#royally arrogant

[mike-tango-golf]

The Fall of Icarus, LAURENT de LA HYRE (French, 1606-1656)

Oil on canvas

[befuddled-calico-whump]

Imagine a spoiled royal, heir to the throne, part of a powerful bloodline that gives them "divine right to rule". They're raised to be cruel, and told their heritage puts them above everyone else.

And then one day, it's revealed before the entire court that it's all a lie. The royal was switched at birth with the child of a servant. The real heir has been serving in the palace all this time, unaware of their birthright. Maybe they're even someone the faux-royal had been particularly cruel to all their lives.

The ruling family is quick to push out the false heir---blood is more important to them than any illusion of family---and welcome the servant with open arms.

Maybe the false heir is banished from the kingdom they were raised to rule. Maybe they're imprisoned so the truth can never come out. Maybe they're made a servant, now at the beck and call of someone they'd thought beneath them.

Does the true heir take pity on them, or do they seek vengeance from years of abuse? Does the royal family have any regrets, or have they always been cold, only concerned with holding power? What do the servants and commoners do, now that the arrogant "heir" has lost all power and protection?

[goofy-goobers-r-us]

Arrogance

A homestuck creepypasta

Concept and story created by me

Arrogance design by: @disintegore

Note: I won't be doing the typing quirks and any pester logs or conversations the characters have are plain typing styles as to make it easier for some readers to understand especially if those struggle at reading said typing quirks

Every troll knows of her imperious condescension... The empress of Alternia.... One who believed in the chance of having the troll race a chance to grow... A calculated dictator with nothing but vanity, utter corruption and the very example, of what is wrong with what we stand for as royalty; as Fuchsias and Violets, as the very idea of what a highblood is to be.

I was molded by that very arrogance, that very utter corruption that has not only been shown from her actions but rather this entire wretched planet. It is a plague I will continue to exterminate.

As long as I can remember I've come and go. I've removed those unfit of such rich blood and I fear again my work isn't over or ever will be. Many could possibly have deemed my judgements unfitting or undeserving but in my very eyes in how I see things, I have a different vision that cannot be comprehended by all.

This game that has been happening has simply given me more work to do, and I sense... A new victim has come to take the step.

YOU ARE; ERIDAN AMPORA

You stand in your respiteblock. You are a SEA DWELLER. A sub-race of troll distinct by commoners. A caste that which rules over the entire species. However.. Ruling just simply isn't enough for you. You kinda just maybe sorta have a huge genocidal complex with an ego so huge it's sorta a miracle that some of those can even tolerate you.

Though recently you can't shake off this feeling.. As of recently you've been feeling cold. A different kinda cold though. The kinda cold you can't shake off no matter what and you've also been hearing what sounds like a strange tune. Sometimes that tune gets kinda quiet, then loud, then quiet again... Recently though that said quietness isn't as present. What could that mean? Well.. For now you bother your moirail.

caligulasAquarium [CA] began trolling cuttlefishCuller [CC]

CA: glub glub

CC: glub!

CA: hm

CC: what!! What is it!!

CA: what!?

CC: it'd be nice if you can just tell me what's on ur mind already

CA: well I'm not sure if you'd wanna hear it..

CC: I would actually. We're moirails we're supposed to talk to each other

CA: well you wouldn't exactly like it considering it's to do with my agenda and I don't think you like. or any of my agendas at all really.

CC: are you really fretting over ANOTHER one of your contraptions.

CC: your plots to kill land dwellers just never works out and everytime you DO wanna make a contraption it's just some piece of junk.

CA: well all military masterminds never give up. 7th times the charm or whatever the saying goes.

CC: I just feel like you know its wrong and yet you don't care!

CA: idk why I have to explain this to you this is important to me I feel like that's enough.

CA: especially for our kind. even you don't get that

CC: We aren't better than everyone else. And if you're REALLY as sickened as you say then how come you talk to trolls like Kanaya so damn often!!

CA: Well I never said she'd be excluded from what I have for my plans.

CA: Even if she's someone I tolerate she's just still another land dweller. She's nicer than other ones but she still is someone to be aware of

CC: I don't get how you can say that. I feel like you should still think about the fact they are your friends!!

CA: well this Is all just military tactics that's all it ever is!

CC: they're still ur friends. you really think they're that beneath you???

CC: you especially still like talking to them. I wish you'd stop pretending that you didn't. we both know that.

CA: we all know in history some conquerors just sway their enemies to get them later. simple.

CA: on some other note though. I still don't get why she ignores me. I feel like we had some sorta good rivalry there. good chemistry and all but idk what happened

CC: umm, idk sometimes people aren't as into the quadrant as the other one is yk.

CC: so you really think your feelings are in the dark for her?

CA: it doesn't really matter she's bored shitless of me for sure so perhaps I'm not as good as an adversary as I thought.

CC: THATS RIDICULOUS!! I'm sure any girl would be as lucky to have someone as DIABOLICAL as you for a kissmesis!!

CA: well thanks for thinking so.

CC: we should talk about our romantic aspirations more it's exciting!!!

CA: shrug

CC: Ah but you keep gossiping to your nubby horned bro so much! nothing for your dear sweet moirail...

CC: SPEAKING OF QUADRANTS! What about any red leanings... There some lucky lady or lucky fellow!??

CA: oh uh. God.

CC: TELL MEEEEEE. embarrassed so suddenly? Come on!

CA: alright fef this ain't any of ur damn business. I'll be back soon.

caligulasAquarium [CA] ceased trolling cuttlefishCuller [CC]

CC: aw man.. 38(

Well that was an emotionally draining conversation! Feelings and problems. You and this princess definitely splashed hard into the Moirail zone. Maybe some way or another you can reveal those true feelings to her someday.

Feferi: Get a beverage

Geez. ANOTHER emotionally draining conversation. Some high maintenance moirail alright. Tonight might be a good idea to talk about your real feelings with the guy. For now... You need a sugary drink.

Eridan: This isn't right.

You were gonna have a sugary drink to chillax about everything but everything feels too off. You feel like you're being watched. Something is off. This isn't your usual overthinking antics about your relationships with your quadrant mates either. This is different. You feel a sense of dread. It's. So. Cold. Why is it so cold. That tune why is it always present. Whats happening.

Such foolishness. That's all it ever is isn't it.

CA: who's there?! I feel. You. This. Feeling. It's you. It always was you.

You're just like her. That same behavior. That same vanity. It's always the same, that behavior never truly fades does it...

CA: what are you talking about.

You feel strange. You feel physically weaker you feel like you can't move your body unless it's just you shaking in fear. Everything around you looks so dark.

You don't have to be afraid child. I will rid you of your arrogance. This is all a dream. That's all it ever is... Your rest will come soon.

CA: I am above them, I am. It's always for us for her. For me.

Your very actions, your behaviors... It goes against everything we have ever stood for. Your arrogance and especially her existence are why I have been born. I have come to cleanse this planet. And I will start with you, for I am. The No More Arrogance

CA: I don't understand it. Why.

Be not afraid child. You won't have the same fate as she will. This will make everything okay. For the better. An eternal rest... This is all it ever is...

You see a glimpse of its face. But why... Does it look so much like her... It's tall and imposing figure. It's long hair as sharp looking as a blade. Those horns... With what looks like a halo connecting between the two. It's sharp claws and, that sign on it's chest..

CA: What is going to. Happen. I still have to tell her. I don't understand. What are you.

You won't go out in only fear child. Just close your eyes for me.

As it finally approaches you, you see the creature in its entirety. You feel as if you're losing all sight... Your body finally feels as if its collapsing.

Goodnight, sweet sweet child. You can finally rest easy... You will be okay. You have nothing to fear.

You feel.. So tired.. Your heart is slowing down. slowly.. And slowly... It bumps slower... Till it eventually will stop completely. Your eyes are closing.

Eridan: Have your final dream

CC: Eridan. Eridan. Eridan!

CA: Huh?!

CC: You okay? You kinda blacked out.

CA: I... Yeah. Yeah. I'm okay.

CC: that's good!!

CC: Though since you're fine I have something to tell you

CA: oh.. What.. What is it

CC: alright! But this is weird to say!

CA: I'm sure it'll be alright..

CC: When we had that talk of red feelings. You know how I asked who it was. I never told you mine

CC: It was you.

CA: wait. Really..?

CC: Mhm.

CA: That's.. Wow. Me too. Me too.

CC: Well then I guess that makes us..? 38)

CA: Yeah.. I'd like that

As you finally rest, you feel... Comfort. Even if you're slowly dying... You can't help but have a feeling of euphoria. Guess you finally got outta the moirail splash zone.

Eridan Ampora - Dead

cuttlefishCuller [CC] began trolling caligulasAquarium [CA]

CC: WOOOOOOEEEWWW

CC: I'm in!!

CC: Sollux finally came through and.. I believe the full chain is now complete!!

CC: Eridan?

CC: Eridan!

CC: Well maybe you're away.

CC: Since you are. I would hope you at least read this when you are able too

CC: since everything has happened and we have left everything behind

CC: and you can't pose any danger to those people you always planned too

CC: I don't think its necessary for me to be your moirail anymore.

CC: I'm sorry eridan.

CC: looking after you has just been exhausting. and it took a toll on me.

CC: It might be better for both of us

CC: as just. regular friends

CC: ...

CC: I'm sorry. I have to go help sollux now!!

cuttlefishCuller [CC] ceased trolling caligulasAquarium [CA]

Curious. How curious indeed. No matter. You can finally rest easy now child. Sweet dreams..

Whatever signs of the creature being there are now gone. The only thing that remains there is what looks like Eridan sleeping... Peacefully. Arrogance is gone now.

[mediumgayitalian]

“You need to leave.”

The glare the physician levels at him is slower than usual. He takes a moment to process the stiff words Nico directs at him, blinking several times — his normally clear blue eyes look almost cloudy — before huffing and rolling his eyes.

“This is not your House, Your Highness. And further it is not your infirmary. The only one with authority to order someone out would be me.”

Now Nico is the one glaring. That is a lie, and a bold one. He could name at least a dozen people who could order Will out of the infirmary, and he says as much, thankful he wore his heeled boots today so he has an extra inch of height on Will today with which he can stare down his nose disdainfully.

“Feel free to call them, then, Your Highness,” says Will irritably, “but in the meantime, get out.”

The doctor is swaying on his feet. There are bags under his bloodshot eyes, and his hands shake. His normally full, glossy hair is limp and lifeless. He’s as grey as the stone floors. It takes him four full seconds — Nico counts — to react to the retching of one of the dozens of bedridden, green-faced patients, and another four seconds to will himself to move towards them. He doesn’t even bother looking back at Nico before he turns, let alone bowing or even ordering him out one last time. On his fourth step, he stumbles, barely managing to catch himself before sprawling on the ground. His feet drag with every step.

Nico turns around and walks out.

———

“My Lord — a word?”

Immediately after asking, Nico begins to spiral. He is not sure, still, what his place is in House Apollo. He has asked for asylum — Lord Apollo has granted it. Graciously, even, perhaps also fielding tensions from his father. He has provided for Nico suites for high ranks, preserving his title despite his asylum, and seems, on the whole, to be a rather laidback man.

But Nico has read his history books, and has studied politics his whole life. He knows the danger that can rest behind the King’s eyes, know to what extent he is capable. Knows how his pride drives him and offense makes him deadly.

To Nico’s great relief and in credit to the gods, the King only smiles brightly.

“My Prince!” he greets, clapping Nico’s shoulder enthusiastically (so much so that Nico would be sent sprawling, if he had not begun to accustom himself to the…enthusiasm, of House Apollo as a whole). “Please, come sit with me, no need for excessive formality.”

Nico inclines his head, taking the chair to Apollo’s left — he would never dare the right, aware enough to be wary of the implications. As soon as he sits, though, the carefully-practiced script he planned vanishes from his mind, and the minutes stretch, silent and uncomfortable.

“Your physician overworks himself.”

He blurts it just as Apollo opens his mouth, and then immediately wants to crawl under the table. He is thankful, not for the first time, for the length of his hair, knowing it hides his flaming ears.

What a foolish thing to say! Apollo must think he has no decorum.

Luckily, Apollo only laughs; a great, loud sound, one Nico can only describe as merry.

“Who, William? You needn’t worry yourself, dear boy. He’s been married to his work since he was a child, long before he was old enough to stitch a suture. I’ve not seen him outside of the East wing in months, and still it will be a few more before I catch even a glimpse. He is more reclusive than he realizes.” Apollo frowns. “Why have you brought him up, son of Hades? Has he offended you?”

Yes. He is always offending me. I believe ‘offensive’ may very well be the most natural setting for him — how, again, is he a doctor?

Nico swallows the thoughts down, and instead assures, “No, no, of course not.” His hands twitch. It takes another long silence for him to admit, “I only mean that I saw him this morning, and he appeared — well, frankly, he looks ill, My Lord. Sickly.”

Apollo hums, glancing down at a stack of letters in front of him. He must have been working before Nico interrupted him.

“I confess that I haven’t spoken with the doctor in some time, but I trust his judgement, my boy. He knows his craft. If he is unwell, he will handle himself. It is sickness’ season, after all. He’s likely only tired.”

Nico bites back a response. Clearly, the King does not understand the gravity of the situation. Does he not realize how dire things may be for him if his head physician falls deeply, truly ill? Nico is loathe to admit it, but Will is among the most talented men Nico has ever met. Whatever skill Nico knows in his swordfighting, Will knows tenfold in his sciences. The kind of healing he provided for Nico should not be possible. He’s beginning to understand that Will does not care what is and isn’t possible.

Including, he thinks, what is within his own limits.

“Very well, My Lord,” he says, bowing his head. “Thank you for your time.”

Apollo waves him off good-naturedly, returning to his letters. Nico leaves with a deeper frown on his face than when he came in.

———

The next time he braves the infirmary, it’s significantly less crowded.

It’s been a couple days. (Not that he’d intended. He’d walked by the infirmary doors no less than twenty-two times after speaking with King Apollo, at a complete loss for what to say, genuinely considering writing to his friend at House Athena to get her strategic input. In the end he’d refrained.)

By now, most of the beds are once again empty. A few ill people rest, either sleeping or entertaining themselves quietly. The general air of panic and chaos seems to have finally ceased as the sick season approaches its end.

Will, tending to an older patient — one of the senior maids, if Nico is not mistaken, who frowns at him in worry — sways on his feet.

“William,” he calls, all trepidation immediately fleeing his mind. Alarm bells ring in his head. When Will spares him a glance, he looks ghastly.

“Doctor William,” he corrects belatedly. There’s none of the usual annoyance in his voice, absolutely no bite. He doesn’t even roll his eyes.

Nico’s throat goes dry.

“Will,” murmurs the patient, placing a wrinkled hand on his arm. “Darling, you look unwell. Perhaps you should rest.”

Will hesitates, and for a moment Nico’s heart swells with hope. He won’t listen to Nico, but this woman acts familiar with him. Maybe she can convince him to sit, to breathe, to sleep.

(In the back of his mind, a voice screams at Nico to turn around and walk away. What is he doing? Will is the closest thing Nico has ever had to an enemy. He is stubborn, he thinks he knows everything, he kind of does know everything, he has horrible manners, he smiles at everyone, all the time, except Nico, whom he huffs at and rolls his eyes and yet touches very gently, even when Nico wrenches himself away. He is confusing and odd and yes, reclusive, even moreso than Nico. He constantly addresses Nico with the kind of sarcasm and disregard for status that would get him killed in stricter Houses — stricter houses like the one from which Nico hails. He is the pinnacle of impertinence.)

(And, yet.)

“Will.” It is genuinely worrying how slowly the physician responds. Nico’s heart begins to pound, and when Will lurches suddenly forward Nico darts out to steady him. The maid watches them with wide eyes. “Will, when was the last time you rested?”

Will doesn’t respond. His grip on Nico’s arm is worryingly loose, and for someone his height, he rests lightly against Nico’s frame. His eyes are glassy and far away.

“Will? William, answer me.”

“‘M — fine,” Will slurs, and then his eyes roll back into his head, and he slumps into Nico’s arms.

———

Thankfully, some of the colour comes back to Will’s face as he sleeps.

Nico had ended up putting him down on one of the infirmary cots. He hadn’t know what else to do — he has no idea where Will resides, whether it’s inside the palace or out, or whether King Apollo was being serious and he really does live somewhere in the infirmary. He had no idea whom even he could ask. As it was, he was barely able to lay Will down in a cot with the maid’s help, weakened with illness as she was — Will was limp as a ragdoll. For a moment, even, Nico was terrified he was dead. He certainly looked it.

In the thirty some hours (not that Nico has been counting), some colour has returned to his cheeks. His breathing is less laborious, quick, tiny puffing snores making his curly hair flick up and down with every breath. Sometimes he mutters in his sleep, to mumbled and quiet for Nico to make out.

He has stayed, for the most part, in a rickety wooden chair by Will’s side. He’s not sure why. His backside aches. There are nurses on duty, far more qualified and competent than he, who can monitor him easily. One nurse, even, with strangely coloured hair, walks into the infirmary five hours after Will passes out and immediately notices him on the cot, sighing loudly.

(“You need to take better care of yourself,” she’d whispered, running her fingers through his hair. Nico squashed down the sudden onslaught of bitterness that drowned his heart for no reason, nodding as she looked up and flashed him a small smile. “Thank you, Your Highness.”

There was no sarcasm in her use of the title. It startled him, which was disturbing. When had he come to expect it? And worse still, when did he come to accept it, Will’s mouthiness?)

When Will finally wakes, it is slowly. It matches the rise of the sun, Nico notices, in the languid way he stretches his limbs, the lethargic blinking of his long eyelashes. His brow furrowed when those blue eyes finally make contact, tilting his head as if he’s not sure he’s truly awake.

“��Your Highness?”

The sudden surge of rage is as frightening as it is comforting. He doesn’t know where it comes from. It’s familiar.

“You,” he seethes, “have endless nerve.”

He’d meant it as an insult, evidenced by his scathing tone. But Will preens.

“Thank you, Your Highness.”

“That was not a compliment! You collapsed in my arms, William! You were — greyer than stone! You slept for thirty hours!”

“Oh, good.”

Nico falters. (Which is unfortunate, because he had a good lecture rolling, something his tutors would have been proud of.)

“Good?”

“It was forty-two, last time.” He has the gall to look offended, huffing in Nico’s direction. “I wish you would leave well enough alone, Your Highness. I’m certain I would have persevered through the end of the season’s peak.”

“Through the end of the — you were dying!”

To his great distress, Nico finds himself choked up at the idea. He allows himself, fleetingly and privately, to acknowledge the fact that he does not want Will to die. In fact, he never wants to see Will close to that unwell ever again. He much prefers it when the doctor is rolling his eyes at him, turning away before Nico can see his smile, or pacing the infirmary floors as he rants about sanitary practices and organisms too small to see. He prefers Will when he is intense, in anger or in passion or in that bright, beaming smile of his, not…whatever he was. Dull. Worn down.

And then he takes those thoughts and stuffs them far into the recesses of his mind.

“I was not dying,” Will insists, but he has the grace to appear at least a little chagrined. “Good gods, Your Highness, I’ve been studying medicine since I could read. I know my limits.”

“Do you.” Nico’s voice is bitter, and he glares at Will until he looks away. “Because I could have sworn that you lost consciousness mid-sentence. I barely caught you.”

Will coughs. The tips of his ears turn red. Nico ignores it.

“William,” he says instead.

“Doctor William.”

Despite his anger, Nico’s lips twitch up into a smile. There he is.

He refuses to correct himself, if only to deepen the lovely (oh, no) scowl on Will’s face. “William, I don’t believe you’re to be trusted alone in your infirmary. I shall be staying to supervise you.”

Several emotions flit across Will’s face at once.

First is annoyance. Clear, plain, and simple, it’s almost an old friend to Nico at this point. Will was annoyed with him the first day they met. He was annoyed the second time, seething, really, dragging Nico back to the sterile surgical suite to fix his torn stitches. He was annoyed when Nico first shouted at him, bewilderment at this random physician treating him like he was another resident of the palace, not the only son of Hades. He was annoyed, notably, the one time Nico came to the infirmary after spraining his wrist in sword fighting and, in Will’s words, “breathed too loudly.” The annoyance he expected.

The next is fear. This, he takes much less pleasure in. There’s something disturbing about the look, not just because Will seems, to him, fearless, but because it seems so out of place. What about this situation does Will have to fear?

The third emotion is puzzling, and Nico can’t quite determine what exactly it is. His first thought is trepidation, but that’s not exactly true. It’s gone quick enough that he doesn’t care to linger.

The final emotion — and this one he has no trouble identifying — is pure, incandescent rage.

“You will do no such thing,” Will says, voice clipped. “I believe I have already informed you about the mechanics of this infirmary, Your Highness. I will not be intimidated.”

Nico rests his foot on his knee, leaning back into the chair. He adopts his favourite expression he often uses to enrage his father — eyebrow raised, smirk quirking the corner of his mouth, smugness practically dripping from him.

“I’m surprised you even remember that, as dead as you were.”

“I remember just fine,” says Will coolly, “and I especially remember removing you from the premises, so frankly I am unsure why you’re here again, Your Highness. Not unlike a wart one has already had removed.”

Nico refuses to laugh.

“I’m here because you collapsed into my arms. Like a damsel.”

Finally — third time is the charm — Will’s face erupts in a fiery blush. His freckles practically glow, and satisfaction ripples through Nico from head to toe. He looks murderous. Nico wishes to freeze him in time long enough to commission a portrait, perhaps to hang right over the physician’s desk. To remind him of his idiocy.

“I am no damsel —”

“Regardless,” Nico interrupts, standing. He reaches out when Will attempts to stand after him, pressing his palm flat to his chest and pushing him back against the cot. A strange sound escapes Will’s throat, and he doesn’t attempt to move again. “I will be taking my leave. I’ll be back before dinner to make sure you’ve not left your bed until you’re cleared by your nurse.” He glances over at the nurse who’d walked in earlier, finding her already watching with a wide smirk. “And then I’ll be back again tomorrow, to supervise.”

“I hope you choke on your dinner,” Will spits. He looks positively venomous, moreso when Nico laughs at him. “I mean that, Your Highness.”

Nico leaves without a response. When he returns as promised, hours later, Will attempts to lob roasted zucchini into his hair. In House Hades, he would be arrested for his behaviour. In fact, should King Apollo witness the total disdain in which Will regards Nico’s authority, he might still be arrested. It is appalling. No one has ever gotten away with so much insubordination in Nico’s life.

And yet, strangely, he’s not sure that he minds.

———

more in this au

[kradeelav]

there is honest to goodness nothing like the quiet pleasure of drawing a really theatrical old man

wip

[wonder-worker]

Angelberga was a peculiarly prominent personality in manifold aspects of European politics [in the late 9th century. Born to the Supponid family of Italy, she married Emperor Louis II and had several opportunities to establish her position as an active and controversial player in the vicissitudes of her husband's reign]. She acted as Louis's regent, accompanied him on expansionary military campaigns in the south of the peninsula and represented him at [congresses, tribunals, and diplomatic negotiations]. Strikingly, she was also the beneficiary of a spectacular collection of charters. Almost one in seven of Louis II’s extant charters were issued in her favour. Angelberga’s conspicuous exploits in the field of charter acquisition did not diminish after the emperor’s death, and this helped her to maintain a position as a key power-broker in Italian politics, control of land [particularly monastic foundations] being a fundamental building-block of power in this period. In the interregnum following 875, during which Charles the Bald of West Francia and Karlmann of Bavaria fought to claim the succession to the heirless Louis, Angelberga herself conducted the negotiations and decided the loyalty of a major sector of the Lombard political community. She maintained this high profile until her death [having supported her son-in-law Boso's quest for power, endured a temporary exile, maintained the support of Pope John VIII, and founded the monastery of San Sisto in the city of Piacenza, where she probably ended her days sometime before 891].

-Simon MacLean, "Queenship, nunneries and royal widowhood in Carolingian Europe"

[syndrossi]

What would happen if one of the twins, most likely Jon calls Otto a servant during an argument. Whose side would Viserys take? Maybe Jon overheard Otto bad-mouthing Daemon and pouring poison in Viserys ears. Jon protested, Otto got sneery and haughty and Jon dropped the 'servant' bomb. What would everyone's reactions be. How would Alicent react to being reduced to a servant's daughter and how would her children. What about the court? Rhaenyra and her family? The rest of the Velaryons?

I mean, Otto is the member of a very proud house, so I doubt many lords would look kindly on an uppity young prince denigrating him, though they might dismiss it as Daemon's bad influence. Otto would probably be incredibly smooth about it, and take on an air of saintly patience/humility and profess to being a servant of the realm, young prince, there is no shame in that.

Not that there wouldn't be a few people cheering him on, but generally, an eight-year-old prince low in the succession acting like he's the better of a man who has spent decades serving two different Targaryen kings as Hand and is the father of the queen isn't going to cause many ripples beyond hurting Daemon's reputation by proxy.

[dirtyoldmanhole]

you ever sketch a pose and go hell fucking yes i nailed you on the first go

[kavalyera]

sorry not sorry but i’d love to make another ventrue oc based off of patrick bateman this clan has me in a chokehold i heard the words “arrogance” and “vampire” and i was like yes bitch sign me up

[phoenixcatch7]

Every time I go to hyrule castle I remember that video about the royal guard weapons and how they were shiekah tech created to mimic the master sword (and failed - they're powerful but brittle and no more effective against the calamity than anything else). And I just remember the little detail of the wings on the hilt. On the master sword, they face up when the blade points down. On the royal guard weapons, they face up when the blade points up.

And to me, that little detail is very indicative of what they thought about the hero and the cycle.

The wings face up when fi is at rest. Waiting. Sealing. Not lifted.

For them, their swords face up when they brandish them, when they raise them against their enemies, when they wave them around and cheer.

That's what they think the hero does. That's what they think they can replicate and take for themselves.

That's not what a hero does at all.

Sure, he spends a lot of time doing that, but it's a fraction of the whole. The hero does not do it for glory or pay or fame. He is kind. He helps everyone who asks. He gets things for little kids and listens to their stories and helps people find their pets and goes out of his way to leave the stranger a little happier them when they met. He spends hours crawling through mazes and enemies to find something he can use later.

He does not raise his sword in anger. The job is not done once the villain of the day is skewered on his sword. It needs to be sealed, the darkness pushed back until the next generations can take up the call. It's passing on the torch to yourself. The master sword must seal evil during those intervening centuries.

The heroes soul is one, by breath of the wild, long forged in faith and love and determination and the flames of war and loss. The curse of demise makes it so that only one strong enough to stand against it can push it back. The heroes soul is one that is pure. It's a long reset game, and everyone knows the way it plays out.

And under rhoam, hyrule believes it knows all there is to know about the hero and the cycle. It thinks that it can shove the pieces where it wants them, that with the aid of the ancient technology it can force the warnings of history to bend to it's desire. It thinks enough violence will solve the problem entirely. It makes the master sword mimics with the blades facing up.

And it gets it wrong.

The hero reduced to a silent weapon, a shadow of the royal family, the princess helpless and unable to act, unable to access her own power.

It tries to force the issue with manpower and restrictions and piling societal pressure on the children, and hyrule falls.

Immediately, zelda is able to unlock and channel the full extent of her power, she can make a plan and not have it dismissed, she sends link to safety and travels hyrule setting the parts of a constantly moving puzzle into place, she meets ancient spirits and talks with the master sword and seals ganon on her own for the century it takes for link to return.

When he does, rhoam does not order link to save the princess. He does not pile titles and restrictions and pressures on him. He asks him to save his daughter. The hero finally gets to act at his own pace, and he chooses kindness. He chooses to go out of his way to talk to people outside his station, to listen to kids stories and leave strangers a little happier than when they met. He gathers allies loyal out of trust and not forced respect for things he hasn't done yet.

By choosing kindness and not violence (though there is an incredible amount of both), link becomes able to defeat the calamity and save zelda and the kingdom. Zelda is able to guide him and trust him to come. By working together as respected equals, they save the world.

And afterwards, the master sword is returned to her pedestal, triumphant, blade down and wings raised high.

[fortune-maiden]

Noble Consort Jia: Someone has schemed against us!

Oh yes someone… *checks notes* was openly giving super duper extravagant gifts to officials, openly bragging about her son’s bright future, openly showing off his talents, openly flaunting her maiden clan’s influence, setting up fake assassination attempts to play the hero

“Someone” literally didn’t have to do anything in this case but casually remark on these incidents a few times

[befuddled-calico-whump]

cw: aftermath of whump, implied abuse, fantasy slavery, violence, manhandling.

based on this prompt by @howls-ghost

"Trite details bore me. I'll leave it to you to complete, and complete quickly," said Prince Acacius.

"I've had enough of your dimwitted blathering. See yourself to the door," said Prince Acacius.

"Remember your place," said Prince Acacius.

Laith was sick of it. Sick of the arrogant little brat prancing around the palace like he was already king. They hated Acacius and his cold, dismissive attitude. The spoiled twat didn't know a thing about running a kingdom, and wouldn't know humility if it bit him on the nose.

The only reason the country wasn't already in ruins was due to the competence of Laith and the rest of the high council. Even the regent, as good a man he was, was taken out of commission by Acacius, forced to keep the aloof young man at his side at all hours for supposed education. Not that Laith believed Acacius absorbed any of it. He was a horrid prince, and he'd make a horrid king.

And Laith intended to do something about it.

It started as something small and reasonable; a daydream about teaching the prince a lesson, of having him whipped for insolence, or beaten in the streets, or simply pushed off the balcony.

But none of those were realistic dreams, and none of those were enough. Acacius needed a punishment that would stick, something scarring, something humiliating.

The thoughts danced across Laith's mind through all their waking hours, turning sharper and more creative with every insult from the rotten prince.

But then, they thought, why bother with a mere punishment? Why not be rid of the arrogant heir for good? Death was too quick for his poisoned heart, but there were alternatives. Slavers in the West and enemies in the North, and either faction would jump at the chance to own the pretty prince. Should Laith's goal be realized, it would do more than sate their need for justice; it would spare the kingdom from a heartless ruler.

They'd lock him in a cell with no sunlight for a year. They'd remove his acrid tongue, put out his disdainful eyes, somehow they'd hurt him in a way that mattered.

They took their time making the arrangements; letters delivered in secret, coded messages, quiet plans and plots to cover the prince's upcoming disappearance. At last, the hour was drawing near. At last, Acacius would get all that he deserved.

But of course, Laith would have their fun with him first.

They came upon the royal in the dead of night. Laith had been making note of Acacius's movements, and by now they knew to expect the young man's midnight journey to the library. Too good to be seen there in daylight hours, when servants were dusting and lesser lords were reading. Too good to even peruse the shelves alongside those he deemed as unworthy.

Laith fell upon the prince as soon as he reached the library doors, wrapping their arm tight around a torso clad in a loose silk shirt, their other hand clamped over Acacius's mouth to dampen his startled cry. The prince made fearful noises beneath their hand, but there was no time to savor the sound. Laith knew they must move swiftly or risk alerting the night watch.

They slammed the prince's head into the heavy oak door behind him. Once, twice, and then their royal prisoner's struggling lessened. Laith forced him to the ground, stuffing a wad of cloth into his mouth and tying it in place with a cord. That same cord trailed down from the prince's head to wind around his wrists, then back up again to circle his throat, forming a makeshift collar and leash to better Laith's control of him. He tugged harshly at the rope, and the dazed prince stumbled to his feet, whimpering softly from behind the gag.

There was no haughtiness in his eyes, only something meek and fearful. It was nearly enough to make Laith second-guess their plans, but their memories of the man they knew Acacius to be strengthened their resolve.

They would not fall for this docile ruse. They knew the truth.

Laith delved deeper into the castle, making for one of the secret passages in the stone that would lead them outside the keep. There was a cottage at the edge of the woods, overlooking the river that ran alongside the castle's walls. A peasant girl had sighted it after Laith offered her a penny to find a covert location. It was perfect; well away from anyone who could hear them, and the river would make an easy path for the slavers' skiff.

They hauled Acacius into the cottage, unable to resist giving the prince a sharp kick in the back that sent him tumbling to the ground. The slavers weren't set to arrive until just before sunrise. Laith had nearly an hour to get revenge for every petty insult that had ever been flung their way.

Laith dropped a knee into the prince's chest, holding his head in place while he removed the gag.

Acacius's eyes were teary and pleading, but Laith refused to let the act sway them. If anything, it only fueled their fire. How dare this impudent brat act like this was unearned? Now safe behind a closed door, Laith let their fury burn, raining fists and kicks down on the prince's helpless form, relishing every muffled cry. No, they shouldn't be muffled. They wanted to hear Acacius plead for mercy.

"N-nnh please... Please don't," the shaky words left Acacius's throat with the balled-up cloth. Laith answered him with another blow, and the prince squeezed his eyes shut. When they opened again, there was a distant look to them, tears trickling from the corners.

No matter. Soon they'd be rid of him for good.

Small whimpers and gasps left Acacius's throat as Laith continued the beating, but aside from a few weak pleas, the prince didn't speak, or even look their way. Like he was only waiting for it to end. Their blows slowed, the enjoyment fading as the royal seemed to detach himself from the moment. Laith huffed. Even bound and beaten, Acacius was still ruining their day.

Ignoring the blank look on the prince's face, Laith drew their knife, cutting away Acacius's clothing. Even if that didn't get a reaction, it served the practical purpose of making things a shade easier on the slavers.

The prince lay very still, his breaths small and shaky as Laith removed the ruined clothing. And underneath the silk... Laith was unprepared for what was underneath the silk.

Old bruises covered Acacius's torso, scars layered beneath, some fresher than others. The wounds didn't stop there; more scars scattered the prince's legs, some framed in a sickly yellow-green.

"What is this?" Laith whispered, the question half-directed at themselves. Acacius didn't answer, staring up at the ceiling with eyes that looked glazed over.

Seeing another wound on their prisoner's shoulder, this one oddly shaped, Laith grabbed Acacius's upper arm and rolled him onto his stomach. The prince answered the action with a startled cry.

"N-no, please, please don't---"

"Shut up," Laith hissed, taking in the prince's back. It seemed the brat had been whipped before, and on more than one occasion by the looks of it. They couldn't say whether the dark feeling welling up in them was more akin to pity, or bitterness that they hadn't been able to witness the lashings themselves.

Starker than the whip scars was the image burned into Acacius's back. An intricate pattern, asymmetrical and varied in color, like its artist had begun months or even years ago and was still perfecting it. The newest mark was still a bright, skinless red, as if it had been smouldering mere hours ago.

Laith let out a disgusted sigh, turning their back on the sniveling prince. It seemed Acacius had been getting what he'd deserved for some time now, but it had done little to improve his attitude. Who had done this to him? Could it have been the regent? Why was pity seeping into them, like poison from a soured wound?

Acacius didn't deserve their pity. Wounded or not, he still paraded the palace ground like a bejeweled goose, hissing and biting at anyone he seemed lesser.

But why? came a small voice inside them. Why put on such an arrogant mask?

It didn't matter. Wounded or not, the prince should have better respected Laith and their peers.

There was a sharp rap on the door, and Laith pushed it open an inch to peer out into the darkness. A pale woman with a shaved head stood on the other side, wearing clothing that was clearly foreign, despite its simplicity.

"Here to collect your gift?" they said, and the woman smiled.

"Aye. The North'll pay a pretty penny for your little heir."

"Wonderful," Laith said, but the word felt insincere. They couldn't let themselves doubt their plans now, the deed was nearly done. They opened the door further. "Take him then. Let's have this over with."

Acacius lay still on the ground, though his hands were trembling. He'd ceased his begging and was now crying softly and hells, Laith couldn't stand to hear it.

They bent over the prince, grabbing a fistful of his hair and roughly stuffing the gag back into his mouth to muffle that damned pathetic noise.

"Take him," they said again, more insistently. "Take him and be gone."

"S'wrong with his back?"

"I don't know." Laith shook their head. "Take him."

"Not a word of me," they said. "You'll make a fortune off him, all I ask is my name and face remain unknown."

"Alright, alright." The woman seized the rope, the leash Laith had formed, and tugged on it, forcing the prince to his feet. Acacius's eyes were teary and pleading, but Laith turned their back on him.

"Your wish is my command," the woman chuckled, leading the prince towards the rocky shore, where her boat lay waiting. A sob escaped Acacius as he passed the threshold.

"Wait." Hells, what were they saying? They wanted nothing more to do with the royal. They needed him gone, but when the prince turned back to look at them, the flash of hope in his eyes wrenched in their gut.

Those damned eyes. Those haughty, arrogant, judging eyes.

"Remember your place," said Prince Acacius.

"Nevermind," Laith said quickly. "Go. Get him out of here."

The woman tugged on the leash, nearly causing the bound royal to stumble. Fresh tears wet Acacius's cheeks, but Laith looked away, pretended not to see.

They could pretend a lot of things. Surprise at the prince's sudden disappearance, sorrow and outrage at his captivity in the enemy North. For themselves, they'd pretend they were satisfied, that they'd never seen Acacius's scars.

And as they watched the skiff disappear on the dark waters of the river, they pretended they had no regrets.

[luxettenebra]

Revan was an insufferable, precocious little know-it-all of a kid. thankfully it was the Jedi who raised her, because she could've been so much worse

[duchessofostergotlands]

It would really help me out massively if people could just find out what a royal does before they message me. I’m not asking you to know the ins and outs of the 1917 Letters Patent or the Imperial Household Law. Just literally the absolute basics like “British royals can’t be partisan.” It seems like the bare minimum but somehow people still believe that it’s ok to decide someone is a bad royal without actually knowing what royalty is, and then they have to apparently inform me about it

[justiceburst]

akechi is genuinely really smart, but he's so extremely arrogant he assumes no one else could comprehend his genuis and therefore his plans are automatically sound and foolproof. this leads to him making bad plans that he never improves because he's unwilling to admit he could have not been perfect from the start, silly mistakes and oversights, unnecessary gloating, and generally underestimating everyone around him to the point where he lets his guard down.

[lady-dulcinea]

I am always astounded by how perfect of a medium ballet is when it comes to the depiction of power dynamics. Because a dance between partners demands a level of trust and reciprocity in it’s movements that we usually associate with lovers, people whose synchrony in dancing is meant to reflect how in sync they are in their feelings for each other. So when one half of the pair is clearly reluctant and distraught while the other is forceful and uncaring, it creates a horrifying distortion of the act in a way that any audience member can easily pick up on the context. It’s simply extraordinary.

Sorry I have to post this absolutely BREATHTAKING clip from a Royal Ballet adaptation of Frankenstein (!) with a pas de deux between Elizabeth and the Creature (!!) that is the absolute ESSENCE of gothic horror (!!!)