and the Princess and Lady know of it.” Rhaenys’ declaration did not surprise Viserea; Rhaenys was a smart, strong, and observant woman.

Corlys’ looked down at Viserea when she nodded,

“You can feel the dream happening?” Corlys asked and Viserea shook her head.

“I don’t feel her labor pains, but I feel that the dream is happening. It did not happen when I predicted our first dragon ride, though I was still a child and the excitement of my first flight was the only thing I noticed.” Viserea looked between Rhaenys and Corlys as they exchanged glances.

The three of them stood as more cheers and screams of the crowd suddenly grew louder. They glanced down and saw that multiple fights had broken out which brought a sneer to Rhaenys’ face.

“Some way to celebrate the birth of our future king.” Corlys said with distaste.

“Their lords sent them to the tourney field with fists full of steel and balls full of seed. None of them have known real war. It is a wonder that war did not break out at first blood.” Rhaenys spoke in the common tongue now and moments later Otto returned to the royal box.

He whispered something into Corlys’ ear and went to the next member of the small council. The unease Viserea felt was gone, washed away by grief. She did not need to hear the Hand’s words in order to know the message he delivered.

A flurry broke out in the royal box and Viserea stood quickly, pushing her way through until she stood just outside of it, awaiting Rhaenyra. Once Rhaenyra joined her, Viserea immediately took her hand, letting Rhaenyra lead the way as she wordlessly followed her.

As they arrive at the Queen’s chambers, Viserea bites her tongue to avoid letting any tears fall. They both step into the doorway but neither cross the threshold. Aemma had already been taken out of the room and Viserea’s grip on Rhaenyra’s hand tightened as the short flashes of blood and pain from her dream began flashing through her head. When Viserys does not move from his spot, Rhaenyra is back to pulling Viserea down the hallways, not stopping until they reach Rhaenyra’s own chambers where she begins pacing in front of her bed.

“I was never good enough for him. A daughter with a womb, never a son with a cock.” Rhaenyra’s words shocked Viserea, but not because of what she said. The anger in her voice was surprising.

Viserea stepped closer to Rhaenyra, stopping her from walking and hugging her tightly. She felt Rhaenyra’s tears soak the shoulder of her dress and the two sat on the foot of her bed and her own tears soon began soaking Rhaenyra’s dress.

The tears eventually stopped flowing and the two of them moved to lay in the middle of Rhaenyra’s bed. Each of them had their arms wrapped around each other while Viserea laid on her back with Rhaenyra’s head on her chest.

“I feel selfish. I was able to know my mother and I grieve the loss of only one. You have now grieved the loss of two and it is you who comforts me.” Rhaenyra spoke, her voice gravelly.

“Our losses are not meant to be competitions, Nyra. You comforted me last night and I was delivering news of Aemma’s and your brother’s loss.” Viserea said, playing with a strand of Rhaenyra’s hair that had fallen.

“I will have to give the command?” Rhaenyra looked up at Viserea as she asked.

“I saw you give the command and since your father’s dragon has passed, the responsibility would fall to you. However, you are the Princess of the Realm. If you wanted me to give the command to Tessarion, I would oblige… and I am sure Daemon would offer Caraxes.”

“No. I will not pass off my responsibilities to someone else so that I may wallow in my own pity.” Rhaenyra said with a firm tone.

Viserea nodded and the two sat up when they heard a knock on the door. Rhaenyra cleared her throat before saying,

“Enter.”

Viserea’s favorite handmaiden, Amarda, entered followed by one of Rhaenyra’s. They each carried a tray of food and gently sat them on one of the tables of the room.

“I thought you two would enjoy your dinner in the Princess’ chambers tonight. The King had his delivered to his own chambers.” Amarda explained, offering a hand to each of the girls to help them stand.

“Thank you, Amarda.” Viserea offered her a small smile which she returned.

Rhaenyra and Viserea ate what they could stomach of their dinners and were briefly separated long enough to bathe and dress in their nightclothes. They joined each other in Rhaenyra’s room again afterwards and eventually received the news that Baelon had also passed.

A second sleepless night was spent together and the handmaidens offered no surprise to see them in Rhaenyra’s room together the next morning as they brought them their breakfast. The two were soon dressed in black dresses and cloaks and being ushered to the funeral.

It was late afternoon by the time everyone was brought out to Rhaenys’ Hill, the morning being spent inside and dealing with nobles offering well wishes to the remaining Targaryens. Viserea did not bother wiping away her tears as the Septon spoke. She kept her posture straight and her head high, her free hand by her side and the other laced with Rhaenyra’s. She did not know if she had offered her hand in an attempt to comfort Rhaenyra or herself, but she was glad when Rhaenyra took it. She could force herself to maintain a regal posture and not be ashamed of her tears, but she could not force herself to stand without the other princess.

The crowd turned to look towards Rhaenyra, signaling it was time for her to say the word, though she made no move.

“They’re waiting for you.” Daemon spoke gently from behind the two.

Viserea saw Rhaenyra’s jaw clench in anger and she ran her thumb across the other’s knuckles. Daemon stepped to stand on the other side of Rhaenyra and offered his arm to her.

“Come. We’ll go together.”

“I wonder if, for those few hours my brother lived, my father finally found happiness.” Rhaenyra snapped, her breathing getting deeper.

Viserea kept quiet, agreeing with Rhaenyra’s words, but knowing her input would help nothing.

“Your father needs you… more now than he ever has.” Daemon said, looking to Viserea next, “Both of you.”

“We are not sons.” Rhaenyra said, dropping Viserea’s hand and stepping forward.

Daemon takes a step towards Viserea so they stand shoulder to shoulder. They both watch as Rhaenyra raises her head to speak and then pauses. Viserea can sense it before it happens and grabs Daemon’s wrist, stopping him from going to her again.

“Daor. (No.)” Viserea said, stopping Daemon. She knew Rhaenyra needed to do this on her own and that she would not appreciate the help.

“Dracarys.” Rhaenyra spoke. The dragon stepped forward, letting out a low moan, as if feeling Rhaenyra’s pain herself. A moment later and the dragon’s fire was cascading over the two pyres.

Viserea did not move from her spot as others began leaving the hill. She reassured Rhaenyra she would be inside soon and saw from the corner of her eye Alicent and Rhaenyra walk off together. Daemon did not move from Viserea’s side. When the hill finally emptied and the last of the smoke rose from the ashes left of the two members of their family, Viserea finally spoke.

“The gods are cruel. I have now attended four funerals for my family, and there is no positive to outweigh the grief. Rhaenyra and I both grieve the loss of a mother, I grieve the loss of a father, and the father Rhaenyra so desperately needs has never learned to appreciate her. ‘The Realm’s Delight’ they call her, and he has never opened his eyes to see how true those words are.”

“He loves her, loves both of you-“ Daemon started, though he was cut off by a harsh laugh from Viserea.

“I have no doubt in my mind that he loves us, but he does not love us the way he would have loved Baelon. He does not love me the way he loves Rhaenyra. He has already begun discussing possible future betrothals for Rhaenyra, but does not mention any for me. He may love us, but he treats her as no more than a political pawn and he does not even treat me as that. His first royal decree on the very day he was made King was that I was part of his family and I was to be treated in the same respect as Rhaenyra, and it is he himself who failed that.” Viserea’s words were laced with bitterness as she stared ahead with a few more fresh tears flowing freely down her cheeks.

“The two of you do not see how much he truly loves you.” Daemon replied, his voice sincere.

“He did not notice anything was wrong with me at the tourney. Princess Rhaenys and Lord Corlys noticed before he did. She was the one who put it together that I had another dream. Alicent noticed that something was wrong before he did! Alicent whom I do not speak to unless I must! The man who I am supposed to view as a father saw nothing wrong with me or his blood born daughter!” By the end of the rant, Viserea was shouting through tears and grateful that the hill was empty.

Viserea felt Daemon pull her towards him and she allowed herself to melt into his embrace and wrap her arms around him in return. After a couple minutes, Viserea had calmed down and she pulled away from him, wiping away any sign of her tears.

“You had another dream?” Daemon asked her, not commenting on her previous show of emotion.

“Yes. I called for you and Rhaenyra last night, but you were not there. I did not tell Rhaenyra the full extent of it and I never will. She doesn’t need to know what her mother went through in her final moments.” Viserea said, her tone surpassing its previous bitterness and turning to one bordering hate by the end.

“What was the full dream?” His voice was cautious, as if he was afraid that asking would only make her angrier.

“The babe was in breach. They were both going to die no matter what, but Aemma was never told that. He held her down like a pig for slaughter as the Maester suggested a new way being practiced in the citadel. She died terrified and in pain. Her screams will not leave my nightmares anytime soon.” Viserea told him.

“You do not plan to forgive him for this.” It wasn’t a question that Daemon asked. He already knew the answer.

“You and Rhaenyra are the only Targaryen family I have left.” Looking up at him, Viserea’s lilac eyes were cold and Daemon understood that her words were true to her.

[lewisinho]

✨lewis hamilton’s most underrated mercedes drives ✨🏎️

as promised, part 2 with some mercedes drives (by all means not an exhaustive list, but at the very least i hope, a worthy one); lewis’ mclazza drives collection for those interested: here

fav lil’ guy finally free from the clutches of ron dennis and mclaren, handed some rocketships, reunited with blond guy named nico and entering his domination era; live laugh love achieving zen era comes much later; this is lewis hamilton who is ready to fight god and anyone who stands in his way; there’s a ruthlessness to him and his driving, which he will use and he will use it well, he’s talented and good, you watch lewis in a car that can perform and it’s just such a pleasure to witness what he is capable of doing; he is a racer, first and foremost, and he is obsessed with winning, i mean obsessed, the way he celebrates every single win like it’s his very first; he loves and bleeds this sport, even if it can be incredibly cruel to him (and still is, to this day). and btw still the king of the fucking circus, don’t you forget it. chasing your own destiny and creating a myth out of your legacy, you know when david bowie said i always had a repulsive need to be something more than human… yeah lewis who’s afraid of not doing enough, of not being enough, he cannot remain human, he must be something more, he needs to be the best and he wants it more, and you know for a man who has ‘divine love’ tattooed on his hand, what does a narrative mean? for someone who believes that what he does is an art form and who describes racing as a spiritual experience, one must presume there is some form of divinity he believes he can obtain,,,anyway 🙃, allons-y: 

hungary 2014 🇭🇺 aka the usual hamilton hungarian cook sesh’ (he’s a bit insane around this track ngl)

arguably his most underrated non-win drive; pitlane start to p3 and features radio gold such as ✨i’m not slowing down for nico ✨💅 iconique if you ask me; the racing gods decided to plague him with brake issues and a hot seat burning his ass on top of his car already catching on fire during quali (give this guy a break lmao); everything was against him, and he still got a podium. also his overtakes during this race...and specifically THAT overtake on jev *chefs kiss*. i also endorse his criminal behaviour and his last-lap shenanigans with nico as well. 10/10 no notes.

silverstone 2015 🇬🇧 aka cloud watching pays off

lewis at silverstone. yeah. but add a bit of spice in the form of english weather™️. instincts of a man from stevenage and one prescient decision to pit for inters at just the right time before the heavens opened and you get a win by 11 seconds ahead of the next guy and a whole field of cars scrambling in the wet. luck or genius? they asked. 'i can see the clouds over stowe'. he saw the clouds and nico approaching, pulled the trigger on lap 43 and won the race, so you tell me. also features some celebratory donuts (he was so happy after the race, silverstone means a lot to him and you can really tell) and bono soaking wet on the podium 😁

brazil 2016 🇧🇷 aka the interlagos saga continues

whatever max verstappen was doing to nico rosberg in this race is one thing (objectively hilarious), but lewis hamilton, you see he won that race; babes after the race said he was watching the screens around the track while driving in the brazilian downpour, unbothered, incredibly moisturised, happy, very much in his lane, focused and flourishing; and as mentioned in lewis’ underrated mclaren drives post, lewis at interlagos is special, the lore, the myth of it all runs deep, and this is the first time he’s won! in the pouring rain, while trailing in a championship he will eventually lose, he’s finally achieved a dream he’s had: winning in brazil; the red flag period also features baby sharl nervously glancing at lewis in the haas garage (who’d have thought they’d trauma bond over a dsq in austin 7 years later…)

abu dhabi 2016 🇦🇪aka anarchy

yes, i included this race because i stand with my cancelled wife; they were calling for his ass to be fired after the race, paddy lowe was screaming in his ear to speed the hell up, blasphemy, heresy, how dare he disobey his team, how dare he want to win the championship! anyway, like yeah ofc it wasn’t entirely respectful, but it’s racing at the end of the day; a driver will prioritise himself, and lil’ war criminal lewis, i adore you very much (he had horner defending him lmfao while torger was sending him to red bull); the shitstorm in the media afterwards, goodness gracious tho; no wonder lewis and toto needed a sit-down in toto’s kitchen lol; but it’s such a beautifully well-managed race; of course he could go faster, of course he knew exactly what he was doing slowing down and speeding up in just the right places…all in one desperate but masterful attempt at winning the championship; in the end, it wasn’t in his hands, but it is still a great race to watch purely for the mind fuckery and mercedes being absolutely pissed. also, it’s very much an end of an era.

monza 2018 🇮🇹 aka one man and his machine against a nation of ~60 million people

maybe 'underrated' is the wrong word to use for this one in all honesty, people give his ‘18 post-summer break run its due honours, because this is lewis destroying the hopes and dreams of the tifosi, sebastian vettel and the ferrari establishment with maurizio arrivabene at the helm race by race, lap by lap; it’s lewis at arguably, his strongest yet, he danced in that w09, those magnificent quali laps, those races that he dominated from start to finish...but monza, oh monza, maybe there’s something so poetic about that race and starting the run of domination in ferrari land; it’s got lewis vs kimi!!! nostalgia merchants will absolutely adore this one because it’s just like those ‘07 races, also brilliant strategy from merc and lewis and his incredible, jaw-dropping race pace driving like a man possessed 

hungary 2019 🇭🇺 aka the infamous one that inspired spain '21

when lewis arrives at the hungaroring, you know the man is about to cook something worthy of a michelin star. add a two-stop strategy masterclass from one james vowles and you get an absolute classic of a race and if you know what happened just a week earlier (the trials and tribulations of hockenheim), it also feels like redemption; two cars fighting for the win, lewis banging in quali lap after quali lap as he hunts down max; clinical, faultless, and brilliant and it’s such a satisfying race to rewatch (bonus: there’s also jv on the podium and lewis looking incredibly proud)

spain 2020 🇪🇸 aka the pure brilliance of lewis and the w11

jallison’s monster, w11. when she first appeared in fp1 on a friday morning in southeastern austria, best believe the first notes of the imperial march already sounded prophetically around the styrian alps. an icon, a legend, she was the moment and we miss her dearly. pair her with one lewis hamilton, a man on a mission both on track and off it, and you will produce sexiness. purple helmet + black w11 legendary combo, the sheer cunt serving, the audacity, THE presence; i could mention any race from 2020 (notably, tuscany and portugal bc they fly under the radar as well in terms of lewis' performances) but i will add spain to this list, mostly because of what lewis said post-race about what he experienced during the race and why it epitomises the brillance of him as a driver: "i was just in a daze out there", "i was in a different zone then, didn't know it was the last lap" ; you don't reach perfection, but you chase it (as he also mentioned in the press-co), but there's something quite sublime in seeing him deliver such a performance, when he himself is left well, stunned; this is the race that could be lewis hamilton's 90 minute masterclass on tyre management.

hope you enjoyed these vroom vroom recs; might still yet do a merc 2.5 post cause there are a few other drives that also deserve a mention 💜🏎️

[asahicore]

Hiii!!! :) Just stopping by quickly! I haven't kept up with your blog as of late but I read cherry pits last year and ever since then I've always thought of you when I read a fic with enha as a dilf lol. Even when I'm eating cherry pie

HAHA omg what an honor, i feel like cherry pits is so different from my other fics but its also the one thats done the best so ykw if its the legacy i leave behind i'll be happy! also what more can i ask than girlies thinking of me when they eat cherry pie, thanks babes

[benevolentcalamity]

Vampire Lord [Dreven] x Female!Paladin!Reader

If he isn't hubby material when I'm done with him then what point is there in doing a vamp-

I'm kidding, I'm kidding. But yea, this was sooooo overdue, yannow?

Warning! Contains: Smut, blood drinking, tooth-rotting fluff.

CURTAINS!

Perhaps you've seen him, maybe in a dream.

Within a dark castle, erected in the heart of the otherwise serene heartlands, a fearsome vampire rests, as though willed to exist by the wives' tales and the deepest nightmares of every child. With a wave of his hand, he sent even the bravest knight to his knees, and spread his poison throughout the lands. Quickly he reduced the beloved monarchy to naught more than a glorious crypt of nothingness, and ruled the island with an iron fist.

But then she - ye, rather - was born.

In the pits of despair itself, a babe blessed by the gods grew into the next hope of the island. With a holy sword clenched tightly within her hands, she set out upon a snow white horse into the castle, as the hope of her people. As though sensing the defeat of the Lord, the flora came back alive, and the sun emerged from the murky clouds.

However, the hero was also said to have been killed in the fight, having laid down her life to stop him.

As though witnessing her sacrifice, the gods granted her a gift of immortality, and she rose again from the ashes. To protect her village, and stand against the Vampire Lord for the rest of his days - a blessed hero, a legend forevermore.

This is where you, "[Name] the Everlasting]", and your story began.

... Of course, legends change to match the stories writ, and thus many details and names are eventually forgotten, until you never died at all. Now, you are simply the Everlasting Hero, a living legend among the mortal humans whom die and leave their legacy and progeny to carry on.

Enough.

Rolled up scroll tightly held in your fist, you leave your cavalry behind, crossing the black iron bridge into the almost-fortress the castle has become. Like a theatre play the bats come flying out upon your entry, the horrified yelps of your men prompting them to stay away. You are used to it by now - the pleas for you to come back safely don't even faze you anymore.

Once your horse is safely hidden in the shadows you dismount, rubbing her chin with assurance of bringing her back safely to the stables of the kingdom. You say kingdom, because, well... We'll get to that.

The inside of the castle is a sight to behold, let it be known. It’s slowly evolving, maintaining its roots in gothic romantic architecture whilst embracing the machinery in various rooms. Elegant candlelight illuminates the pipes protecting electric wires as well as water, the occasional thumping of a distant steam hammer keeping everything functional not even an earthquake.

Paraphernalia of past heroes that attempted to take your role to ‘relieve you’ or something rests also on the walls collecting dust. This alone had been a lesson to those whom attempted to slay the Lord instead of you, as... pure as their intentions had been. All you yourself can hope for is that they learned, and no more souls have to be lost fulfilling a destiny that’s not their own.

Thankfully they have, only needing your blade to assure them they don’t have to try.

You know this layout like the back of your hand, having fought him basically all over. If he’s anything, he’s crafty, and so you’ve been ambushed here and there and wherever only to come out on top once again. A scourge like him could never overtake the forces of justice, after all, and his numerous defeats brought prosperous flowers to mark victory.

Seeing no more need, you unclasp your cape, and it glides graciously to the banister down below you upon your ascent the of oak stairs. At your back, the light of the foyer and main rooms fades to the wind, leaving only the flickering of the candles to keep you company. Outside, the wind howls as though in premature grieving, the clouds darkening, mimicking lighting of a theatre tragedy.

Your one hand falls to your blade as you ascend to the top, the grotesquely stretched awaiting hallway greeting you with the little flames slowly turning crimson. Clearing your throat, you progress, and eventually the two standing candelabras light a bright gold, illuminating the awaiting black doors. Intricate woodwork carved with love and dedication to the craft, portraying a figure blotting out the sun over a thorny glen.

Once you approach, they open, the moonlight shining through the increasing rift, and there stands the Lord himself.

Icy blue skin crinkles in delight, deep red eyes amidst dark sclera lighting up with glee as his lips stretch into an impossible grin showing indescribably ferocious fangs. A curtain of snow white hair billows in the night’s bitter breeze, creating a portrait of elegant evil. Dressed to the nines in a suit holding elements of death and ornate propriety, he is ready to receive you in this next encounter.

“So you’ve finally returned to me,” He purrs. “I must say, t’is such a shame I cannot come see you for a change of pace... You and me, tangled up in our beautiful bouts over your beautiful kingdom, t’would be a scene only a poet could hope to replicate.”

“I didn’t take you as one to enjoy poems and sonnets,” You retort, crookedly smirking. “Perhaps come by a tavern when you’ve the time, you’ll enjoy what the bards come up with for song, maybe.”

He palms his chest, eyes widening as though you’ve dealt a blow to him already. “Why, how you belittle yourself! You should know by now, I’d rather hear you sing of me, be it in battle, or...”

“Oh, would you shut up,” You snort, advancing, closing in on him like a shark.

And you wind your arms around his hips, him towering over many a man, as his cradle your shoulders. Leaning down, he places a kiss at your crown, before cupping your face and locking your lips into his. They’re cold, as the dead well are, but they taste of cider and raspberries, as though he had prepared for your return. Leaning back so he can lift you, you part your lips to welcome his surging tongue, arms winding around his neck to keep stable.

Snorting with amused impatience he strips you of your armor, leaving only the paladin’s tunic and pants underneath. Wrestling with your tongue as he carries you to his iron peacock bed, only breaking from you to drop you onto it, climbing over you to carry on once he’s sure you’re comfortable. Cradling your face, he purrs at your fingers combing through his hair, finally breaking the kiss truly so you’re able to breathe.

“You can’t keep prematurely withering nature just so you can see me sooner, you get that, right?” You tease, fiddling with his collar.

“Not in the slightest.” He accompanies the jeer with a grin of his own, leaning down and giving your jaw a nip. “But they won’t be able to tell - you’ll be spending another autumn and winter fighting the fearsome Lord.”

Leaning down, he gives you another kiss, laying down beside you and easing your hair from its braids, pulling a [h/c] tendril to his lips. Elegantly letting it fall, he tugs you closer to him, fitting nicely against you as he does. One hand resting on your stomach, he cradles your head with his free arm, peppering your forehead with kisses, unashamedly basking in you like you’re the most beautiful work of art this world has ever seen.

“Our time apart does seem to stretch into eternity, even though it truly doesn’t,” You admit, welcoming his knee between your legs. “I admit it, the spring and summer aren’t short enough.”

“And yet I must acknowledge they must be, and you must be allowed apart from me.” He gives your cheek another kiss. “My darling... Would it be so wrong for me to seek you in the nights of these seasons? You have said it would be...-”

“Shhh...” You reach up, kissing him. “You and I both know it’s a risk we can’t afford to take. If someone were to see you...”

“The kingdom has become lively, even at night,” He sighs. “And you’ll be noticed leaving and followed... Nettlesome, truly.”

“But that means we have to cherish the time we do have,” You assure, giving him a comforting smile. “We will always have enough time - you remember that, right?”

Immediately he brightens once more, nodding. “Yes. Listen to me, being so foolish. We have but eternity, as is our vow.” He leans in, nipping your ear. “Wife.”

Centuries ago - or an entire millennium? - you had a particularly ugly, theatrical duel. You must’ve thrown each other all over this castle, reshaping and even flattening some of the architecture in the strife. Ferocious as he always had been, he was determined to finally best you, and rid himself of this neverending squabble. At last, it seemed he would fulfill this dark desire, as he had you defenseless underneath him, his fangs prepared to drain you of your eternal blood.

But then, a question burned into his mind: the same that had tortured you even before that.

Is this worth it?

He exists as a foil to the king from way back when; the darkness that could never truly be purged. In his rage towards his undying fate he threw his might against the kingdom and slayed the king. However, tragically his abyssal hunger wasn’t quelled, and his anger led him to kill any hero that would rise to lay claim to his head.

When you were born, he only became even angrier. Not at you, never at a babe that bears no sin - at the knowledge he would never find rest. He himself was doomed, in his blackened heart; he would not know satiation, rest, or warmth, for he was a being meant only to suffer and inflict suffering in turn. All in that time he lived, he was only ever angry at his own existence, taking it out on those who tried to disturb the peace he tried so hard to make for himself.

What would he do after you were truly dead? Would he finally be satisfied, or would it be the king’s death played by a different actor? He would be waiting yet more centuries, millennia even, for another that could finally bring him to the rest he so desperately cried for. Not to mention, it wouldn’t make him the least bit happy to kill you.

Realizing this, he relented, but just as you began reaching for your holy blade, he wept. Wept that he was truly doomed, wept that you would share the misery of immortality even with your blessed existence. Once he calmed, he asked that you not end that bout the same as the last ones, but not in surrendering to him. When you asked what he meant... Well, even you don’t recall his answer, only that you put your animosity aside and just... talked.

This is where your being gone for autumn and winter began: you would simply start coming here to speak with him, or just keeping him company to muse over what comes next. Before long it was like you never fought at all, like you were born just to be together; like you weren’t meant to cross blades to begin with. Forgetting his hunger, perhaps even exiling it, he began to smile, laugh, and dance. Even you, who had once grown tired of acting happy and bright, grew to sing and twirl and find warmth even in this place.

But it wasn’t enough. Your hearts began to ache for more, until one winter’s night he held you close and kissed you.

“If you’ll no longer take me as your foe,” He said so tenderly into your ear. “Then please, embrace me as your husband.”

That was a good nine centuries ago - to the both of you it came and went in a blink. He put a crest on your heart, and you entrusted your blood to him, and you only parted when the flowers began to bloom once more, to keep up appearances with the legend and, more importantly, keep yourselves safe.

“Dreven.”

He raises his head, acting as though he hadn’t begun drifting away. “Hm?”

“I...” Your cheeks turn pink, and you turn onto your side to properly face him. “Have you ever... well...” Faltering like you are isn’t helping him understand, and it shows in how he looks at you with the eyes of a curious pup.

“Speak, sweetheart.” He comfortingly wraps his arms around you. “Centuries later, and you’re still so shy when you entrust me with your heart.”

“... Do you want me?” You ask after a moment of trying to unfreeze your tongue.

For a moment he’s visibly confused, trying to understand what you mean. He’d not thought about it, considering he’d asked about sex only once and mentioned it never again when you dismissed the very notion. Not to say you coldly refused him anything, but you were so uncertain that you even could have kids, let alone care for them. And he, being undead, has no hope of having them himself. This knowledge he’d long accepted, however; you’d just not known what to do.

Then it clicks, and he smiles.

“Of course I do. Do you want me as well?”

Not feeling as stable laying down you sit up, him following. Scooping up your hand, he gives it a squeeze.

Swallowing, you nod. “I... I love you so much,” You murmur. “I want to share not just this eternity with you, but every essence of who I am, so you can embrace me as I have you.”

It dawns on you. It isn’t sex for the sake of pleasure you long for, nor is it children just to feel some accomplishment - it’s the joining of your soul and his, an expression of your love so pure. The completion of your love, consummating your marriage, it’s all you really want.

You just want to be with him.

Just as your innate self-doubt can try and take it back, he leans in and kisses you, eyes holding a tenderness he only allows you to see.

“What a thing to say...” He whispers, cupping your face. “My sweet, I want you so badly that it pains me. But I would never disgrace you for acting without invitation. If you’ll let me, then I will happily hold you close, and make love to you.”

Your heart swells with adoration, and you tug him in, and as his arms wrap around you your body warms and cools with reassurance. Raising your arms above your head, you exhale with a soft smile as he unties and frees you of your tunic. Once your breasts are freed he cups them delicately, leaning down to knead them like dough. Just as gently he lies you down, laying between your legs to better access them.

“Mmm...” He purrs. “Oh, [Name]... Every inch of you is so perfect...”

His kisses are deep and bracing, his body melting into your every crevice. Even with all your clothes soon being on the floor, he doesn’t overstep and act without your permission. Even as his erect cock begs to be inside of you, and the carnal instinct to take gnaws at his mind, he is showing great care in responding in kind to your vulnerability.

“I love you...” He breathes between kisses. “I love you, I love you, I love you...”

Breathing hitched from the arousal bubbling in your hips, you wrap your arms around his neck, spreading your legs. You jolt, if slightly, when his cock graces your clit.

“Please...” You whimper, feeling your wetness dribbling down your skin. “... I-I... Oh, Dreven, please...”

“Please what?” He purrs, nipping at your jaw. “What does my sweet wife want?”

You look up at him, vulnerable, pleading - and fuck are you sexy. “... Please, come inside...”

The unintentional joke towards him needing permission to enter a house has him chortling,  kissing your  lips as he readies himself. Ohh, he’s big, you can feel it already...

As though to assure you of his care for you, and his promised delicacy, he cradles your body sweetly, kissing you less with animalistic desire and instead with love stretching into the end of time. For a moment it feels as though something is shifting inside of him, but before you can ask if he’s alright he’s pushing slowly inside you.

“Gh-!” You arch up into him, hanging on as if for dear life, to which he pauses and peppers your cheek with kisses of assurance. “I-it’s so big...”

“I know,” He murmurs. One hand goes to your clit, rubbing it to prepare you some more. Like magic, he has the right pace, rubbing you all the right ways, and before you know it you’re moaning and mewling as he watches you completely engulf him.

For a moment he doesn’t move, giving your body time to adjust to his size. Holding you close with one hand on the bulge it creates, he nips at your neck, kissing you sweetly.

“You’re doing so good, darling.” He sweeps your hair behind your ear. “You... ha... You feel divine.” Is that a...?

“I love you...” You breathe. “Oh... Dreven, my love...”

Once you’ve adjusted, you nod, and he holds you tightly as he begins to thrust. Every time he glides back inside of you he swells, getting more aroused each time. His breathing grows labored with desire, eventually sounding like a caged beast, his restraint palpable despite it. Even you can feel it: he doesn’t want to risk hurting you and taint your memory of entrusting him with your virginity, traumatizing you out of ever opening up this way again. He loves you so much, and it’s killing him that he can’t unleash the animal and keep you safe at the same time.

Cool lips gracing your neck, he coils like a spring, soon sinking his teeth into you as he has before. The sensation sends a warmth through your skin, and a moan follows an uneven gasp from your throat. One hand going to the back of his head you arch, his drinking of your blood adding to the pleasure until you can think of nothing else but him. How he loves you, how he cares for you, how badly he wants to keep you close that nothing in this world can harm you, but at the same time trembling before the might you display. Every bit of you is perfection in his eyes, a limitless sea of beauty he will happily drown in.

Opening your legs more widely, you soon pull them up, hooking your knees in your hands. Letting his cock in even deeper, you mewl as he finally hits that sweet spot he’d been looking for. Belly stretching slightly to show how deep he is, your body happily pulls him deeper and deeper, and before long he’s letting go, both of your bodies unable to restrain any longer.

“A-aah!” You cry out, him finally ceasing drinking and licking your wounds until they heal. “O-ooohh! Aah! Y-yes-!” Your insides mold to his shape, intending to let no other dive into it. “Yes, yes, yes-! Aah!”

Cupping your face, he pulls you into a deep kiss. The taste of your blood doesn’t last long on his tongue,  your mewling mixing perfectly with his growls and groans as he wholeheartedly claims you whilst professing his eternal love. It all fits  together so well, until you can no longer live without each other. The very realization makes your heart swell with affection for your husband, and before you know it tears are pouring down your eyes.

He notices, and his eyes go wide in alarm as his pace comes to a screeching halt. “Sweetheart, are you alright?” Feeling around with his hands, he tries to find a wound or some way he had hurt you without realizing it.

Your hand delicately rests on his face. “C-Cum with me...” You whimper. “Please, Dreven, cum with me...”

He relaxes, smiling with a nod. Wiping your tears from your face he tugs you back into that kiss, continuing his pace. He grows hotter and hotter inside you, swelling until he almost can’t move, until-

His head raises up as though to let him roar, and yours falls back as you cry out in shared orgasm. Snapping his hips, he cums inside once, twice, thrice... four? Five, nay, six times with a driving thrust. Pulling out with an oddly comedic ‘pop’, he falls beside you and tugs you into himself, holding you delicately as though worried he’ll break you in your already fragile state.

“Are you alright, my sweet?” He whispers, brushing some hair from your face. “Did I hurt you at all? The bite?”

You smile. “You should know by now, my wounds will always heal.”

Chortling at his own ignorance, he nods, kissing you sweetly. “... Thank you.”

You tilt your head, a bit confused. “You mean, for the sex, or...?”

His tenderness surfaces once more,  and he rolls back on top of you, slender fingers tracing your features in feigned interest.

“You’ve poured so much of yourself into me; given me so much of you in but a single night... My darling, I feel as though I’m going to overflow.” Tears begin welling in his eyes, the first time since that last battle, but now they’re of the purest joy. “Darling... [Name], my sweet, my eternal rose... I will love you and stay at your side, until eternity itself withers.”

Leaning down, he gives you a kiss, resting his forehead on yours. An indescribable emotion crosses his eyes, lighting them like the very stars.

“Ah... Such bliss...” He whispers. “I thought the abyss inside me unquenchable, insatiable... But now... Now, I am satisfied...”

Sitting up, he brings you with him, holding you so near and dear as the sky turns pink - to which he responds by telepathically drawing the drapes, casting you into the sweet veil of darkness.

“I love you so much...” He rests his face in the crook of your neck.

You smile, your own tears falling into his hair. “I love you too.”

Pulling back a bit, he cups your face, pulling you back into a kiss, eventually laying you down once more...

[wheresmynaya]

Lost in the Lights Ch.18|Brittana

A/N - Just a little something that yall might find some comfort in today so I’ve written a short epilogue. I’m not usually one for fluff, but I figured we might need it. I’ve always considered writing as something I can do to uphold Naya’s legacy because Santana is apart of that legacy and here, she’s always living her best life.

Thinking of you all today 💙

Available on ff.net (x) ao3 (x) & under the cut!

Once again, Brittany finds herself standing alone in her bedroom surrounded by boxes. It’s a little weird seeing her room looking so bare, but this move doesn’t drudge up the same kind of mournful feelings the last one did. This time there’s excitement, there’s anticipation, there’s –

“Hey B,” Santana gives a little tap at Brittany’s bedroom door. “Need a hand?”

Brittany turns to find Santana giving her that same soft grin she has come to adore. She’s leaned against the door frame, clad in her jean cut-offs and a plain t-shirt, and Brittany’s never been so enamored.

“What?” Santana’s grin widens.

Brittany smirks, “Can’t I check out my hot girlfriend?”

Santana rolls her eyes although her cheeks flush, “Smooth as ever.”

“You know it,” Brittany winks before she goes to zip her suitcase. “You’ll be happy to know that I’ve finally finished packing my room. It’s been a super productive afternoon.”

Santana sputters out a laugh as she glances around Brittany’s bedroom. The walls are bare aside from a couple framed pictures Brittany couldn’t find it in herself to take down. The desk by the window is neat and tidy for once too, but what makes Santana stop are the two gold crowns hanging off of one of Brittany’s football trophies.

“Not taking these?”

Brittany turns to find Santana pulling one off and putting it on. She looks just as regal as she did on Prom night and it makes Brittany’s heart feel so full. She can’t help but reminisce at how beautiful Santana looked all done up – she really took her breath away that night.

“You’d love that, wouldn’t you?” Brittany teases, “Too bad Quinn will be at Yale. I’m sure she’s going to miss the constant reminder that we won instead of her and Mike.”

“I can still text her,” Santana quips as she takes off the crown and sets it down where she found it. She goes back to looking around the room again, “It doesn’t look like you in here anymore.”

“Yeah,” Brittany sighs as she looks around too. Her eyes settle on Santana and she begins to grin, “But it’ll be so much fun decorating our own place together. It’ll look like the both of us.”

“True,” Santana grins, “I can’t wait.”

“Me neither!”

“I can’t believe how fast the year went by,” Santana mentions, “It feels like just yesterday that I was jumping off swings with you.”

“You mean head-butting me?” Brittany jokes.

“That too,” Santana laughs, “And now we’re off to college…together.”

“Not just yet,” Brittany reminds her with a pat to her suitcase.

“That’s right,” Santana nods to it, “That everything?

Brittany looks down and smiles, “Yup!”

Santana eyes the lone bag warily, “You’re only bringing one?”

“We’re only going for two weeks,” Brittany replies with a giggle, “You’d be surprised how much I fit in here. Bikinis don’t take up that much space which is a plus.”

She looks to Santana again hoping to see a smile but instead she finds her worrying her bottom lip. It makes Brittany chuckle as she closes the distance between them. Once she’s close enough, her hands land on Santana’s hips.

“Don’t stress,” She tells her sweetly, “That defeats the purpose of a vacation.”

“I’m not stressed,” Santana shrugs, “I’m just wondering…if I packed a little too much now?”

Brittany only giggles before pressing a kiss to Santana’s lips.

“You’re cute,” She says.

Santana only sighs through her smile, “Can you tell I’m a little nervous?”

“A little?”

Santana pouts, “This is my first big road trip. I didn’t want to forget anything.”

Brittany wraps her arms around Santana, holding her close, “I’m sure you’ve got everything and if not we can always buy stuff. You know Florida does have a mall, right?”

Santana was a little hesitant about joining the Pierce Family on their vacation back down to Florida for Summer break because she didn’t want to intrude on their family time, she’s so considerate like that. Brittany couldn’t imagine spending two whole weeks without her though, even Pete and Whitney begged for Santana to go.

Plus, it was the perfect opportunity to show her around Brittany’s old stomping grounds and most importantly, take her to one of her favorite places. With all of that taken into consideration, Santana couldn’t find it in her to deny Brittany this. She also didn’t mind getting out of Lima for the Summer, beats tanning by the pool alone.  

“Babe, this is going to be great,” Brittany says earnestly, “It’s going to be relaxing and we’ll get to spend so much time together doing all kinds of fun things. It’ll be exactly what we need before we have to leave for Columbus, because you know once we get there it’ll be all work. I’ll have to start football training again and you’ll have cheer conditioning.”

“You’re right. Ohio State doesn’t mess around,” Santana nods as she begins smiling again, “This’ll be great. I’ve never been on vacation like this before.”

“Neither,” Brittany grins before grabbing her suitcase again. “Let’s go. We’ve got a lot of road to cover.”

\\

Brittany and Santana decide to drive Santana’s car down to Florida ahead of Whitney and Pete who are catching a flight a couple days later. They take several pit stops along the way, making sure to snap silly photos by all of the state line signs so Santana can text them to Maribel and Hector to keep them updated on their adventure so far.

It probably takes them twice as long to make the trip, but it’s well worth it when Brittany gets to watch Santana’s eyes brighten as they finally cross the Florida state line.

“It’s so much different than Lima,” Santana says as she stares out the window at all the passing palm trees, their fronds waving hello in the warm breeze as they drive by.

Brittany only glances over with this cheek-bunching grin before she’s back to concentrating on the road ahead.

\\

A while later, they pull up to the rental Whitney organized and this time Brittany’s the one who’s in awe.

“No way!” She exclaims as she triple checks the address her mom gave.

“What is it?” Santana questions.

“I used to point this house out all the time when we lived here,” Brittany tells her, “Pete and I called it the Unicorn House because of the pink shutters and the baby blue door. We always thought it was so cool, the most colorful house on the beach. I had no idea it was a rental!”

Santana smiles, “Well let’s go check it out.”

Relieved to stretch their legs and really start their vacation in the sun, Santana and Brittany make quick work of unloading the car and moving everything inside. Just like Brittany figured, the inside of the house was just as cool as the outside. All modern fixtures, colorful artwork decorating the walls, but the real attention-grabber was the view.

“Wow,” They said in unison as they approached the back sliding doors that led out onto the terrace. It was nothing but white sand and clear blue water.

“Let’s open it,” Brittany says and goes to pull open the glass door. There’s a light breeze and the scent of saltwater. Brittany smiles into it; she can’t believe how much she’s missed this.

Lima’s been great to her, it’s the place she met the most perfect girl ever, but this place will always hold a special spot in her heart too. As she glances to her side at her girlfriend, her smile grows because now she gets to share it with her too.

“What do you say we make a quick run to the shops so we can have breakfast out there?” Brittany suggest with a grin, “We can unpack and stuff later.”

“Sounds awesome,” Santana replies, “When’s your mom and Pete flying in again?”

“Tomorrow afternoon,” Brittany says as she gives a little tug at Santana’s shirt, “We’ve got the whole place to ourselves until then.”

Santana’s grin widens, “Even better.”

\\

They decide to load up on fresh fruit, because after so many hours of fast food and gas station snacks they are dying for something healthy. Together they walk the aisles hand in hand, stopping every so often to add something to the basket Brittany carries.

It’s not their first trip to the store together, but it feels different this time knowing that it’s just them. Everyone they know is back in Lima, so doing something like grocery shopping together in Florida makes them feel so grown up and independent.

For a second, Brittany wonders if this is what it’ll feel like once they move away together for college. She’s sure the novelty of it all is bound to wear off the more they do it, but for now she leans into the excitement of it. The thought makes her feel giddy inside because she can’t picture herself doing such a routine thing with anyone other than Santana.

“Should we get anything else?” Santana wonders after adding a punnet of blueberries to the basket.

Brittany looks at their haul so far and shakes her head, “Nah. We can just order take out later if we want?”

Santana nods and they make their way to the check out lane.

\\

Back at the rental, Santana’s in the kitchen getting all of their fruits washed and cut up when Brittany reappears clad in her bright pink bikini.

“Okay! Your turn,” She calls out as she makes her way into the kitchen.

Santana does a quick glance up to reply then does a double take when she sees what Brittany has on. Her jaw drops at the sight and she nearly cuts off a finger!

“Woah,” Santana says in time as her eyes rake up Brittany’s tone figure, “I was not prepared.”

“Should I put on a shirt?” Brittany jokes.

“No, no,” Santana’s quick to respond, “No shirts. You can stay just like that.”

Brittany blushes as Santana continues checking her out. It makes her feel warm all over and a little confident too because usually Santana’s the one getting her worked up. It’s a nice change when the tables are turned.

“So, you want to go change and I’ll finish here?” Brittany asks.

Santana’s still staring as Brittany comes closer. She doesn’t even blink until Brittany’s tapping at the bottom of her chin with this smug grin on her face.

“Hmm?” She hums, “What?”

“Do you want to go change now?”

Santana smirks as she pulls Brittany in and pins her against the counter, “It’s not really the first thing on my mind right now.”

“Oh?” Brittany’s grin turns devilish.

Santana bites her bottom lip as she plays with the knot at Brittany’s hip. “The extra football training you’ve been doing is really paying off. Like I’ve always thought you were the hottest girl to ever walk the surface of the Earth, but damn.”

“Go change,” Brittany tells her with a giggle. “We’ll never get to the beach at this rate.”

“Fine by me,” Santana teases as she wraps her arms around Brittany’s waist and starts littering her neck with soft kisses. “Like so fine by me.”

Brittany struggles because having Santana’s lips on her is always kind of like kryptonite, but her desire to experience Santana’s first trip to the beach outweighs spending the rest of the morning wrapped up in bedsheets. Call her crazy, but they’ve got all day to mess around meanwhile the sun’s only out for so long.  

“Baby, as good as this feels,” Brittany sighs as she pulls away. She stares down at Santana lovingly, “I really want to take you to the beach first. Just you and me.”

Santana cutely pouts and it has Brittany giggling.

“Come on,” She says with a little pinch at Santana’s side, “I think it’ll be worth it.”

“I think it opens up lots of opportunities to be a tease,” Santana complains jokingly.

“Good thing we won’t be far from here then,” Brittany winks in return.

\\

Once Santana finally got changed, she met Brittany back in the kitchen where the blonde had packed a bag with their breakfast and a couple bottles of water along with their beach towels. Brittany had her sunglasses sitting atop her head, her long blonde hair free from its messy bun from earlier.

“Ready?” She asked excitedly.

Santana only grinned as she reached for Brittany’s hand to hold and together they made their way down the wooden terrace steps until their bare feet met warm sand. Brittany was already headed for the coastline, but Santana stopping held her back. She turned, wondering if Santana forgot something, when she realized it wasn’t that at all.

Santana never felt the feeling of sand between her toes before.

A smile formed on Brittany’s face as she watched Santana wiggle her toes. It was only for a moment, a little excited squeak of a giggle escaping the brunette before she looked up again – ready to go. Brittany only wrapped her arm around Santana’s shoulders, kissing the top of her head as they started to walk again.

Picking the perfect spot was always something Brittany took pretty seriously, but on this section of the beach – any spot was perfect. They were just far enough away from the popular areas so it wasn’t too crowded where they were.

“I’ve never seen water so blue,” Santana admires as she stares at the crashing waves. “Beats the lake in Lima.”

“Definitely,” Brittany chuckles.

They end up laying out their blanket a few yards away from the water so they don’t have to walk very far to get in. While Santana smooths out the blanket, Brittany sets down their bag and starts to pull out their towels and breakfast.

Together, they sit side by side and share from one bowl Santana found in the kitchen. It’s a mix of all the fruit they picked up earlier and with their feet in the sand and the sound of the waves and seagulls in the distance they’ve never felt so at peace.

“Is it true that you have to wait thirty minutes after eating before you can swim?” Brittany wonders aloud. She’s resting back on her elbows, her legs outstretched but she’s still too far away to touch the water.

Santana shrugs, “I have no idea. Probably should though just to be safe.”

“True,” Brittany grins as Santana lies back too.

She’s already starting to tan and Brittany can’t take her eyes off of her. It’s almost like this is too good to be true and she finds herself reaching out to touch just to make sure.

\\

Once their thirty minutes are up, Brittany’s on her feet trying to coax Santana into the water but who knew she’d put up such a fight?

“We didn’t come all this way to just sit in the sand,” Brittany teases as she tugs on Santana’s hand, “Come on.”

“That water is about to be cold as hell. No thank you!”

“Hell isn’t cold, Santana.”

“You know what I mean,” Santana then gets up when she finally breaks out of Brittany’s hold, “Now way I’m getting in.”

“But it’s not even cold,” Brittany replies although she’s not really sure since she hasn’t tested it for herself. “Why are you picking right now to play hard to get?”

“You haven’t seen nothing yet!” Santana jokes before taking off.  

Brittany laughs the whole time as Santana ducks and dodges her advances until Brittany’s speed finally does her in. Soon she’s got Santana cradled in her arms bridal-style, carrying her towards the water like she weighs nothing.

“Britt! Brittany! Don’t you dare!” Santana chastises between laughs, “I don’t want to get my hair wet!”

Brittany only stomps her way through the water, “Who goes to the beach and doesn’t want to get their hair wet? That’s silly, San!”

“Me, that’s who!” Santana giggles but she stops putting up a fight and just wraps her arms around Brittany’s shoulders.

Their faces are so close with the way Brittany holds her that their noses brush when the blonde suddenly looks to her. Really, she’s checking if Santana’s actually being serious because if so then she’ll happily take her back to shore but if not it’s fair game. Instead though, she gets sidetracked by the brilliant smile she wears and how beautiful she looks with her hair down.

“I won’t get you wet if that’s really what you want,” Brittany says innocently but there’s a mischievous glint in her eye too.

She’s standing still waist-deep in the water and Santana’s butt is barely touching the surface. Brittany does her best to hop so that the incoming waves don’t splash her which is pretty nice of her with all things considered. She could totally be that person and drop her without a second thought.

“Well, when you say it like that…” Santana starts to smirk.

Brittany lets out a laugh before she leans in for a kiss.

It was meant to be a distraction, but it ended up way steamier than she intended as she slowly  sank to her knee so that they both dipped below the surface. She could feel Santana’s teeth sink into her bottom lip from the initial shock of the water temperature but then it was soothed by her tongue gliding over the nip.

“See?” Brittany teases, “Not that cold.”

Santana only rolls her eyes as Brittany adjusts her hold. She goes from cradling Santana to having her straddle her lap instead. It’s a much riskier position than before, but neither of them complain.  

As they get acclimated to the water, they slowly move from kissing to playfully splashing at each other as they wade around. They go back and forth like that for awhile until they move back to the shore to get their tan on.

“I’m having slight regrets that we’ll be going to school in Ohio,” Santana mentions awhile later as they lie on their stomachs, “Must be nice living close to a beach.”

Brittany grins, “So you’re liking your first trip then?”

“Baby, I love it,” Santana replies happily and leans over to kiss her cheek, “And I love you.”

“I love you too,” Brittany coos before she gets to thinking, “If you love it that much we can always transfer down here? I’m pretty sure there’s a few schools here that would love to poach me. You too.”

“So tempting,” Santana chuckles.

\\

They lie like that for awhile longer before the sun gets to be a little much and they head back to the rental.

It’s one of Brittany’s favorite feelings, that tiredness after spending the day at the beach, and she coaxes Santana into the shower with her to get rid of all the sand and saltwater. Despite finally getting each other this close without any barriers between them, they’re both too tired to actually make any moves.

Instead, they take turns standing underneath the cool water and washing off any residual sand.

Afterwards, they slip into something loose and tumble into bed with a yawn. They don’t even bother getting under the sheets first, their sun-kissed skin still warm from the shower. The just cuddle up to one another and doze off within minutes.  

\\

Hours later, Brittany awakes to Santana tracing her finger along the bridge of her nose. She blinks away the last bit of sleepiness and looks around the room, surprised to see it drenched in hues of orange and gold from the setting sun.

“I think you might’ve gotten sunburnt,” Santana mentions softly, “Your cheeks are a little pink.”

Brittany touches them bashfully, “Yeah. They do that after I’m out too long. Doesn’t hurt though, I put on sunscreen before.”

“Okay,” Santana smiles as her hand moves to rest on Brittany’s hip.

The blonde looks to the window, “What time is it?”

“Almost eight.”

“Shit,” Brittany curses, “I didn’t meant to sleep for that long.”

“It’s okay. You were tired,” Santana replies as she starts circling Brittany’s hipbone, “Hungry?”

There’s a familiar rasp in Santana’s voice and it has Brittany leaning in ever so slightly. She knows that tone, she’s been quite familiar with it since the night she won a championship title with the Titans. It’s come to be a favorite of hers.

“Starving,” Brittany smirks.

Santana bites her lip, “Good.”

“We can order a pizza,” Brittany husks as she slips her thigh between Santana’s, “I know just the place. They’re notorious for taking way too long but the pizza manages to always be hot still.”

“Perfect,” Santana smirks before she’s closing the distance.

\\

The next day, they have a bit of a sleep in due to their…activities carrying on pretty late into the night. Free house to themselves? Of course they couldn’t pass up the opportunity, but they’re well-rested and get up to do a tidy of the house before going to pick up Pete and Whitney from the airport.

Again, Brittany feels that same feeling from the day before when she and Santana were out shopping for breakfast. She can’t help but notice how easy it is for them to fall into such a domestic routine. It makes her feel so grown up, like it was just a couple weeks ago that she was graduating and sure she’s always been pretty independent but it’s different with Santana by her side.

When they get to the airport, they’re only waiting for a little while before Pete’s excitedly waving at them with Whitney trailing behind him. There’s hugs all around when they finally meet before they make their way to baggage claim.

“Did you have fun on the plane ride over?” Santana asks Pete.

“It was okay,” Pete shrugs, “Kind of bumpy but mom let me play games on her phone.”

“Nice,” Santana grins.

“Yup! Did you have fun driving here? Wait, did you guys go to the beach already?” Pete asks as he looks to his sister, “Britt’s cheeks are pink.”

Brittany’s eyes widen, “Uh…”

“We might’ve gone for a little bit,” Santana admits and watches Pete start to frown. He was pretty adamant about them waiting for him but Santana’s quick to recover, “But that doesn’t mean we can’t go again today! You’ll have to check with your mom first.”

Pete’s face fills with a mega-watt smile, so similar to Brittany’s it’s crazy.

“She’ll totally say yes,” He tells Santana, “Mom loves the beach too!”

“Sweet,” Santana grins.

“Alright, we just need to pick up the rental car and we’re out of here,” Whitney says as Brittany follows behind with Pete’s little suitcase.

“You didn’t have to rent a car,” Santana tells her, “I told you I was okay with sharing mine.”

“You’re too kind, honey,” Whitney smiles, “But I’m sure you girls will want to explore the area too.”

Santana just nods as Brittany comes up beside her, their fingers twining so casually.

“Speaking of rentals,” Brittany mentions, “I can’t believe you got the Unicorn House! It’s so cool.”

“We’re staying at the Unicorn House?” Pete asks eagerly. Brittany nods to him and he just about combusts, “No way! That’s the coolest house on the beach!”

“Totally,” Brittany winks, “It’s even cooler inside. Just you wait and see.”

\\

They all head to the rental house and it takes everyone no time at all before they’re making their way out to the beach. Everyone except Whitney who runs to the store for snacks and something to eat for dinner because apparently they can’t have pizza two nights in a row despite Brittany and Pete’s protesting.

Again, it’s nice to just lounge in the sun and cool off in the water whenever they want. Pete’s here too while Whitney’s at the store and Santana watches adoringly as he and Brittany toss their favorite football back and forth.

“Babe! Come play with us,” Brittany calls out to her as she tosses the football to Pete in a perfect spiral.

“Yeah! Come play, Santana!” Pete chimes in.

“I’m fine getting my tan on from here,” Santana answers then starts to smirk at Brittany. The way her muscles tense whenever she throws the ball or how her arms flex, it leaves Santana’s mouth dry, “The view’s not so bad either.”

Brittany lets out a laugh as she readies for Pete to throw the ball back. She’d have to agree about the view though, hers isn’t so bad too with Santana laid out in her maroon bikini on their beach blanket, skin glistening with sweat. She swallows dryly as her thoughts start to wander to the night before.

“Britt!” Pete shouts, “Look out!”

Brittany looks up and catches the football just in time before she’s thumped in the head with it. Good thing her reflexes are as sharp as ever!

“Careful baby,” Santana smirks before she’s rolling onto her stomach to even out her tan.

Brittany only narrows her eyes playfully before she’s throwing another perfect spiral in Pete’s direction.

\\

Once Whitney joins them, Pete goes from playing with Brittany to splashing in the shallow water with their mom. Brittany sits alongside Santana where they both share a bag of chips and watch Pete’s splashes get bigger and bigger.

“You’re so cute with him,” Santana mentions.

Brittany raises her brow, “Speak for yourself.”

Santana lets out a disbelieving laugh, “Right.”

“You are,” Brittany urges with a bump to Santana’s shoulder, “He loves spending time with you. Not as much as I do, of course.”

“Of course.”

“You ever wish you had a younger sibling?” Brittany wonders.

“God, no. Never,” Santana jokes before softening, “But seeing you two kind of makes me second guess it. Then again, Pete’s cool so you’re lucky.”

“True,” Brittany giggles. There’s another pause before Brittany speaks up again in a softer tone, “Thanks for coming out on this trip with us. I know you were a little iffy at first, but it wouldn’t be the same without you.”

“Thanks for inviting me,” Santana replies with this smitten little grin on her face. “We should totally make this an annual thing.”

“Coming back here?”

“Yeah,” Santana nods, “It’s like our reset button. No matter how busy or crazy it gets wherever we are, we can always come back here and just – reset. It would be nice.”

Brittany starts to smile. Santana mentioning doing something every year means she anticipates them being together for a really long time which duh but making plans like that in advance makes it all feel a little more real. She always thought her strong feelings might’ve been a little exaggerated since they’re young and love always feels so all-encompassing, but then Santana goes and says something like that.

This love, it’s bigger than she thought. Maybe it’s even one of those forever kinds of love and that kind of thinking makes Brittany happier than ever.

“We can totally do that,” Brittany agrees before she leans in for a chaste kiss. She can feel Santana smiling too against her lips and she’s never felt more complete.

Whatever this upcoming year plans to throw their way, whether it be on the field or in the classroom or even at home, Brittany’s totally ready for it.

Because together, well…anything is still possible.

[thepilotanon]

Lesson Time!

So, for the babes who actually take the time to read posts and my responses, here's a little interesting lesson about comics and it's branched franchise, because I keep getting messages about why I'm "picky" about certain requests/opinions about some stuff.

(*I have a four year degree and a legit career in comics and writing that also transitions to filming/industry content, as well as minors in writing, history of comics and writing material in various forms. To put it simply, I've gone through the deepest pits of Hell to write 24 page papers per topic, and have met and worked with various people who have been in the Big Name Places. Not going to go into big words and detailed links, but it should get the point across).

There are various versions of characters in big name comic companies, such as DC and Marvel. There is no one version, minus the original made by the original creators, that is considered true canon. Even that is debatable from the original creators, and how they feel about their original creations. This is done for (mostly) to gain a wider audience to bring in more income and popularity; it's the most common and normalized behavior with big name companies and content creators to insure that they can keep banking, as well as keep jobs open for up-and-coming artists and keeping the craft alive.

While it is known that fandoms come in all forms and shapes of characters or plots, it does not give anyone the right to dictate or gate-keep certain points of something that is not theirs, nor in their control of canon. Majority of the time, creators "give up" the rights of their original ideas and concepts in favor of the next generation or other group of people who like it, but don't like it enough to consume the products, when they make it big.

(Note: Usually, content creators will be willing to give up the "rights" to their characters, mostly in favor to carry on the story and give new artists/story-tellers a chance to keep content alive and going. Some others, depending on the publishing rights and their contracts, will be able to keep their content in their names and could allow others to carry on - with limitations - if they're still alive and keep it solid. Example will come with Stephen Hillenburg, creator of Spongebob, who wanted his creation to remain just that one plot and no spin-offs/prequels, and, since his death, Nickelodeon is now aiming to make numerous spin-offs. Naoko Takeuchi, creator of Sailor Moon, has sole ownership of her content and is able to monitor what is being made of her creation, such as the early 2000s live-action TV show and musicals, and raised hell over the anime adaptation of the Three Lights).

That's why there is various versions of Batman, who was created in the late 1930s; where there's the original bachelor and cape crusader, the retired-but-rehired old man Batman, the various sidekicks who inherit the cape and carry on the legacy and "rebirth" of Batman. Where he gets together with different women and "settles" in various plots, never stating the change or how it really happened (unless you purchase the specific series).

That's why there is, like, ten versions of the X-Men plot with the Dark Pheonix, and what comes after. There's various couples that became "canon" in the specific series, and a very different "canon" couple in the next. Where Wolverine married Storm, or Storm married T'Challa/Black Panther, or Wolverine got with Jean Grey. Rogue's difference in obtaining her powers/abilities in the comics versus the films differentiate in favor to paint her character in a different light, where the "new" audience would understand her better and like her quicker.

The main point of doing this "sharing" of content is to make more bank, but to also allow creativity and acceptance to various audiences. The original concept of comics and other content as a whole was to create an accepting environment, where the creator can put themselves into stories (example would be Krazy Kat by George Herriman, where it's noted how the leading character is influenced by the creator's ethnic, sexual, and gendered identity; or George Lucas' creating Luke Skywalker in his image growing up and wanting to explore the world). Many fans can take how they will on the content given, warp it to make them feel emotionally connected to both the story and story-teller, and be able to share and help add on for the future, whether it's being hired by the same company or organization, or contribute to the fandoms.

It's not fair for fans and fandoms to mock or criticize other fans for which version they like or prefer over the other. It's not fair for fans to say "this is how so-and-so character is suppose to be" or "your opinion on this-or-that character/plot is boring/inexcusable/not canon and wrong". That's not what 99% of comics, books, movies, TV shows want.

You can enjoy the content you like or make to contribute to the fandom, and you don't have to be a fucking prick about it. Learn how to share and stay in your lane, because everyone is allowed to enjoy what they like and share their love and thoughts openly with others - you don't have to ruin it for everyone else.

[spicyvampire]

People I Wanna Know Better Tag Meme

Thanks @he-is-lightning-in-a-bottle for the tag

Last song?

The Nights by Huckleberryfinn, first time I heard it was on The Devil Judge (2021) and it has been on my playlist since

Favorite color?

Purple, any shades of it

Currently watching?

Shows : The Librarians (2014 - 2018), Monarch: Legacy of Monsters (2023-)

BL : The Sign (2023 - 2024), Playboyy (2023 - 2024), Pit Babe (2023 - 2024), Love for Love's Sake (2024)

GL : Chaser Game W (2024)

For more here's the link to my show library and archive, I keep it updated usually

Last movie?

Just started this actually

Sweet/Spicy/Savory?

Spicy always

Relationship status?

Single

Current Obsessions

The Sign (2023 - 2024) has bewitched me body and soul

For more incoherence here are some links to my tags for the show : gifs tag, edits tag, liveblogging and show related original post tag

Last Thing You Googled

Selfie or another pic you took?

Everytime I watch that scene I take a 500 screenshots of Wansarut for some reasons, it's as If didn't already have 3 thousand screenshots and gifs of Wansarut... You could say I'm obsessed

[river-bottom-nightmare]

didnt gotham basically get thanos snapped after that earthquake storyline (or maybe it was the contagion one? was it called that I forget. all I remember was reading it last summer and being like wow this is so close to home bc yknow, pandemic and all)?? idk look I just specifically remember that the population of Gotham took a beating in the 90s and there’s no way there’s 13 million people anymore. not that it matters bc this has been retconned but anyway. sorry I just saw that ask and I felt the need to contribute anyways I hope you’re having a good day!

aghhh no thanks for popping in babe comic trivia is always super fun!

i mean. bludhaven did get reduced to a steaming pile of rubble. and then they retconned it and now it’s fine + blockbuster’s alive. nothing stays put in comics, it’s the one thing you can count on. 

honestly? it could be both. those years were freaking awful for batman. first there was batman: contagion (talk about irony), with the giant plague. it did devastate the city and kill a good portion of the lower and middle classes. then there was a brief pit stop in batman: legacy, in which there were heavy casualties as well, before we dive headfirst into batman: cataclysm, where not only were thousands of people killed, but the city itself was ruined.

fun times.

anyway after that i wouldn’t be surprised if the population had dropped to, like, four or five million. that’s a rough chain of events, and given recent events, it’s pretty clear that casualties during events like these will be brutal and high. 

but then retcon after retcon and barry allen breaking the universe and wally west fixing it and at the end of all that who knows how many people are in gotham. maybe it’s back to the original 13 million who knows. 

i hope you are having a wonderful day, and if not, i’m sending you hugs to hopefully make it better.  

[eldrylva]

Blood. Fire and brimstone, blood.. burnt fur.

There was an emptiness in her chest, a void, and no matter how she cried and screamed into it, pleading for an answer, a response from her family, her warriors, she was met with a lonely silence. Astrid stumbled in the remains of the fire pit in the center of the village. Her armor rent, furs burnt around her neck, sword bloodied and broken in twain. She was drenched in blood that was both hers and not, ashes, soot. She stared at the bodies as they lay, some she could see, some not. Her siblings were nowhere to be found in the chaos, but the emptiness in her chest meant they either didn't want to be found or they had met their final rest in Odyn's Mead Hall.

Clan Solstice was dead.

Astrid Jarl stared at the remnants of her village, her people... the farms were burnt to ash, the docks destroyed, longships at the bottom of the Fjord. The Godspeaker's hut was turned inside out. It was all just a big bonfire. Nothing else could quite describe the sheer emptiness that this place now held. Just two days ago everyone was singing and celebrating the endings of the Winter Solstice, celebrations of life for both her father and brother... and now there were ashes and ruin where they once stood.

The ocean kept a low-hanging fog mingled with smoke rolling in and out of the rubble. Jolts of static and sparks from the Storm Dragon's fire still spritzed about the rooftops. A loud crash of their grain silo caused Astrid to wheel around, watching as it collapsed in on itself and was once more engulfed in flames. Her chest tightened, tears stung the corners of her eyes.

She failed. She failed her people. Her family. Her home. Her legacy.

Astrid snorted, spitting out a glob of blood. Her face as covered in blood and it burned her eyes. A slow look around her village told her there was nothing left more than the charred remains of their homes and the Longhall ever could. Some were still smoldering. She wiped at her cheek with the back of her hand and her eyes settled on Synna's home nearest Ingmar's farm. Her heart sank.

"Gale--" She blurted, spitting out more blood. The furs were tossed from her shoulders and she sprinted, chucking the remnants of her sword behind her. Astrid barreled into the door with a grunt. She rattled the doorknob, panic setting into her bones. Please. Please don't let her have failed her sister and Sir Adamar. Please let her have been able to take him she should have let Adamar take him-- Please. Please-- her shoulder had met the door and it burst open. A sharp gaze looked around, coughing and waving smoke and dust out of her way until she spotted the cradle.

"Please, Havi, if you're watching, don't let you be this cruel.." She muttered, swallowing the lump in her throat as tears formed clean trails down her cheeks. She stepped carefully over to the crib, snaring the furs that made up his blanket and pulled.

"GRAR!" The babe cried, face covered in soot. Astrid whined, her heart breaking in two and sinking into Helheim. All she could do is laugh as she picked the babe up, holding him tightly to her chest.

"Mama?" He burbled, and Astrid sank to her knees, holding her nephew to her chest. She trembled with her breaths, rocking the babe from side to side. He was that cruel, after all.

"Even better, liten bjarn, we're going to see your fadir back home.. with grandfather Araian, grandmother Evelynn..." She cooed, the babe swaddled in furs bundled just a little tighter. Slowly Astrid stood, wrapping the sheets and furs around her torso with one arm, securing Gale to her chest with the other. Astrid wandered over to the weapon rack in the corner of her sister's home and yanked an axe free. She was met with Skadi and Hroar in the doorway, heads low, tails swaying slowly behind them.

"We will take the forest paths to Valdisdall. Some of the dragon riders may still be circling. If we can speak to one of the drake handlers, we can fly to the Eastern Kingdoms--"

"Child.." Hroar began quietly, peering to her as she barreled out of the doorway. His ears flattened against his skull. It was to get her to calm down more than anything else.

"We will speak with Havi. Employ a favor. Hroar and I cannot take dragons home to travel; if the Great One can afford us a boat, we may make it across the sea with great headway at the expense of his help." Skadi added, sitting next to her brother. Their tails circled around their haunches, head giving a rightward tilt. They were twins, Hroar and Skadi. Two of the largest onyx Dire Wolves they had.

"What kind of favor, Skadi?! What else could we possibly give him that the Dragon Clan hasn't already taken from us?!" She cried, causing Gale to stir and begin to cry. Astrid sighed, rocking the boy, and hushing him with a kiss to the side of his head. Their silence rang loudly in her ears, and the twin wolves felt Astrid's heart break more.

"The Highmountain Tauren can grant us passage through to their lands. We can seek Dalaran. Lord Sunshield has apartments there, Gale will be safe with Lyric.." Astrid continued, shushing Gale softly with another kiss to his temple. She saw Hroar shake his head and she frowned softly.

"No. Not Dalaran. The Tauren would sooner mistake us for Vrykul and retaliate. The Shal’dorei are overprotective of their lands now with the Horde’s aid. Call upon Havi when we reach safety, child of the Valkyra. Valdisdall awaits." Hroar began, and he flanked Astrid's right, and Skadi her left.

Her brother was right. Only she was the Last Wolf a little sooner than any of them had planned.

[themidnight-ghost]

Hellfire

I posted this on AO3 but decided it should be posted here... not really happy with this for my first work in the Pitch Perfect fandom… haha. Sorry if you read this shitshow - i feel for you. x ☁️ 

“Freedom!” Fat Amy screamed after crashing through the transparent ceiling and spraying her father with a fire extinguisher.

Amongst the chaos of glass and smoke, Chloe grabbed Emily’s hand protectively and reached for Beca,

“Chloe, jump!” Beca ushered the ginger towards away from the danger, “I’ll catch up to you!”

“I’m not leaving you!”

Chloe’s look of fear tugged at Beca’s heartstrings. Here she was, saving her friends and girlfriend from being kidnapped by Australians. It couldn’t get any better than this.  

“I said I’d catch up!”

This time Emily interjected, “We’re not going anywhere!”

A couple of years ago, Beca wouldn’t care what Emily said. But now the girl had become part of their random, weird, nerdy family and even though Beca refused to admit it to anyone but Chloe, she’d become very fond of the legacy and had this maternal instinct to protect her.

______________

“I don’t know Chlo,” Beca was curled up in Choe’s arms, resting her head in the crook of Chloe’s neck whilst the taller girl threw her phone onto the duvet. “I just feel like she’s growing up too fast.”

Chloe ran her hands through her girlfriend’s hair, “You should be pleased; Emily is leading the Bellas!”

“I am, I just feel like we didn’t teach her enough.”

“Teach her enough about what?”

“The male species.”

Chloe scoffed at Beca’s statement.

“What would we know about men, babe?” She pressed a quick kiss to Beca’s forehead, “Besides, Benji’s a good dude, he’ll look after her.”

As if on cue, Fat Amy Winehouse appeared from behind the clothes rack.

“Oh my god, you guys are so cheesy. Get a room!”

“There’s 3 of us living in a New York apartment; we don’t have a room to spare.” Beca deadpanned.

“That’s what they all say.” Amy whispered, “And if we don’t have another room, why don’t you guys get second jobs?”

Chloe put a hand on Beca’s shoulder, “Why don’t you get a job?”

Amy strutted into their tiny kitchen, fixing her wig in the mirror before pulling a cookie from one of the tins.

“I’m too good for manual labour. They wouldn’t know what to do with all of this .” Amy gestured to herself obnoxiously, crumbs falling carelessly onto the floor.

“All of that?”

“What were you lesbians talking about anyway?” Amy changed the subject.

“Beca doesn’t feel like we taught Emily enough. She’s worried.”

“I would be too, Legacy’s like the dumbest kid I know.”

“She’s gonna be fine, Bec.” Chloe changed the subject swiftly, “besides, I think you’d be a pretty cool mom.”

Beca’s eyes widened, “We weren’t even talking about that!”

Amy and Chloe looked at Beca bluntly.

“Be real Beca, we all know you and Chloe are like her parents.” Beca put a finger up in objection, “And don’t even try to deny it! Remember when she went on that first date with Benji?” Amy lowered her voice and scowled, clearly mimicking Beca, “Be back before 10 and have fun. But not too much fun.”

“We weren’t that bad.” Beca looked up at Chloe, “Were we?”

“No, No. Of course not.” Chloe reassured herself.

________________

The fond memory was brief and quickly ended when fat Amy’s fire extinguisher started running out of smoke.

“I love you!” Beca pushed Chloe and Emily back and ran towards Amy, “We have to go!”

Beca grabbed Amy’s forearm and pulled her to the back of the Yacht, feeling a weight lift from her shoulders after seeing Emily and Chloe jump.

Unexpectedly, Beca felt her back being coated with heat, it was like being in an oven.

“What did you do?!” She screamed to Amy,

“I blew it up, bitch!”

Beca clutched Amy’s forearm with both hands as the force from the explosion pushed them over the side. Beca could feel the excess flames tugging at her shirt and scolding her shoulders.

“Emily?!” Chloe screamed once she broke the water,

“Chloe? Chloe, I'm here!”

Without thinking, Chloe swam over in Emily’s direction, snaking her hand around Emily’s back to keep her afloat.

The younger girl was trembling, “Where’s Beca?”

“I don’t-” Chloe turned to face the Yacht and screamed. The first thing she saw was Beca and Amy’s silhouettes against a raging ball of fire and flame. Beca seemed terrified, she flailed her arm around whilst clutching onto fat Amy, who somehow managed to collide with a boat before hitting the water. “Beca!”

Passing Emily to Aubrey, Chloe swam over to the crash site. Her heart jumped but immediately sank as Amy broke through the water barrier, leaving Beca missing.

“I REIGNED HELLFIRE!” Fat Amy screamed at the top of her lungs.

“Beca?”

“Jesus, Chloe. You’re ruining my moment.” Amy stopped when seeing Chloe’s face, “Beca hasn’t come back up?”

“She’s still down there.” Chloe trembled and pushed through the surface of the water like it was a ball pit, “Help me look!”

Amy scanned the horizon, “Chloe! Help me lift the boat!”

The best friend and the girlfriend swam towards the tiny wooden boat which Beca and Amy bought with them, and Chloe’s heart sank as she noticed a scorched section of cloth barely clutching the side.

Beca was never a strong swimmer, and Chloe didn’t know what she would do if they never found her. She figured she’d demand every ocean to be drained so they could locate any remains of a body. God knows how that would work, but Chloe Beale would make it happen.

“Beca?”

To Amy, Chloe sounded like a broken record, but that was understandable. However, the ginger was pretty useless when it came to lifting boats.

“Beca!”

Amy held the boat high enough for Chloe to pull a shaking and sputtering Beca into her arms.

“Are you alright?” Chloe held her girlfriend like her life depended on it and choked back a sob as Beca clutched her shirt.

“I could be better.”

Chloe pulled Beca closer, “I was so fucking worried.”

“I don’t think I’ve ever heard you swear before.” The smaller girl murmured.

“Well then, that proves something.”

Beca wiped the streaking tear from Chloe’s cheek and kissed her lightly, it wasn’t much, but it was meaningful. Beca probably didn’t have much breath left, and Chloe wasn’t the only worried one.

“Beca! Chloe!”

The pair looked in the shouting direction to see Emily breaking away from Aubrey’s hold before proceeding to swim over to them as the remaining yacht debris fell to a standstill.

Chloe and Beca parted, allowing Emily to swim into their hug,

“You really scared me,”

Chloe pulled her close, “Sorry, kiddo.”

The found family floated amongst the chaos. As the helicopters swirled like vultures above them, no words needed to be said, it was just them . And Chloe was so thankful for that.

[medicifm]

*  not  me  actually  writing  an  intro  the  night  before  like  i  always  mean  to  😳  hennyway  hey  biddies  ,  i'm  chloe  ,  im  in  the  snowy  part  of  pst  ,  &  i  use  she / her  pns  .  i’ve  been  . . . . . . .  scouring  the  tags  for  an  rp  like  this  so  im  so  excited  to  bring  this  newish  muse  of  mine  here  !   im  here to  do  the  honours  of  introducing  my  himbo - on - the outside , manipulative - shit - on - the - inside  . . .  oscar  🤡

(  twenty  three , cis  man , he / him  ) ✉ ― hey  babes , have  you  met  OSCAR  MEDICI ?  they’re  working  here  as  THE  HEAD  CHEF  AT  LORENZO’S ,  a  few  villas  down  from  where  you’re  staying  .  you  might  hear  them  singing  ALRIGHTY  APHRODITE  BY  PEACH  PIT  playing  from  their  villa  ,  it’s  their  favourite  song  .  yes  ,  they  hear  that  they  look  like  JACK  GILINSKY  a  lot  ,  actually  -  it’s  really  uncanny  .  their  friends  back  home  in  SYDNEY , AUSTRALIA  say  that  if  they  were  on  a  tv  show  ,  their  trope  would  be  THE  WOLF  IN  SHEEP’S  CLOTHING  ,  how  funny  is  that  ? ✎ chloe , 22 , she/her , pst

𝐢  .

pinterest  |  wanted  plots  |  

𝐢𝐢  .

name  :  oscar  gabriel  medici

age  :  twenty  three

dob  /  sign  :  december  4th  ,  1997  /  sagittarius  sun  ,  leo  moon  ,  libra  rising 

pob  :  sydney , australia

gender / pronouns  :  cis  man  &  he / him / his

career :  head  chef  at  lorenzo’s  ,  full - time  heathen  ,  professional  disappointment  for  mothers  everywhere  .

drinking / drugs / smoking :  yes / more  often  than  he’d  admit / never .  

religion  :  jewish  background  ,  currently  non - practicing .

physical  :  jack  gilinsky  fc ,  dark  brown / black  longish  curls  (  reference  )  ,  dark  brown  eyes  ,  canon  jack  g’s  tattoos  ,  no  piercings  ,  6′2″  ,  175  lbs  ,  lean  but  strong  .  tattoos  a  la  canon!jack  ,  pearly  white  smile  that  he  may  . . .  or  may  not  . . .   use  crest  3D  white  strips  weekly  to  maintain  .  lots  of  burns  &  scars  from  kitchen  mishaps  on  his  hands  &  arms  .

traits  :  hard - working  ,  flighty  ,  intelligent  ,  hedonistic  ,  charismatic  ,  intense  ,  volatile  ,  

other  :  speaks  weird  french  (  aussie  accent  tings  )  ,  tans  easily  but  wears  sunscreen  nonetheless  ,  works  hard  parties  harder  ,  can’t  read  a  lick  of  french  but  spends  a  lot  of  his  free  time  with  a  coffee  &  a  new  paperback  ,  has  a  bit  of  an  internal  vendetta  against  rich  people  (  for  no  real  reason  ,  he  just  doesn’t  like  most  of  them  )  ,  has  ins  with  a  bunch  the  local  farmers  &  visits  them  weekly  ,  pretends  he  isn’t  lowkey  addicted  to  nicotine  administered  via  a  puff  bar  ,  liquor  of  preference  is  tequila  or  red  wine  ,  drives  a  lil  vespa  around  town  for  the  gag  of  it  (  loves  seeing  it  haphazardly  parked  amongst  a  bunch  of  luxury  cars  )  ,  

character  inspo  :  jess  mariano  (  gilmore  girls  )  , gordon  ramsey  🤡 ,  patrick verona ( 10 things i hate about you ) , ferris bueller ( ferris bueller’s day off ) , han solo ( star wars ) .

𝐢𝐢𝐢  .

oscar’s  arrival  was  as  unwanted  to  his  parents  as  could  be  :  a  father  whose  tendencies  leaned  towards  alcoholism  &  abusing  whoever  was  in  arms  reach  ,  a  mother  whose  life  was  more  or  less  spent  at  the  nursing  home  she  worked  as  a  nurse  at  ,  evading  home  .  he  became  a  self - inflicted  loner  ,  preferring  to  do  literally  the  exact  opposite  of  what  was  expected  or  wanted  from  him  .  he  had  a  few  friends  he  ran  with  ,  but  watching  them  all  go  off  &  study  or  prepare  for  university  solidified  in  oscar’s  mind  that  the  non - traditional  route  was  for  him  .  growing  up  by  the  water  ,  oscar  always  felt  more  drawn  to  skip  school  &  head  to  the  beach  than  he  did  obeying  his  parents  wishes  .   

one  of  his  solaces  was  his  grandfather  ,  gabriel  ,  who  owned  an  italian  restaurant  in  a  beach  town  north  of  sydney  .  whenever  the  weather  was bad  &  oscar  felt  like  ditching  class  ,  he’d  head  over  to  his  nono’s  restaurant  where  his  ass  would  be  put  to  work  as  soon  as  he  set  eyes  on  the  restaurant  .  it  was  tough  work  ,  but  challenging  in  a  way  that  fanned  the  flames  in  oscar’s  heart  ,  rather  than  dimming  them  .  by  the  time  he was  a  teenager  he  was  working  in  the  restaurant  everyday  after  school  , an  agreement  between  him  &  his  grandfather  framed  on  the  back  wall  that  stated  that  as  long  as  oscar  kept  from  flunking  out  ,  he  was  allowed  to  spend  as  little  or  as  much  time  in  the  kitchen  as  he  pleased .  

his  absolute  defiance  of  anything  traditional  &  following  the  rules  made  him  unpopular  with  adults  ,  but  lowkey  cool  with  the  girls  .  by  the  time  he  was  sixteen  ,  he  was  losing  his  focus  on  the  restaurant  &  his  grades  &  spending  more  &  more  time  chasing  after  girls  .  his  nono  tried  to  get oscar  to  come  back  &  focus  ,  but  as  always  ,  anything  he’s  asked  to  do  quickly  becomes  the  thing  he’s  running  from  the  most  .

tw  :  death  ,  cancer  .  around  his  eighteenth  birthday  ,  his  grandfather  suddenly  fell  ill  with  a  rare  form  of  cancer  that  took  his  life  six  weeks  after  diagnosis  ,  which  rocked  oscar’s  world  .  he  felt  overwhelming  guilt  that  he  hadn’t  spent  more  time  with  his  grandfather  ,  which  manifested  itself  as  oscar  dropping  out  of  school  a  year  shy  of  graduation  to  commit  himself  fully  to  perfecting  his  grandfather’s  techniques  ,  learning  all  of  his  recipes  (  read  :  pouring  over  dozens  of  handwritten  cookbooks )  in  some  failed  attempt  to  get  back  some  time  with  him  .  oscar  hadn’t  been  close  with  his  parents  in  years  ,  more  or  less  seeing  them  as  wardens  of  a  prison  he  wanted  nothing  to  do  with  .  his  grandfather’s  will  left  him  the  deed  to  the  restaurant  ,  with  an  ask  that  oscar  would  promise  to  act  on  whatever  he  felt  called  towards  ,  rather  than  doing  what  others  expected  of  him  .  to  be  candid  ,  this  whole  situation  crushed  him  .

eventually  ,  he  decided  he’d  had  enough  of  the  stifling  community  he’d  grown  up  in  .  he  sold  the  restaurant  to  one  of  the  regulars  ,  a  wealthy  man  who  he’d  come  to  acknowledge  as  somewhat  of  an  uncle  ;  a  safe  pair  of  hands  who  would  treat  his grandfather’s  legacy  with  as  much  passion  &  respect  as  oscar  himself  would  .  so  he  packed  a  bag  ,  texted  his  mom  that  he  was  going  traveling  ,  &  got  on  a  flight  that  evening  .  he  traveled  all  around  -  first  through  central  america  ,  then  through  europe  ,  throughout  asia  &  africa  ,  &  spent  a  few  months  driving  a  van  across  the  continental  united  states  &  canada  for  fun  . 

eventually  ,  he  started  getting  low - ish  on  money  ,  &  decided  to  settle  in  one  of  his  favourite  places  he’d  visited  :  southern  france  .  he  arrived  in  early  2018  ,  taking  on  whatever  menial  tasks  he  could  while  learning  french  until  he  got  a  position  as  a  line  cook  in  an  italian  restaurant  .  a  few  years  later  ,  he’s  made  his  way  up  to  filling  the  head  chef  position  ,  an  honour  he  takes  with  pride  .  he’s  implemented  many  of  his  own  recipes  while  using  flavours  he’s  learned  from  his  travels  ,  with  ingredients  straight  from  local  farmers  .  he’s  earned  the  restaurant  a  two michelin  star  rating  ,  &  is  constantly  striving  for  more  to  get  that  last  star  (  both  for  his  own  ego  as  well  as  a  secret  debt  to  his  grandfather  )  .

𝐢𝐯  .

ok  but  that  vid  where  gordon  puts  two  pieces  of  bread  on  someone’s  head  &  calls  them  an  idiot  sandwich  ?  that’s  oscar  .  intense  as  fuck  in  the  kitchen  ,  &  best  nobody  catch  an  attitude  about  it  bc  he  will  not  hesitate  to  hand  them  their  ass  on  a  silver  platter  .

another  gordon  reference  :  you  know  how  he’s  the  spawn  of  satan with  adults  ,  but  the  sweetest  ,  most  helpul  guy  with  children  ?  that’s  oscar  with  his  staff  vs  people  he  wants  something  from  .  whether  its  to  sleep  with  them  (  usually  his  first  instinct  to  be  fair  )  ,  their  money  or  clout  ,  or  to  get  into  some  wild  adventure  some  random  resort  staff  wouldn’t  dream  of  getting  into  ,  he  can  turn  on  the  charm  whenever  needed  .

can  go  from  absolutely  demoralizing  someone  in  the  kitchen  to  stepping  out  into  the  lounge  to  schmooze  with  his  friends  or  cougars  who  leave  phat  tips  in  0.2  seconds  .  the  speed  at  which  his  mood  can  completely  180  is  one  of  the  seven  world  wonders  (  last  i  checked  )  .

his  love  language  is  absolutely  acts  of  service  .  catch  him  actually  falling  in  love  once  in  a  blue  moon  &  making  it  his  mission  to  cook  her  extravagant  meals  everyday  .  

the  wolf  in  sheep’s  clothing  label  epitomizes  his  nice  ,  helpful  ,  charismatic  exterior  ,  while  ulterior  motives  &  disdain  for  those  who  grew  up  with  more  money  than  he  did  lurk  beneath  the  surface  . 

he  can  be  MEAN  when  someone  fucks  him  over  or  pushes  him  farther  than  he  wants  -  isn’t  afraid  to  go  for  the  low  blows  or  send  someone  home  with  an  identity  crisis  if  it  protects  himself  .

lowkey  alcoholic  but  he’s  not  ready  for  that  conversation  yet  .  he  sees  it  more  as  perks  of  the  location  &  atmosphere  he’s  found  himself  in  .

also  lowkey  falls  in  love  HARD  ,  like  this  man  is  a  closeted  romantic  but  self - sabotages  all  potential  relationships  before  they  can  get  to  that  point  out  of  fear  he’ll  be  unable  to  live  life  of  his  own  volition  (  takes  a  flaky  philophobic  sagittarius  to  know  a  flaky  philophobic  sagittarius  🤡  )  .  has  probably  only  had  a  few  real  relationships  besides  flings  bc  he’s  afraid  .

𝐯  .

check  out  my  wanted  plots  tag  listed  here  ,  as  well  as  my  pinterest  wanted  plots  board  here  .  here   are  some  other  suggestions  hehe  :

best  friend  /  ride  or  die  :  someone  who  knows  about  his  past  ,  keeps  him  grounded  when  he’s  lk  spiraling  &  wants  to  drop  everything  &  flee  to  some  far  flung  corner  of  the  earth  .

actual  relationship  :  it  was  fast - burn  with  deep  feelings  (  not  them  thinking  they’re  soulmates  after  dating  for  a  month  . . .  pete  &  ariana  type  beat  )  but  completely  unrealistic  .  they  have  their  own  life  ,  he’s  pretty  much  tied  to  the  restaurant  ,  not  to  mention  his  lack  of  sharing  anything  about  his  childhood / life  back  home  .  they  loved  &  cared  for  each  other  ,  but  crashed  &  burned  fairly  quickly  because  of  how  idealistic  it  was  .  they  can  either  be  on  bad  or  good  terms  now  .

hateship  with  sexual  tension  😈

summer  flings  !!

fake  boyfriend  :  he  shows  up  on  her  arm  to  her  family’s  events  where  she’s  expected  to  have  a  partner  .  it’s  not  a  real  relationship  ,  but  her  parents  don’t  need  to  know  that  .  he  plays  the  part  &  satisfies  her  parents  beyond  the  bare  minimum  ,  &  in  return  she  invites  him  to  parties  ,  takes  him  out  on  her  family’s  yacht  ,  etc  etc  .  we  luv  some  symbiosis  

i  can  always  use  more  fwbs  hehehe

squad  :  a  group  of  people  who  do  everything  together  ,  have  a  chaotic  group  chat  ,  have  nicknames  for  one  another  ,  are  utd  on  each  other’s  sex  lives  ,  party  all  night  then  show  up  to  brunch  hungover  together  .  

cat  &  mouse  :  someone  he’s  pursuing  who  isn’t  quite  giving  in  ,  &  vice  versa  .  maybe  it’s  been  going  on  a  few  years  ,  everytime  they’re  in  st  tropez  they  have  this  weird  lil  flirtationship  thing  goin  on  until  she  leaves  ,  they  forget  about  one  another  ,  then  pick  it  right  back  up  when  she  returns  .

confidant  :  preferably  someone  from  a  working  class  background  who  understands  his  plight  of  being  a  worker  amongst  people  who  expect  to  be  waited  on  .

enemies  :  they  don’t  like  his  attitude  ,  &  he  doesn’t  like  them  in  return  .  lots  of  eye  rolls  ,  shit  talking  ,  &  tension  between  their  mutual  friends  .

we’re  sleeping  together  but  we  shouldn’t  be  but  that’s  half  the  fun :  for  whatever  reason  they  became  friends  ,  starting  hooking  up  despite  it  not  being  a  good  idea  (  read  :  he’s  exes  with  one  of  her  friends  ,  her  parents  want  her  focused  on  career  ,  they’re  part  of  the  same  friend  group  ,  etc )  . . . but  now  they  can’t  stop  .  lots  of  stolen  glances  across  rooms  ,  squeezing  past  one  another  in  a  crowded  club  just  close  enough  for  a  quick  touch  to  the  back  ,  quietly  leaving  one  another’s  places  the  morning  after  &  playing  dumb  to  anyone  who  asks  . 

[hopelesslygazingthestars]

When Elia was a child her mother told her that the women in her family were known for being touched by the Gods. It started with Nymeria, the warrior-princess, who the other kingdoms later called witch, for her dizzy spells and prophetic dreams which drove her to commandeer ten thousand Rhoynar ships to the shores of Westeros and unite the small, warring factions of Dorne under the banner of House Martell.

Sometimes, the visions skipped generations, but their familial gift persevered through the generations bestowing a somewhat cursed inheritance upon the daughters of Nymeria’s descendants. Elia would never be so well regarded as a true conduit of the Gods like Nymeria, but she had the gift of prophetic dreams which allowed her to interpret the will of the Gods and the fate of herself and those around her.

It was not a present that was always there as it had a mind of its own; choosing when, where and, most of all, who was the subject of her dreams. Elia praised it in the past when her visions of purple stars led her to Starfall, led her to Ashara Dayne. Even though her head ached for many moons prior, her heart found a joy she could not explain when she met a young Ashara. Other times, she cursed the nature of her gift for the unbearable silence that came when her father died suddenly with no explainable cause.  

Thus, on the eve before the Dornish Party would leave for the Lannisport Tourney, to celebrate the birth of Prince Viserys, when Elia again dreamt of Prince Rhaegar she was certain to take it as a sign.

Rhaegar visited her fantasies as he had the year past; haunting Valyrian eyes drawing her in as he walked on water with his arms outstretched, wordlessly calling her to make a choice. Although, this time, while one hand was outstretched with a fist of dripping crimson rubies; in the other, the Prince held onto the hand of a young boy. The boy, who was no older than five, had hair so dark it resembled her own, Rhaegar’s pale skin and the darkest indigo eyes they appeared near black; and in small chubby fingers lay a crown of winter roses. Although the pair did not speak, nor did they smile, Elia was filled up with a love she could not explain.

In the end, she accepted the offerings, rubies and roses, and took the extended hands. She could not see where they led her, only that she too walked on water, and when she awoke, her skin tingled with the feeling of fate.

The fact that her dreams led her twice to the man that would one day be known as the King of the Seven Kingdoms could be nothing less than a gift, no matter the outcome or the pain it would cause her in the end.

Staring down at her bed companion, Ashara’s warning circled about her mind; the foretelling of the Prince’s infectious sorrow that would drown whoever dared to get close. Yet, with the ghost sensation of that boy’s hand in her own, and the image of Valyrian eyes boring into her own, she could not force away the visions which seemed fateful. Her heart ached for the child in her dreams she was certain was her son. Children were Elia’s greatest want. She yearned for nothing more than the experience of motherhood, had wanted it since her own mother gave her domain over the Water Gardens protecting children; noble and smallfolk alike, ensuring childhoods filled with love and joy.

Therefore, Elia left a sleeping Ashara and headed to the Princess’ solar and explained her dreams to her mother. Afterward, she watched a fire return anew in the Princess Furiosa she had not seen since long before her father’s death.

In the years past, Elia saw and felt the disappointment in her mother’s aging dark eyes, in that she had not yet found a worthy match for her only daughter. She was her mother’s most beloved child. Furiosa often spoke of the painful years in which she tried for more children after Doran. Two sons were lost before Elia came along, and she too nearly died. A tiny thing, born blue and waited a long few minutes before she gave the wailing cries of life. For the struggle Furiosa experienced bringing Elia to life, she had sworn her a future worthy of the pain. Elia was Dorne’s prized sun.

“You are fated to be the Queen of the Seven Kingdoms.” Furiosa concluded.

Uncertainty swirled about the pit of her stomach. She remembered her reception in Kings Landing the year previous, there was little love for Dorne or their royalty.  

“How can you be so certain of my dreams, mother?”

Furiosa shifted a little on her enormous bed bringing Elia closer in their embrace.

“You are the blood of Nymeria. You are touched by the Gods.” She stated as if it was the simplest thing in the world.

“How can that be true when the Gods saw it fit to bless me a sickly princess?”

Elia’s malady was something she fought every single day. She exhausted herself trying to keep up with those around her, and despite all the potions, poisons and infusions, no treatment ever worked so well as to keep her permanently healthy. Inevitably, she always fell to crippling exhaustion that would see her off her feet for weeks at a time. How could she possibly be destined to be the Queen?

Furiosa turned sharply to face her. Their eyes met, and Elia saw certainty reflected in the dark orbs that mirrored her own.

“When you were born, so small, so frail, I thought it was my duty to love you more than any of my children. I thought your infirmity a weakness… I was wrong.”

Elia aspired to be a woman as formidable as her mother. She grew up watching the mere mention of her name earn respect or instil fear into the hearts of many a man. Furiosa was named appropriately, for she was truly the mistress of rage, and even if Dorne was not loved in Westeros, none would ever cross her for fear of the Princess.

“Your infirmity has given you a strength even your brothers do not possess. Doran is your father’s son, patient and thoughtful, and Oberyn is my rage, but Elia – you are the best of us all. The Gods have come to you and shown you the future. It is your duty to see Dorne rise.”

Although the confession was the greatest thing her mother ever told her, Elia could not help but feel the weight of Dorne placed upon her shoulders.

Furiosa was headed towards the afterlife. For the past few years, she had been preparing her children for her end, but none knew how she wished her legacy to carry on. Now, she passed the fate of Dorne into Elia’s delicate hands and they trembled from it.

“What would you have me do?” Elia wondered.

“Lannisport shall be where you show your sun-fire. I shall deal with the King’s Hand, I have waited many years to enact my retribution…”

The Martells still sported deeply injured pride over discussions of marriage with Tywin Lannister from seemingly an age ago. When the Princess first ventured out of Sunspear to find matches worthy of her children, their destination had been Casterly Rock, owing to plans made by the ladies-in-waiting of Queen Rhaella. Despite Lady Joanna Lannister’s death after giving birth to Tyrion the Imp, the Princess expected Tywin to agree to the betrothals. They discussed marriages between Tywin's children, Jaime and Cersei, to Elia and Oberyn. To the ruling family of Dorne’s dismay, Tywin scoffed at their offer, proudly claiming that Cersei was meant for the Targaryen prince, and the only match he deemed worthy was sickly Elia to the Imp babe.

“… You shall dance to Rhaegar’s songs, charm the King and his advisors with your intellect, care for the Queen and little Viserys as if you were already her good-daughter…”

Furiosa conceived a plan so easily that Elia wondered how long she waited for this moment.

“… It is in your hands to win over the Prince and the hearts of the Westerosi, for it will be your child – the one that sits on the throne – that will give power to Dorne, such that none will ever again look down upon us.”

Elia had the tools to conduct every task her mother instructed her toward. The many long conversations regarding the histories of the realm, her domain over the Water Gardens, her mission to the Scorched Rock; and the constant encouragement of dancing and merriment; it seemed her education had been intended for a Queen

“A queen is not the king’s property. You shall be equal in your marriage even if not in the realm. If Rhaegar is anything like his mother, he will recognise that. It will be your duty to stand at his side and guide him to usher in a new age and make the realm a better place. While I do not expect it to be easy, I know you have the strength to endure. You are my daughter and the strength of Nymeria is in you, Dorne is in you, and you will remain unbowed, unbent, unbroken.” Furiosa described earnestly, as if she knew what was lying in wait for her.

Growing up, Furiosa often sat Elia and the other maidens down and spoken of marriage; what it was to be a dutiful wife; the sacrifices, the pain, the joy. This time, Furiosa taught Elia what it was to be a Queen.

“Will you accept the path the Gods have laid out for you?”

Elia gave pause and contemplated the meaning and implications of their conversation. Despite the unease which crept down her spine, Elia relented. For it was the will of the Gods and as devout as she was, she would accept for the love of the Seven.

“Yes mother, I shall follow the Gods to the end.” Elia vowed.

The two remained there a while as the low bustling of Sunspear waking begun. Eventually her mother spoke again, as if she heard the incessant thought that ran around Elia’s mind.  

“What of Ashara?”

Furiosa regarded her with a sad smile, like she understood exactly what she was feeling.

“Ashara…” Elia began.

Since their falling out at the Warriors day celebrations, Elia and Ashara came to a wordless agreement to push all discussions of boys and marriage away. Ashara seemingly matured overnight, and whilst the flirting continued, the string of whirlwind romances stopped.

“…remains devoted as always. She does not see reason to not be at my side forever. Seven and ten now, and she still does not dream of the things normal maids do. She would happily dance with me and poke fun until the end of our days.”

“She makes you happy because she is not afraid to treat you as Elia.” She stated.

The smile that had been pulling at her cheeks faded when she wondered how this particular pairing might affect their relationship. A marriage would certainly change things between the friends but one to the crown prince might fracture them in ways they could not predict.

“I had not expected change to come so soon for us…this will be hard for her.” Elia revealed.

‘This will be hard for me.’ A lingering thought of stolen kisses, hammering hearts and dreams of forever were pushed to the back of Elia’s mind where she kept all impossible ideas locked away, even from herself.

Her mother stoked her hair gently with her soft wrinkled hands.

“The Water Gardens would have you believe you could be girls forever.”

Furiosa loved Ashara like her own, and of those that ever questioned their closeness, her mother had never been one of them.

“Long ago, when your father pointed out the connection between you two, I worried for you. Yet, as the years have gone by, I have come to see that Ashara is good for you. I have witnessed the way she is with you, she will always be loyal to you, and for that I can’t help but feel it was always meant to be. I would not see you broken apart, though I might suggest you keep it from her until all is done, such that you might have the last of your girlhood together.”

Despite the guilt which settled in her bones, Elia knew her mother was right. Therefore, for all the love she had for her dearest Ashara – that, and some unknown fear in disappointing the violet-eyed beauty – she remained quiet about her prophetic visions and the Princess’ schemes.

When the tourney of Lannisport commenced, competitions for sport and plays for power ensued. As the newly knighted silver Prince won the events of the days, proving himself a true Targaryen heir; Elia won the competitions of the night, proving herself a formidable player in the game of thrones.

During the feasts, ladies squawked and simpered, lords boasted and brawled; threats of war broke out at least three times before each was forgotten in hearty flagons of gifted Dornish wine, and unfailingly, all eyes drifted at some point during the festivities from the taciturn King Aerys who sat upon his vaulted throne, to the irate Tywin Lannister to his right, and finally, to the plotting Dornish ruling Princess on his left. It was only a little satisfying for Furiosa that she would slight Tywin as collateral in their plans.

When Elia found herself repeatedly seated beside the silver Prince, much to the Lannister’s dismay, she understood it to be her mother’s work. She followed Furiosa’s lead and helped conspire for a match she deemed fateful. She danced to all of the Prince’s rhythms, cried at his solemn tunes; she impressed the King with her sweet wit, charmed his lords with her knowledge; and although the Queen and Prince Viserys were absent, she attentively and publicly cared for her niece, Princess Arianne and young Allyria Dayne.

Whilst the Great Houses fell for Elia’s act, Ashara did not. Except, if she knew exactly what was up, she did not confront nor question it, she simply mused quietly from the side-lines and accepted Arthur’s victorious crown of white lilies as Queen of Love and Beauty, and Elia’s performance.

At the beginning of the tourney, attendees whispered that the tourney had been meant as no celebration for the King’s son at all, but the announcement of a betrothal between Rhaegar and Cersei, securing Tywin Lannister the throne for generations. However, by the end of the competitions, the discontent between the King and his Hand were revealed for all to see; for there would be no betrothal for the lioness cub and dragon, and nor would there be a celebratory feast. Dorne won the competitions of the day, and the games of the night.