#ramin if your reading this

[rise-my-angel]

No but like. You have a point with the credits. It just comes off as lazy. My guy, the Buffy the Vampire Slayer spinoff had it's own opening and probably didn't have a crumb of budget compared to hotd

Oh my god that comparison is perfect to what my point was, you are a genius

The theme song to Angel is so good, it's not as much of a banger as Buffy the Vampire Slayer's, but it is great on it's own, and it has it's own unique identity that feels appropriate for the different vibe of the show. So, I really was expecting a different theme song for hotd.

I mean, think of Game of Thrones. The music for Dany's scenes all had a different sort of vibe to it, only twinged slightly depending on whatever city in Essos she was near that had a different culture to explore. And her music was already really good, and I liked that it was very different then say the Stark music or the Lannister music. It made it stand out when you hear it, giving the Targaryean character's music it's own audible Targaryean identity.

I was sort of expecting something along those lines, not just, the same one as the other show. I mean I get it, by using the same theme it connects the two shows together, but like you said, Angel had a different theme then Buffy and it was awesome and I never needed to hear the Buffy theme to remember that I wasn't watching Buffy. I knew it was set in the same universe without the same theme song, because the musical team on that show understood that I was not a one year old who still slaps my hand into my food instead of eating it.

I just really love analyzing the music for Game of Thrones, I think Ramin Djawadi put so much thought and passion into making the music so memorable and distinct. I mean when the Stark theme started to play at the season 2 opener of hotd, I immediately got hit with those feelings because the Starks music is so distinct and holds such an emotion value. So it worked in a very small dose like that to introduce us to the setting we found ourselves suddenly in, but it didn't overstay it's welcome where it got to be too key jangling. It knew there when to pull back, but still, that was the show using Game of Throne's music to it's advantage, it was nothing unique to hotd.

But I really struggle with the music for House of the Dragon. Not a lot of it feels distinct, and I know that most of the story takes place in the same locations with very similar people who do not need distinct music, but there feels like a lack of individuality here. It doesn't stand out, it's not memorable.

The music that plays in season 1 episode 2, when Jon is saying goodbye to Bran at his bedside in front of Catelyn, is actually one of my favourite scores of all time since the first time I ever heard it. It is beautiful and it reminds me of that scene and the Starks everytime I listen to it.

I just think the lack of a unique opening theme for House of the Dragon is indicitive of the show's lack of a musical identity, in comparison to Game of Thrones, which used it's musical scores in such a brilliant way that is rare for a television show.

Also, again to end on a petty note for bad comedy, I still watch seasons 1 through 5 of Game of Thrones and the theme song still makes me excited because the show attached is still up to that music's quality (season 5s quality is only held up by the Jon plot and the Cersei plot I will admit that though).

House of the Dragon is a chore for me to get through, but I'm trying to rewatch season one to be able to better have references directly for some of my future criticsms of the show, and hearing that theme song before these episodes is like, no.

Go get your own theme song, this one doesn't belong to you.

[heavenbloom]

🇵🇸 BEFORE YOU READ: BOYCOTT TLOU • HELP TODAY • DAILY CLICK.

𝐚𝐧 𝐞𝐦𝐛𝐫𝐚𝐜𝐞 𝐨𝐟 𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐫𝐧𝐬

𝒄𝒉𝒂𝒑𝒕𝒆𝒓 𝒊𝒊: 𝒖𝒔𝒖𝒓𝒑𝒆𝒓

knight!abby x princess!reader

you can find chapter one here! and the series masterlist here

songs: (act one) main yeh sochkar uske dar se utha — mohammed rafi, (act two) ang laga de — aditi paul, (act three) sealed in fire and blood — ramin djawadi

summary: in the aftermath of your crime, one is eaten alive by regret and the other is consumed by vengeance. the innocence of a blooming love lies dead and from its ashes rises something raw and sweltering.

warnings: 18+ mdni, smut and angst, fingering (r!receiving), grinding (?), betrayal, typical fantasy and monarchal political themes, typical period-piece misogyny, mentions of death and a funeral, extensive descriptions of blood, violence and death, nightmares, enemies to lovers, threats made with both words and a weapon, side character deaths, profanities, derogatory language used, please read at your own discretion. semi-proofread

wc: 6.3k

a/n: sorry for the wait!! i hope y’all enjoy <3

𝐀𝐂𝐓 𝐎𝐍𝐄

The turned over soil was dark with its upheaval. The drag of earth, the thud of it, was the rhythm of a drumbeat, one that called for grief and received no answer in turn. The only ones to mourn poor Asha were the other servants. Her mother’s wails cut through the air, a skull-rattling cry of anguish. The others did not allow themselves to weep. The workers of the Palace had seen enough bloodshed within its cold, white walls, now numbed to its horrors. Only exhaustion engulfed their features. Another one…

Asha understood this pain as much as she did the thump of her own heartbeat. That was why she decided to work with you, to be a gatherer of secrets. You could still remember the lightheartedness that graced her features, her lopsided smile when she said, whose eyes are all-seeing if not a maid’s? 

You were the reason for this girl’s demise. It may have been that nobleman’s blade that sliced to the bone, but it was your promises of hope and security that led her to an untimely grave. 

You, a coward. You, a murderer.

You slipped back into the Palace as the rosy shades of dawn swaddled the figures of the grieving, before the welling of tears threatened to fall. Your weeping would have been a mockery, something disingenuous to those who would bear witness. Did you have the right to wear mourning white and feel emotions strong as the beating sun, throat dry and body weak?

Another face flittered into the forefront of your mind, freckled and sharp-lined. Grief clung to the inside of your ribcage. If only you could crack it open and pour this ugliness of yourself out, become pure and benign. Become something worthy of any of the graces you had been given.

You could taste bitter salt on your tongue, feel warmth drip from nose to lip to chin. You could pray and cleanse yourself of your sins all you liked, but it would never be enough. She would look upon your heart with fondness no longer. She saw you as you were, now. Treacherous, rotten, worm-eaten.

☾𖤓

You still adorned funerary attire when you arrived at the Palace’s holding cells. It was located deep within its bowels, lacking its upper cleanliness. The bricks here were haphazardly laid, and an oppressive dampness had seeped itself into each nook and cranny of the place.

The guards had sputtered at your presence, choked words of you not being allowed down here falling from their lips in a weak attempt to deny you entry. But you knew them well. Their loyalties lay at the feet of the Crown’s coin, not at the throne of the King. All you needed to do was shove a necklace and a few bangles their way, and their lips were sealed.

The soft leather of your soles caught slightly with each step, made for marble floors and not the rough and dusty ground beneath. The only sounds present were that of your jewellery chiming with each step and a distant drip, drip, drip.

There were no other prisoners within the holding cells, long since shipped off and never to be heard from again. Icy tendrils ran up the length of your spine as you made your way down the cramped hallway, eyes frantically searching.

She was in the cell at the end. Her back was turned, silhouetted from the little light that encompassed the space. Her outline looked equally defeated and taut, as if she was grappling with what was and what should have been. 

You stepped closer, an exhale forcing its way past your trembling lips.

”Abigail.” Relief tapered the ragged edges of your voice. Your intricately stained hands clasped around the rusted metal of the bars as your entire being lurched forward.

Her body snapped tense, bowstring-tight, the set of her shoulders alone divulging the bitterness that simmered just beneath the surface. There was a moment of palpability as you let your presence hang over her, as unwelcome as pelting rain.

”Abigail,” you said more urgently when she remained unfacing. Softer, “Look at me, please.”

At your coaxing plea, she turned her head to the side. Her familiar profile was illuminated by the weak, flickering flame upon the wall. The sight of her was faint, but there was a certain fatigue about the set of her brow, something restrained in the pinch of her lips. 

”You...” The word was pushed out on a weak breath, hazy as if pulled forth from a dream. Then, she gathered her bearings, shoulders rolling back and straightening so her broad frame swallowed up more space. Acrid venom coated her vocal chords as she squeezed the word, again, through the grit of teeth. “You.”

“What are you doing here?”

You crouched to your knees with the hesitance of somebody trapped at the whims of a beast. Her sclera shimmered violently in what little light there was. Those eyes had always been a weapon against your resolve. Each glance of hers was a nocked arrow aimed at the fortified centre of your heart. Now, it was as if she had dipped the arrowheads in oil and set them ablaze.

Your voice tumbled, an unfamiliar bubble of uncertainty rising within it. Carefully chosen, sweet words would not work on Abigail. You were disarmed by her, at the mercy of your own foulness that had been laid so bare before her.

So instead you decided to speak a truth, one that would not gut either of you so quickly. “Asha, my… the handmaid. She’s dead. She was killed by that nobleman.”

You waited for a response but Abigail remained silent, eyes pinning you in place and searching for any sign of trickery. Your fingers tightened around the bars as you stared back, seeking any crack that she bore, any fissure you could slip through and work to your will, but none sifted to her stony surface. Perhaps she just relished in watching you squirm.

“Her burial was this morning,” you spoke gently, the image of the lively girl flickering across your mind, seared there forevermore. “I came here immediately after. I knew that— I was overcome with an urgency to see you.”

Her eyes drifted to your white clothing. A hateful, bitter smile split the plaster of her features. 

“Will you blame that poor girl’s death on me as well?” she asked in a mocking tone, voice laced with amused contempt. “Oh, I can hear it now, what they will say about me. Abigail, so faithful a knight that she struck down feeble noblemen and maids alike for her princess.” 

Heat crept up your neck as you bristled at her mockery. There it was, the stinging lash of the truth coming to strike once more. 

“If I recall correctly, you were the one who took the fall for the crime. This is on you, Abigail, and your own foolishness. You have… you have no right to scorn me for it.” 

Her body dipped forward, closer, and it was the first time you heard the weighty rattle of chains. They were fastened onto her ankles. Normal conduct for an alleged killer, yet they looked so misplaced now. Such a far cry from the shining knight she was only days ago.

The derisive tone she had moments ago slipped away to reveal a nakedness, a rubbed-raw thing that clawed its impatient fingers up her aching gullet. “And you did not fess up to your crime. You watched like a helpless little lamb as they dragged me away, all the while you were bathed in that man’s blood.” 

Her voice shook with the vulnerability of leaves caught within a storm, but it was not tears that she tried to reign back. It was rage, pure and sharp as the edge of a diamond. 

“Where is your honour, princess?!”

The same dormant fury that she held close to her sparked to life in your chest. If it were anybody else, you would have shoved the vile emotion down, but it was her. She had already seen the violence, the pulsing and ever-malleable wrath, that consumed your entire being. For once, you could be outwardly wretched. You could be honest.

Honour this and honour that. The blood of a hundred monarchs shaped the very drum of your heartbeat and she wished to speak of honour? You would laugh if it weren’t for the tightening fist around your lungs.

The colour seeped from your knuckles as you pressed yourself closer to the iron bars, as if you could melt into them with the very ferocity racing within you. “You forget yourself,” you reprimanded firmly. “If you dare question my honour again I’ll—”

“What will you do?” Her chin jutted out, mouth pressed into a thin, stubborn line. The possibility of challenge hardened her features. “My title has been stripped, my morality brought into question– all on the basis of a lie. There is no worse pain that you can inflict upon me.”

Yet your life remains intact, you thought viscously. Yet I let you sit here and lick your bloody wounds, unharmed. 

“You should know my capabilities well by now,” you whispered, your words drifting to her like opiate smoke; low, heady, perilous. You were not subtle in the ribbon of a threat you wrapped around your words, tightened noose-like in the way your eyes pinned her in turn.

She rose to her feet then, the clank of iron ringing in the air as she dragged herself closer to the bars. She stopped just out of arm’s breadth from it as the chains screeched in protest. 

You had never felt threatened by her presence, but now you could at last understand the notoriety of her legacy that followed her like a shadow. As she looked down her nose at you, you felt a dull pang of sympathy for the long list of her opponents on the battlefield. Even restrained, she was a formidable sight.

“And you remain ignorant of mine…” she spoke lightly despite all things. “You would do well to remember them, princess.” 

There was a pointed promise in the way her lips shaped around each word, as if each one was loaded with the very essence of vengeance.

You lifted yourself from the ground, elegant as ever as you straightened your back and met her eye, drawing the veil that had slipped onto your shoulders over your hair once more. A princess. Her superior.

A smile curled on your lips, the cloying quality of milk beginning to sour. “We shall see, then, how… proficient you are from within a cell.”  

Your head dipped forward slightly, a hand pressed to your left breast. There was a taunt in how respectful the gesture was. It was one only exchanged between equals.

“May the gods smile upon your determined spirit, Abigail.”

𖥸 𖥸 𖥸

𝐀𝐂𝐓 𝐓𝐖𝐎

You were dreaming of it again. Metal in your hands, metal in a gut. The bubbling groan of a man mere moments away from death. And, oh, the crimson, everything red-slickened and raw. His eyes were no longer his own, but rather beads of boundless contempt, staring and staring and—

Reality slammed its fists into your chest, awakened with a choked gasp squeezing its way out of your throat. Your eyelids flew open to the deep blue near-dawn. The crooning of first birdsong flitted through the arched doorway, eerie in its solitary note. You blinked up at the roof, the carvings of deities and flowers shifting and mingling, one and the same, in your unfocused vision.

The man you killed was not owed any sympathy. He was egotistic and wished to be as close to your brother as a cat curled on its owner’s lap. He would have done anything to garner the love of a tyrant, and you felt a nauseating amount of hatred for him even in his demise. There was no remorse for killing him, and you reminded yourself that it was an act of rooting out bad weeds before your reign, but your subconscious disagreed. 

It was still taking a life and it was a defiling rake of nails beneath your skin. No matter who the man was, he was still human.

You wanted to be ruthless, to cleanse yourself of any feeling and barrel towards your goals with cold, uncaring resolve. But then you would be the spitting image of your brother. The thought of it made your stomach turn.

You sat up then, the sheets slipping off of your torso and heaping onto your lap. You dragged your shaky hands down your face until your fingers traced the soft outline of your lips. 

Your thoughts parted then drifted back to Abigail. At this hour, they seldom didn’t

You recalled the strength in each of her actions even as she moved about with an easy fluidity. The glimpses of raised white scars that littered her body, one that you had never known the complete bareness of. 

What were her feelings when she first killed someone? Was she now plagued by a thousand phantoms in the world of her dreams, still bleeding from the wounds she inflicted upon them? Did she feel nothing at all?  

Your rumination was cut short when a faint breeze wafted through the curtains, fragrant from the foliage below. You lifted your head to it as it stirred the loose hair that brushed against your forehead. The action should have been soothing, but what you spotted turned the blood in your veins glacial. 

You had no idea how long Abigail had been here. She was sitting on top of a floor cushion in front of the balcony doorway, one knee propped just beneath her chin and the other leg stretched outwards. The position would have looked regal, akin to the uncaring languidness of a ruler, if not for the way she watched you. Chin pointed towards her chest, a blue glare slicing through long brown lashes. 

She was motionless in the purpling hues of morning, more beast crouched in wait than leisurely empress.

The fear you felt seeped marrow-deep, but something else lurked beneath it. swirling in the pit of your gut. It had been months since you had seen this face last, yet it was stitched into the seams of your every thought, conscious or dreaming. 

Something within you lurched.

For once, words eluded you. Ambition was a potent drug, you knew, and paired with vengeance it became absolute. How could you placate such a resolute mind?

Your throat dried as you watched her stand. There was no preamble as she crossed the room in a few long strides. This time, there were no chains and bars to keep her sequestered. The truth of this should have sent you scrambling, but astonishment buoyed you to the bed, quiet. 

Her freckled cheeks were awash with a rosy red, almost cherubic despite the face that she wore. A hateful expression. A hate so powerful, it teetered on a look of pain.

Your thumb twitched as she stopped mere inches away, the desire to smooth out the uneasy crease of mouth and brow shoved back into the depths of yourself. Why did her presence, the mere concept of her, steal away all reason and substitute it with something so sickly vulnerable?

You opened your mouth to speak, but the words wilted on your tongue when you felt the cool press of steel against your neck. There was no tremble in the blade. Her grip on the hilt was certain. 

Understanding came as steadfast as the morning unfurling itself to the earth beyond your chambers. You, lovesick. Her, loathing you for it. For all of it.

“If you utter a single word…” she warned through gritted teeth, pressing the tip of the blade closer to your skin, the pressure of its presence imminent. 

Her eyes drifted down to the column of your throat, eyeing the stable heaving of your chest. A scowl fractured her features. “I should end your vicious little life right here and live up to the title you've cursed me with.”

You could sense it, the unspoken however. The wraith of the word settled over you like the gauze of a veil. If she wished to kill you so badly, she could have left you gutted on the fine sheets and fled before buttery sunlight engulfed the room. 

Why hadn’t she?

“I expected the same amount of goodness in response to my sacrifice. I expected you to come clean or… or to at the very least free me from that miserable cell!” Her features contorted at the remembrance of the dark, cramped space, the stifling silence, the numbing solitude. 

Then, the more chilling memories. Your face, flitting behind each blink. Your laugh, heard in the heavy rhythm of her own breath. Your lips, whispers and kisses and bites, felt only in the slumbering hours of a place that remained in stasis. Her hand flexed around the weapon.

Her voice took on the timbre of fervently plucked sitar strings. “The very thing I pledged my life to, the very thing I killed for, left me to rot. My King and his supposed sweet, saintly sister… how do you think such a wound festers, princess?”

You could not dignify her question with an answer. You had known no such discomfort, no such betrayal or ache. 

“Abigail…” Her name, spoken again with the quiet of a clandestine prayer. What else was there to do but acknowledge her through these three sweet syllables?

A prick of pain. The warmth of lifeblood trickling down the length of your throat. Just a nick, a rivulet. Abigail drew in her breath. Her irises seemed to shiver in their anger.

“I told you to be silent,” her voice sank into an exacerbated whisper. “Or would you rather I skewer you now?”

Gone was the radiant, gentle-hearted knight, eclipsed by the moon of this new vindictive creature. You were enraptured by the jaggedness of her being. Hair uncharacteristically dishevelled and loose around her shoulders. Dilapidated sleeves rolled up to the elbow. 

“How angry you are…”

“Insolent–”

“Your beauty shines like this.”

Silence, thick and saccharine as flowing honey, settled over the moment. 

Abigail looked as if you had snatched the dagger from her and plunged it bone-deep. The first tremors of uncertainty twitched beneath her sure, calloused fingers. 

The wanting, besotted thing within Abigail gnashed its craving teeth. No. She would not let you disarm her of this, the one vein of conviction that pumped purpose into her battered heart. I will not waver.

But it was another thing entirely, to resist the beckoning call of surrender when you reached for her.

The moment your sleep-warmed hands came in contact with her own, she knew that fighting was futile. Her grip loosened, the blade slid from between her palms and into your own grasp. 

It was without a doubt stolen. It was weighty and intricately engraved with motifs of the sun and moon. The crest of your kingdom. How ironic.

Your gaze flickered from it to Abigail, whose eyes chased every movement of yours. She was waiting for you to return the favour, to press the blade to her own throat.

It never came. 

The blade was placed on the low, wooden bedside next to the bed, its mass clattering against the varnished surface. Surrender.

“Why…?” she breathed through the constriction of her lungs. Where was the familiar fire, that arrogance she came to despise?

“We were not destined to be adversaries.” Spoken as if this rivalry was something you alone could decide. 

Your features were aglow as first rays of dawn crept its way into the room. Brilliant eyes, straight spine, parted lips. In the liquid, shifting gold, you looked incorporeal. Coaxed from the most bereft parts of her mind.

A large palm cupped the softness of your cheek, a thumb running over the bending bone of your jaw and leading up to the bridge of your nose. She had to remind herself, sometimes, that you were flesh and bone beneath the title and crown. 

They say that the royal blood carried on the legacy of a fallen deity, who perished for nourishing this very kingdom. She never considered herself a particularly pious person but it rang true to her, especially now. 

“Then, enlighten me, princess,” she spoke softly. “What path have the gods carved for us?”

“The gods have no hand in this.” Blasphemous words that cut into her. “No, I won’t accredit this to divinity.”

Your eyes fluttered shut, and you let yourself melt into the coolness of her touch. “I want you, Abigail.” 

A litany of pleas that danced, unsaid, on your tongue. Love me, love me, love me. 

Begging was unnecessary, for the same thrill of need sang in her own bones. She tilted your head up slowly, admiring the way grandiosity slipped from your being as swiftly as it came.

Her lips against yours were a beckoning. They moved with a sure rhythm, gentler than the last time. Her kiss told you to unveil yourself to her. Give me sincerity, it whined. Give me an honest place to lay this love.

You fell back against the plush pillows, pulling her down with you. Her weight crashed against yours, hefty and unknown, yet comforting in its corporeality. She smelled faintly of mildew and rain, a scent splintered with the sharp tang of rust.

Your tongue ran across the bottom of her plump lip gently, asking for entrance. If she wanted the truth, you would offer it in its entirety.

Your searching fingers found her blonde tresses while hers skimmed down to the hem of your nightgown. She slowly drew the airy fabric upwards from your ankles to your knees and then the middle of your thighs. The contact of the calloused drag of skin sparked something within, warmth coiling in the pit of your belly like a slumbering dragon.

You broke away from her to sit up, pulling the piece of thin cloth up and over your head. Abigail watched, sitting back on her haunches, as each inch of your skin was bared to her patient gaze. The softness found in each curve was a marvel to her, a body unmarred by the outside world. She observed you like one would an intricate tapestry, each whorl and knot revealing more depth with each second passed.

A hum of appreciation reverberated through her chest as she began to focus on discarding her own threadbare clothing. First, the tunic and then the tight hose that stuck to her skin. 

Her body was a thing conjured from epic poems and scriptures. Robust and sunkissed, with the new dawn melting over her back and haloing the outline of her body. A hero, draped in the splendour of victory… a god, blessing the mortal realm with its incomprehensible presence.

You reeled Abigail back towards you, the searing heat of her heaving chest pressing against yours. Her lips trailed dulcet kisses along your jaw as her fingers splayed against the flesh of your thighs. 

Your bodies melded together, pressing as if through the sheer force of passion, you could become one. Your bodies sang with pleasure, thrumming out an ancient and gasping melody. 

Hands and eyes, dilated with velvet-black pits of ecstasy, explored. You traced over the scars that ran down her body, transforming them into rivers and pathways, her body an entire world that they occupied. 

Her fingers grazed over the wet, sensitive flesh between your legs, silky and petal-like. They found the sensitive bud there, rubbing gentle circles upon it with her thumb while two of her other digits prodded for entry. 

You arched into her, a sweet noise dancing off of your parted lips as she slid them in knuckle-deep. She lured bliss from your body with each thrust and curl, each sweet word and absentminded, drunken press of her lips against yours.

Your writhing figure against hers was enough to make her own cunt throb with pure need. You felt, even through the haziness, her broad body rocking against yours, her pelvis gently seeking friction against the plushness of your thigh.

A symphonic crescendo of moans swelled in the morning air as you both neared shivery climax. Her ministrations grew more frenzied, eyebrows knitted together and bottom lip drawn tightly between her teeth. 

The pressure snapped, swift and blinding. You held onto Abigail tightly as she shook along with you, shallow breaths mingling together. The hard planes of her stomach were now sweat-slicked and she felt almost feverish against you.

As the throes of orgasm subsided, you raked a hand through her hair and pressed a dry kiss to the junction between her neck and shoulder. She was still panting, slumped on top of you.

 This was a first, this contentment that wound itself through her being. There was not an ounce of tension in the sculpted divots and muscle. 

You pressed another kiss to her temple and you exhaled as she buried her nose further into your collarbone. 

Vulnerability rose up within you, and this time you loosened your grip on its reigns. Insatiability had always been your greatest weakness. You wanted her, you realised, not just in passing but always. You wanted to wake up to golden hair fanned across your pillows and a freckled nose pressed up against yours. You wanted the surety she guaranteed and the devotion that it promised.

 You wanted to love with all of yourself, and not just through the confines of the mould that you had been trapped in since birth. You wanted to be loved, no matter how many times you were forced to bloody your hands.

For that, however, you would have to peel back one last layer.

☾𖤓

Abigail was turned away from you as you told her your plans of usurpation, her face tilted up towards the heat beating in as she gathered up her scattered clothing. She pulled each piece on with a languidness, the nape of her neck still flushed beneath curling blonde baby hairs.

The lack of reaction turned the sweetness of your post-lovemaking haze sour. Your thoughts raced and tangled together in an incessant bundle as you forced the words leaving your mouth to remain a steady stream.

Would this revelation swing the pendulum of rivalry into motion once more? With your prior actions, you could sympathise, but this… this was grander than her. It was the ember that would flare the kindlings of hope; a prosperous future assured.

No remorse could be felt for that.

“Abigail…” you spoke slowly, the shape of her name dripping with solemnity. “My conviction is stone.”

You drew breath into your lungs as you watched her drag her bottoms up her legs, as if you were whispering sweet nothings and not outright treason. 

“If you are not my ally… if your heart's not in this, I will declare you my enemy.” 

You touched the dagger still resting at your bedside, precious and half-forgotten. “Do we have an understanding?”

She turned to face you then, absentmindedly fastening the ties of her tunic. Tousled but bright as noonday, she was beautiful enough to crush the new bloom nestled in your heart. 

She gazed at the weapon before looking at you directly. Clear blue and milky white, unwavering and unreadable.

Not so much an arrow now, her eyes were a roaring blaze, and your resolve was the aftermath of something swallowed whole.

𖥸 𖥸 𖥸

𝐀𝐂𝐓 𝐓𝐇𝐑𝐄𝐄

The wind wailed into the silence, crashing its invisible body against the looming Palace and whistling in the gaps of the sun bleached stone. Chaos roiled in the underbelly of the night, the closing notes of summer felt in the lashing heat that lingered.

Despite the late hour, the oil lamps in the throne room and surrounding hallways burned low and perilous. Servants scurried out of the way, prostrating themselves on the ground as a cloud of white and gold glided past them. 

The tremendous, ancient doors opened with a loud groan, making you swivel around. Encased in the rigid formation, like an egg warmed by a hen, was your brother. He spared you so much as a glance as he climbed up the stairs leading to the throne, his footfalls muffled by the plush, richly coloured carpet. The knights dispersed to their positions as he did so, silent and armed witnesses.

“My King…” You knelt low to the ground, your head centimetres from the cold marble. You were his subject first, his blood second. 

You heard the rustle of fabric and the sigh of a feather-stuffed cushion being squashed beneath weight. 

“Rise.” His voice was clear and authoritative. You lifted your head to your mirror. The same eyes beneath a cruel set of brows. Same mouth, pressed into a thin line. The same hands, enclosed around the sheath of a sword, merely ornamental. A dutifully polished thing that had never tasted violence.

You stumbled onto your feet, and noted his clothing; a plum-coloured robe and a necklace of pearls and rubies dripping down his throat, like bone and blood congealed. Ever opulent, ever the lavish King, even in the privacy of nightfall. 

“State your business,” he spoke with a now bored inflection. “Tell me why you have disturbed me at so late an hour.” 

There was a hum of warning beneath his tone. If the reason for this disruption was frivolous, you knew he would not think twice about spearing you through.

 After all, what was an imperial daughter? Your value was held in your capability to be married off, to secure alliances, to fawn and charm and pamper. You had proven long ago that you would not be a bargaining chip in the game of monstrous men. 

You may have been worthless in that regard, but perhaps there was a way to regain his favour…

Eyes wide and lips quivering, you huddled your arms to your chest. Weak, small, inferior tohim in every way.

 “I caught her, Your Grace. The knight that escaped her cell,” you spoke through the warbling tones of fear. “She… she made an attempt on my life, but, blessed by the gods, I was saved.”

This piqued his interest. Your brother rested his chin on a thickly jewelled hand, his body leaning forward. Frankly, there was no love in his heart for the nobleman that lost his life, nor was there a thirst for vengeance because of it. Nonetheless, Abigail’s escape had tarnished his punitive, unbested reputation. 

For that alone, her head deserved to roll.

“Ah… finally a useful word you speak.” He smiled, his lips still wrapped around his teeth. Its mirthfulness stopped short of his eyes, still as shrewd as ever.

You watched as he gestured around the room, turning his head this way and that in mock confusion. “Well? Where is the unloyal cunt?” Joy trickled down into his demeanour now and, like a child anticipating gifts, his body straightened and his eyes shone. Only in his cruelty did the more human parts of himself show from within. 

You turned to the guard standing beside the entrance, and inclined your head deeply. 

There was a whirl of feather-white silk as he left the throne room, and mere moments later, the clang of metal against the marble floors reverberated through the vast space. It was different from the cheerful, jingling song of the anklet bells of dancers that typically graced these halls. This was weightier. It held no rhythm or reason.

Abigail was dragged in hastily, adorned from waist-to-toe in chains. The men who pulled her along dumped her onto the ground unceremoniously and her form sprawled with no resistance. The dry scratch of her voice, pain, left her lips. Her golden, knotted hair clashed with the deep red of the carpet, spilling across it as she tried to right herself. It was one last shred of dignity, to rise upon trembling knees.

A low, appreciative whistle shot through the air, drawing your attention back to your brother. A grin now split his features, a thing with too many teeth. Each gemstone shimmered as he stood, a wave of light as he clutched his sword tightly by his side.

“You’ve done well, sister,” he praised as he descended the stairs slowly. His eyes were trained on Abigail as he spoke to you, his steps were punctuated with the chime of finery. He had a likeness to a predator in this moment, something feline slinking towards its prey.

“Very well, indeed.” Deep purple pooled at his ankles, his finely crafted shoes just centimetres from Abigail’s form. He looked down his nose at her, undeterred by the glare she shot up at him. 

There was a hiss of steel being drawn. Your brother’s sword was an elegant thing passed down to the new King when the old died. Golden hilt and flowering carvings that twined up the blade, it gleamed prettily in the lamp light. Despite its deadly point, it had never been used for battle, only a symbolic cementation of status.

What was he…

He tossed the sheath away and its impact rang hollow across the cavernous room. Then he turned away from Abigail, his attention on you. 

Instead of blinding pain, you were met with the handle being held towards you. His eyebrows softened, you supposed, in an act of what he believed was familial fondness. If I cannot exploit you as a flower, I will make use of your thorns.

“I believe this victory is yours.” 

You had no choice but to take the sword in shaking hands. The surprisingly lightweight hilt felt like fire, burning in your grasp. In all your years, you had only ever gazed upon this ancient relic.

Your brother rested a hand on your shoulder, as if to soothe your nerves. You were a skittish animal, always, in his mind. 

“Even a fool can do this if the blade is sharp enough,” he whispered, lullaby-soft. “Get your vengeance, my sweet sister. Honour our blood and let the final image of her life be the throne that she betrayed.”

Your fingers pressed into the cool metal. Abigail’s eyes were trained on you, her mouth parted ever so slightly. You watched as her body shifted. Lungs expanding, throat constricting.

“Now!” 

In an instant, disarray seized the room. The clang of armoured bodies sounded everywhere and so too, the squelch and roar of men dying. The resounding whine of the doors being closed and barred. Trapped in the midst of massacre.

You kept your gaze trained on your brother’s face. First, you watched as he recoiled with shock. The curtain-lift of realisation.

Finally, anger.

The hand on your shoulder tightened and bunched the fabric of your nightgown. His teeth were bared and the veins in his throat protruded with rage.

“What have you done?! You spineless little bitch!”

Your brother was wrenched away from you with full force, curses and spittle still flying from his mouth as he was forced onto his knees. Abigail was out of her chains, never completely restrained to begin with, and she eyed you with a tight expression as she held him down.

“What have I done, brother?” Your voice now trembled with the venom of restraint snapping. “I have done what is right. Our people deserve a true ruler, not a coddled man who plays at one.”

A wet laugh bubbled from his mouth, hysteric over the symphony of steel around you. “And you think you have what it takes to be a ruler?” His eyes were open, drinking in the light, wide pools of disdain. “If I am so coddled, what does that make you? Tell me, what do you know of history? Of warfare?

“What are you but a woman? You were raised for marriage,” he continued, his amused mask slipping to reveal the undercurrents of fear that roared within him. “I was raised to be King! This is my birthright and you cannot simply snatch it away!”

“Princess.” Abigail’s voice was stern over your brother’s prattling. A simple reminder. 

You stepped closer and watched as he faltered.

“W… Wait and heed my words. There is an order to these things,” he spoke desperately. “Disposing of me won’t alter it. Do you think the masses will warm up to you just because you are soft-hearted? They will still starve and slave their lives away, and they will hate you all the more for your gentleness. See things as I do, sister. When their hunger grows, will they look upon you kindly? You struggle, even now, to hold a sword. 

“They won’t view your weakness as benignity.”

Even in the act of begging for his life, he managed to crush you beneath him, like wilted petals in the palm of an enclosed fist. You brought the blade close to your face and inspected each silver bud of jasmine and rose. 

“Should I care about whether they view me as strong?” you asked, the cadence of your voice sounding distant and foreign to your own ears. “You forget that within the hour, I will control your army.”

You held out the sword in front of you then, the steel glinting. Your ancestors were right not to use it. It felt like a sin to have to dirty it.

No matter, you supposed. Today, history will be rewritten. With its rebirth, it was inevitable that some traditions would rot. Best to start with this one.

“What was it you told me before? ‘If the blade is sharp enough…’”

The wailing of a man defeated pierced your ears. His eyes were unseeing and yet so filled with despair. He slumped against Abigail’s grip and she let him fall to the ground with a thud. 

You loomed over your brother, sword raised over your head.

“Goodbye, dear brother. We will meet again, I’m sure, in the land of the damned.”

It was as clean as the business of death could be. A splash of vermillion against the desolate white. A whimper, followed by cloying silence. 

The deed was done.

[prophecyofwinter]

Se Rĩna Qilōni Iprattan Se Jēdar | I

Aemond Targaryen x Reader

Summary | Saera Targaryen daughter of Jaehaerys I ran away from Westeros to escape her fate. 45 years later her daughter Y/N Targaryen, with invitation from King Viserys wishes to go back.

Tags | TargCest, Smut, Standard ASOIAF content, I wanted to write something raunchy with plot, Aemond and Reader are First Cousins Once Removed.

Prologue | Chapter 2 | Masterlist

Chapter I | The Rest and More

With lots of persuasion from you and lady-lessons from your mother, she deemed you fit enough to sail to King's Landing. However she would not send you alone, she entrusted your safety to your slightly elder brother Vaegon.

He had trained for years in the Temple of Light to become a swordsman, and a fine swordsman he was. Brother or not he really did piss you off most of the time, now more than ever. Once he learned of your impending betrothal to the Targaryen Prince he soured up more than normal. He berated your Mother for days on how she could ever allow this.

He would of course still be a bastard even if you were legitimate, this was only so you could marry Aemond.

“What if he is ghastly! You know someone being unmarried for this long most likely means it’s for a reason!”

You weren’t sure what stick Vaegon had up his ass but you wouldn’t let him ruin this for you, this voyage was bad enough. Perhaps you’d be able to claim a dragon, there are plenty laying around on Dragonstone…

“I am sure I will be able to handle whatever Prince Aemonds complexion is, especially having to witness you for the past 19 years.”

————

“In King’s Landing you can’t wear these kinds of fabrics, these are a whores garments there.”

Your mother threw your old clothes to the side and motioned for you to turn around. She put a thick and hard piece of material around your waist and tied up the back.

“Alright my sweet, breathe in and-“

Suddenly all the air in your lungs was forced out in a shriek as your whole rib cage was crushed under the pressure of whatever the absolute hells this was.

“This is beauty in King’s landing! This will become your life, remember this is what you wanted.”

—————

You’d be at sea for about a month or less depending on the winds. You craved to be back on solid ground, your stomach was not agreeing with you. Sleep escaped you night after night, only catching small power naps multiple times a day before the rocking of the ship would wake you once again.

The tight clothes and strict codes for ladies your mother had laid upon you for survival in Westeros weighed in your head. You hoped your husband would not be as overbearing as you’ve heard of Westerosi men to be.

—————

Your mother had called some of her top prostitutes to come in and teach you the rules and ropes of intercourse.

“The merchants from Westeros really enjoy the girls who act sweet and innocent. You will be expected to provide as much as he pleases, and you mustn’t bore him.”

The brunette climbs on top of you and places her hips between yours, both of you fully clothed doesn’t make the moment less intimate than what you’ve had.

“Now, let’s act out how you cry out for mercy, how you beg for him to be gentle on your body.”

She begins to mimic the motions of intercourse to test and see if you are ready for what she claims will become of your life. A weird sense of embarrassment stings throughout your body, you weren’t expecting this kind of training. You didn’t know there needed to be this kind of training.

“Come on my lady, let's hear you!” She taunts you with a laugh, she grabs your wrists and pins them to the bed to really get it out of you.

——————

You could only spend most of your time reading, reading history books and other stories from Westeros. You could speak the language fluently enough, but you will get it fully soon.

Hopefully you won’t have to give up your favorite foods, the Targaryens should be rich enough to import all the finest things from Essos. Pomegranates, Watermelon, Blackberry Wine, Duck and the list goes on…

The salty air fills your nose, it would be lovely if you weren’t seasick constantly. Reading distracts your mind enough to forget your current feelings.

You haven’t heard anything about the other Targaryens outside of the history books, you don’t even know what the current ones are like…

Your mother doesn’t have good views of, well, anyone. She told you to expect the worst from most of them, if they were anything like her father then you should be watching your back at all times.

Amongst all things and her dislike for Westeros, she wanted to see you happy the most. She said time and time again she would allow you to come back no matter what.

She was sweet and kind where a mother should be.

——————

“What if I claimed a dragon? I could visit you at any time I wanted to, right?”

You asked your mother over morning tea, you were to set sail later today. This would be the last time you would see your mother for the foreseeable future.

Saera rubbed her aging finger over the rim of her cup and laughed to herself a little.

“A dragon isn’t something you can promise, most of my siblings never claimed a dragon in their lifetime.”

You huffed and pouted, your motivation to claim a dragon only increased tenfold. Ever since you were a child when you were told you couldn’t do something it would only make you want it more.

“However, if you were to claim a beast… you would fancy Silverwing I believe. Or if you seek to be bitter, my father would roll in his grave if he knew my child claimed Vermithor…”

Saera laughed to herself heartily, entertaining her child’s wild ideas. She doesn’t doubt you would attempt to claim but she doesnt be believe it would be successful.

——————

Viserys was not expecting Saera to accept his proposal. So he was shocked when Alicent burst into his chambers with a letter in and holding it out to him in anger.

“What is this?! You offer Aemonds hand to the daughter of a whore?! What were you thinking!”

He left out a guttural cough into the fabric of his handkerchief. The unexpected stress of Alicents

rage seething onto him, he was gonna tell her… eventually.

“He is my son too, I must leave no Targaryen unaccounted for. I cannot die in peace knowing there is a- a good Targaryen across the sea. You have been trying to get Aemond wed for years, it- it is the best choice.”

Alicent braces herself on a wooden chair and lets out a deep breath with her head down. Her husband is a fool, he will look like a fool to the seven kingdoms and this girl is proven to be used.

The Queen remembers how she would read to King Jaehaerys on his deathbed and he would mistake her for Saera. He would reach out to her and ask for forgiveness, the guilt would eat at her because it was not hers to give. Until the day his body gave out and he couldn’t muster words anymore he would ask for Saera.

To Alicent, Saera had made her choices and she wanted to be where she was. To bring her bastards into it was too far, she had no choice in the matter. Being the Queen didn’t matter if the King already made up his mind.

“You will force me to greet her I presume. You are far too ill to make it to the port.”

Gods, Viserys already fell back to sleep. Rotted skin exposed and clearly pain stricken. Alicent sighed out loud in frustration and stormed out of the room, guards opening and closing the doors for her.

While she would like to think she knows how Aemond will feel about such an arrangement. He has been without betrothal for all his life and the ladies of the court actively avoid him. Perhaps this is something he needs.

[witchthewriter]

𝐋𝐨𝐤𝐢 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐚 𝐩𝐥𝐮𝐬 𝐬𝐢𝐳𝐞 𝐬𝐨𝐮𝐥𝐦𝐚𝐭𝐞 𝐰𝐨𝐮𝐥𝐝 𝐢𝐧𝐜𝐥𝐮𝐝𝐞

⤷ gender neutral, ambiguous race, and any size reader. Requests are open, thank you for reading!  

a/n: nsfw included

ᴹᵃˢᵗᵉʳˡᶤˢᵗ | ᴹᵃˢᵗᵉʳˡᶤˢᵗ ᴵᴵ

INFJ

Slytherin

Chaotic Neutral > Good

Gemini Sun, Leo Moon, Cancer Rising

𝑺𝑭𝑾🌿

・Loki loves you no matter what size you are or how you look on the outside

・Even though your insecurities are valid, it doesn’t mean Loki sees them as such. They know how much your thoughts affect you. So they do the best they can, to make you feel comfortable in your own skin

・In different cultures beauty is recognised differently.

・What is known as "beautiful" on Earth, isn't the same everywhere else (hell, even different countries have a different view on beauty).

・And with Loki who has seen many things over the course of his life, what he deems as attractive is different to what others may.

・So when he saw you, he thought you were one of the most beautiful people in the universe.

・You didn't believe him at first, when he gave you compliments here and there. After all, he was evil in your eyes.

・You thought he was making fun of you, trying to manipulate you. It's just what you automatically thought - as you it's what you were told.

・Time had changed him, experiences and circumstances turned him from self-centred to compassionate.

・And so you were shocked when you overheard him defend you one afternoon

・You didn't believe in soulmates, it didn't make sense to have one perfect person

・But you felt it. That pull towards him, like a tether, or a piece of string.

・No matter how hard you tried to convince yourself, you couldn't stop the gut feeling of needing to be around him

・Your relationship slowly started to turn when he asked about your interests

・And when you found something in common, you spent so much time together.

・One night, after spending all day together, he said something that solidified your relationship as a romantic one

"Y/n, I don't think I could live this life without you. But if this is all I get, this time we have spent together -then I am glad to have it." His voice wavered, and he whispered, "I would die a happy man."

𝑹𝒆𝒍𝒂𝒕𝒊𝒐𝒏𝒔𝒉𝒊𝒑 𝑻𝒓𝒐𝒑𝒆𝒔

What We Thought Was Hate Was Actually Just Deep-Seeded Love

Beauty and the Beast

Soulmates

𝑹𝒐𝒎𝒂𝒏𝒕𝒊𝒄 𝑷𝒍𝒐𝒕 𝑻𝒓𝒐𝒑𝒆

Enemies to Lovers

𝑻𝒉𝒆𝒎𝒆 𝑺𝒐𝒏𝒈

The Crown of Jaehaerys by Ramin Djawadi

𝑁𝑆𝐹𝑊 🔞 No one under the age of 18 past this point, I bloody mean it. 

・Loves when you sit on his face. Just having your whole weight smothering him, surrounding him... the thought turns him on, on the spot

・A lot of the time it's Loki initiating intimacy. There's an insatiable need that he has for you.

・When you become comfortable in the relationship, Loki would open up about his fantasies.

・His biggest ones are actually very different. He still has a deep desire to be in charge; to sit on a throne and be worshipped

・And then his other is to be the worshipper, to be on his knees and told what to do

・Loves having his hair pulled. The feeling of fingers grabbing at his scalp, forcing him to look into your eyes.

・He needs to hear your moans, especially when it's his name

・Loki is ... quite a few years older than you. Which means he has a lot of experience. During those years, Loki was constantly trying to find the right person, but he soon found out that they didn't exist. Until he met you. Now everyone else is forgettable

・Intimate moments always have an element of playfulness. Loki's smirk is never too far away

・Loki also likes eating ass and having his ass ... ate

[bluebellhairpin]

Harwin Strong X f!Reader

Summary: Years have passed since your wedding to Harwin, and now it's Rhaenyra's turn to be wed. With her happiness at the forefront of your mind, you soon make a deal with your husband.

Warnings: Pregnancy. Blood + gore. Reader is fem bodied + called wife/mother/sister + wears a dress. Infidelity/cheating but not really bc it's all consensual. (We're moving slowly into a sort-of polycule.)

Listening to: 'The Green Dress' by Ramin Djawadi

Series Masterlist || AO3 Link || Masterlist || Ko-Fi

A lot had happened in the years since you married Harwin Strong. 

To the realms, a war raged on in the Stepsons, one Lord Corlys was trying to fight, and one that Daemon Targaryen had done his best to help win. Viserys had three new children, two sons, Aegon II and Aemond, and a sweet daughter, Helaena. 

To you though, the most important thing had been your husband. 

As the days after your wedding night turned into weeks, he urged you to open up more. He wasn’t just handsome and brave and brutal enough to gain the nickname ‘Breakbones’, but he was kind. 

He drew you away from your beloved books and needlework - the hobbies acceptable for a woman in King’s Landing - even though, you found, he loved having you read to him, or sit next to you by the fire and keep you company as you avoided pricking your fingers. 

He took you on walks where he had the time, so you could talk, and where he couldn’t he urged you instead to watch him train - you had to admit to him how hot and bothered it made you, to see him so confident with a sword, and being so strong of an opponent against his assigned enemy, or enemies. He only teased you when you told him - something he did often just to see you flustered - and insisted you come watch him more often. 

You came to love him dearly, and how he adored you in return. His Lady Wife - and as the weeks turned into years - the mother of his children. 

Prior to telling him you were with child, Harwin spent far too much of his spare time by your side, but it seemed like he spent all of it with you when you were pregnant. Even when you thought he was away working, Harwin always seemed to be just where you needed him, as if waiting around every corner for the moment you sent for him. As the days passed on, oh how you needed him. When he was around no one else came to your aid faster when your nausea got the better of you - and he never once shied away from it - nor was he shy to demand the quick gathering of your food cravings, which too often consisted of heavily salted potatoes and clay dirt.

You could see in his eyes that he saw no sense in it, but whatever you wanted, you got. You almost could bet he’d get the blood of a Lannister for you if you told him that was what you craved as a drink. 

But what touched you the most was the evenings you spent together. What used to be a time reserved for just the both of you felt as if there were now three. When an unmistakable new bump began to form, Harwin spent his evenings laid face down between your legs, cradling your torso between his warm palms, and talking to your tummy about anything and everything. From childhood stories to how his day went, no subject went untouched when he was trying to speak to your baby. 

He called it a privilege to care for you while you solely cared for your baby, a baby who was now in the world wholly, and had just passed his second name day. 

Your son kept you busy, and Harwin adored him. He’d hoped for a daughter, more often than not speaking to your belly as if a girl laid there, but your boy wasn’t any less loved for it. He was doted on more by Harwin than any other father and son you knew. Nor was he any less needed - from his first breath he was Larys Strong, second to his name and newest heir in line to inherit Harrenhal. 

But Harwin’s heart was set on a daughter. You barely had to tell Harwin the Maester’s said your body was properly recovered before he enthusiastically offered to try for another. You simply replied that the time spent with one child was to be cherished - and you planned to do just that. You were thankful when Harwin replied again in turn with kindness, saying he hadn’t considered it but understood what you meant. He said he’d wait until you were ready, and in the meantime threw himself headfirst into being little Larys’ father. 

It made your heart melt completely - and now it was going to happen all over again. Even if the news of another babe wasn’t enough to usurp an upcoming wedding, Harwin certainly acted like it was. The news couldn’t have spread across the Red Keep faster even if crows and rats carried the message to every nook and cranny - your husband wouldn’t have been able to keep it a secret if he tried. 

But right now, at the forefront of everything in your mind, wasn’t the second child being carried within your womb - it was your Princess, Rhaenyra Targaryen, and the fact that the wedding to be held within the next few days was going to be hers. 

The princess had taken it upon herself to visit you daily, whenever she could spare the time, and you were grateful - you believed she needed a distraction, and she was one of the few women around your age in the whole city who you could stand (the other being Alicent, however you weren’t going to be telling either about your friendship with the other). She was also a good distraction to you from the coming and going sickness the child brought with it. 

“His little girl.” You said to Rhaenyra. “He’s so sure it’s going to be a daughter.” 

“If I remember correctly, he thought that last time too.” Rhaenyra said, “And what do you think?” She asked, leaning forward on an elbow with a childlike sparkle in her eyes. She was fond of children, or so you assumed from how she was around your son - and her half-siblings too when she got the rare chance. 

“I think it’s far too soon to tell.” you replied, a small smile on your face as you grasp your hand over your stomach. 

“Oh wouldn’t it be amusing though, the great ‘breakbones’ running around after a daughter.” She said, talking into a raised glass of wine. 

“There is a certain humor to it, sure.” You both caught eyes and smiled as she put down the cup she was drinking from. 

“You will still come to the dinner, won't you?” Rhaenyra asked, changing the subject skillfully, as her look changed from sly to hopeful. “I know we won’t get much time together, and I know how tired you get at the moment, but I just have to know I’ll see your face in the crowd.” Your lips twitched up, amused. 

“Is the heir to the iron throne asking me personally to go to her wedding feast?” 

“It will be good for strengthening ties.” she replied, shrugging her shoulders. 

“Going to a wedding feast?” 

“Indeed.” 

“Ah sorry Princess, but the only ties being strengthened there are those of both families getting married. However, my experience says a joyous party and a hearty meal is good for morale all around.” A new voice joined in at the open door. 

“Ser Harwin.” Rhaenyra said, turning in her seat with a smile to greet your husband. 

“And please be sure to provide peanuts,” Harwin continued as he dipped his head to the Princess and made his way to your side, “They seem to be the only thing this little one is letting her mother keep down.” 

“Harwin!” you hissed. 

“Shells and all, she likes how it crunches.” You smacked his arm - or the parts of it that weren’t still covered in metal armor - and he let out a half chuckle. “Alright, alright. I was only coming in to check you weren’t lonely, and it seems like the Princess is doing a fine job of that.” 

“Of course I am. I do a good job of everything.” 

“Indeed.” Harwin agreed, then turned to you. He kissed your forehead and cheek before pressing his thumb to your chin. “I’d better be on, I’ll be back soon to prepare for dinner.” He kissed your hand, a final farewell, before doing the same to Rhaenyra. “Princess.” He said. 

You saw how their eyes caught, and something about it sparked a thought inside you. The thought that there was a slight lingering of something going on between them both. You were not sure what. For some reason the fluttering in your heart had you breaking into a calm smile more than an anxious sweat. Some part of it was reassuring - even if any other woman might’ve thought otherwise. Perhaps it was how much you trusted Harwin, perhaps how much you liked Rhaenyra. 

You weren’t unfamiliar with the rumors behind a hasty wedding to her cousin Laenor (nor the rumors behind Laenor himself). You also weren’t unfamiliar with how stifling living in your fathers home could be - and he was a lord, let alone a king. You didn’t blame either of them for acting the way they did, to take bits of freedom when it wasn’t being given to them. You pitied Laenor, but Rhaenyra? If anyone asked you honestly, you’d day you mourned for her.

Rhaenyra and Laenor’s wedding feast, at the very least, was eventful. Far more so than your own - and for that you weren’t entirely envious. 

You arrived, paid your dues to the royal family along with those of House Strong who came - Harwin and his father and brother, along with his sisters, Pacey and Raechel, and a few more distant relations - and were seated - all without problems. Laenor and his family arrived, and were seated alongside Rhaenyra and Viserys - again, without problems. King Viserys began his speech without a hitch - however it didn’t finish in the same way. 

The moment you saw his eyes and voice catch and pause, you were searching for a reason why. When your eyes cast to the doors, you could see the reason clearly yourself. 

In another life, one where you were still young and foolish, all you would’ve seen would be Queen Alicent in a pretty green dress. But now being seasoned in Red Keep socialites and dramatics, you weren’t so young and foolish to not realize what it meant. 

“The king won’t be happy, right in the middle of his speech.” Harwin murmured, a hand resting on the one you had in the crook on his arm. Larys stood on his other side, leaning down on the table. House Strong prided itself on its courage, but there was something about the cunning the younger Strong brother had that you admired - it was one of the reasons why you agreed to Harwin naming your son after him, the thought that a smart mind might be passed down through name alone. Time would tell if that was the right choice or not. 

“The beacon on the high tower, do you know what color it glows when Oldtown calls its banners to war?” he asked quietly. 

“Green?” you whispered. When your eyes flickered off Alicent to Larys, he nodded - even if you weren’t so sure before you were now. Harwin’s hand squeezed your fingers, and as Alicent sat at the table ahead everything settled. Calm, normal once again. Tension raised off the air like a mist in Blackwater Bay. 

Until later. 

The feast had really begun, the dancing started, and as everyone got to the celebrations, you were beginning to feel sick. Not enough to warrant telling Harwin (he’d have you both leave in a heartbeat, you didn’t doubt that for a second), but enough that there was no way you were getting up to dance. 

“Harwin,” you said, and he leant in from where he had his arm around the back of your chair, ready to ask what was wrong, “Go get a dance with the Princess, congratulate her for us.” You finished with a pat to his chest, a dismissal and ‘get to it’ if there ever was one. He didn’t need further pushing. Some might chastise him for being so obedient to his wife, but you know he’d only say they were jealous. 

With Harwin gone, and the other seat beside you also unoccupied since Harwin’s sister, Raechel, had gone off to dance with a pretty young Lord, you slid over to occupy the seat beside Larys. 

“How are you feeling this evening, sister?” He asked, observant, and voice soft as ever despite the noise of the crowded room. 

“In all truth my stomach feels like it’s in knots.” you replied, sighing through a smile, “But I dare not leave. I do like being around everyone when they’re having such fun.” 

“I could walk you to your room, if you’d like?” he offered, and it made your smile widen. 

“No, please. There’s no need for that.” you replied, head turning so your eyes could filter about the room, “It’s not a sickly kind of knot. For some reason I’m feeling quite nervous. Besides, I can see how you enjoy people watching the same as I do, I wouldn’t want to take you away from it.” 

“Ah,” he said, hand playing with a cloth napkin on the table, “I see I haven’t been as careful about what I do in my spare time as I should’ve been.” 

“You know there’s nothing wrong with being able to see everything.” you said, turning to him with a wide smile, “Just make sure you don’t go around telling everyone what you see. Or worse, the wrong people.” His hand clenched around the cloth, before releasing. He smiled. 

“Clever as ever, my sister. Spoken with the wisdom of a mother.” 

Larys barely finished speaking when your attention was taken away. A shout, unlike others tonight, followed by more, along with a visible disruption to the dancing. Something was going on. It made the knots in your stomach tighten, the hair on your arms stand on end. Suddenly the air didn’t feel as clear as it did moments before. 

Between the influx of people moving away, and those moving in, you lost sight of the Princess and your husband - the latter of which was by then dancing with someone else. When you stood from your seat and finally caught sight of him in the crowd, his look told you to stay back out of trouble, to say your side of the dinner table. You stayed carefully watching him though, saw him hold a silent conversation with his father, then watched as he moved. With Rhaenyra nowhere in sight, and direction from the new Hand of the King, you didn’t doubt you knew what he was doing. 

It was nice to know that both you and your father-in-law had the belief that Harwin could rescue a Princess from a crowd of frightened and rowdy party-goers. 

If anything the prowess Harwin had in retrieving Rhaenyra filled you with an impressed sense of pride - ‘that was the man you married’. Before he was your husband, he was a knight, and honestly if you were a man like him you would’ve wanted to do the exact same thing in helping Rhaenyra. If not you, at least it was him. Hence you paid it no mind when he disappeared from the room with her over his shoulder. 

Once he was gone though, Rhaenyra safely out of trouble, your attention was drawn to something far less pleasing. 

On the floor beyond the table was a man. He wore house Velaryon’s colors, and had half his face beaten into the stone floor. The carnage of bone and muscle, and the blood seeping into the stone below was enough to make your usually strong stomach churn. It was as if half of him had melted into the floor. One of your hands moved over your bump, while the other held your fingertips over your lips - both in an effort to ease the nausea growing in your throat, in hopes to not throw up everywhere. 

“Larys, I believe I can take you up on a nice slow walk back to my room now.” You whispered. He heard you, because of course he already could see how visibly sick you looked now, and quickly reached for his cane. 

“Of course.” he said, letting you rest a hand on his arm as you both turned away to join those leaving. He only spoke again after you reached the quieter halls of the Keep. “Will you be alright?” 

“I believe so, it’s just been quite a day.” you said, looking down at your skirts as they slowly swished across your legs as you walked. It was a simple thing really, the way it moved, but as far as a distraction went it was as good as any. “I’ve seen worse things in my life and yet I’ve found myself quite shaken. It seems that as the babe grows in size, my strength leaves me, both physically and emotionally.” 

“As long as you both end up healthy in the end, it doesn’t matter so much how you feel now.” he said after a few steps. You nodded as you swayed a little. “Your constitution will return.”

“I suppose so.” you agreed, “Though still it would be nice if it weren’t so much trouble right now.” 

“All paths in life have troubles sister, whether you chose to be a mother or silent sister. We just need to make sure paths we have no control over do not become too much trouble.” Larys said as you both slowed as your room door approached. “And if they do, surround ourselves with people to help keep them in line.” 

“I’d be happy enough just to have someone help walk the path with me.” 

As you both said goodnight, his words stuck with you. You always found his words needed to be thought about more than most - apparently his half sister Alys was quite the same, worse even, although you’d yet to meet her yourself. 

Suni came to your room briefly to help you get ready for bed, but conversation didn’t come to you that night. No doubt word spread about what happened at dinner, she’d have known you’d seen it surely, and you hoped that was a good enough excuse to not be in the mood to talk. 

She had gone, you’d tucked yourself into bed, and a few bare candles were all that was left alight when Harwin finally joined you in your bedchambers. He was quiet too as he got ready for bed, only sparing glances at you as you watched him through the dark. Only after he was under the covers and sat back against the headboard beside you did he speak. 

“The Princess and Laenor have been wed.” he said. His words, spoken like a hushed whisper, had you sitting bolt upright from where you once laid. 

“What?” 

“King Viserys ordered they be married immediately.” Harwin said, taking your hand as if to coax you back, but you didn’t move. “I cannot admit to understanding why.” 

“Why? I can tell you why,” you said, whispering loudly into the dark, “The rumors around Rhaenyra, and then what has happened tonight are founded on acts of love. Love that is seen as improper, misbehavior. To reign it all in and prevent more reputational damages, both the Princess and her now husband have had to be placed into boxes.” 

You huffed, shuffling back into a place at Harwin’s side under his waiting arm. You reached to the hand that laid across your shoulder and toyed with his fingers, venting your frustration with fidgeting, then he spoke. 

“More like coffins.” Harwin mumbled into your hair. “Can’t help but feel sorry for them. For loving who they wish, in return they get paid a place in the world where neither will find real love.” 

Harwin’s words made you frown. It wasn’t fair - you knew life rarely was. But if the Old and New God’s were kind enough to give you a husband like Harwin, why would they deny Rhaenyra that happiness too? Deny her the chance to be loved? It wasn’t right. It was cruel. Both to her and Laenor. They would struggle through their marriage - Laenor likely finding love elsewhere, and where would that leave Rhaenyra? Alone, and loveless. You wished you could help her. You wished you knew someone who could help her. 

Then, like a flash of lightning, you had what could very well be the worst idea of your entire life. 

“What’s wrong? I can feel you thinking.” Harwin said, “Stressing even. Stress is no good for the daughter you’re guarding.” He shifted beneath you, leaning more on his elbow as his other palm came to rest on your stomach. 

“How sorry do you feel for them?” you asked suddenly. Through the darkness you could see his brows frown. 

“What do you mean?” 

“If you could help them, would you?” you repeated, softer, almost as if you weren’t speaking at all. His eyes studied your face carefully, as if trying to read the lines on your face to gauge what you were leaving unsaid. 

“Rhaenyra is the Princess.” Harwin started, “A dear friend of yours too, which makes her mine - I have to admit to still feeling like I have a duty to the vow I took when entering knighthood. That I must do all in my power to keep her happy, even if now her happiness is second to yours.” 

His words trailed off into silence, for a moment all you could hear was your breathing and the fire crackle in its hearth across the room. You decided then at the very least to be honest with Harwin - to voice your idea, as mad as it sounded. 

“I need to be honest with you, just for a moment, while it’s just us here alone together. Free of judgement.” you said. Harwin’s reply was virtually instant. 

“Of course.” 

“Do you love me?” His reply to that came even faster than the first. 

“I love you.” Harwin said, holding your head in his hands, almost sounding worried. “More than anything.” 

“If I asked you to lie with her to keep her happy, would you do it?” you asked. Then the silence was loud. A pin could drop outside in the hall and you could’ve heard it. “As a favor.” Even with your addition, Harwin stayed quiet. If you didn’t know him better, you’d say he was too quiet. 

But you knew him better than that. Harwin, despite his reputation as the more brutal of him and his brother, was a good thinker. Yes he acted in the heat of the moment on occasion, sometimes for the worst, but when given the chance? If his blood wasn’t pushed to pumping? Level headed, considerate, and wise - that was what you’d come to know Harwin Strong as. It's what made him such a good father. 

You could see it in his eyes, him thinking. Weighing the options, listing pros and cons. Considering that this wasn’t simply being asked to whore himself out to Rhaenyra for the sake of it - this was you requesting him to do a favor for your friend. 

“In another life, perhaps I might’ve done so anyway.” Harwin finally mused. His hands still held your head, and he never once broke away from looking at you. He was so intense sometimes, now was no exception. He was speaking of Rhaenyra, but it was like he wasn’t even thinking of her at all. “But in this life, it will be as a favor to you. Nothing more.” 

tagging: @potionpeddlerpatchy | @pockcock

[dangermousie]

This scene was THE scene of today's eps!!! Because she finds out he is the one who killed 100K people and framed his brother and he's the one poisoning his dad and...she kills the witness. AND THEN she smacks the hell out him and his reaction:

Murder sub is MY FAVORITE KIND.

And she smacks the hell out of him repeatedly and he lets her:

And he realizes SHE LOVES HIM FOR HIMSELF. Not for the filial gentle front he presented but the murderous psycho he is. Honestly, his tongue must have been magic!!!!! One make out and she went from "loyalty and your brother" to "on your knees my beloved psychopath and let me love you."

Villain x Villain is my favorite thing OMG! (Also OMG, this is the second time in the whole drama we've seen this actress act. She's not winning any awards but she's moving her face! (First time was during make out, hmmm))

This is AMAZINGGGGGGGGG

And since I am on a poetry kick, this one suits the general atm:

Greetings to that great lord of victory, Greetings to that bright moon of tyranny, Greetings to that brave knight, that noble king, Greetings to one who’s envied by the spring, Greetings to one who is my world, my truth, Greetings to one who loved me in my youth, Greetings to one I wish success forever

From Vis and Ramin, Fakhraddin Gorgani

(Side note - this 11th century poem-novel tale of forbidden (and as the kids say nowadays morally problematic) love is one of my favorite works of literature, you should read.)

[faded-florals]

Hello! I am a newcomer to POTO, and was introduced 3 days ago by deciding to randomly watch the 25 RAH. I fell so in love with the 25st cast, but especially and everlastingly with Hadley Fraser as Raoul. It was a little disheartening for me to realise that it wasn't a popular opinion, and when I found your tumblr, it was like finding a kindred spirit and even a wise elder spirit that showed me all the nuances I missed before. I must have read and adored each one of your Raoul posts - thank you.

(My apologies for the delayed response, this time of year is always so busy for me, and I've fallen behind!)

Hello, thank you for sending such a kind and thoughtful message! 🥰 I love to hear about new Phans falling in love with POTO RAH and Hadley's Raoul, and I'm glad my posts have resonated with you. I feel I've analyzed pretty much every moment of his on-stage time in that production, both in writing and in gifs, and you've summarized my thoughts very well here.

I really like how there is a distinct shift in Hadley's Raoul from act I to act II, from speculative but ultimately unbothered to fiercely protective and frustrated, almost in parallel with how we the audience are made aware of the steadily increasing threat the Phantom is becoming. His Raoul is charming but genuine and sweet in his first few scenes, and I agree his mannerisms at the end of the show are quite different from the young man we were introduced to in Little Lotte. His lines in the final lair are soaked in desperation and anger, especially his "Let me see her!" and "Why make her lie to you to save me?"

It's important to remember that the staging/blocking for POTO RAH is very different from the original - I'd argue it's much more organically emotional for all three of the characters. While many of the changes were made out of necessity for how the RAH stage was set up, the impact of the altered staging to the scene is undeniable. Some examples being the Phantom holding Christine by the throat, the prolonged doomed trek that Raoul has to make across the stage to ultimately be caught in the lasso, and the visual of Christine climbing down and back up the stairs of the Phantom's "hell" one last time to say goodbye.

Combine that with the fact that Ramin, Sierra, and Hadley all have very high-strung interpretations of their characters to begin with, it doesn't surprise me that Hadley's Raoul culminated in practically lunging at the Phantom at the end of the final lair. I think a lot of it had to do with Ramin and Hadley's chemistry, too, and while it is very different from most productions I ultimately feel that it works.

I think the point I'm trying to make in all of this is that POTO RAH was a very special production, with a remarkable cast in a unique situation that has left a lasting impression on me and many Phans. I really love to hear how special this production and these actors are to you, thanks for reaching out! 💕

[patrocles]

the thing about the hotd fandom (at least on twt) is i’ve never in my life seen a group of people so committed to being absolutely miserable and hateful for absolutely no reason. it’s almost a little beyond needless discourse, but that the response to any sort of analysis or observation can be met with active discouragement and hatred for doing just that.

i was literally getting called the R slur and told to kill myself at the mere suggestion that baela and rhaena’s storyline (and the dragonstone dynamics as a whole) could have had way more depth than it got? and people got so mad at me for writing a thread on the dynamic between rhaenyra and jace, for suggesting that anything could be less that perfect between them..

and it’s just so mad to me bc regardless of any drama and discourse on asoiafblr, analysis and nit-picking think pieces are our strong suit and its actively encouraged to talk about the thing, expand upon the thing, pore over every detail of the thing.

so to have the series that has kept so much traction because of this type of fan-engagement be met with vitriol when those fans do that and not accept everything surface value and accept being spoonfed Rhaenyra is Good, the blacks are the Goods, you cant like anything else and if you do, you need to die, is INSANE to me. bc it rly reads like yall just dont want a good show. you truly enjoy being angry and pissy about everything.

like you’re always at risk of having someone jump in your shit and throw a temper tantrum in your mentions bc you said something positive about your fave… like it’s so fucking bleak.

anyways, today they’re mad bc someone said they hoped ramin would make a theme for helaena and i guess thats against the law or something

[vechter]

🎨, 📀 and ☄️ for the ask game Ɛ:

🎨: compliment someone else in your fandom

@bluegarners is one of the best people in this fandom... her understanding of the bats— particularly dick (and more especially, his relationship with bruce)— is so, so good and authentic to canon! like sometimes you read her posts and you're like... shocked that she was able to encapsulate complex characterizations so succinctly and beautifully. also, she's just so helpful and talented!!! her fics are gorgeous, she's so considerate and respectful... and just generally, talking to her feels like what i imagine a sunflower feels growing towards the sun. kat i love u <3

📀: what are your writing go to songs?

a lot of it depends on my own mood and the general tone of the writing... but when i'm writing dick, i generally tend to listen to a lot of soft rock— so a lot of eric clapton, eagles, hall & oates.

also, a lot of instrumental when i'm doing contemplative angst (fractured internal monologues, flashbacks, etc): hans zimmer, nicholas britell, ramin djawadi, sleeping at last, justice der.

always intermittently listening to springsteen and pink floyd, particularly nebraska and dark side of the moon... fav albums <3

☄️: most unpopular opinion about a fandom character

here is a current gripe but a more general one would probably be using nightwing (2011) #30 to pander to the abusive!bruce agenda.

was it wrong? yes, absolutely. but was it much more complicated than that? also, yes.

i think when you're considering vigilantism, you cannot understate the familiarity with violence and how often it is used as a means of de-escalation AND confrontation.

i think a much more comprehensive understanding of that encounter can be done through the lens of a) watsonian power dynamics, where you consider bruce's role as both father and mentor to dick and b) the doylist implications of using violence to meet perceived audience expectations and how much of that is in-built into comics (think bruce as a stereotypically masculine, american father figure in golden age comics)

come ask me fandom stuff!

[pallysuune]

Context: Motley notices he's being chased while investigating alone in Commorragh.

"‘You don’t even have a weapon ready, I’m disappointed,’ purred Lady Aurelia Malys as she stalked forwards across the twisted metal. The Archon of the Kabal of the Poisoned Tongue was a shimmering vision of exotic beauty in the light of the firefalls. Her armour was fitted to accentuate every alluring curve, her hair was a river of pure midnight touched by flame and her red, red lips held a secret promise of maddening desire.

‘Clearly I am disarmed by your beauty, dear lady,’ Motley said with an ingenuous smile, ‘although the truth is that I’m more of a lover than a fighter, which is to say I’m more a clown than a grim warrior type. Perhaps you were hoping to challenge me to a duel or something? Not really my thing I’m afraid.’"

[some more flirt-fighting later]

"Lady Malys’s blade shivered aside at the last instant as it was deflected by a short, curved blade that appeared in Motley’s hand as if by magic. ‘So you do come armed after all,’ Malys mocked as she flicked her steel fan at his wrist to sever the tendons. ‘So small though – you must feel inadequate around the incubi with their great klaives.’

The Harlequin knocked aside the razor-edged fan and ducked beneath Malys’s follow-through swing with her sword, rolling beneath the hissing blade to gain a pace back onto the shaky framework. ‘I find it adequate for my needs,’ he explained equably as he parried another of her attacks, ‘although I always consider my wits, limited as they are, to be a better weapon.’"

This is all while Motley just dodging and blocking because he has no plans on hurting Malys.

______

Oh, do tell when you do look Ramin Karimloo up. The vids of him as Phantom are on YT and he's arguably the most famous version outside of Michael Crawford and the movie version for good reasons. He knows to crank up the hamminess as well as smoothly lower his voice to a gentle lullaby.

_______

Lastly, how do you think Nocturne consoles RT?

And ngl, it'd be funny if RT brings up that tropes are happening.

Omg, Motley sounds fantastic. I definitely need to read those books now. I can already tell I'm going to love him. :D

I did get a chance to watch Ramin Karimloo as the phantom and he's got such a good voice! I can definitely see him in the running for a voice headcanon for Nocturne, more in the lower, smoother range, though. Very, very nice.

As far as consoling Meli or another RT, Nocturne is very good at deflecting and distracting, I think he'd be pretty good at helping them get their mind off their troubles until they've calmed down and feel better.

[glassprism]

Oh, I'd love to read the history of trading across various productions of Phantom if you have the time!

If not I just wanted to say thank you for your wonderful blog! <3

Across all productions is a bit much (plus most international productions are for a limited time so they either have filmers there or they don't), but I'll do one for the West End production of Phantom, because I feel like I get a lot of questions about it and it might be handy to just point to a timeline and go "consult this".

So without further ado... a timeline of the various eras of bootlegging in the West End production of The Phantom of the Opera.

1986 - 1988: Classical Era. Phantom has just begun. Videos are present though of poor quality due to generation loss. Many valuable historical artifacts (read: soundboards) are uncovered (read: leaked) in the later years, offering unusual insight into this period.

1988 - 2000: The Dark Ages. Almost no videos in this period. Two years (1988-1990) in which there aren't even any audios. What's going on during this period? Historians (read: phans) are at a loss.

2000 - 2010: The Golden Age. The filmers return. The era of the John Owen-Jones, Earl Carpenter, Matthew Cammelle, Ramin Karimloo, and Gina Beck filmers. Videos start to come in widescreen format and with multiple releases of the same casts. Some of the most well-researched (read: popular) casts in the phandom date from this period.

2010 - 2019: The Drought. The dry period of videos. Few filmers in the West End, perhaps only one or two taking shaky, incomplete videos. If it's a cast member from this period, chances are likely that there's no complete, good quality video of them.

2019 - present: Renaissance. In the wake of COVID-19 (and a little before that), there is a resurgence of West End filmers. Never has the production been blessed with more filmers taking more videos than has ever been seen. Multiple videos of many different casts, including alternates and understudies, are taken in HD. How long will this new golden age last? Time will tell.

[thequeenwechoose]

HOTD 2x04 My Thoughts

Rhaenys my queen. I'm so sad. I cried through that scene. She was always one of my favourites so i feared the episode for quite some time. Her and meleys bond was quite beautiful. She was a truly skilled dragonrider. The last look meleys gave her rider was just heartbreaking. I will miss her very much.

I'm not disappointed how that scene was adapted from the book. After reading the leaks i feared for the worst. But i think it was good. The only thing i didnt like was that that big ass dragon vhagar was able to sneak up on her. Its just not believeable. It's like as if no one would see godzilla comming for miles. And it was the same move as with luke that was disappointing.

Speaking of Aemond i really hate this guy now. I never liked him. But here he just stepped over the line. Attacking his own brother and king is so crazy he has gone full targaryen madness. And the excuse is that brothel scene i asume. He should be able to differ between brothe and king but he cant.

I feel a bit of pity for aegon. He wants to be acknowleged so badly and seeks his mothers help and all she does is telling him he should do nothing like he doesnt matter. Even cercei was a better mother.

Sunfyre is truly the most beautiful dragon, And i liked the sounds he made. I reminds me of a song somethig otherworldly. His and aegons bond was shown quite nice. Sadly he got ripped to pieces very quick. The sequence were the blood was drpping down reminded me of the viserion scene in got. And his crys when he got hurt were just heartbreaking.

Daemon in the haunted mansion. Oh my god. The visions are getting more creepy by the second. Dreaming bad is one thing. But seeing your wife while you are awake is next level. I dont understand the aemond reference. But i dont think i want to. I m also not interested what the wriers are spinning with this dreams. For me they are just dreams i decided. But alys has definitly a hand in this.

I enjoy daemon alone away from rhaenyra. He is very capable of taking charge of a castle and an army it's nice to see him in action. I just adore matt smiths acting, he is so good. What i always liked about daemon from the start is that he is someone that can make you smile with his sarcastic personality. The poor tully kid was certainly overwhelmed when he suggested that he should kill his half dead grandsire. Looks like we see a lot more of daemon and caraxes in the next episode. Looking foreward to this.

Rhaenyr has finally decided to fight this war. I dont understand why it has taken her four episodes. Jace was right to scold her for seeing alicent. Lukes dead should have been enough reason for her to fight this war in the first place.

A word about the music, it's an absolute masterpiece again. The slowly climbing up in the soundtrack before the battle was stunning. Ramin Djawadi writes just so beautiful.

[prophecyofwinter]

Se Rĩna Qilōni Iprattan Se Jēdar | Prologue

Aemond Targaryen x Reader

Summary | Saera Targaryen daughter of Jaehaerys I ran away from Westeros to escape her fate. 45 years later her daughter Y/N Targaryen, with invitation from King Viserys wishes to go back.

Tags | TargCest, Smut, Standard ASOIAF content, I wanted to write something raunchy with plot, Aemond and Reader are First Cousins Once Removed.

Chapter 1 | Masterlist

Prologue | Desire and Need

Dear Princess Saera Targaryen

In my old age I have begun to truly appreciate the concept of family and it has become a necessity for me.

You are my only Aunt remaining and while I understand you may be still offended by your Father and my Grandfather's transgressions. I would like to extend a show of goodwill to my dear Aunt.

I understand from word of mouth you have a high bride price on your youngest daughter. I have a son, Aemond, who is unwed and unbetrothed and is about the age of your daughter.

If you are willing to hear it. Bring your daughter to King's Landing and prove her purity. In turn I will legitimize your child making her Princess Y/N Targaryen, wed her to Prince Aemond Targaryen. With double her price to go along with it.

You yourself will be welcome to come and go from King’s Landing at your whim.

Viserys of House Targaryen, First of his name, King of the Andals, the Rhoynar, and the First Men.

Saera read over the letter with a scoff, throwing it onto the dark wooden table. She is far gone from her prime, at the age of two and sixty it has begun to dull her greatly. Even if she desired to make such a voyage she would no doubt die before she even made it.

Even to ask this of her was a slap in the face. Her pride was far too great to give up her daughter to Westeros, a land she despised. After her Father all but banished her from Westeros she had to make a life for herself elsewhere and she ended up in Volantis becoming a proprietor of a successful pleasure house.

Saera, too deep in her rage to notice her youngest and only daughter entering the chambers until she swiped the piece of paper out of her tight grip. Tearing off a small piece in the process.

“Getting mad like this isn’t good for your health, Mother. You’ll surely break something.”

Y/N Targaryen was a true marvel of Targaryen beauty, your fathers genes never stood a chance.

Silver white hair and soft purple eyes with her thin dresses of purple, her features would lead one to believe she was soft and innocent but like her mother she had an innate want for power and comfort.

The Valyrian girl was not content in Volantis, the city-state reeked of elephant dung. It was blisteringly hot day or night and there was no difference. When her Mother complained about King’s Landing it sounded miles better than Volantis, true or not.

“Haven’t you learned to not take as you please girl!”

Her mother reached out to snag the letter from her thieving daughter but she was faster. Fast paced to the other side of the room where her aging mother could not reach without help.

“King Viserys wants to make me a Princess?!”

Y/N yelped out in joy, Princess was such a sweet citrine word to her ears. As a young girl she would fantasize of having the same title as her mother once did. She would pout and cry that her mother was a Princess and she wasn’t.

“Foolish girl, you fantasize too much. No one is making you a Princess, it’s a personal jab against me!”

Her Mother scoffed once again, she will have to witness her daughter have another Princess phase as she did when she was a growing child. All because her Nephew was dying and the Targaryens wished to bother her once again.

“Let me go to Westeros please Mother! It’s my dream! It’s not fair!”

Y/N puffed up and pleaded to her mother like a child begging for extra dessert past their bedtime.

It was too late for Saera to say anything, Y/N was already lost in her fantasies. She wondered of this Prince Aemond, he would be about her age… would he be handsome? If he wasn’t promised to someone else by now maybe no other lady wants him? Or maybe the Gods are saving him just for her!

“Send a Raven immediately Mother! I must go to King's Landing now!”

Saera sighed deeply, Y/N reminded her of herself. Wanting to be freed from the life she’d been given, wanting something different and when given the choice went for it. Just so happens to be in different directions. She’d been waiting a long time for someone to get her only daughter's approval, so if she desired this Prince and this life…

“Gods be good… very well. However! I will be forced to give you a lesson in Westerosi standards, you wild child.”

[cestlefantome]

POTO Italy review

Ok, that’s gonna be a very long post. My synthesis capacity is clearly lacking but I really wanted to put down to paper all the details possible from the Italian production before my memories faded. If you don’t want spoilers, better stop reading this now.

 First of all, let me tell you that I absolutely love the Brilliant Original and that I’ve never seen a non-replica production before (except for the 25th anniversary, which I consider a non-replica as it is missing key elements from the original). I was very skeptical of the Italian production after seeing the bootlegs and photos posted on TikTok and also listening to the audio of the first show sent by a friend of mine who was there for the first show. I spent the first week of the run moaning about all the changes and how cheap the production looked, so my expectations were very low. I really thought I was going to hate it. Even Ramin didn’t impress me in the bootleg audio, and if you know me, you will know how much I love his Phantom. That was the state of mind I was in before seeing the first show on July 11.

I am an experienced traveler but arriving in Trieste was a strenuous adventure even for me. It took me 3 flights (the longest one was 11 hours long) and a train, a 30-hour journey in total (and 32 hours to get back home). I stayed with a friend from London in an Airbnb on the same street as the theatre, a three-minute walk. We were really lucky in that regard. The whole city was celebrating Phantom, it was a great happening to them, with many store windows with Phantom-inspired decorations.

The Il Rossetti (Teatro Stabile del Friuli Venezia Giulia) was built in 1878 and heavily restored 3 times, the last one in 1999. It sits 1,531 people and it is stunning with a beautiful ceiling mimicking the sky that can light up as stars. It has an opera house atmosphere which I think is very appropriate for staging Phantom. The original theatre chandelier looks tiny though. We were surprised to find out that there were no rows 1 and 2, so we were closer to the stage than we thought. That was indeed a very pleasant surprise.  I saw the show 8 times, from July 11 (the first show of the second week) to 16 (the last show), including both matinees. I sat twice in the first row (in reality numbered as row 3), one of them on the right side and one on the left side of the stalls. Sat 4 times at the second row (numbered as row 4), all of them on the left side of stalls, and twice on the third row (numbered as row 5), one of them on the right side of stalls. The stalls are divided into left and right with a central corridor. I will say that for this specific production, and because of the revolving stage, the seats on the left can have a restricted view in at least two crucial scenes, depending on where you are seated (most specifically as you get the farthest from the center, but not so bad if you are seated near the central corridor).

As you enter the auditorium, the whole stage is blocked by a huge mirror wall written "Phantom".

At the beginning, they had a recording of Ramin saying “Ladies and Gentlemen, welcome to MY theatre. Consider this your first and only warning. Recording or taking pictures during MY show is strictly prohibited. Should these commands be ignored, a disaster beyond your imagination will OCCUR (a low sinister laughter). Enjoy the show.”

When the auditorium goes dark for the show, there’s a flash and a very loud sound of shattering glass, as the mirror wall is lifted to reveal the auction scene. The auction is set at the Opéra Populaire dilapidated and abandoned auditorium. There’s a very cool backdrop of the destroyed boxes and only a partial ceiling, revealing the sky and the Eiffel Tower in the background, with birds singing. The covered chandelier is in the back, near the auctioneer who is standing on the ground and not higher as in the original production. The chairs are arranged just like in the real auditorium, with two rows of chairs on each side with a central corridor. The people attending the auction have their backs to the audience, so in a way, we feel as if we are part of them as well. Old Raoul doesn’t have a wheelchair, he is seated in a normal chair like everyone else. He still has a nurse by his side. I’m pretty sure old Raoul wasn’t played by Bradley Jaden, but by the same actor who played Monsieur Lefevre (Jeremy Rose), wearing a beard. I think that was a nice touch because it looked way more realistic to have an older actor instead of a younger one with not very good makeup.

Fun fact, in lot 664, the wooden pistol and three human skulls from the 1831 production of “Robert Le Diable” by Meyerbeer was replaced by only one human skull. The Monkey music box is very similar to the one from the 2004 movie, wearing a green vest, a red waistband, and a red Fez hat. When Lot 666 is to be revealed, the auctioneer walks to the side and turns an old electricity knife switch that is part of the “backstage” wall of the revolving stage (lateral side of one of the boxes). The chandelier is revealed and the whole theatre goes dark as it is then illuminated in tiers, according to the overture playing (I love this part, it always makes me cry). In the few seconds in darkness, the chairs are removed from the stage to prepare for the next scene, in the past. As the chandelier rises, we can see actors and ballerinas coming into and going from the stage in slow motion. It was a very clever way to represent the restoration of the Opera Populaire to its full glory. During this scene, the revolving stage rotates, and we have a first glimpse of Joseph Buquet (Matt Bond) going up a side spiral staircase with a noose in his hand. Madame Giry crosses the stage looking at him. On the side, Christine and Meg appear talking, also in slow motion.

In this production, the revolving stage acts as a stage within the real stage. From one side it shows as the front of the stage, with the footlights and a prompter box. The back of it is the backstage view, with old black brick wall, a spiral staircase on one side, a hidden door, and the knife switch on the other end. On each of the sides there are three tier theatre boxes and behind each of these boxes there is part of a wall with a window and a curtain for the Manager’s office and on the opposite side, it is Christine’s dressing room set. This revolving set also has a beautiful, decorated ceiling where the chandelier hangs. A very clever set in my opinion.

The stage then stops facing the audience, the Hannibal backdrops falls in place as Meg and Christine leave and Carlotta enters the stage to sing. Carlotta was played by Italian Opera soprano Anna Corvino, and she is fantastic and a very extra and funny La Carlotta. I loved her voice (even though she was trying to sound bad) and how dramatic she was. She was also very nice at stage door.

The stage during Hannibal looks very crowded, because everything happens within the revolving stage limits (because they have to be behind the footlights). The backdrops, costumes, and choreography are all different from the original, but it didn’t bother me, and they didn’t look cheap at all, just different from Maria Björnson’s. There’s no elephant, instead, they have an open sedan chair carried by two people. There are 6 slave girls (counting with Christine) plus the slave master, Christine is on stage dancing from the beginning of the scene, and at one time, she loses her balance and falls on stage after which Madame Giry calls her out “Christine Daae, concentrate girl”. I had the distinct impression that, except for the slave master, none of the girls had ballet training, especially not the actress playing Meg (Zoe Nochi). She had a horrible posture, certainly not one for a trained classical dancer. If it was an acting choice, it was a weird one.

Monsieur Lefevre comes with Messieurs Firmin (Ian Mowat) and Andre (Earl Carpenter). Monsieur Reyer is hidden in the prompter box, we never get to see him. Piangi was played by Italian tenor Gian Luca Pasolini and he has an incredible voice but was a bit stiff on stage. Maybe he was supposed to be like that, I don’t know. It’s not a bad thing, but he doesn’t stand out much, except when he is singing. When he steps inside the sedan chair, the two guys carrying it have a really hard time suspending it until its floor breaks due to Piangi’s weight. It was funny and made up for the missing elephant at the end of Hannibal. Monsieur Lefevre seems overly joyful when he announces he is retiring.

The part in which La Carlotta sings “Think of Me” to Monsieur Andre is also very funny. She’s over dramatic and as he approaches her, she actually spits on his face when singing “Spare a THOUGHT for me” and Andre has to clean it with his hand. Earl’s face at that moment was hilarious, he was born to play Andre. Then the backdrops fall, and Meg comes forward to sing “He’s there, the Phantom of the Opera” and when Firmin replies “Good heavens! Will you show a little courtesy? Mademoiselle, please!”, she actually challenges him with a sarcastic smile on her face, until Madame Giry pulls her back. I will say I didn’t like Meg in this production. Her voice was very harsh and annoying, and I didn’t like her attitude in general, with the exception of one scene.

When Andre asks if there is an understudy for La Carlotta and Monsieur Reyer replies “There is no understudy Monsieur, the production is new”, Meg literally pushes Christine to the front saying “Christine Daae could sing it, sir”. Christine almost loses her balance again. That was a choice because it happened in every single show. Christine then starts singing very shyly and when she tries to leave the stage, Meg comes forward, holds both her hands, and encourages her to keep singing until she is confident enough to sing with her full voice. I really liked that added moment between the two friends. A curiosity, there was no scarf for Elissa, so indeed Christine was a bit more restricted in her (lack of) choreography and sang more or less standing, facing the audience, not much different from the 2004 movie. While Raoul sings his part, the stage rotates 360° so everyone can see him in the box with Andre and Firmin (no Madame Firmin) as well as a view of Christine as seen from “backstage” and that is when Christine moves the most on stage, she does a quick choreography similar to the one she does at the back of the stage in the original production at this very moment.

I have to say that before seeing the show, I told many of my (poor) friends (who had to deal with my moaning for over a week) that Amelia was, in my opinion, the weakest link in the cast, as she had no previous experience and I didn’t like any of the videos of her singing posted previously (not the ones with Ramin in NY and not the ones on her own YT channel). Well, I learned that we should keep our harsh opinions to ourselves after we see the show in person. We can’t judge someone’s talent by a video filmed in a living room, a crappy bootleg, and even worse, by other’s opinions.  I personally loved Amelia Milo’s Christine. She has a beautiful, strong voice, is very sweet and both her face and voice convey a lot of emotion. Her voice also blends beautifully with both Ramin’s and Bradley’s. Both men have very powerful voices, and none held back but she just kept up with both, her voice was never drowned by theirs. Bradley Jaden is a very attractive Raoul (he has long hair and wore it in a low ponytail, except for the final Lair) and also has a big, strong voice. He was an overall enjoyable Raoul, at least in my opinion (I’m still team Erik all the way), although at times he seemed very annoyed but in the end, I think it worked and I’ll explain later why.

The whole scene with the ballerinas surrounding Christine, and she holding the big flower bouquets and bowing with her back to the real audience while the curtain closes doesn’t happen in this production. Monsieur Reyer doesn’t appear talking to her either while the ballerinas rehearse in the background. When the Phantom sings “Bravi, Bravi, Bravissimi”, she is already in her dressing room changing to the dressing gown, which looks similar to the one from the original production, except for the sleeves. Ramin’s “Christine” sounded a bit harsh for me. In the 25th anniversary, he sings her name pianissimo, like a caress, so that was something that I didn’t quite understand, because he was supposed to be happy after her successful debut, but it sounded (to me) like he angry.

As I said before, Christine’s dressing room is located behind the boxes on one side of the revolving stage. It consists of a dressing table, a chair, and a huge, tall mirror that sits above her dressing table. When she sits down to change her ballet shoes, there is already a single red rose on her dressing table, from the Phantom. Christine stands up when Meg comes in and she gently makes Meg sit while she sings “Angel of Music”. For most of the song, Meg keeps touching everything on her dressing table and not paying much attention and is sitting in a very unladylike way, not like I would expect a ballerina to sit. Madame Giry comes in, tells Meg to leave, and gives Raoul’s note to Christine.

The scene where Raoul walks to Christine’s dressing room in the company of Messieurs Andre and Firmin (and his wife) was cut, but depending on where you were seated, you could see Andre, Firmin, and Raoul talking in the very back during “Angel of Music”.  Raoul then comes to her dressing room (no rose or champagne bottle) and when she recognizes her childhood sweetheart and hugs him, the two sconces positioned on each side of the mirror flicker. Both Christine and Raoul notice it, Raoul looks particularly intrigued, although he doesn’t miss a beat on his part. That was another small change that I enjoyed. We know the Phantom is not happy. The dressing room scene is one of the two scenes I mentioned that have a partially restricted view for those sitting on the left side of the audience. When the revolving stage rotates after “Think of Me”, it stops at an angle, facing the right side of the audience. For the most part, the view is ok. But as Raoul leaves and the Phantom appears in the mirror, his image can’t be seen by at least half of the theater audience. That was a very unfortunate choice by the production, I can’t believe no one sat in different parts of the auditorium to make sure everyone could see this crucial scene. We can only see Erik when he steps out of the mirror and extends his hand to help Christine climb the chair and the dressing table and enter the mirror with him. 

I was lucky to be able to see the full scene at least half of the time but was still annoyed by the times I couldn’t see him. Ramin looks amazing inside the mirror. By the way, when he appears in the mirror, Christine knees down and extends her arms as in prayer for her Angel. I absolutely loved this scene, which made it even worse that I couldn’t properly see it every night, even though I had excellent seats very close to the stage. The title song staging is very cool. After entering the mirror, the revolving stage rotates again and stops with the backstage facing the audience. They appear crossing the dark stage from right to left and then a hidden door at the backstage wall opens and they come out from it. The Phantom then comes forward to the edge of the orchestra pit to get a lamp. He reduces the intensity of the lamp light; turns back to get Christine and they go down a stair in the pit. They then appear at the top of the spiral staircase on the right side of the stage (the same we saw Buquet earlier) and descend until they reach the boat (a gondola) and cross the stage, reaching his lair. 

The boat stays on the left side of the stage, while a massive organ comes up from the floor in front of the conductor and then slides a little to the middle of the stage. At the same time, a 4-poster bed and the monkey music box appear on the right side. A backdrop of the cellars appears in the back. There are no candelabra or candles in the Phantom’s lair, except for some in the organ. While they are in the boat, there is some dry ice effect and a bluish light, to mimic the lake. The background reminded me of an artwork from Giovanni Battista Piranesi (Carceri d’invenzione) that is mentioned in one of my Palais Garnier books.  It is not as spectacular as the original production, but it is still magical, and impressive. Ramin’s Phantom is particularly shy in this production. Except for holding hands (which many times you can notice his shaking), he hardly touches Christine. For “Music of the Night”, Christine is standing on the left side of the stage, near the gondola, where she sings her high E. Erik then plays his organ dramatically (“I have brought you to the seat of sweet music's throne (…)”. He is standing and looks at her.  A bench then slides on the stage, and he sits down, facing the audience and with his back to her. He has music sheets on his hand. He sings part of Music of the Night while seated and hardly acknowledges her, but you can see he is very nervous. He stands up only when he sings “turn your thoughts away from cold, unfeeling light and listen to the music of the night”. He slowly approaches her from behind, but when he sings “darkness of the music of the night”, she runs to the opposite side, but then she stops near the bed when he sings “Let your mind start a journey through a strange new world!”

When he approaches her again, he takes a candle from the organ and immediately after he sings “Only then, can you belong to me”, he blows the candle in her direction. You can see some kind of powder and then she is in some kind of a trance. He comes behind her, but he doesn’t really touch her, she is the one to rest again him while he sings “Floating, falling, sweet intoxication! Touch me, trust me savor each sensation!” and she touches his hand and his face very gently and he slightly leans into her hand until he sings “Let the dream begin, let your darker side give in to the power of the music that I write the power of the music of the …”. She faints, he holds her, closes his eyes for a second, looks at her and sings “night”. He then gently places her on the bed and covers her with his cloak and walks around the bed while singing “You alone can make my song take flight, help me make the music of the night”.

I know some people have been pretty vocal about the candle part and him “drugging” Christine and taking away her “consent”. I respect those who felt uncomfortable with this scene, but honestly, I much prefer this to that creepy mirror bride with the likeness of Christine, which implies that maybe Erik does “things” with the mannequin. Even though he did put her in some kind of trance, the way I see it is that they were both overwhelmed and he was bidding his time, without not really knowing what to do and maybe trying to postpone the hard conversation ahead of them, having to explain why he lied about being an Angel. He never touches her inappropriately (before or after the candle), he never approaches her while she is sleeping, and the scene between the candle blow and her fainting takes about 40 seconds (yes, I tracked the time). I’m not saying it is right, but then we will have to discuss if it is right to bring her to his home in the first place, unchaperoned. Is it really much worse than drugging her with chloroform like in the book or hypnotizing her with his voice? Those were different times and men tended to think and treat women as their property. Right or wrong, at least the Phantom was a gentleman.     

After Music of the Night, the stage went dark for a few seconds. Erik took off his jacket and moved the bench closer to the organ (no Mandarin coat and hat). I didn’t mention it before, but he has pretty much the same outfit as in the original, except that his waistcoat is white silk with a chain clock (he also wears a red lining black cloak with a shoulder cape with no embellishments and no fedora hat). When the lights go back on, he is sitting on his pipe organ playing, his back to the audience. The music box then starts to play. Erik looks at the Monkey and does the same movement with his hands as if he was playing the cymbals too. A small detail but one that I loved it. He then is back to composing. Christine wakes up and begins singing, he looks at her and is back to composing for a few seconds, but when she sings “Whose is the face in the mask?”, he watches as she gets up from the bed and he stops composing. He then turns on the bench, facing the audience, but he sits at the very end of the bench and starts fiddling with his hands, with his head down, very shy, without really knowing what to do. She approaches him and sits on the bench very close to him, his hands are shaking, he closes his eyes, and she touches his face, and he leans into her hand, so trusty and vulnerable and that’s when she tears the mask from his face. He immediately screams and turns his back to the audience, leaning against the organ while cursing. She tries to escape to the boat, but he goes after her and yanks her from it, and she falls to the floor. When he sings “Curse you”, he sits on the bench, still covering his face with his hand and he actually chuckles and starts singing back again a bit more menacing while he approaches her again, she crawls to the opposite side and then he collapses on his knees and sings “this loathsome gargoyle, who burns in hell, but secretly yearns for heaven, secretly. secretly.”.

In this last part, he sings almost sobbing. The part “But, Christine. Fear can turn to love you'll learn to see, to find the man behind the monster, this repulsive carcass, who seems a beast, but secretly dreams of beauty, secretly. secretly” He sings with so much despair, except for the words monster, repulsive carcass, and beast, which he sings with anger. It’s heartbreaking. The whole time after the unmasking, Christine hardly breaks eye contact with him. Bonus points for her, as most Christine cowers in fear. After her initial shock during his cursing, she looks more regretful than afraid. He covers his head with both hands, bends down, and rocks like a small child while sobbing. She approaches him slowly and tries to touch him and he flinches and sobs a “No”, his voice bears so much fear at this moment, that it seems as if someone is trying to beat him. He then moves his body away from her, still rocking. This whole scene was devasting and the best I’ve ever seen so far. She then extends her arm to him, holding the mask, he looks at her still afraid but takes the mask and puts it on his face, breaths, recovers himself, stands up, and says “Come we must return those two fools who run my theatre will be missing you”, He seems resigned, not angry anymore. Thank God there was no creepy crawling, which is something about this scene in the original that I dislike.

The scene then shifts to the backstage of the opera, while the revolving stage rotates to show Buquet on the top of the spiral staircase with the noose in his hands, singing his part about the O.G. to the frightened ballerinas.  Madame Giry arrives and sends the ballerinas away while singing her part “Those who speak of what they know find, too late, that prudent silence is wise. Joseph Buquet, hold your tongue he will burn you with the heat of his eyes.”. At the same time, Buquet comes down the stairs. He comes really close to her, his face is inches away from hers and he actually threatens her with the lasso. She doesn’t even flinch. He starts laughing like a maniac as he leaves the stage.

The stage rotates again to show the manager’s office. That part is about the same, except that the Managers seem to be a bit annoyed with Raoul, and Raoul looks particularly annoyed with La Carlotta, and he is even rude to her. While the conversation between the managers, Raoul, Carlotta, and Piangi is happening, those sitting in the right side can see that Meg is seated on the stage floor in the background, playing with Buquet’s lasso. I have no idea how she got it, but she even has it around her own neck until Madame Giry sees her and takes the lasso away. Meg then follows Madame Giry to the manager’s office where Madame informs everyone that Christine is back and shows them the new Phantom’s note. There are a few amusing moments involving the managers and La Carlotta. The trio is responsible for most of the funny scenes. They start singing Prima Donna in their office but then everyone moves to the stage (as the stage rotates again) to sing the last part “Light up the stage with that age-old rapport! Sing, Prima Donna, once more!”. We then listen to the Phantom threatening them “So, it is to be war between us! If these demands are not met, a disaster beyond your imagination will occur!”, while they sing “Once more!”.

For Il Muto, there is no bed, in fact, there’s no furniture at all on the stage. They have a backdrop very similar to the 2004 movie, with a fake balcony in the middle. Raoul is in Box 5 and Firmin and Andre are in the opposite box, drinking. They both seem to be a bit drunk. Meg is not on the stage. Besides the Countess and the Maid/Serafimo, there’s only the hairdresser, the Jeweler, and the Confidante. Don Attilio is much younger and is not a bass. He is also not so funny. When Don Attilio and the Countess both sing “Addio!” they both hold the note for ages. Don Attilio then leaves and hides in the fake balcony.  Christine rips off the maid's skirt to reveal herself as Serafimo. Everything is alright until we hear the Phantom’s voice say, “Did I not instruct that Box Five was to be kept empty?”. Meg then invades the stage out of nowhere, in her Degas-like ballerina outfit to sing: “He's here, the Phantom of the Opera”.  Everyone looks terrified. Madame Giry pulls Meg from the stage. 

Everything happens as in the original production. The Phantom says “A toad, madame? Perhaps it is you who are the toad” and Carlotta panics. She calls for her dresser that brings that throat spray, just like in the movie. On her way back, she takes away the maid’s skirt, so when they play the scene again, Serafimo has no skirt, like in the original. When Carlotta starts to croak and seems to be losing her voice, chaos breaks loose, Raoul jumps onto the stage, Carlotta leaves crying, Christine runs to Raoul and Firmin announces that the role will be played by Christine. At this, she looks at Raoul in panic and both leave the stage, while Andre goes to announce the ballet. He has a bottle of champagne and a flute glass on his hands and this scene is particularly funny. Earl Carpenter is indeed the perfect Andre. The ballerinas come to the stage, no Sylvan glade costumes, they are all wearing the regular Degas ballerina costumes. The scene happens more or less the same way, but it’s a different choreography, and twice the Phantom swings across the stage in a rope, laughing. The third time, the rope swings with Buquet hanging. The Phantom swinging across the stage wasn’t necessary but I enjoyed the way Buquet hangs, it was way more realistic than the dummy they have in the original production; I believe it is indeed the actor playing Buquet in that scene.

The scene then changes for the rooftop. They have a raised rooftop for the scene and Christine is already there in her dressing robe when Raoul finally climbs the stairs singing “Why have you brought us here?”  

The whole scene reminds one of the domes in the Palais Garnier, below it, you can see a structure that reminds the arched structure that supports the main dome above the auditorium and that houses the chandelier counterweights. There’s a backdrop of Paris, partially showing one of the Angel statues and you can also see Notre Dame in the background. The rooftop scene is very different from any version that I’ve seen so far. Raoul is terrified from the height and also because Christine is dangerously close to the edge. Christine is frantic, walking from one side to the other. The only time she seems a bit calmer is when she sings “But his voice filled my spirit with a strange, sweet sound. In that night there was music in my mind. And through music, my soul began to soar! And I heard as I'd never heard before. Yet in his eyes all the sadness of the world. Those pleading eyes, that both threaten and adore.” But then she hears his eerie “Christine” and is immediately frightened again. Raoul tries to pull her from the edge many times and she refuses his touch every single time. In fact, she hardly looks at him, It’s like she is going mad, and she looks suicidal. At one point, Raoul just sits on the edge of the rooftop with his legs out and very slowly moves closer and ends up calming her. It’s one of Raoul’s cutest moments in this production. Christine doesn’t look much at Raoul, she sings most of All I Ask of You looking at the horizon like she is singing to (or thinking of) someone else. Only at the very end, she looks at him and they kiss.

When they leave the rooftop by the same stairs, the spotlight illuminates where the Phantom is seated hidden in the shadows, just below where Raoul and Christine are (no big hat with black feathers). He looks devasted and furious at the same time. He comes to the edge of the Orchestra pit to sing “You will curse the day you did not do all that the Phantom asked of you!”. The chandelier then lights up behind him in the dome structure. He goes to the chandelier and lights it on fire, climbs on top of it, he has some kind of knife on his hand, and he seems to be cutting some of the cables that hold the chandelier. The chandelier then is pushed to the back and when he screams “Go”, it swings to the front of the stage with Ramin on it, while real fire lights up at the very edge of the stage near the Orchestra pit and the lights go down. This was one of my favorite scenes in the musical. Even though I love the chandelier falling over the audience, this scene was spectacular and very impressive as well.

The second act begins with two people fully covered and hooded in Venetian carnival cloaks (a nice touch considering it’s an Italian production). They are standing in front of the mirror screen (the same that was covering the stage at the beginning of Act 1)) and light spots illuminate each of them briefly while they move closer to each other until they meet and show themselves as Firmin and Andre. Andre is wearing his usual tailcoat under the cloak (no skeleton costume), but Firmin reveals a pink bow gown. They leave the stage laughing and happy, the mirror screen opens and reveals the empty auditorium with the chandelier lowered and Meg seated on the floor below it, wearing a monkey music box costume and pretending to be playing the cymbals. Although cool, I didn’t understand why she would be wearing this specific costume. As for the lower chandelier, it is obvious that the Masquerade ball is the inauguration of the new chandelier, as it is raised during the celebrations. There is no great staircase in this production, but in the book, the Masquerade happens in the Grand Foyer and in real life, it usually happened in the auditorium (they would remove all the seats and have wood planks covering the floor to protect the carpets). The ensemble enters the stage one by one, all of them wearing Venetian cloaks and masks in different colors. They are all dancing with mannequins dressed similarly and as they dance, they look like real people, because they move their heads to face the audience, just like the actors. The ones not wearing Venetian cloaks for Masquerade are Andre who took his down at the beginning), Firmin, who is in the pink ball gown, Madame Giry in her usual black costume and a mask, Meg in her Monkey outfit, Raoul in a tailcoat and a silver mask (which he takes off almost immediately) and Christine, who is wearing a beautiful off the shoulder cream satin gown, that reminds me a lot of Chirstine’s wedding dress in the 2004 movie.

At some point, part of the actors on the stage leave and stand in different parts of the auditorium with the audience, Firmin and Andre stand near the first row almost in the middle, there are others that stand near the exits of the auditorium and some in the boxes around the theatre. Christine and Raoul stand just in the middle of the stage and gold and silver confetti falls from the ceiling over the stage and the first few rows of the theatre while they sing Masquerade. It’s a visually very beautiful scene. Then comes Red Death. And I’ll say I was prepared to hate this scene because Maria Björnson’s extravagant, over-the-top Red Death is one of my favorite costumes in the show. In this version, the Phantom wears just a red velvet cape with a hood covering his face. On his hands, the Don Juan score. He looks very much like the figure of a reaper, like the original artwork of Edgar Allan Poe’s Red Death. Raoul and Christine immediately leave the stage. As the Phantom sings “Here I bring the finished score, Don Juan Triumphant!”, Andre approaches him to get the score, but Raoul comes running and prevents him from getting closer. People surround Red Death, he has his back to the audience at this moment and they rip off his cloak but there’s no one underneath it, the Phantom is gone.

Then, a spotlight illuminates Christine and someone all covered in black standing in the auditorium near the first row, inches from the audience and the Phantom takes off his hood and sings “Your chains are still mine; you belong to me!”. I was lucky to be seated front row once, just in front of where they stood. In fact, I noticed that as they both approach their positions, Raoul looks at them and tells them to stop and wait. It gave me the impression that Raoul left Christine in the care of this person, without knowing it was the Phantom, and he is as surprised as everyone else when he sees it’s in fact the Phantom. I already knew it would happen, because it was my last show, but it was incredible to see Ramin as the Phantom standing so close that I could actually touch him if I tried. Since Ramin wasn’t on the stage during this scene, his part was pre-recorded, with the exception of the very last line he sings to Christine.

Immediately after this scene, the auditorium is empty, except for Raoul sitting on the floor, looking bewildered. When he sees Madame Giry and calls her, she says “Monsieur, don't ask me. I know no more than anyone else”, he asks very calmly “That’s not true. You've seen something, haven't you?”. She then replies “I don't know what I've seen. Please don't ask me, Monsieur”. That’s when he stands up and shouts at her face “Madame, for all our sakes”. She then explains what she knows about the man locked in the cage of so many years ago. At this point, they have a background illuminated as the silhouette of a traveling fair, which reminds me of Love Never Dies Phantasma. I like these small details connecting both stories.

The second manager’s scene shows that at this point everyone is on edge, Firmin and Andre are annoyed with the whole O.G. thing, as well as Carlotta’s antics and also at Raoul's permanent presence at the Opera house barking orders. Christine is behind Raoul with the Don Juan score in her hands. She has an aqua dress with small roses embroidered. It was my least favorite of her costumes, to be honest. It wasn’t ugly and I believe it was period-appropriate, it just didn’t stand out to me. Carlotta kept challenging Christine the whole time (while Raoul just stood there like an idiot) and at some point, Christine couldn’t stand anymore and came face to face with Carlotta while singing “How dare you! You evil woman! How dare you!”. After the Phantom’s new note brought by Madame Giry, Christine seems very distressed, especially after Raoul suggests having her as bait to catch the Phantom minutes after assuring her that the managers couldn’t force her to sing. He even has the audacity to put both his hands on her shoulder while he sings “but remember we hold the ace”. This disturbed me way more than the candle thing with the Phantom during MOTN. 

While all of them are speaking at the same time, Christine stands up and is even more distressed with the whole situation, and finally collapses on her knees while pleading “Raoul, I'm frightened, don't make me do this. Raoul, it scares me, don't put me through this ordeal by fire. he'll take me, I know. we'll be parted forever. he won't let me go”. While she sings this, everyone in the room is looking at her, except for Raoul, he has his back to her, his hands resting on the manager’s table and he looks really annoyed and frustrated. Only when she starts singing “What I once used to dream I now dread. If he finds me, it won't ever end” he finally faces her but just stares like everyone else.  When she cries “and he'll always be there, singing songs in my head. he'll always be there, singing songs in my head.” Carlotta looks at Raoul and says “She is mad”. Only then does he finally kneels down near her and sings “You said yourself he was nothing but a man. Yet if he lives, he will haunt us till we're dead”. She then stands up and moves away from Raoul, and she sounds angry while singing Twisted every Way. Raoul comes closer to her, puts his hands on her shoulders to have her face him (again), and sings gently but very forcibly at the same time “Christine, Christine, don't think that I don't care, but every hope and every prayer rests on you now.”. He then holds her by the waist and leads her against her will to the auditorium (while the stage rotates again) and has her seated with the score. She just looks at him resigned.  She clearly doesn’t want to do it. Raoul just stands there, looking at her to make sure she won’t run away, and then shouts to no one in particular “So, it is to be war between us! But this time, clever friend, the disaster will be yours” and leaves the stage as Don Juan rehearsal starts.

The Don Juan rehearsal happens more or less the same way as the original, but instead of the piano just playing alone, it also spins on the stage. Monsieur Reyer was supposedly coordinating the rehearsal from behind the piano and at one moment, we see his arm raised, but when the piano spins, there’s nobody there. Chaos breaks loose as everyone starts to fight. The rehearsal scene is the other scene which is a bit restricted to people seated on the left side because the stage stops at an angle facing the right side of the audience too.

 As the violins start playing, Christine stands up and goes to the back while the stage rotates again. As she emerges on the front of the stage (that finally stops rotating), she has her cloak and is holding a single red rose. She walks towards the edge of the stage and in the background, we see the silhouette of the people fighting in slow motion during rehearsal, throwing chairs and things like that, a total mess. Then the graveyard backdrop falls, and Christine is alone on the stage as snow starts to fall and we hear the bells. There is no Daae mausoleum, which never really made sense to me, as they weren´t rich. She sings a good part of the song kneeling down in front of the conductor, as if in front of a simple grave or headstone. She even has the rose resting on the ground as she sings. When she finishes (her Wishing is fantastic) and is ready to leave, the Phantom with raven wings appears illuminated by a single spot behind the backdrop while singing Wandering Child. Christine seems totally mesmerized by the vision of him as an Angel, she sings back to him on her knees with her arms raised, as in prayer, and starts moving towards him when he sings “yet your soul obeys”. As he starts singing “I am your Angel of Music”, he rises from the ground.

The whole time, the Phantom is very aware of Raoul’s presence and becomes more agitated and angrier by the minute. When Raoul manages to shake Christine out of her trance, it culminates with the Phantom fully rising to the sky, maybe 10 meters or more from the ground, and instead of the pitiable fireballs from the original production, he commands lighting and very loud thunder effects. At the very end, he shouts “So be it! Now let it be war upon you both!” and flies down as to attack Christine and Raoul while a thunder sound explodes loudly, and the stage goes dark. That was another favorite scene of mine. Say what you want about it, I’ve always had this canon of the Phantom as a black-winged Angel, so to see my idea turned into reality on the stage by my favorite Phantom was truly incredible.

We are then back to the stage of the Opera house, Raoul, Andre, Firmin and the chief of the Gendarmerie are on the stage and the Gendarme with the gun is in a box, with the audience, instead of the orchestra pit.  The Chief of the Gendarmerie shouts, “Are the doors secure?” and someone replies back “secure” only once, there’s no sound of slamming doors from all around the auditorium, which makes way more sense, because soon after, the Phantom sings “Let the audience in”, which would be impossible with all the doors closed.

 As they leave the stage, the revolving stage shows the silhouette of the actors in Don Juan from the backstage until it fully rotates and stops facing the audience. The backdrop falls and it is very similar to the one in the original production. Piangi’s Don Juan outfit is somewhat similar too. Passarino’s outfit is different from the stage musical though. The first time I saw an image of this scene, I absolutely hated it, I’m so used to the black hooded cloak that I couldn’t understand the yellowish-brown cloak and big hat. But it makes sense with Passarino’s outfit, that it’s about the same color. So, when Don Juan changes his red cloak and hat with Passarino, it makes sense to have the Phantom dressed as so. The more I watched the show, the less it bothered me. There is really no right or wrong, this scene doesn’t even exist in the book, only in ALW’s version. At least it makes more sense than the outfit he wears in the 2004 movie when he doesn’t even try to disguise himself.

Christine’s outfit reminds me of Emmy’s outfit in the movie, and she even has the basket. When the Phantom comes out singing, it is the voice of Piangi that we hear. It is supposed to sound like the Phantom mimicking Piangi’s voice to perfection. This had me very confused when I first listened to the audio from the first show my friend sent me. I knew it didn’t sound a bit like Ramin, but at the same time, it was supposed to be him singing and my brain was so confused. Only when he starts singing “Past the point of no return -no backward glances (…)” it shifts to Ramin’s voice. I believe that’s the exact moment when Christine realizes it’s him and not Piangi. She even looks at Raoul at this point.

This scene is very interesting because Erik acts as if very much in control while he is singing, but as soon as Christine is singing, he looks very nervous and even terrified. He sits awkwardly and doesn´t know what to do with his hands, they are shaking, and Christine acts very provocatively and touches him a lot. By the time she sings “In my mind, I've already imagined our bodies entwining defenseless and silent”, she has her leg almost on top of him, and after “And now I am here with you: no second thoughts, I've decided, decided”, she is already seated across the bench facing him, while he seems even more nervous, seated facing the audience.  By the “Past the point of no return -no going back now (…)” she forces him to look at her by holding both his hands, and when she sings “When will the flames, at last, consume us?” they both stand up, she leans her back on him, they are both still holding hands. He slowly sits down again, bringing her to sit on his leg while they both sing “Past the point of no return the final threshold, the bridge is crossed, so stand and watch it burn. We've passed the point of no return”.

The whole scene is very sexy. At this point, she actually tries to kiss him, but he pushes her away and moves to the very end of the bench, opposite her. He then takes off the hat revealing himself on stage. Everyone gasps, including Christine, but I believe she is shocked because she wasn’t expecting him to show himself like that. The stage is invaded by the police, the managers, Madame Giry, and Meg. Raoul immediately jumps from box 5 to the stage and tries to reach the Phantom, but Christine prevents everyone from getting near him. He starts singing All I Ask of You reprise, very softly, looking at the floor and fiddling with his hands. At that moment, I think he believed it was his last chance to win her willingly, he is very vulnerable, and there are lots of people pointing guns at him, but he keeps seated, the way he sings is truly heartbreaking, it is a pleading, his last chance to be happy. He then stands up and puts the ring on her finger and she betrays him, pulling his mask and wig. His scream is painful, and he just catches her and flees the stage with her under his cloak.  Piangi is not dead (which I appreciate because his death is pointless). We see Piangi in the background, on his feet, being helped by two men while Carlotta cries out his name.

Firmin is hysterical shouting “We are ruined Andre, ruined”. He is holding a lantern. Andre faces him and holds the lantern too. He shakes his head in an affirmative way, silently telling Firmin that there is only one thing they can do. They both release the lantern, initiating a fire that ultimately destroys the theatre. I believe they did it seeking for some kind of insurance. I prefer this to the idea of the Phantom being responsible for all the destruction.

Madame Giry calls Raoul and leads him to the same staircase near the orchestra pit from where we see Erik and Christine descending in the journey to the lair during the title song. She doesn’t go with him. Meg is not with them either.   

The scene changes to the Phantom and Christine in the gondola, on their way to his lair, and he is totally unhinged at this point. His humor shifts from totally devasted (and almost crying) to very angry and violent. Christine is still wearing Aminta’s outfit. Erik hands her a veil and a wedding dress, but she never gets to change. He doesn’t sing “That fate, which condemns me to wallow in blood has also denied me the joys of the flesh. This face, the infection which poisons our love” angrily as in the 25th anniversary, he sings very softy, almost as if he is about to cry. The same happens when he sings “This face, which earned a mother's fear and loathing. A mask, my first unfeeling scrap of clothing”, it is all very shy and sad until the “scrap of clothing” part, when he touches his face in disgust and sings these last few worlds more harshly.

Christine sings “This haunted face holds no horror for me now” and he looks at her almost hopeful, but then she says “It's in your soul that the true distortion lies.” And he shakes his head in disbelief. But then he senses Raoul’s presence, puts his hand over Christine’s mouth, and says “Wait! I think, my dear, we have a guest!”.

Raoul is crawling from the lake and the Phantom pulls him inside by his hair, throws him on the ground, towers over him with his feet on each side, and slowly bends over Raoul while singing “And now my wish comes true, you have truly made my night!”. Raoul seems as terrified as Christine and manages to crawl away from him, hiding near the bed. The Phantom then grabs Christine (sometimes the Phantom would grab her by the neck, but not always. Not my favorite part) and Raoul starts to plead for him to free her until Erik says “be my guest” and releases her. He always looks at his hand, as if he regrets his action. Christine runs to Raoul and they both embrace each other until Erik comes and puts the lasso around his head. He then climbs on the bench and pulls Raoul about 1 meter from the ground. This scene is very impressive, and I believe that’s the reason why Raoul is shirtless because we can’t see any harness and still, he is literally hanging by his neck. Of course, there’s a trick here and if you are close enough, depending on where you are sitting, you can understand how they are able to do this scene, but it is still way more impressive than the original and makes the whole situation much more dramatic, as we see Raoul struggling to breath for a good time.

On the last Sunday matinee, the mechanism to raise Raoul didn’t work, so his feet were on the ground the whole scene. It actually took a bit for Ramin to realize it wouldn’t work (he tried more than once). To compensate, he was way more aggressive and gave Raoul a really hard time. I have to say that from the moment Erik and Christine arrived at the lair, he looked already defeated. He knew he lost his last chance during Don Juan. We could see on Ramin’s face and body language that he knew he ruined everything. It was very clear, especially at one point while he sat on the side of the gondola and looked at Christine trying to free Raoul, but even before that. He had nothing else to lose at this point, he was literally fighting for any paltry crumbs. That’s his state of mind when he sings “You've passed the point of no return”

Christine furiously replies “Angel of Music, you deceived me. I gave my mind blindly.” At that, he approaches her like a predator, lifts her chin with one finger, and says very slowly and menacingly “You try my patience. Make your choice!”. Christine is shaking and crying while this happens. He then moves away from her. She looks at him, and then at Raoul struggling and kisses the Phantom after singing her lines. During the second kiss, she touches his deformity. He doesn’t touch her during the first kiss, during the second one, he puts his hand over hers. In some of the shows, he was the one to break the kiss. In others, it was she who ended it, but it was always him that moved away from her, totally overwhelmed, and crying, touching his lips. At this moment, he looks at Raoul, hanging limp and Christine follows his gaze. When she realizes that Raoul looks lifeless, she tries to swallow a sob. They both look at each other. She doesn’t move, she just keeps still staring at the Phantom with tears in her eyes. He looks from her to Raoul, shakes his head, he is still touching his lips as he approaches Raoul, looks at her again, pulls him down, and yanks the lasso from his neck while singing “Take her, forget me, forget all of this. Leave me alone, forget all you've seen”. Raoul has hardly any strength left to move. The Phantom brings the gondola to near where they are, and Christine practically drags Raoul into it and he collapses in the boat.

As they leave, the Phantom is the one who collapses on his knees, crying with the veil on his hands. The Monkey starts to play. Erik takes the music box from the bench at the foot of the bed and puts it on the ground next to him and starts singing Masquerade. In some of the shows, Ramin’s voice broke (on purpose) when he sang “Hide your face so the world will never find you”. He then senses Christine, but he never looks back at her, I think he knows it is pointless, but he sings “Christine, I love you” anyway. She is crying too, so she leaves the ring on the bench near the bed (where the monkey was) and leaves. He looks at the monkey very sadly and only then, looks back and reaches for the ring. He puts the ring on his finger, holds the veil again, and rocks like a child, crying, while she and Raoul sing on their way out. He then stands up and sings “You alone can make my song take flight. It's over now, the music of the night”.

That’s when he hears the mob coming. He sits on the bed and half covers himself while crying and rocking. Madame Giry arrives at his lair and sees him. They both look at each other and his face is incredibly sad. They both reach for each other with their hands from afar. The mob comes closer. She silently tells him to hide. He lies down and covers himself with the bed sheet. The mob arrives and Madame Giry points in the opposite direction, to give him time. When they finally notice something moving under the sheets, an armed Gendarme points the gun to the bed and pulls the sheet, but they find only his mask. The Phantom is gone. Meg takes the mask and gives it to Madame Giry and the spotlight illuminates it on her hand instead of Meg’s. I really enjoyed this change, because it clearly shows that they were indeed friends, and it makes more sense if you think that in Love Never Dies she admits she helped him escape.  

And that was it. I love this production very much, all the changes were very clever, and even the ones some people found tacky, I enjoyed seeing them live. The show as a whole works very well and it is still visually beautiful. I have to say I never had a clear view of the Phantom’s deformity, despite having sat in the first row twice. Even the one white eye, I only noticed after checking my curtain call photos. Ramin said he was practically blind from that eye due to the contact lens. Considering that most people didn’t notice it, I wish they would just disregard this detail. 

[dragonflylady77]

10 songs on repeat

I was tagged by @forever-fixating

first 10 songs on your "on repeat" playlist + tag 10 people let's go:

Main Title Theme - Westworld (Ramin Djawadi) - I have been listening to the Westworld soundtrack when I write as well as when I read lately.

2. About You Now (Sugababes) - Used that one to write 2 harringrove fics of late

3. COMA (Stella Sadie) - song about performative activism and racism by a young artist from AZ. She is amazing.

4. Deutschland (Rammstein) - my Vecna song

5. Comfort (Nicholas Galitzine)

6. Buttons (The Pussycat Dolls) - it was mentioned in a firstprince fic I read (stripper Alex I think) and I kept it playing while I read the fic.

7. Separate Ways (Journey) - such a harringrove song...

8. Paint It Black - Westworld (Ramin Djawadi) - that one I love love love

9. You Got it (Welshly Arms) - I wrote a harringrove fic based around that song

10. Feel It Still - Purple Hearts soundtrack (Sofia Carson) - I know the movie is problematic but I love it and Nick looks hella hot in it.

opening the tags to anyone who wants to do it cos i'm tired and I can't brain.

[marvelmaniac715]

This is an appreciation post for the actor Ramin Karimloo. I first discovered him through Anastasia, then my life was forever changed by his portrayal of the Phantom of the Opera at the 25th Anniversary concert.

Sure, he’s handsome, but what I admire most about him is his voice. I can only describe his singing voice as it being like your brain is wrapped in a warm blanket, I don’t know what it is but something about his singing sends chills down my spine and automatically makes me smile.

I haven’t even touched on his acting ability, god, the man is versatile. He’s been in Parade, Anastasia, Phantom, even Les Miserables. He can make any character sympathetic. Go on, name a character that you think is irredeemable, I bet Ramin Karimloo could have you sobbing and lamenting that character’s fate in just two hours. That’s what he did for me with the Phantom of the Opera. I genuinely sobbed when Christine left him at the end, no other performer, despite them all being incredible in their own rights, has ever made this happen to me.

This post isn’t enough to explain how amazing this guy is. He’s released his own music and is currently preparing to tour with the Italian production of The Phantom of the Opera - in both Italian and English. Just, google him, read his Wikipedia page. Listen to him sing on YouTube. If you haven’t heard of him before, I’m certain your life will be changed just as mine was.