#queen marcelle

[louisbxne]

black vampires + witches

akasha, queen of the damned (2002)

louis & claudia, interview with the vampire (2022-)

tara thorton, true blood (2008-2014)

blade, blade (1998)

marcel gerard, the originals (2013-2018)

sarah fox, my babysitter's a vampire (2011-2012)

alex & camryn, twitches (2005)

rochelle zimmerman, the craft (1996)

bonnie bennett, the vampire diaries (2009-2017)

vincent griffith, the originals (2013-2018)

marie laveau, american horror story (2011-)

macy vaughn, charmed (2018-2022)

[exilethegame]

Does Marcelle, as a mother, hate the Queen, as the figure that she has created, for everything that has done to her kid?

It's not quite that divided in her mind. "The Queen" isn't a separate enough identity within Marcelle's own mind for her to be shifting the blame onto it.

Marcelle takes full accountability for her choices. The Queen, as a figure, is something I would say MC created, not Marcelle. For Marcelle, the lines are much more blurred than "me" vs. "The Queen", and even then, she'd view both sides of herself as... well, herself.

[thepastisalreadywritten]

The 19th century was an interesting time for hair and fashion in general.

Many cultural changes were occurring. Europe and America alike saw many integral style periods, all of which gave birth to hairstyles of their own.

The women who lived during the Victorian era opted for more sober and subdued styles, in contrast to the trends prior to that time.

The women earlier would go in for elaborate hairstyles and extravagance. Pomp was the highlight of that time.

Women during the Victorian era liked their hair to be healthy, glossy, soft, and smooth.

This enabled them to style it as well as keep it simple and uncomplicated. The hairstyles symbolized elegance and dignity.

The women oiled their hair to smoothen it and added big curls or tiny ringlets. Fringes were not uncommon.

However, these were also not very flashy. They were simply cut and styled. During the day, women used to don hairnets to keep the hair from coming undone.

It’s important to understand that most ladies of this era had long hair. This gave them something to work with when rolling or plaiting hair into various styles.

However, just as with women today, not everyone’s hair was thick and luxuriant. For that reason, many women employed false hair.

False hair came in a variety of forms, including invisible tufts, comb tufts, plaits, ringlets, and pads.

For an exact match, many women made their own hair pieces—also called “rats”—out of the hair that was leftover in their hair brushes.

Queen Victoria was a fashion icon in her own right.

In the early years of her reign, she inspired the “Apollo Loop” in which a plain or coiled plait of false hair was attached onto wires to create eye-catching loops worn vertically on top of the head. But the use of elaborate wigs made way for cleaner, gentler looks.

The Victorian period of fashion was about living more simply than in the previous era.

Hairstyles eventually became more natural and demure with hair parted in the middle, drawn into a bun or coil, with curls allowed to fall loosely at the sides of the head.

Hairstyles mirrored the aspirations and social changes occurring within society during this era.

The Industrial Revolution saw the rise of the middle classes and brought new fashion for clothes and hair.

By the 1850s, women wore hairstyles incorporating hairpieces purchased from the new department stores.

Additionally, women began using soaps to clean their hair, but this act would strip away oils, leaving the hair stringy and dry. Products to restore hair’s luster included vegetable oil and even bear grease.

Towards the end of the 19th century, the Marcel Wave, invented by Marcel Grateau’s “curling iron,” became a popular hairstyle that enabled the creation of a more natural-looking wave as opposed to a curl.

NOTE:

In 1872, a French hairdresser named Marcel Grateau created a curling iron, which was made up of tweezers in the shape of tubes; the first one concave, and the other one convex. These tubes were heated to curl the hair.

Victorians associated hair with life and love, therefore, it was traditional for women to incorporate lockets of hair into mourning jewelry after the passing of a loved one.

(Photo credit: Chertsey Museum / Flickr / Pinterest / Wikimedia Commons / Victorian Era Blog / Encyclopedia Britannica)

Updated on: January 9, 2023

[odettecarotte]

I was so busy starting up my Lana del Rey therapy group that I didn't realize I'd set the date of the first session for Marcel's birthday!

[rewrite-canon]

tragic/doomed sibling roulette

[punkranger]

Replaying the exile with monroe and leaning more towards aggressive this time to see how Marcelle reacts to it and now I'm thinking about their relationship... or whatever this is

[timmburrton]

Happy 27th Birthday Queen!

♟️Rurik: Happy Birthday to the bitch who decided to get sick over New Years and make me take care of her 🙄

👑Marcel: <<giggles and sips her tea>> Thank you I love you too~ <<blows him a kiss before sneezing>> ugh- the only good thing from this is I get pampered-

@creepypasta-cb

[forensicated]

Smiffina Episodes - Episode 324

Smithy is called to a multistorey carpark to meet a victim of a car jacking. The victim turns out to be the wife of massive gangster, Pete Larsen though at first she tells him she's Louise Roberts. Louise makes it clear she didn't call the police, Smithy telling her it was the carpark attendant who did. She's not overly bothered and doesn't want to persue it and she and Smithy continue to gently rub each other up the wrong way as he starts to make it official. The parking attendant tells Leela that one of the gang pulled a knife on her, a fact that Louise left out. Smithy admits to Leela it's very obvious that Louise doesn't want them there. Before Louise can leave a second carjacking is reported and Smithy orders her - repeatedly before she gives in - to get in the car so they can find them before they kill someone.

They bicker as they drive, Smithy telling her that the smallest details often hold the key. "So what do the smallest details say about you, Sgt Smith? For a start you're not married." "Well that's not exactly difficult, is it?" he drawls, showing his left hand that is obviously ring-less. "But you don't live with anyone either, do you?" "How do you know that?" "Because you're wearing slightly too much aftershave. Too much for the inside of a small car anyway. A woman would be sensitive to that. When she kissed you goodbye in the morning she'd tell you. Am I right?" "Possibly." "That means yes. So what else do we know? You're late 20's* doing well to be a sergeant by now. Local boy from the accent. I expect you've got a smart bare little flat somewhere not too far away from here. Big widescreen telly and not much else. No clutter, white walls, bare floors which you did yourself because you could not afford that nice laminate stuff." "What is this? Changing Rooms?" "And no partner." "You don't know that." "You're dedicated to your job. That's why you made Sergeant because you've got nothing else to worry about. Apart from going to the gym. Maybe a couple of times a week from the look of you." "Oh thanks." "You've had relationships, but lets face it, work just gets in the way. " "Do you fancy a job in CID?" "You couldn't afford me."

* He couldn't be late 20's given his career so far - he's relatively always been aged around Alex's actual age given his 6 years in the army (which they then made 5 once he was applying for SO19 for some reason having made it 6 in every other ep it was brought up in!) He was about 26 if not 27 then, 2 years away to return in episode 117 makes him 28/29 - He'd now be 30/31 in 2005 (Alex being 31). It's at this point I realise I might be a little too overinvested in Smithy...

Smithy then tries the working out of Louise once they'd stopped - and she'd got herself but not him a coffee. "I bet you're married to a very wealthy man." He murmurs, after saying it doesn't surprise him that she's not bothered about her car "[people] with money." "I mean, take those boots, they're at least £300. " "They were in the sale and I paid for them with my own money." "I bet you've never even done the housework, or the washing up come to that." "Look at your nails. Then there's your hair. That's at least once a week, which means you've got some leisure time, which means you don't work, which means it's paid for by a wealthy bloke."

Louise ID's her attackers before they can continue and they strike again before assistance can get to Smithy. He leaps back into the car and tells Louise to put her seatbelt on. "It's creasing my coat!" "It'll do more than that if you go through the windscreen." "Nice of you to care." "I don't, I just don't need the paperwork." he retorts, Louise hiding an amused smirk. He catches one of the carjackers, with help from Louise who backs the police car up quickly to stop him escaping past it! After he goes to try find the other. "Do you want me to drive?" Louise smirks. Smithy stares at her for a second. "Just get in the car!" Reg smirks as he watches them. "Bit of alright, ain't she?" he says to Smithy. "Not when you're stuck in a car with her. Trust me!"

Sheelagh is stopped by June who asks her about Gabriel. Sheelagh assures her she knows what she's doing and that it's just a bit of fun.

Smithy and Louise continue bantering at the station where he gets her to read through the statement she's made. She gets a call and he leaves the room, watching Louise leave afterwards with a thoughtful expression. He insists to Leela that Louise isn't his type... and then not-so-subtly asks her if his aftershave is a bit too strong.

At the end of the shift, Neil returns Louise's statement to Smithy and tells him she hasn't signed it. Smithy tells him he'll get it sorted and calls in on Louise on the way home. They banter and argue and it turns into a heated kiss.

[thevampiresoc]

Dr. Marcel who Sasha is recommending him to: the ball:

[amara-laz]

This story is holding itself together with one (1) staple

[claire-starsword]

Shining Soul 2 - NPC bios translation

Prologue and playable characters here

There is sadly nothing on the NPCs in the guide book so these are from the old website mostly.

King Marcel

The king of Klantol Kingdom.

He was born to the distinguished lineage of Saint Christoph who founded the country in this island, 200 years after that disaster.

Being a miraculous child who possessed Soul Power from the light since his birth, Marcel was loved by the population as proof of the country's peace.

I don't remember any saints being mentioned in this or the previous game, so that might a random guy introduced here. Also I'm having trouble to understand if it's the country founding that was 200 after the first Soul game, or Marcel's birth. I feel 200 years is little time for everyone to say the war is so so distant past, but at the same time places from the previous game like Beast Mountain are still pretty much unchanged. Though the maps of both games don't exactly have the best continuity so perhaps that shouldn't count.

Queen Yvonne

She supports the worrywart king from behind the scenes, and also cares for the protagonists' well being like a kind mother figure.

She's always serene, and there are not many things that can break her composure.

Princess Kokotto [Camille in the english version]

A cheeky girl always acting on her own.

Royal Magician - Samuel

A close aide to the king who works in the castle.

He's kind and very knowledgeable. A very good advisor to the king.

He's indispensable to Klantol Kingdom.

Deathheart [Deatharte in the english version, which to be fair is basically the same thing]

The gallant and skillful captain of the knights under King Marcel's command.

Extremely loyal and honest.

Has a sturdy physique thanks to his training to protect the castle, and acts as an opponent to the the fighting tournament's participants.

This translation note is better right off at the start: Bo-ken (冒険) means adventure in japanese. The character's name is however always written in katakana (ボーケン), like pretty much every name in the Shining Series.

Traveler - Boken the Adventurer

Boken who loves adventure.

If you ask him "why is your name Boken?" he'll answer with great vigor, "Because I love adventure!"

The answer kinda misses the point, but given how lively he sounds, no one really cares about that.

Weapon Seller - Morgan

It is said that he used to be a strong warrior. It was back then that he got the injury in his eye.

Now he runs the weapon shop at Klantol's castle town. He's a tough man who does look the old warrior part.

Armor Seller - Volv

Having an unusual hobby among woman of collecting defensive equipment, she seeks legendary artifacts of this kind, and has traveled through a bunch of different lands.

Because of that, her body is well trained and tanned. More than beautiful, it feels more suitable to say she's rad.

Right now she has opened an armor shop at Klantol's castle town.

Item Seller - Irma

She's gentle and kind of a goofy character.

Seems that her husband just disappeared without a trace one day.

She often leaves her two daughters taking care of the shop, and goes to drink at the bar. Apparently she has a crush on the bartender.

Item Shop Daughters - Rin and Ran

Irma's twin daughters. Rin was born first, and Ran second. Rin acts mature for her age, while Ran is more lively.

Storage Manager - Pendolino

Daughter of the family who has run the storage for generations.

Her very earnest and meticulous personality is written plainly in her face.

In this world, storages are a very demanding business. Because of that she has no time to pursue romance.

Pendolino is apparently a train. Do these writers just go looking for the most random european names possible for these characters? Likely. It's either that or the next one:

Blacksmith - Kraft

The dwarf Kraft is a blacksmith with much pride in his craft.

With his unique talents, he can craft anything using only a hammer.

He always says, "as long as I have the materials there is nothing I can't craft."

Valuer Stella

A mysterious girl with a mysterious ability to appraise items.

Looking at items with a magnifying glass, she can instantly tell their origin, abilities, bonus stats and more.

She makes a living out of that ability but, perhaps because she's quiet and shy, she doesn't speak much with other people unless it's necessary.

Curiously, Stella is the only NPC besides Boken who looks identical to her counterpart in the first game, although as far as I know the NPCs there aren’t named.

Makes it kinda weird that the first game’s guide book calls her a woman (女性), while here she’s referred to as girl (少女). Given Boken’s existence in both games as well, I don’t think we’re supposed to think too hard if they’re the same character or not. Boken’s just a constant of the universe.

Old man of the bar - Jensen

The bartender who seems to know more than he lets on. There's a rumor that he used to be a warrior, but he doesn't look the part now.

While at times he says it's troublesome to have Irma always coming to drink at the counter, in reality he's not that displeased.

The bachelor Jensen with a past shrouded in darkness, and the lonely post-separation Irma. How will this turn out.

Girl of the bar - Angela

It seems that she was abandoned by her mother when she was still too young to understand anything.

Jensen adopted her during his travels and let her work in the lodging, and yet she seldom talks about herself, so not even he knows the truth about her.

Despite that, they have still bonded as father and child.

Minstrel - Fender

He loves music, and travels to heal the world with his songs.

Right now he's staying at the bar at Klantol's castle town, healing the hearts of warriors and travelers.

His music and poetry bring peace and calm to the people, and he can make friends with anyone.

Curiously, the Colosseum guy doesn't have a bio in the website, but is pretty much the only NPC to have one in the guide book. Hope you're ready for more fantastic names.

Arms

The receptionist of the arena. Excels in skills to control beasts and monsters. He's very earnest and hot blooded.

[beagleboysinc]

goodnight!! 🌘☁️

[lizzyiii]

His Lady Love (3)

pairing | aemond targaryen x vampire!mikaelson!reader

word count | 3.7k words

summary | calm before the storm. the queen forces you to go to the targaryen-hightower supper where you finally sit face to face with aemond, (whilst getting interrogated by prince daemon as well.)

tags | reader is just here for the targ drama tbh, fluff, small angst/but reader comforts,

note | I just realised that both rebekah and reader fall for boys that they technically watched grow up (not really, but really tho, also would you consider this pedophilic, since rebekah and reader had mere platonic feelings, while marcel and aemond were already obsessed)

likes, comments, reblogs are much appreciated ✨

𝐏𝐫𝐞𝐯𝐢𝐨𝐮𝐬 𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 — 𝐌𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 — 𝐍𝐞𝐱𝐭 𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫

It had been a moon's turn since your return, and Aemond had taken to shadowing you through the sunlit halls of the Keep, his presence felt like a specter lurking just out of reach. Instead of confronting you directly, he observed, his violet gaze lingering on you with an intensity that sent shivers down your spine. Meanwhile, the currents of Targaryen drama began to stir anew, this time not over the succession of the Iron Throne, but over the shores of Driftmark and the title of the Lord of Tides.

Lord Vaemond Velaryon was set to make his case, summoned to the court to argue vehemently against Lucerys Velaryon’s claim to the ancestral seat, while the King deliberated on who would wear the mantle of the next successor.

Your mind, however, was torn asunder by the weight of the situation. It was as clear as the midday sun that Rhaenyra's three sons bore the mark of bastardy, the truth hanging in the air like a bitter fog. Yet, despite their dark hair and brown eyes, they were still Princess Rhaenrya's sons, making them true Targaryens, and as long as the crown acknowledged their legitimacy, they had every right to embrace their heritage.

Yet, the specter of justice loomed heavily. They bore no true Valaryon blood in their veins, a fact that rendered their claim to Driftmark similarly disquieting. If they were to inherit such a coveted title, it would be naught but a dagger to the heart of the Velaryon legacy, erasing centuries of honor and heritage in one fell swoop.

But who were you to cast judgment on the matter? You were, after all, a bastard yourself in your own right. With no discernible features from either your father or your mother, the only tether to the Mikaelson name was the multitude of witnesses who could attest to your mother birthing you into this world.

Soon enough, the matter erupted into a grand spectacle, as the Queen had relayed with a glint of grim madness in her eye. Viserys, frail and near death, had heaved himself from his sickbed, a ghost of his former self, to proclaim the legitimacy of his grandsons. That proclamation, laden with tension and bitter truths, secured their claim to Driftmark—an act of desperation that would surely echo through the halls of history. It was not long after this madness that the Prince, Daemon Targaryen, wielded his fury like a sword, severing Vaemond Velaryon's head from his shoulders for daring to call Rhaenyra a whore.

To your great displeasure, Queen Alicent had insisted your presence at the supper of Targaryen and Hightower—a feast destined to spiral into a night of revelry or ruin, most likely the latter. You preferred the shadows, where the light of their self-destructive feud would not touch you, allowing you to observe from afar rather than be ensnared in their political webs. Yet, refusal was a luxury you could not afford.

As the time of the supper approached, you dedicated a substantial time deliberating over your choice of attire. The vibrant hues of black and green were decidedly unfit, signifying discord and allegiances you wished to avoid at all costs. Instead, you selected a gown of soft pink silk, its flowing fabric draping elegantly over your form, a symbol of innocence amidst the clamor of tensions. You wove your hair into intricate braids interspersed with delicate pearls that caught the flickering candlelight, culminating your preparation with a cherished pendant—a family heirloom adorned with the Mikaelson crest.

Stepping into the grand dining hall, you were met with the scrutinizing gazes of the Blacks. Whispers and curious glances darted in your direction as you approached the long table, poised and unwavering, choosing to disregard Aegon's lecherous leers that felt all too familiar. A frown tightened your lips when you spied that both seats beside Helaena were occupied. Resigned yet resolute, you claimed the next available chair—seated close to Aemond.

"My prince," you intoned softly, offering a nod of acknowledgment.

Aemond's violet eye bore into you, a swirl of unspoken thoughts birthing an electric tension between you. Time seemed to stretch as he regarded you, his expression inscrutable, before he replied, "My Lady," his voice low and controlled, yet laden with something you couldn't discern.

With practiced grace, you settled into your seat, the heavy air thick with unspoken politics. You leaned slightly forward, attempting to listen as King Viserys, broken and weary beneath the weight of his crown, delivered a grand speech. He spoke of unity and the bonds of family, though in truth, all you wished for was the freedom to roll your eyes, a habit you had long restrained. His words felt hollow, a poignant irony given his role in fracturing his family as much as he sought to mend it

From what Queen Alicent had confided in you, you were painfully aware of the King's heart-wrenching choice—his decisions that saw his first wife deprived of her future and life, all in favor of the male heir he hoped for. That tragic episode echoed through the halls of the Red Keep, leading to not just his wife but both her and their son's death. And now, as King Viserys eagerly sought the son he so desperately desired, he had all but disregarded Aegon, neglecting the boy from the moment of his first cry.

As the King’s voice echoed in the hall, you caught sight of Helaena, Aegon, and Aemond—each face twisted in quiet agony, a poignant testament to the empty love their father bestowed upon them. In that moment, you felt a surge of empathy and support for them — even Aegon. With a discreet but deliberate motion, you slipped your hand beneath the table, gently covering Aemond’s tightly clenched fist.

He tensed at your touch, but after a heartbeat of hesitation, Aemond relaxed and opened his hand, intertwining your fingers with his. A small squeeze passed between you—a silent token of gratitude that spoke volumes in contrast to the empty words spilling from the King's lips.

As the evening wore on, the air thick with unwelcome tension, your mind began to drift, thoughts becoming a haze as the speeches droned on around you. It was only when Aemond's hand slipped from yours, his presence withdrawing as he rose to his feet, that your gaze sharpened. You found him casting a fierce glare at Jacaerys, who was regaling the gathering with yet another toast.

However, it was Helaena's gentle voice that truly broke through the fog enveloping you. She stood, her lovely countenance illuminated by a warm, sugary smile as she raised her glass high. "I would like to toast to Baela and Rhaena," she declared, her tone carrying a dreamy lightness, "They'll be married soon. It isn't so bad. Mostly he just ignores you... except when sometimes he's drunk."

Her words pierced your heart, the bittersweet truth laced within them shattering whatever sympathy you had harbored for Aegon. With a mixture of sorrow and indignation igniting within you, you cast a venomous glare towards Prince Daemon, who, aflame with mirth, laughed at Helaena’s toast. Yet you were not as discreet as you’d hoped; the piercing gaze of Prince Daemon met yours, a knowing smirk creeping upon his lips.

“I do believe I am yet to have the distinct pleasure of being introduced to our guest,” Prince Daemon declared, his voice tinged with the kind of arrogance that could curdle the blood of the unwary. The room fell silent; all attention was drawn to you, as if you were a curious creature caged among the dragons, and you suppressed the urge to sigh at the mischief brewing in his expression.

Queen Alicent cleared her throat—a notable attempt to extricate you from Daemon’s merciless gaze. “She is one of my esteemed ladies, Prince Daemon,” she interjected, her tone hinting at a subtle warning, though the sharpness of the prince’s wit remained unyielding.

“A lady, indeed?” Daemon’s voice was laced with mockery, his eyes flickering over you as if you were an intricate puzzle, “Yet here she sits, so comfortably, as if she belongs to the very blood of House Targaryen.” Daemon replied, the cunning glimmer in his eye only intensifying. He leaned forward, every inch the contemplative predator. “What is your name, my lady?”

The warmth of the hall contrasted sharply with the coolness of his gaze, yet you met it with unwavering resolve, the remnant courage of your lineage steeling your heart as you told him your name and lied about hailing from The Reach, your voice steady, resonating amidst the stillness.

"Mikaelson?" Daemon mused, his smirk as sharp as Valyrian steel. His silver hair framed a face both youthful and hardened by conflict, and his voice dripped with the playfulness of a cunning predator. "And yet you're no son."

A tight smile graced your lips, the playful banter igniting the spark of your short temper. "My father has enough sons, I assure you, Prince Daemon," you rebuffed, your tone dipped in irritation.

"How old are you? Six and ten?" he pressed, his gaze unwavering, while you caught sight of young Jacaerys approaching Helaena, asking her for a dance. If only irony were not woven into the very fabric of their fates—how you wished Queen Alicent had seen fit to unite them in a more harmonious bond than the betrothal she made with Helaena and Aegon.

But also at that moment, you recognized the precariousness of your own web of lies. Since your arrival at King's Landing, you had deceived the queen into believing you were six and ten, which in truth you were. Oh, how the centuries rolled by, yet your vampiric nature kept your visage untouched, a fragrant bloom eternally in its prime. It was a game of wit and veiled truths, and you knew well how to play.

You met Daemon’s piercing gaze anew, your expression turning steely, tinged with an edge of irritation. “No, your highness,” you replied, your voice as cool as ice. “I am three-and-twenty.”

Prince Daemon raised a silver eyebrow in surprise. “My, my, even older than Prince Aegon,” he drawled, the words rolled off his tongue like honey laced with venom, aimed to sting, "And unmarried, I presume?"

Though you longed to retort with the truth, that you were even older than him, a creature of darkness preserved by the very essence of your nature, you instead offered a demure smile, saying, “Yes. But I prefer it that way. Much more preferable than marrying whilst I was a girl." Your words, though soft-spoken, held a steel beneath their surface—a blade forged in the fires of countless unsaid anger at the world around you.

Daemon’s lips curled into an amused smirk, and he shrugged, seemingly unfazed. “And yet, that is the world we live in.” His tone was laced with the disillusionment of a man who had seen much—his own brand of charm wrapped in an air of indifference.

“Indeed, a world where old men prey upon young girls,” you countered, your voice steady and unwavering, “but I daresay you are no stranger to such tactics, your highness.” The look of amusement that had brightened Daemon’s features dimmed, his smirk wilting like a flower in winter, which you took great satisfaction in.

You jolted in your seat, when Aemond, seated beside you, suddenly slammed his fist onto the table. The cacophony of music and chatter in the hall fell silent as he rose, his goblet held aloft like a rallying cry. "Last Tribute!" he announced, a boldness in his voice that demanded attention.

You glanced around the room, and the unease reflected in the faces of his kin did not escape you. Aemond continued, "To the health of my nephews: Jace… Luke… and Joffrey. Each of them handsome, wise… hm… strong."

A faint gasp escaped your lips as you caught the veiled insult aimed at the Velaryon boys' bastardy. The shocked expressions of the Targaryens around you were a clear indicator that Aemond’s words had struck a nerve. Queen Alicent, her composure straining against the affront to her family, attempted to intervene. "Aemond," she cautioned, her voice taut with concern.

But he paid her no heed, raising his goblet higher, a wicked gleam in his eye as he spoke, his voice dripping with sarcasm. "Come… let us drain our cups to these three… Strong boys," he declared, the words echoing through the revelry like a distant thunderclap.

The hall fell silent, eyes turning to Jace Velaryon, whose face had flushed a deep crimson, betrayal etching lines into his young features. He advanced on Aemond with the fury of a dragon, fists clenched tight. "I dare you to say that again," he challenged, his words barely concealing the tempest of wrath within him.

"Why? 'Twas only a compliment." Aemond retorted with a smirk that could cut glass. "Do you not think yourself Strong?" The taunt flew from his lips like a well-bred serpent, and before the words had fully settled in the air, Jace's fist met Aemond’s cheek with a resounding smack.

Yet, to Aemond, it seemed naught but a gentle breeze, his expression barely shifting as he staggered back only a pace. His pale violet eye sparkled with mischief, unfazed by Jace's sudden fury.

In a swift motion, you rose from your place at the table, the wooden chair scraping against the stone floor as you moved to intervene. Aemond, with a dismissive shove, pushed Jace down, the young prince hitting the hard ground with a thud.

Without thinking, you stepped towards Helaena, and gently took her by the arm. “Come, boys are such immature creatures, yes,” you said softly, guiding her away from the escalating chaos that threatened to engulf them both. Her wide eyes flickered with uncertainty, but she leaned into your touch, casting a sorrowful glance back at the scene as you ushered her away.

You watched as Aemond stormed out the dining hall, his anger crackling in the air like the storm clouds that often loomed over King's Landing. As chaos settled around you, you felt an impulse, a momentary lapse in resolve, and left Helaena's side to pursue him.

He strode fiercely through the halls of the Red Keep, the glint of his silver hair catching the flickering torchlight. You hurried to match his pace, concern fluttering in your chest. "Aemond," you called out softly, "are you alright?"

The scent of his wrath surrounded him, palpable as the incense in the court. He did not glance your way, his voice a frigid whisper laced with venom. "Absolutely splendid."

Your brow furrowed at the sharpness of his words, and with a hint of naïveté, you responded, "I sense a trace of sarcasm in your tone."

Aemond exhaled sharply, quickening his steps in a feeble attempt to distance himself from your probing presence, but your determination was steady. "Did my mother send you to chastise me?" he snapped, the words like arrows loosed from a drawn bow.

"No," you responded gently, your eyes softening with empathy. "I am here of my own accord, wishing only to know if you are truly well."

His stormy glare wavered for the briefest moment, as if the floodgates within him were on the verge of breaking, as if realising it was you he was talking to. But just as swiftly, he clamped down on it, his demeanor hardening once more. Suddenly, he halted and turned to face you, the tension palpable in the air between you.

You lifted your chin defiantly, unwilling to cower beneath the intensity of his stare. "Knowing," he began, his voice low and resonant. "And yet I find I do not know you at all."

Your brow furrowed, a hint of confusion playing at the corners of your lips. "I’m afraid I don’t understand what you mean."

He raised a hand, holding out three fingers as if counting off a point. "Three things," he affirmed, his tone matter-of-fact. "I now know three things about you: your name, your home, and that you have brothers."

You paused, gazing at him with wide, innocent eyes, your voice a gentle whisper, "You seem troubled by this knowledge."

He exhaled heavily, pressing a knuckle to the jagged scar that marred his skin, perhaps seeking solace from its lingering pain. A part of you longed to ease his suffering. "It is only my frustration that weighs heavily upon me," he confessed, his tone laced with a mix of irritation and longing. "You hold the knowledge of my life in your hands, yet I know naught of your story."

You crossed your arms defiantly, donning a mask of indifference, "I do not understand the depth of your frustration."

Aemond's singular violet eye bore into your soul with an intensity that made your heart race. "I suspect you do. You are well aware of the affections I hold for you."

A sharp breath caught in your throat as you shook your head, dismissing the peculiar warmth blossoming within your chest. "Those were mere whims of a boy, your grace," you retorted, attempting to cloak your uncertainty in bravado.

His gaze remained unwavering, a storm of emotion swirling within that piercing eye. "Yet here I stand, no longer a boy, and the flames of my desire for you still burn fierce."

"You mustn't speak so," you urged, desperation threading through your voice like a fraying rope.

"Why ought I to remain silent?" Aemond shrugged, a hint of defiance lacing his words. "This is but the truth of my heart."

"Which is wholly improper," you retorted fiercely, the tension between you thickening in the wake of your words.

An awkward silence enveloped you both, heavy with unspoken thoughts, until Aemond cleared his throat, shifting the fragile atmosphere. "You held your own remarkably well against my uncle's incessant probing," he remarked, seeking lighter ground.

You wrapped your arms around yourself as a tendril of chill from the nearby window touched your skin, though the coolness hardly bothered you. "There is only one man who may speak to me in such a manner," you replied with a touch of defiance, "and that is my brother."

“Mhm,” Aemond murmured, his gaze locked onto yours, an intensity in his violet eye that seemed to pierce through the very air between you. “Pray, tell me more.”

You stifled a roll of your eyes, at once annoyed and amused by his insatiable curiosity. "I am the youngest of six," you said, your tone now lighthearted yet elusive, "and my favorite color is pink. Might that suffice for your unquenchable thirst for knowledge about me?"

His lips curved in a smirk, his gaze unwavering. "No," he replied, his voice low and firm. "It shall never be enough."

With a genuine exasperation, you rolled your eyes this time, a small smile betraying your annoyance. "Well, if you must know—"

But your words were abruptly stolen by Aemond’s boldness. His strong hands cupped your face, his touch igniting a warmth that seeped through the layers of silk between you. In an instant, his warm, soft lips met yours, and time seemed to freeze. Your heart raced, an unexpected firework of emotion exploding within you as you instinctively leaned into him, responding to the kiss despite the whirlwind of confusion in your mind.

Yet reality came crashing back as your senses settled, and you hastily broke away from him, breathless and bewildered. The air in the room felt charged, and you glared at him, regaining your composure and a semblance of control

The fool wore a dopey grin, that infuriatingly charming smile that only deepened your ire. You shot him a withering look. “I was speaking,” you pointedly reminded him.

His brows knitted in confusion, a flicker of surprise on his face. “What?”

You planted your hands defiantly on your hips, your indignation brewing like a storm. “I was speaking, and you interrupted me! Not only that, but you did not seek my permission to claim my lips.”

Aemond’s laughter rang like the chiming of bells, an amused glimmer in his eye as he observed your vexation. “Very well, my lady. May I kiss you again?”

Your irritation flared, your cheeks warming with a blend of anger and embarrassment. You took a deliberate step back, confusion simmering just beneath your skin. “No, of course not. You have already stolen a kiss from me, but I shall not so easily grant you another.” You held back the childish urge to stomp your foot in frustration. With a petulant huff, you turned on your heel to storm away, your voice carrying a wisp of indignation. “This is most improper and indecent! Good night, your Highness.”

“Good night, my Lady Love,” Aemond murmured, his violet gaze lingering on you until you vanished around a distant corner. His heart swelled with an unexpected mix of hope and affection, the chaotic Targaryen supper and the impending shadows of war fading from his mind. With a tender gesture, he brushed his fingertip against the spot where your lips had just brushed against his, savoring the memory.

And as you stalked off into the dimly lit corridors of the castle, the weight of his gaze lingered, leaving you with a tumult of emotions swirling in your mind, an echo of the kiss that you could neither dismiss nor desire to forget.

[exilethegame]

Why are Plaithos's commanders always so young? MC and Trystan are more or less barely out of their teens when they become commander, shouldn't there be veterens or something as the commander? I know they're strong asf, but is that really all it takes to be the leader of the army?

They're not always as young as Trystan + MC were when they became leaders (18), but they're usually always young, yes. Commander Omaren, the man who trained MC, became Commander in his mid-twenties, and Myxnia, who was Commander before him, became Commander in her mid-twenties when Marcelle had her replacing the current commander upon becoming Queen.

Historically this hasn't always been the case. A lot of Plaithus's past military leaders were veterans with experience, usually 35+. But now, one could argue being an experienced, independent, mature person would actually be hindrances to the role a Commander is currently meant to fulfill in Plaithus (no I will not elaborate).

That being said, the realm is also a loosely semi-medieval setting, so MC + Syfyn were seeing active combat around the ages of 15/16 in a manner similar to a squire (minimal fighting, meant to be there to assist other soldiers, obv MC was royalty so there was extra protection on that front). But regardless, by 18, MC at least did have some level of first-hand experience. On top of that, the Academy that Syfyn + MC were in since they were both young children is a prestigious military academy that is essentially built to groom children into becoming soldiers-- and in MC + Syfyn's case, specifically prepare and manipulate them into becoming good figureheads for the military. And that would've been something MC + Syfyn were learning since they were eight, give or take. So ten years of indoctrination and incredibly rigorous, strict coursework were all put into prepping them for their positions.

MC is canonically known as The Sword of Plaithus-- because wherever Marcelle points, that is where MC was known to go to carry out her will and destruction. At least, that's what the small folk say... So, given that, MC's main roles were mainly just... killing whatever enemies their mother pointed them at. In which case, being just strong might actually be enough.

Consider it a mix of nepotism + political machinations/scheming.

[onceindece]

So, my Roman empire of Klaroline is deleted scene where Marcel said that Cami is "queen material" and after this Klaus called Caroline and voice message about favorite place in world happened-

It's haunting me, I can't stop thinking about how horribly we were robbed

[barbwritesstuff]

I love everything you write, I can officially say now that I'm addicted to your content, ma'am. Please, take responsibility 😔🤣

Just kidding, by the way

I'm obsessed with werewolf media and then got to read blood moon and fell in love with the pack. Now you give me 90s messed up drama queens vampires and I'm 1000% sold. THANK YOU!

This ask changed everything.

90s vampires.

90s...

By the gods... you're right.

Tracy wears a pink box bob wig, combat boots, and fishnets. Erin wears cameo. Iliya's eyebrows are suspiciously dark for a natural blond. Marcel wears long coats and sunglasses inside at night.

My vampires are so 90s coded. I... I'm not sure how to process this information.