#social climbing young royals

[raincitygirl76]

I agree with the OP that August loves Sara, and he is not personally bothered by her neurodivergence. If anything he finds her inability to act like “normal” people charming and refreshing. Sara has her faults, but there’s no denying she’s fiercely authentic. For August, who is constantly putting on a facade, terrified of what people will think of him, I suspect Sara’s attitude is liberating.

She already knows his most shameful secrets, and she likes him anyway. So he doesn’t have to pretend with her. Keeping up a front all the time is exhausting. Having a person you can be yourself around without being judged for it is would feel safe. Especially since August is someone who canonically keeps up a facade around every person on the planet he’s ever met except Sara.

That said, I don’t think they would’ve worked out long term, especially if August were to become Crown Prince. I think the royal court would’ve been dead against Sara. Her mother’s an immigrant, her dad’s an addict, and her autism spectrum disorder would probably make royal meet and greets tricky. And then there’s the Simon connection. And I think eventually August would’ve come to understand that it wasn’t ever going to be “King August and Queen Sara”. Not if Kristina or the royal court had anything to say about it.

He would’ve been encouraged to move on from a youthful indiscretion and date a more suitable candidate for Crown Princess. And August wants to be king someday very badly. Eventually if his love for Sara had come into conflict with his royal ambitions, the ambitions would’ve won out. Although I think it would’ve been a hard decision for him. Because no neurotypical aristocratic trophy wife will ever see the ugly secret parts of him and want him anyway.

Which is all assuming Sara wouldn’t have dumped him before it got to the marriage proposal stage. Sara is in love for the first time (just like her younger brother). And when the boy she loves betrays her trust in 2.06, she acts decisively. In the shooting range scene, she says “I was in love with him”, past tense. And walks away.

She also refuses her dream gift (Rousseau) as an apology gift from her boyfriend. Granted, August had not originally intended Rousseau as an apology gift. But the confident way he seeks Sara out on Jubilee morning suggests he’s sure his lavish gift will be a decisive factor in her forgiving him. It doesn’t work.

Emotionally, August approaches this jubilee morning conversation as, “My girlfriend and I fought yesterday, and she’s still pissed at me. But my incredibly generous, thoughtful present will help bring her around.” Whereas Sara approaches that same conversation as, “That lying piece of shit I dumped yesterday is trying to bribe me to forgive him. What an asshole. And what a fool I was to ever trust him.” And then as soon as she gets on the bus, she calls the cops on August. She is DONE with him.

Now obviously there could be alternate realities where the shooting range scene (and its knock on effects) never happened. But judging by how decisive Sara is in canon once she’s decided to cut August loose, I think she’d act just as decisively in an AU. Sooner or later she’d realize the August in her head is a better person than the August who actually exists. And dump him.

I think whether august got pressured into dumping Sara by the queen and the royal court, or whether she dumped him, August would always see her as the one who got away.

P.S. I think he’ll go back to being a shitty, selfish asshole in bed with whatever aristocratic woman the royal court picks out for him to marry and breed with. The sex scene between him and Felice in S1 was light years away from the generous lover he was with Sara. Sara actually mattered to him, she wasn’t just a trophy girlfriend. So he prioritized her having a good time too. A future suitable girlfriend/wife, one he’s not crazy about, with a marriage of dynastic convenience? She’s going to have very lousy sex with August. He won’t bother, because she won’t matter, not like Sara did.

August och Sara

Thinking about August again. Thinking about his difference in relationships. Thinking about how he treated Felice vs how he treated Sara.

I think August was — is — genuinely in love with Sara. Like head over heels, the way Wille loves Simon, in love with Sara. It’s even more obvious when you think about how he treats her vs how he treated Felice in season one.

In season one, he says he’s going to marry Felice, but really he means he’s going to sleep with Felice. He tells Erik it’s better to get them when they’re “too insecure to object.” He had no intention of anything serious with Felice. He says he wants to take her on a date. He mentions flying her to a Michelin Star Restaurant, but only after she mentions how the only thing around is the lowly pizza place in Bjärstad. During sex he focused on his own pleasure. He told her not to closer her eyes. He didn’t want to be intimate with her (the position they’re in literally prevents any eye contact). He was using her. Every scene with Felice was impersonal at best. When they took their “relationship” public, he didn’t act much differently. He just walked her over to her friends (notice they didn’t talk about it with his friends) and then he moved on. He kissed her best friend to get back at her for being friends with Wilhelm. When they broke up, he was mostly upset that he was publicly called out. It wasn’t about Felice or losing her.

Now with Sara… Jesus Christ with Sara.

He talks about not just marrying Sara, but making her Queen. And he means it. He has every intention of being serious with Sara and staying serious with Sara. He wants to bring her to the ball. He sets up candles in his room for her with champagne. He waits patiently and plans to take her to the dance, not just see her there or meet her there or take her home after. He wants to do the whole thing. The whole song and dance of taking her as his date. The first time they have sex he immediately makes it about her and she cuts him off and says to stay up with her. He tries to make it about her pleasure and she stops him. In fact, the first time they have sex, he just invited her over to talk. He literally had no intention of sleeping with her. There are many many moments of them lying in bed together and being intimate. He lets her sleep late in his bed. He actively makes sure she gets enough sleep, but also makes sure she has the privacy she wants when she leaves. When she shows up at his door upset he comforts her. He does it in the hallway where anyone can see and he doesn’t care. He wants to be public with Sara (ie the dance invite). When it all goes tits up, he doesn’t break about Sara. She has to be the one that confesses because he won’t do that to her. He literally would have taken the bullet to make sure her friends and family didn’t find out what she did.

But the most damning piece of evidence I have for August being in love with Sara is the fact that he bought that damn horse.

You wanna know how he paid for that horse?

He sold art from his inheritance. He sold a painting. Something that he could get rid of quickly and make money quickly so he could buy that stupid horse that Sara loves so much.

In season one August cannot pay his tuition. His mother tells him to sell a painting because it will pay his tuition “a hundred times over.” Do you know what his response was in that moment?

“I would rather die.”

In season one he would rather die than sell that painting.

August is equating Sara’s unhappiness with death. Literal death.

He could not care less about her imperfections. He does not care that she blew him off a few times. He does not care that she shows up in his room smelling like a horse. He does not care that she’s blunt. He does not care that she’s autistic or has ADHD (which notice he never once took advantage of to fuel his drug habits). He does not care that she’s Simon’s sister. He does not care that, had he one day actually made her a queen, he would have difficulties with introducing her to royalty and the royal life. August does not care.

The only thing he cares about is her.

I’m distraught over this.

[screeching-bunny]

Yandere! General Hcs

Warnings: Obsessive Behavior, Yandere Thoughts, Bad Writing, Stalking, Possessive Behavior, Reader is Referred as ‘You’

🌟 Yandere! General is very controlling and likes order. He has a specific way of doing things and doesn’t like seeing things out of line. Will be very demanding and forceful things don’t go his way.

🌟 Yandere! General who is insanely scary when pissed off. He basically triggers everyone’s fight or flight response no matter who they are. Can easily break every bone in someone’s body if he really wanted to or was pissed off enough.

🌟 Yandere! General has many scars on his body due to his many battles in war. He enjoys it when you run your fingers down on them. His battle scars are extremely thick and run all over his body. They symbolize his strength and resilience.

🌟 Yandere! General would write the world's most romantic letter to you everyday while he’s out at war. He feels guilty for leaving you alone and wants to finish the battle as quickly as possible just to get back to you. Every minute apart from you is torture and would always carry a picture of you in his uniform chest pocket.

🌟 Yandere! General gives you the juiciest French kisses when leaves or returns from war. He expresses his emotions mostly through action and rarely verbally expresses himself. Will also bring back jewels and clothes for you once he gets back.

🌟 Yandere! General met you at a banquet hosted by a member of the royal family. You were an aristocrat and he couldn’t help but be enthralled by you once you introduced yourself to him. He spent the entire night by your side getting to know you and currying your favor.

🌟 Yandere! General on the next day is meeting with your parents to demand for your hand in marriage. They most likely will say yes due to his high social standing and his incredible wealth. However, if they say no he won’t hesitate to kill your parents or use any form of intimidation to make it happen. Would kill a suitor he’s most threatened by and chop their head off. Then mail them to other suitors as a warning sign for them to stay away from you.

🌟 Yandere! General would betray his country and kill all the royal family members in a heartbeat if you wanted him to. Although he has a cold exterior and aggressive way of dealing with you, your wants are what he chooses to prioritize. Don’t ask too much out of him all the time though, if he feels as if your being to demanding he may spank you.

🌟 Yandere! General is incredibly hard to run away from. If you somehow manage to do so, he’ll use his position to scour the entire world until he gets his hands on you again. When he manages to do so, he’ll permanently break your legs and disabling you. This would cause you to rely on him for everything and he lives for that. You can scorn him all you want but in his mind you deserved it.

🌟 Yandere! General grew up as an only child. His mother died when he was young due to a sickness and was left with his father. Killed his father with his own bare hands which caused rumors to swell that he is a savage. Nobody knows why he did it but no one is willing to ask why due to their fear of him.

🌟 Yandere! General was forced to join the army as a child soldier in order to survive and make a living. Climbed up the ranks and is now the most respected man in the military. Over time he’s hardened a lot and the sight of blood does not bother him, in fact it excites him. The thrill of a dangerous battle gets his adrenaline going and wanting to smash someone’s brains in.

🌟 Yandere! General loves it when you read a book to him while he cuddles with you. It’s the peaceful times that he yearns for the most. Being out in war all the time and having to fight battles since a young age really traumatized him. A change in scenery is really like a breath of fresh air. He can only really feel at serenity when you’re in his arms.

🌟 Yandere! General has a very unique and strange sense of humor. He likes to make a lot of pun jokes which most of the time leave the room just silent. Thinks that he is extremely hilarious and gets proud of his jokes. When he tells a joke to you, you usually just ignore him but he will keep repeating that joke until he gets a reaction out of you. Usually it’s a pity laugh or a really tiny awkward chuckle.

🌟 Yandere! General keeps weapons hidden from you. Does not trust you enough to handle them and doesn’t like you holding them. Why would you need them when he can protect you himself? Won’t allow you to learn how to properly use weapons because he believes that it isn’t needed with him around.

🌟 Yandere! General is very strict with you. He doesn’t like seeing you do things that he deems as “out of line” such as escaping. Has a daily routine that he likes for you to follow and won’t hesitate to demoralize you if you don’t. Although he can be very mean to you at times that doesn’t mean he’ll allow others to do the same. If he ever sees a maid bullying you, he’d gladly hang them in the middle of the city for everyone to see.

🌟 Yandere! General has so much power that at times, not even the royal family can stop him. He’s very influential and the only thing they can do is look at him in horror. Many successors in line for the crown will try to curry his favor in order to stabilize their position as the next ruler. His say is the most powerful out of all the noblemen combined. Absolutely no one can compete with him.

🌟 Yandere! General is very tall and extremely muscular all around. He’s the most well built person you’ll ever meet. His boobs are probably bigger than yours. Is as hard as a rock, if you ever tried to punch him you’re fist would probably break and is easily one of the most strongest people in the world.

🌟 Yandere! General isn’t as book smart as he’d like to be. It’s not surprising because for most of his childhood he’s been in the military. Most of his learning came from trying to understand important documents and make sense of them as a child. He loves to learn though and is willing to learn your native language if you have one.

🌟 Yandere! General has a lot of pent up stress due to paperwork he needs to complete. He lives to put you on his lap while he does his work in his office. Having you there just gives him delight and encourages him to complete his work faster. These days are very slow days to him and time just seems to drag on.

🌟 Yandere! General makes sure that you’re well taken care of and loves putting collars or chokers on you, it's just another sign that you belong to him. Don’t ever try resisting him because it just never goes too well for you. Just give up there’s nothing you can do.

Pt. 2

[half-blood-goods]

The fact that "After a failed assassination attempt on the royal family, a young noble woman with her family was sent into exile, their lands and title taken away. She ran away and climbed the social ladder again by marrying into royalty, then killing her husband suffering from a heart condition. Once learning that the king who sent her family into exile had a son, she had a daughter her own, who she planned to use as a pawn by marrying her off to the king's son, then after the wedding getting her revenge by trying to execute the failed assassination again" is a plot in an animated Barbie movie is still the wildest thing ever.

[puppiesandnightlock]

LINK: It Takes a Fool to Remain Sane

Summary:“Everything is fake. Everything in the world is fake. These people are fake, they’re made of metal. But I like you, and that is not fake.”

Aka i damijon’d the football scene in young royals to make it vaguely fit canon

It was a mistake, being here, Damian thought to himself, watching the socialites chatter, all placing their masks on to secure a business deal, marry their children, climb the social ladder. 

He was on his third glass of champagne, barely feeling a buzz. If he had his way, there'd be a new scandal on the front page of the Gotham Gazette featuring his dumbass at this gala he’d been dragged to.

Damian needed to forget, forget he was here, forget Jon, forget what had happened just hours before. And what better way than to drown it all in stupidly expensive bubbles?

He sipped, watching his father laugh, his own boisterous mask on for the people. Drake, bargaining and writing off people, being the spectacular business person Damian knew he’d never be. He wouldn’t take over Wayne Enterprises, and despite the things drilled into his head that both the Bat and Wayne legacies should be his, he was glad, deep down, that he would never have to be this. 

Still, fake. All of this was just so… fake . What was even real here anymore? Not one of these people were genuine, everyone cold, unfeeling, every word a move on the giant chess board that was Gotham’s rich and famous.

Jon had been real. The thought popped in his head, bringing unwelcome feelings with it, images, memories of things he was currently trying to repress. He picked up another glass and brought it to his lips. This was stronger than the last one had been, and was sure if he kept going down this road there would be no returning.

His league tolerance to this kind of poison hadn’t been properly exercised in awhile. All the better for him, to leave everything in the past.

Damian held the stem of the flute tighter as sounds of memories sharpened, hair being pushed away from his face in a sweet loving gesture, tearful voices that developed into anger, a blur shooting into the sky and leaving him.

”You need to find out where your head's at, Damian, because when it comes to us, I’m only listening to here.” There was a tap over his heart, and he caught the hand, holding it there, a rush of some emotion flooding through him, something so familiar now to the both that they barely made note of it anymore.

He knew where his heart was, what it wanted. But his head was the thing keeping them both afloat. What would happen when the inevitable did happen? When he realized Damian was too broken, too dark, too much of a burden to carry? Not there enough, too many secrets. 

A tiny, logical part of his brain reminded him that he’d stuck around all these years, seen him at his worst, stayed when things had surely crossed the line of just plain platonic.

He held onto that like it was a rope lifting him out of the anxious spiral of a dark hole he’d dug himself into.

This could be managed, this could be forgotten, but closing him off sounded better to his addled mind, locking his heart away could keep it safe. A voice that sounded suspiciously like Grayson piped up, asking the question, ”Are you really? Or are you hiding? Running from your problems?”

 Better to have loved and lost, to have never loved at all.

Before Damian could realize what was going on, he’d reached his limit, Tim catching notice and excusing himself with a laugh and wave from the business elite circle.

”Damian, are you serious?” His older brother hissed, a note of worry evident in his voice. He had stood him up, holding onto his arm to keep him from swaying. ”How much did you drink?” 

Not enough . His brain supplied helpfully, still functioning too well for Damian’s own liking. Unbeknownst to him, he’d said it out loud, just low enough for Tim to hear.

”The hell do you mean, not enough? ” He dragged him to a quieter place, stealth training and well timed smiles from the both of them allowing to escape undetected, Tim grabbing a water glass on the way out. They wound up in a corridor, and Damian dutifully took the water, holding it but not drinking it. 

“Look, Baby Bat, whatever happened today, I need you to get over it because right now I do not want B on my case about this. Stay out of there until you’re somewhat sober.” Tim tapped the glass in his hands a bit. “Drink that, don’t talk to anyone.”

Damian nodded, and the emotions he’d been running to bury surfaced. God, this was pathetic. It must’ve shown, because the concern grew from his voice to his features.

“We’re going to talk about it later.” He ruffled his hair and swept out of the hallway, leaving Damian to go stumbling into the gardens. He sat on an old white bench, uncomfortable and made of marble. 

The dim lights seemed so bright, the way the moon shined off the dew on the flowers and grass nearly blinding. 

It seemed wrong that something so beautiful should have him there, but for the life of him couldn’t consider why. 

The music from the party inside leaked out and he turned, folding his arms on the back of the bench and setting his chin on top to watch through the windows.

There was shrubbery in the way, but the windows were so large that although the bushes hid him from the inside, it didn’t hide the inside from him. The people laughed and talked and danced, trading off from one partner to another, each showing carefully chosen cards.

He spotted his family, each surrounded by people who wanted to pick his brain, make a deal, marry into the Waynes, offer some corrupt thing or the other.

Bracelets, watches, necklaces, earrings. Chains. It was as if they were nothing but robots, tied to this hard metal mask they put on for show, controlled by their families, who they worked for, or even just their true selves, some inescapable. 

Even in the night, when they went out, dressed in kevlar and dark colors. It was all fake. Fake and cold and metallic, trapping them with only a few real things.

How clear it seemed now, something that he’d only briefly considered. What was real in his life? What did he know was truly real?

Not what his completely sober, rational brain had to say. What his being, his soul, his heart felt was real.

Damian swiped open his phone, finger tracing the photos of him and Jon he had for his background. He dialed a number, not really thinking, something more of a habit than anything.

“Jon. Jon.” He whispered into the phone, words slurring just a bit to be noticeable by someone with super hearing.

”Dames, wha?” Jon’s groggy voice came through the speakers, sounding a tad bit annoyed, but mostly heavy with sleep.

“Jon, I've figured it out.” Damian was sprawled back on the bench, one hand in the ground picking at blades of grass. He tugged on a lone flower, rolling the stem between his fingers.

”Figured what out? Wait, are you on something right now?” There was a rustling sound, as if he were getting up.

“You see, everything is fake.” he tapped the ceramic animals at the feet of the bench, before repeating, “Everything is fake. Everything in the world is fake. This gala, nothing here is even real. It’s night, but the lights are all on. The outside is so bright. But it’s nighttime. Why’s the outside so bright it's nighttime, Jon?”

”Oh my god, you’re drunk, aren’t you? Did one of the fancy kids drug you or something?”it sounded like air was whooshing through the speaker on Jon’s end.

“Maybe a little. See, all these people are fake. They’re made of metal.” he paused, looking up at the sky, still holding the flower. The silence went on a few more seconds, before he whispered into the night again, a warm breath creating a puff of steam into the cool night air.

“But I like you. And that is not fake.”

He barely had time to react before he was met with the sight of Jon, still in pajamas consisting of sweatpants and a hastily thrown-on shirt, tennis shoes without socks shoved on his feet, untied.

His hair was a mess, but Damian thought he’d never been more beautiful. Jon’s face scrunched up, and he realized his lips were parted and he’d said it out loud.

“You came.” He stated. “You’re beautiful.”

Jon gaped at him for a few seconds longer, before going to pick him up off the bench. “You smell like alcohol. Damian, sit up.”

He pulled him into a sitting position, and Damian leaned forwards. “Are you mad at me?”

Jon only sighed, picking him up and putting him on his back. “Come on, Dames. Let’s get you home.”

The next morning, Damian woke up, light from the curtains stabbing through his eyelids and a foreign presence sitting at the foot of his bed. He squinted, just barely making out the outline of jon, half-asleep in an upright position. There was aspirin and a glass of water on his nightstand, but all he wanted to do was turn over and go back to sleep, ignoring the pounding headache last night had brought him. 

He shifted, but in doing so woke Jon, who called his name in a whisper. Damian groaned, waving a hand at him. Jon got up and closed the curtains, before standing at the side of the bed. 

“Do you remember anything about last night?” His voice was quiet, soft with a note of hopefulness.

A shot of embarrassment flooded Damian as fuzzy memories pieced together in his mind. He’d called his best friend in an inebriated state, said some frankly truthful things, one of which being what was probably a plain confession of his feelings.

“Vaguely.” he murmured, voice raspy with sleep. “I apologize. I remember enough to know I said…things.”

Jon slipped under the covers next to him, chest pressed to his back and chin on his shoulder. “Don’t apologize. We can talk about it later.”

His arms wrapped around Damian's waist, and he whispered, voice muffled by his shoulder. 

“I’d much rather you let me hold you for a bit.”

Things weren’t fine, not by a long shot. There would come long conversations and arguments and compromises, tears and harsh words and yelling. But the storm would clear, sooner or later. The storm would clear and they’d mend it with each other. Their love was very real, tangible in a way. They’d waited for each other for forever, and now, it was within reach.

“I’d like that.” Damian responded, shutting his eyes and leaning back.

Things weren’t fine, but they would be.

[ackerfics]

FAMILY LINE — a house of the dragon fanfiction | aegon ii targaryen x oc

act one, chapter four: first, a dead wife; second, a dead mother (wc: 6.1k) | masterlist

i forgot to mention ... this is going to be slow burn as fuck

116 AC

“Your Grace, the strawberry scones and the lemon tarts are here. Where should I place them?”

A well-groomed finger points to the space right beside the tiered display of glistening honey cakes and small blueberry pies. “If you can place them right there, it would be delightful.” The handmaiden arranges the platters of desserts just the way the person in charge likes them. “Thank you. Oh, that’s lovely.”

The soft hands behind the emerald green gown sleeves adjust the plates until the flowers on the ceramics shine through without being overshadowed by the splatters of colours on the table. Teapots are checked if the right tea flavour is procured and once that is done, the lemon candies are also poured into a bowl. The owner of the non-calloused hand sighs in accomplishment, her brown eyes taking in the assembly of what could have been an array of sweets in a luxurious bakery in the more noble circles of King’s Landing. 

Alicent doesn’t know why she is fussing so much.

Afternoon tea is usually spent with all of the children the handmaidens can round up. Aether and Aegon would be the contributors of the most noise inside her solar, with the two boys circling the only girl in their little trio like a gaggle of geese; Helaena would be murmuring things to her little friends (Alicent makes sure that the bugs she brings to the tea sessions are happily crawling inside a jar); Aemond would be reading about the basics of swordsmanship or listening to his female cousin narrate the events in the book she was reading; Daeron and Daemian would be having a contest of their own, which ends up in too many crumbs on the carpets; and Aesira would be the prim little lady that she is, reading books that she managed to take from one of the libraries or simply writing in her journal while the chaos reigns in. Each child has their own little world and the placid chambers fit for the Queen become the royal nursery where they all resided years ago. Alicent never worries about presentations with that many children. Spreads of an assortment of sweets are laid out on her table because little hands always pick what they prefer.

Maybe that is why she is pacing with her head rolling on the ground; Alicent will be alone with one of them and for some reason, everything has to be perfect.

Aesira is a ghost set to ignite Alicent’s heart and mind in bouts of internal battles — a shot in the heart for the young Queen, for the little girl bears the most uncanny resemblance to the late Aemma Targaryen. The only known daughter of the Rogue Prince is a reminder that Alicent remains to be the least of priorities for the King. There is no chance for her and her children if this familiar face roams the halls, being the perfect Valyrian beauty that she is at such a young age — white blonde hair flowing in cascading waves, lilac eyes that glisten like the most expensive jewels, and magic in her veins that puts her in the apex of the chain of beings. Alicent wants to loathe her, she really does, as selfish as it sounds and as ugly as it can get. It is not becoming of her as the most powerful woman in the realm to wear her most private insecurities on her sleeve for everyone to see just because she feels so low compared to this child. It doesn’t help that she receives sympathies from the court Ladies, all with faux smiles and the ambitious intention to climb into her social circle, every time Aesira wears her blue gowns — a statement that she will always be her mother’s daughter and nothing else; as high as honour.

It was a spur-of-the-moment decision, to set up this tea session with only Aesira and not with the entire brood of Tragaryens in the Keep (minus the newest addition to the family courtesy of Rhaenyra). It comes with an intention in mind. Any move she places on the board is laden with purpose, including this one.

Alicent knows about her duties as the Queen; to stand with her husband through the thickest of thickets and to bear children that will further spread the magic of Old Valyria for generations to come. Yet one stands out the most. It comes from her father’s lips. Place Aegon as Heir. And it haunts her still. At some point, she doesn’t want to place a heavy burden on her son — her closest companion for five years when she felt the most alone in the castle, the babe's scent clinging to his skin giving her comfort above all else while she shed tears away from prying eyes. While Helaena never saw her with her dreamy disposition as a babe, Aegon always placed a tiny palm on her cheek to pat away the sadness staining her face. But this duty of putting him as Heir means survival. Such a pity how desperation shapes humans. So starts putting Aegon to the most subtle lessons in hopes of preparing him for his role in the future. Who was once her closest companion becomes the child who flinches when she merely places a finger on his shoulder.

It stabs her — whatever she touches is doomed to hurt, starting with her eldest son. 

She hopes that this impending decision on his future would soothe the wounds she inflicted on his skin, a gift disguised as a political move.

The presence of Aesira as the royal family’s ward is one way of securing Aegon’s claim. The Queen grasps an opportunity when she sees one. What better way to utilise Alicent’s ghost than to thread her fate with her son, probably giving the young boy the good graces of her husband in the process? She is pretty sure the seed planted by Aegon’s affection for Aesira is starting to sprout in her husband’s head, only waiting for the right time to announce it to both children and watch it blossom into a flowering plant that will be a rarity — a marriage primarily borne from the purest and most innocent of loves (from one person, still love nonetheless). Both children are at an age where arrangements are made but Alicent doesn’t want to subject them to the binds of a betrothal yet. Having Aesira as Aegon’s potential bride will be a weapon that brings down Lords to their knees, only solidifying their proximity to the throne when they birth trueborn children, something that Rhaenyra only speaks as one of her many lies. With the current Heir’s erratic behaviour, Alicent promises to herself that she will make this union happen and it will start by enticing the young girl to be closer to her.

“Lady Aesira Targaryen, Your Grace.”

Criston’s voice makes her jump. Alicent turns toward the open doors of her solar but not before hastily tucking stray auburn curls away from her face, an unsteady smile pulling on her lips. She unconsciously runs her hands over the skirts of her emerald gown, erasing the invisible creases from view.

“Thank you, Ser Criston,” Alicent’s voice is clear among the bricks holding her chambers. She looks over her shoulder, to the handmaidens who stand still beside the table with hands intertwined in front of their navels. “You are dismissed.” They bow at her and exit with Criston, leaving her with the little girl by the door. Alicent smiles, tilting her head a little to take in Aesira’s appearance. “Aesira.”

“Your Grace,” Aesira enunciates, lowering herself in a curtsy that seems to be a product of her lessons with the Septa. Clad in a soft lilac gown that is one of the many commissioned to her under the Queen’s orders (none of that eye-catching blue that the court Ladies keep whispering about), Aesira is a vision of the perfect little comely Lady bound to have hearts served for her on a gold platter. As always, her hair is styled with matching ribbons from her dress and is free to bounce with every step she makes. Alicent notices that the girl is starting to carry herself with dignity, her eyes only letting the sliver of emotions shine through — nervousness and anticipation as to why the Queen invited her and only her to her solar. Aesira straightens her posture, hands carefully holding one another in front of her as she adds, “Thank you for honouring me with an invitation. I hope I will be a good enough company for your afternoon.”

Alicent waves her hand, a practised thing that she acquired since she became Queen. “None of that,” she jests. “Your presence in my solar is already the best company I can ask for so far into my day. Come,” she beckons the girl to the table, backing to one of the cushioned chairs, “our refreshments and sweets await.”

A wave of gratitude washes over the young girl’s body. There is a little pep in her step when she makes her way to the table of various colours and waits for Alicent to sit before doing so herself on the adjacent chair. Alicent sometimes forgets that she is the same age as her eldest son with how she’s carrying herself.

The childish glow in Aesira’s eyes never dims while she trails them over the outlines of every whipped cream, filling, and dough shapes all prepared for her. It makes the shackles in the Queen’s heart loosen. Alicent doesn’t recall why she was worrying so much about Aesira’s favourites before she entered her chambers. The girl doesn’t dive straight into the honey cakes she likes so much in their usual tea sessions with the other children, rather, she carefully takes a piece of strawberry scone, the pieces of the fruit peeking through the golden bread permeating in the air. Alicent saw the exact piece of pastry in Daemian’s little hands every time. What she didn’t notice was Aesira eyeing it the same as a curious pup yet she chose to indulge in her regular honey cakes instead of taking her little brother’s share of sweets. Because it was always like that — Aether with his lemon-flavoured choices, Daemian with the hues of strawberries, and honey following Aesira like a perfume’s sillage on a summer day. Now, Alicent understands that the girl doesn’t have only one thing going about with her. It’s refreshing to see in a child of nine name days.

Alicent sips on her blend of flower and citrus tea, a specific kind of blossom the Maesters told was shipped from Yi Ti, content with the still moment for once in her hectic schedule. She lets out a chuckle when she hears a satisfied hum from Aesira, the little lady’s eyes closed to savour a second pastry, this time, a small bite of the blueberry tart.

“This is delicious, Your Grace,” Aesira hums after gulping down another bite of her blueberry tart.

Alicent smiles. “The handmaidens told me they were freshly picked and made into a new batch of sweets. Do you find it to your liking?” Her smile widens at Aesira’s animated nodding. Alicent spends a couple of moments just watching the girl stuff her face as elegantly as she can while being able to relish in the fusion of flavours brought by the treats. The initial intention of bringing Aesira here was to place the idea that she will most likely marry Aegon in the near future, it simply doesn’t exist at this juncture of the afternoon. Aesira finishes her second tart, eyes lingering on her next piece of sweet but never realising that there are residues clinging on the corners of her lips — blue from the tarts and a reminder that she is every bit of the child that she is. Alicent unconsciously picks up the napkin folded into a swan (hoping that it will add to Aesira’s fascination) and leans forward in her seat. She carefully wipes the girl’s mouth, mindful to never hurt her with her cursed fingers. “You really like it that much, little one?”

Wide lilac eyes take her in, reflecting the image of her jutting her lip in a smile while wiping invisible crumbs from Aesira’s cherubic cheeks. It is at that moment that Alicent realises she never touched her children this tenderly for so long. Her beautiful daughter—her beloved little girl—started to flinch every time a single sensation crawled on her skin. Alicent doesn’t even get to embrace Helaena after her dreams because it would make her scream more and the woman can do nothing but watch while her daughter continues pulling hair out from her scalp. It’s reminiscent of when Aether was found terrified and out of his wits that when she moved to take him away from the Kingsguard, the poor boy looked near mortified with how overwhelming everything was. Alicent forgets what it feels like to hold her children, to become the mother they deserve. As the Queen, she is expected to be standoffish but that doesn’t mean she longs to be within the circles of laughter lighting the Keep’s royal wing. With each pattern her thumb creates on Aesira’s cheek, she gains that familiar warmth again. It’s the same warmth she had when she first held Aegon, when Helaena clung to her as a babe, when Aemond smiles every time she appears, or when Daeron giggles at everything he finds funny.

She’s touching Aesira and Aesira is not hurting.

A slow nod answers her question and all thoughts vanish from her head.

Alicent tucks a lock of striking blonde hair from Aesira’s face. Time is suspended as they stare at each other, every drop of care radiating from one’s fingertips, travelling from where they touch down to the apex of a beating heart. The little one’s eyelashes shake with a flutter, the surface of her eyes becoming even more glassy by the second. Alicent purses her slips when she sees a betraying tear appear from one of Aesira’s bottom eyelids, the girl still seeing a glimpse of someone through her. She’s been on the other end of those looks since she married her husband. First, it was a dead wife and now, it’s a dead mother. Yet she keeps tidying Aesira’s hair. For once, it doesn’t squeeze her chest the way it should. She doesn’t feel like ripping her heart from the inside out nor has the urge to shout obscenities to the eye of the beholder. Instead of turning away, Alicent cups both of Aesira’s cheeks, slightly squeezing them in a manner that she herself experienced from her father before he went away to Oldtown.

Without saying a word, Alicent pulls the little girl into an embrace and the moment she does, Aesira starts sobbing.

Upon hearing the gasps for air the little one makes, Alicent looks up at the ceiling with her vision clouding with unshed tears. Her larger hand rubs soothing circles on the girl’s shaking back. When she feels a tear or two slipping from her eye, Alicent closes her eyes and presses a grounding kiss on the crown of Aesira’s head, swaying the two of them in a lullaby she starts humming unconsciously.

“I’ve got you, little one,” Alicent whispers on her forehead. “You have me now.”

The cries increase in volume and she tightens her hold around the small body slumping over her. Alicent hears the door open behind her, probably someone who heard the muffled sobs coming from inside her solar and thought it would be best to check for any altercations. True enough, when she slightly turns her head, she sees Criston frantically looking around for any threats, his hand firmly gripping his sword. The two of them make eye contact and instantly, a wave of understanding and sympathy paints Criston’s face. Alicent tries flashing a convincing smile. The Kingsguard glances at Aesira with downturned eyebrows and a rueful smile before bowing his head and disappearing through the door as if he didn’t grace the chambers with his presence.

The music of the fauna residing in the gardens goes on as Aesira tires herself out from crying.

Alicent doesn’t make a move to remove the girl from her side. She gives the little one the only thing she didn’t receive when her own mother died from a sickness that inevitably took her life way too early. Not one person thought that the little girl hugging her brothers while they let out cries of their own would ever need any semblance of comfort all these years. Alicent herself carries this guilt. She may be late but it is better than turning a blind eye and letting the girl cry within the confines of her chambers.

She isn’t a Queen who found the perfect match for her son. For now, she is a mother caring for her child. How wrong she was for thinking that this girl is nothing but a pawn in her Game of Thrones.

“Do you want to see a magic trick?” She asks with a gentle voice.

Aesira peeks from the bodice of her dress, eyes rimmed with red and cheeks too puffy to hide that she just bared her soul in front of the Queen of the realm. “Yes please,” she answers meekly, almost as tiny as the day they first met in the royal nursery.

Never losing the smile, Alicent pours Aesira a cup of the butterfly pea tea she was indulging in not too long ago. “Keep a close eye, alright? Don’t look away from the cup.” Aesira answers with another slow nod. It is all it takes for Alicent to take the secret ingredient from a small container at the side of the table and pour it into the cup. The deep blue colour of the drink gradually becomes a purple shade that is mostly associated with Targaryens. Oh, how Alicent never regrets glancing at Aesira. The girl has come out of her shell to peer at the cup in awe, the stars lighting up her eyes once again. She brushes a hand over the waves of her hair. “Isn’t it lovely? It’s a trick I’ve learned from the Maesters when they introduced this specific plant to make soothing teas with. Why don’t you give it a try, little one?”

Aesira exchanges a smile with her before sipping from the cup in the proper way that a Lady should. Once again, Alicent marvels at how Aesira fully executed what has been taught in her etiquette lessons. Surely the Septa in charge of teaching her girls is basking in pride for producing one of the most comely little ladies in court.

The teacup clinks against the saucer and Aesira faces her with wonder on her face. “What did you add to turn it into purple, Your Grace?”

The title doesn’t sit well with Alicent. Tiny baby steps first and they will get there eventually, nothing of the Your Grace greetings; she wants to hear titles befitting that of family ties attached to her name. Whatever the case, she will start showering unconditional affection to this child. Alicent winks a little, whispering, “A learned person never reveals their secret.” The answer doesn’t satisfy Aesira for she pouts while staring at the ripples on the surface of her tea, the small dried flowers floating and bumping on each other inside the rim. “You must simply visit my solar every other afternoon now to witness the sorcery flowing from my hands. Don’t tell the others about our meetings though. It remains our little solace from the rambunctiousness they always bring.”

Aesira giggles, agreeing with her. “They are quite loud, especially the boys. You have my promise, Your Grace. Though, Hel shouldn’t be left out.”

How adorable. “Then, we shall invite her as well. A tea party is better enjoyed with the people you wish to share priceless memories with after all.”

Now, Alicent comprehends why Aegon is so taken with her. The way she laughs is laced with the purest delicacy that fully captures your attention. One can tell that benevolence and humility oozes from every fibre of her being. It is the kind of beauty that lasts for lifetimes — timeless. While some Ladies fabricate stories to put the child against her, more sensible Ladies step forward to say nothing but amazing things about the little Lady. She is absolutely wonderful; she complimented even the tiniest details of my new gown, even I, myself, didn't know I have embroideries showing a rare species of butterflies. Oh, a divine little thing; no shed of her horrible father in her for the Sevens’ sakes, she is her mother through and through. The second coming of Rhaenys Targaryen, Aegon the Conqueror’s wife, herself. Maybe Alicent should have listened to the better part of the court instead of feeding into the words dipped in flowery lies.

The smiles die down and Aesira utters, “I understand the reason you invited my company this afternoon, Your Grace.” Gone is the easygoing air surrounding the table, replaced by a weighty gust of wind that worries Alicent. Aesira gives her a rueful smile that has her heart clenching. “The Lords and Ladies have been talking, Your Grace. They speak of theories that concern me and Aegon.” The girl doesn’t waver from Alicent’s widening eyes and parted lips. “I’ve always known that my placement in the Keep has meaning. Father told me so. He was already planning on betrothals when I was but a child of two name days, as far as I can remember. Mother was furious,” she gazes at a memory only she can see, “and it was the first time I ever saw it on her face. But the fact never changes that I should face it when the time comes. The court acknowledges me as Aegon’s match, he even does it himself whenever he finds the most opportune moments to say so, and with the timing of your invitation, I placed the pieces of the puzzle together.

“I only ask of this for my peace of mind, Your Grace; am I his betrothed?”

Alicent cradles Aesira’s cheeks in the ridges of her palms. She shakes her head without saying anything at first but with the distress soiling the little one’s features, she quickly brushes her hair away from her forehead. “Fret not for the matters circulating court, especially ones that are clearly passed from mouths whose main aim is to fuel a fire. They don’t know anything, little one, and they never will. The moment the King says any word of your impending marriage, you will be the first to hear about it from me. Understood?” 

“Yes, Your Grace.”

“Besides, if you ask me, it’s too early for you to wear any extravagant gown made from white fabrics. Enjoy all the colours before putting on a wedding dress, alright?” Aesira shares a little laugh with her. Sombre blue rains down Alicent. “I would never wish to burden you with something so shackling like a betrothal.” Guilt gnaws the lining of her stomach. It’s a good thing she never ate anything and only watched Aesira enjoy the spread that is baked solely for her. She takes back everything she planned. Her father might have scolded her for her decision but he isn’t here to throw verbal daggers at her. “You are still nine; thinking of betrothals can wait.”

Aesira’s shoulders drop the tension. A radiant smile beams from her face; the sun is put to shame. “Oh, thank you, Your Grace! Now, Aether can rest his pacing.”

“He doesn’t like the spreading rumours of your match with Aegon, I gather then.”

“He keeps threatening to make Aegon pay during their lessons with Ser Criston,” Aesira whispers with a secretive twinkle of mischief in her eyes, seeing the improvement in her brother’s handling of the sword. Aether has the same as well and it makes Alicent laugh. “It’s quite sad to watch from the viewing balcony, to be honest.”

Poor Aegon, the embarrassment he must feel. “Ah, so that’s where Aegon gets his scratches from.”

Nonetheless, Alicent never saw any sign of resignation coming from her eldest son. It is subtle — the influence of the twins in his life. When he started learning the ways of the sword years ago with Aether, he never showed a shred of determination unlike his companion, who hardened through the years and only became ruthless with the sparring partners he had. It is only when Aesira graces the balconies does he fully commit to swinging the practice sword he’s given as if it would make Aesira come down from many flights of stairs to watch the bout in the courtyard. During the times the subject of Aesira’s prospective betrothal is brought up, with Aegon usually within hearing range, Alicent notices the little changes in his behaviour. He starts taking things seriously according to the Maesters and Ser Criston as if he is trying to prove something to everyone and himself. At dinners these days, he’s often seen glaring at Aether rather than settling little desserts on Aesira’s plate while the other boy sneers at the sight of him making unnecessary snarky looks. How fascinating it is to see the hold a girl has over her son. 

The little one places a hand over her mouth in realisation. “Please don’t admonish Aether, Your Grace.”

Alicent affectionately pinches her cheek until she whines. “I would never. Boys are bound to gain small scars from their training now and then. It is a given when they learn how to be better fighters. Aegon should know that picking up the sword means having permanent marks etched on his skin.”

Aesira nods, looking down at her whimsical tea while smiling. “Aemond is doing well, I notice. He told me all of the things he learned from his first lesson.”

“Really? Do tell me more, little one.”

As the stories revolving around her younger children (ones she never even heard of) encircled Alicent and Aesira, the high afternoon sun dipped down the crests of the mountain ranges in the distance, sunburst igniting the heavens to flare a magnificent view — and it washed everything golden. 

Hearts are opened that day and there is no sign of them closing.

Days have passed and Alicent is walking through the hallways of the Keep with a destination in mind, her skirts swishing along with the resolution coating her actions. Lord and Ladies turn their heads as she passes by, never forgetting to pay their respects by greeting and bowing even though she only wishes to see one thing in front of her as she navigates the intricate architecture of the castle — those double doors barring the inhabitants away from the harsh whispers of the halls. The clanging from behind indicates that Criston is doing his best in keeping with her pace yet she pays him no mind, slippered feet padding on the stairs leading to the castle wing dedicated to her newest children. She finally reached the level where her destination resides and immediately, the guard placed by the doors bows at her presence, his face pursing in concern. Criston doesn’t have time to announce her arrival as she opens the doors.

Three pairs of varying shades of purple from the chaise lounge look up. Just like she predicted, the three children are all gathered inside Aesira’s solar after hearing about the message Viserys received from Daemon across The Narrow Seas. Without saying a word, Alicent gathers them in her arms and offers them the unconditional warmth of someone holding their comfort dear to heart. She kneels in front of the children as their arms clutch her torso and neck. Alicent’s heart breaks when one of them starts crying, the sound alerting Criston to shut the doors and give the four the privacy they all need.

“Does Father not love us anymore?” Daemian wails on Alicent’s chest, still a toddler in his four name days to fully understand that their father left them for good.

“He is nothing but a fool,” Alicent says to the three of them. “Some men simply don't deserve to become a parent for the abomination that they are.”

The older siblings don’t speak a word but it is clear on their faces how they feel about the situation. Aether wears rage like a second skin, eyebrows furrowed and mouth set in a deep scowl. His chin is lowered a little, giving the illusion of shadows brushing against the top of his eye and his fists are clenching on the sides of his pants, creasing the fabric between his fingers. While Aether is a master of having his heart on his sleeve, Aesira’s silence sends Alicent a spine-chilling sensation from the crown of her head down to the tips of her limbs. The little one is glaring at nothing and something at the same time; one would think her mind is vacant with how still she is. Her brothers are shaking from anger and misery yet she remains unmoving at their side, her head not even touching the shoulder of the woman rubbing their backs. Alicent hopes that in her lifetime, she will never be placed on the other end of Aesira’s stare.

“I despise him,” Aether spits the word with so much emotion that a single tear runs down his cheek. “If I see him again, I might actually kill him.”

Alicent pulls the boy closer to her. “Do not speak of such terms,” she murmurs on his hair. “We do not dabble in kinslaying. We are above that.”

Aether makes a sharp gasp, a result of holding back his incoming sob. “I am just so angry, Your Grace. How could he do this and not feel any shred of remorse?”

It’s Aesira who says the words. “Because he thinks of no one but himself.” Her eyelids are rapidly blinking to prevent the tears from flowing. There is a tremble in her bottom lip, but no sign of a frown pulling down her mouth. Alicent instantly gets an image of Helaena’s dolls.

“But Father is—”

“He is not our father, Daemian!” She glares at the whimpering boy. Alicent doesn’t even have the room to interject when Aesira adds with as much distaste in her voice as she can muster, “And he will never be. He chose to leave us in a place we do not know. He nearly took Aether from us and left him somewhere in the Keep for three days until he was found terrified to the bone.” She gulps down, breath hitching, and shoulders taut with tension. “He doesn’t care about us. If he did, he would have landed his blasted dragon in the Dragonpit and raised us himself instead of siring children with his new wife. He doesn’t love us, not even when Mother is swollen with carrying us. How can he when we’re not born from love—”

“Sira!” Aether shouts, hugging a distraught Daemian closer to him. “You’re scaring Damy!”

At that moment, Alicent sees Aesira cry for the third time.

“Oh, little one,” Alicent says the words like a caress. She hears broken sentences on her shoulder, all with a combination of sorry and I didn’t mean it. “I know, I know,” she answers every single phrase she can pick up. Alicent manages to catch Aether’s teary eyes, beckoning the young boy to bring himself and his brother back to her embrace. They go back to huddling close to Alicent as if they are meant to be there and not anywhere else. “That man is an imbecile for leaving behind three beautiful children. I may not know if he truly felt that deeply for the family he created with your mother but I know you three can make one of your own here. We might not be of blood but I can care for you like I am made by the Seven to do so. Now, little one,” she strokes Aesira’s hair from her face, “apologise to your younger brother.”

“I’m sorry for scaring you, Damy,” Aesira’s voice wobbles. “Your big sister is just angry at him.”

Daemian lets go of Alicent and buries himself into Aesira. “Don’t do that again,” he pouts.

She kisses his temple. “I won’t.” Aesira picks him up, letting out a small huff at the added weight, remarking, “You’re getting bigger, Damy. Please don’t get any bigger on me now. I won’t be able to carry you like this if you keep on getting taller than me.” All she gets in reply is a lovely giggle. She wordlessly asks Alicent for permission and the woman nods her head. “Damy, what have you been eating?” She grumbles away to the table where the jar of blueberry and lemon sweets Alicent gave lay resting, her brother clinging onto her like one of those creatures Aether drew during one boring tutoring lesson with Aegon’s name attached to it.

“What will happen, Your Grace?” Aether asks Alicent, who turns back to him. “Will the King send out dragon eggs just like Daemon asked for?”

“The King will make a decision that he thinks is right,” the woman is now fully sitting on the carpeted floor to accommodate the boy of name days in a more comfortable position against her, “ and whatever will happen, we have no part in it. Nothing will change if my husband decides to send out dragon eggs to Essos just because The Rogue Prince demands them. Life will not stop its course — you will keep on growing and you will have futures to play into. My husband’s younger brother is not the end of your world, Aether.” She gazes at the pair of children picking up variations of sweets from the jar, recognizing the piece of expensive ceramic as part of her personal collection. Alicent sent her little one stocks of the candies her brothers and she loves chewing on on a regular basis, the contents of the jar coming from one conversation they shared about what her brothers preferred. Aesira is fussing over her baby brother while the boy continues smearing the cream of the blueberry sweets on his mouth. “Daemian stops his crying easily now.”

Aether follows her eyes to where his siblings are. He snorts at the moustache above Daemian’s lip. “It’s mostly because of Aesira,” slowly, he adds with a growing smile, “which is funny because she made him cry in the first place.” He catches Alicent’s frown and mutters, “Sorry.”

What is with oldest brothers and jesting about younger siblings? Gwayne did it to her growing up. Aegon does it with Helaena and Aemond each time they breathe the same air as him (never Daeron because the boy follows him around like a little duckling). Aether constantly teases the Seven Hells out of his little sister and brother. She supposes it is simply in their nature to be their kin’s greatest bully. Though that doesn’t mean Aegon gets away with pushing his brother into a bush to catch Aesira’s attention or comment on Helaena’s weird insects out of the blue. (Aemond cried to Alicent that Aegon pushed him simply because he was mean about everything but when Aether smacked Aegon at the back of his head for snatching Aesira away after pushing the younger boy, Alicent instantly understood.)

“But really, I’m glad Sira is here. I don’t need other siblings when I already have her and Daemian. They are enough for me as is. Besides, the kids Lady Laena gave birth to are nothing to me; they just happen to share the same father as me, Aesira, and Daemian.” Then, he stops leaning on Alicent. “Is that one of my lemon candies?” He scrambles to stand up from his comfortable position, scurrying to where Daemian is on the verge of gobbling one of his prized lemon candies, the sugar coating glinting against the sun’s rays. “You already have your blueberry candies, Damy! Don’t eat it! Sira,” he whines, pouting away as fixes his sister with a purposeful rendition of a puppy asking for treats, “he’s eating my sweets!”

Alicent picks herself up from the floor and stares at the children for a few moments, what Aether said ringing in her mind. Does Rhaenyra share the same feeling? Does her anger spread to Alicent’s own blood that she doesn’t have the heart to acknowledge that they are her siblings despite not sharing a mother? Again, her father’s words add to the headache. Rhaenyra will not stop until there are no threats to her throne. Alicent will have to cleave for her mercy to not have a single strand of hair on her family be harmed. She doesn’t realise she has been pulling apart pieces of thin skin from her fingers, the sharp sting of newly-healed wounds opening again.

She will indulge in this domestic bliss for now; but when the moment comes for her to wear the crown fitted on her head, her first move will be putting forth the greatest union known among the realms — a marriage.

this is already on my ao3 so if you want more chapters, click on this link

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taglist: @winxschester @darylandbethfanforever9 @averyyreads

[bapydemonprincess]

Picrew used: https://picrew.me/ja/image_maker/1657119

🌹💖Princess Mey Rin💖🌹

The fairest, sweetest princess known in the land, far and wide. Though a bit sheltered from the outside world due to her very poor eyesight and her Father's overall over protectiveness, she's sharp in other ways like knowing why her circumstances are the way they are and figuring out various means of escaping to go out into the woods beyond.

Every time, however, a devoted protector of hers is bound to find her.

One being the Kingdom's mysterious advisor and mage, Sebastian Michaelis, who seemed cold and uninterested in socializing with visitors of any kind from other kingdoms, trying to make trade deals or gambles; attempting to trick the King into making bad decisions. (there have been too many close calls where the fool almost agreed..), but the princess has warmed their heart when she will not give up on trying to socialize with them, asking questions and begging to be told more stories of the powerful mage's life before this.

Another being a brave, gallant, if a bit over the top bold and brash, dramatic and sometimes egotistic Grelle Sutcliff. A leader among her army and already solemnly sworn to protect the entire royal family, she's often found herself specifically rushing to scoop up the bumbling princess when she's attempted to blindly run off out of excitement into an unknown location or climb a tree in the woods out of wanting a little fun in her life.

Finally there's her very own tutor, a holy priestess and healer of the kingdom, Hannah Annafellows, who also patiently puts up with the billions of questions the princess asks, charmed by the young woman's endless open and honest curiosity.

And also noticing as the young woman grows braver a curious energy growing within her. Almost similar to the healing powers she herself has.. if a bit different in its own manner.

As the kingdom starts to fall into hard times as the King, Lau, does some not so smart deals with some shady neighboring kingdoms, his daughter secretly searches; begs and pleads with her sworn and loyal protectors to help her save her tiny family of only her Father and her younger sister, Ran Mao. (who unknowist to her is also trying to figure out how to protect her poor-sighted older sister in her own ways; learning to fight!)

Who would think, realizing she can see in the distance and wield a bow and arrow with ease, would help Mey Rin become one of the deadliest stealth archers in the land.

And help her secretly take out her Father's enemies with a single shot before anyone knows it.

[angelasscribbles]

Coronation Tribulation (The Crown and the Shield Chapter 1)

Series: The Crown and the Shield

Fandom: The Royal Romance

Pairing: Captain of the King's Guard x Crown Prince

Rating: G

Warnings for this chapter: None

Word Count: 686

A/N: Giving @harleybeaumont all the credit for the idea for this little one-shot. Tagging @choicesficwriterscreations pride bingo: coming out (or not). Tagging @choicesjunechallenge for proposal.

My other stuff: Master List.

The young guardsman circulated through the crowd as much as was socially required of him and not an iota more. He made his way to the bar at the back of the ballroom looking for whiskey to drown his sorrows in.

The social season had been hard on him. He knew that his promotion in both rank and position, captain and head of the King’s Guard respectively, had garnered some attention and a lot of whispers.

It wasn’t the promotion itself that had made tongues wag. A new king always warranted a new King’s Guard. It was tradition for the newly crowned monarch to assemble their own team, to promote and move soldiers around accordingly. The thing that had the rumor mill churning was the speculation about why he had been chosen, about the nature of his relationship with the crown prince, the soon-to-be new king.

Captain Walker flicked the chestnut hair out of his face as his copper-colored eyes scanned the ballroom, locking on the object of his affection. His best friend, his lover, his soon-to-be monarch.

It wasn’t the whispers or the speculation that had been hard. He didn’t care what anyone thought of him.

No, it was the fact that in order to be crowned king, the prince must first get engaged. The man that he loved would be picking a fiancée in a matter of minutes and he would be expected, as the head of the new King’s Guard, to stand on stage and watch it happen.

His eyes flicked from the prince to the woman that would soon be the queen in waiting. Her perfectly coiffed blond hair was swept into an intricate updo. Her bright blue eyes sparkled with anticipation. He watched the couple smile adoringly at each other. It seemed real, no matter what he’d been told the night before.

His heart ached as he watched the two of them together. All the whispered promises in the dark seemed hopelessly naïve in the face of reality.

“Another one!” he motioned to the bartender. He took the drink and gulped it down as his com crackled to life, altering him that it was time to make his way to the stage.

He climbed with a leaden heart onto the dais and took his place beside, but slightly behind, his future king. A future that was about to begin. A future he was increasingly worried didn’t include him. Not in the way that he wanted, the way that he needed.

The outgoing king made a few brief opening remarks before moving on to the engagement announcement.

The noblewoman whose name was called stepped forward and ascended the stage to stand next to the prince and accept the proposal, and the ring, in front of the court and the press. The newly engaged couple posed for several pictures before moving on to the coronation ceremony.

After receiving the signet ring and scepter, the prince knelt in front of the retiring king to receive the crown. He was acutely aware of his lover behind him during the entire process, but decorum dictated that he could not turn his head to look at him.

With his head bowed as the final step in the coronation was performed, he squeezed his eyes shut and let himself feel the pain that permeated his heart.

He would marry this woman, he would produce an heir with her, and he would do his duty to his country, but his heart belonged to only one person.

His father completed the ceremony, “Please rise, King Constantine Arthur Augustus Hector Rys!”

Constantine rose to his feet, shooting a quick sidelong glance at his lover as he did so.

Jackson’s face was a mask of stoicism as he stared straight ahead at the audience and not at his new king.

Constantine turned to the crowd with a fake smile plastered on his face and a determination in his heart that no matter what challenges ruling threw his way, he and Jackson would not lose their way, not let go of each other.

He could make it work. He was sure of it.

[alltimefail-sims]

Ciara Baptiste Submission for @oatberrytea's Ofelia🌻

The Basics: -> Human; She/Her -> Pansexual -> Currently lives in Britechester as she just graduated from university! -> Young Adult (irl around 26 y.o.)

Details below the cut! ↓

Ciara's traits are: Cheerful, Clumsy, Bookworm, Socially Awkward, and Genius (two of those are from the "self discovery" feature, but I can't remember which ones!)

-> Her current aspiration is: Eco Innovator! Additionally, she completed the Academic aspiration, gaining the "Higher Education" trait!

-> Education: Has two prestigious degrees with honors from Foxbury Institute (Communications and Computer Science).

-> Her likes include: Spring, pastel color palettes: especially the colors yellow, pink, blue, and purple. She likes romantic, pop, and soul music. She loves engaging in Silly behavior, giving (and receiving) compliments, discussing interests, physical intimacy, flirting, and a little bit of what she calls "harmless" gossiping (specifically about silly stuff like the royal family or pop culture in general). She gravitates toward idealist and funny sims, but more than anything her favorite kind of sims are family-motivated sims. It was really just her and her dad growing up, so she wants to have a family of her own and is looking for a partner who wants a big, beautiful, fun family, as well! Her hobbies include robotics, research and debate, handiness, programming, wellness, baking, and knitting. She also enjoys acting and singing, even though she does both of those things quite poorly (that doesn't stop her, lol).

-> Her dislikes include: The "color" grey - she would argue that grey is definitely not a color, and she sees waaaay too much of it in the math and science field. She likes most genres of music, but Metal music is an absolute no-go and she is kind of a scaredy-cat who prefers the "cute" side of Halloween, so spooky music is also out. She doesn't tend to run in the same spaces as high-energy sims: she was not gifted in the athletics department and hates fitness activities, skiing, rock climbing, and snowboarding. However, she dislikes egotistical and argumentative sims the most! As a cheerful, optimistic sim she doesn't like conversations focused on complaints, pranks, arguments, potty humor, or malicious interactions.

-> Some fun facts include: Ciara was a happy infant and toddler, an only child who grew up in the spice market area of San Myshuno and was raised by a loving, generous single dad who she's still extremely close to. Her dad worked in nonprofits and charity work, always encouraging her to advocate for others, give back to their community, and be compassionate. Her mom passed away when she was only a year old, but her dad has done a solid job at keeping her memory alive. Ciara is half Japanese (her mother's side) and half Trinidadian/Tobagonian (on her father's side).

As soon as she could hold a hammer and power up a computer, she put her natural ingenuity to the test time and time again. Even though her unquenchable curiosity did lead to some small apartment fires, a few broken appliances, and a beaker explosion from time to time, she ultimately completed the Creative Genius aspiration and gained the "Idea Person" trait. That being said, she has always had a strong sense of purpose, wanting to put that perfect combination of smarts and creativity to work: that's why she decided she would dedicate her life to inventing and ultimately helping better the environment when she was around 12 years old.

High School came with a plethora of social challenges for Ciara: even though she was (and still is) extremely bubbly and bafflingly smart, she sometimes had trouble relating to people her age and understanding social expectations. Some kids picked on her for being too nerdy or too involved in class, others found her too talkative and "annoying," assuming her curious nature and positive attitude must be "fake." (Honestly, she was just neuro-divergent and didn't know it yet! She, in my opinion, didn't get evaluated by a profession until she was out of highschool and would ultimately be diagnosed as a combo of autism - toward the "high functioning" end - and ADHD). She found herself hanging out in teacher's classrooms more than not, usually not invited to big parties and doing her best to avoid social events like Prom as much as possible. However, she did have a small group of good friends, fortunately... so it definitely wasn't all bad! (She even went to the same college and was roommates with one of them!) Because she poured most of her free time into extracurriculars and schoolwork, she graduated at the top of her class and was given the honor of valedictorian!

Although she grew up in the city, she's 100% not attached to city living! She would love living somewhere with fresh air and lots of sunshine, especially if that meant she would have extra space to tinker and brainstorm! Plus, as an environmental enthusiast and "Civil Designer," she cares about inventing and finding affordable, healthy, safe innovations that work for all kinds of communities: that's a job she can do from anywhere!

Ciara never backs down from a challenge, but potentially competing for love might be the scariest one she's faced yet. She has never had a serious relationship and has never actually been in love, even though she eagerly puts her heart on her sleeve and has come close before. Could Ofelia be her soulmate? Ciara has crunched the numbers, and the stats say there's a slim chance: a 20% chance of success and an 80% chance at heartbreak, to be exact...

but that's a risk she's just might be willing to take. ❤️

Private DL if chosen!

[everlastingfable]

Who even is Mark Smeaton? *runs*

omg anon are you sure you wanna ask this?

short answer: he's a bard from the 1530s who was in king henry viii's court and at the age of 24-ish confessed to committing adultery with queen anne boleyn, leading to his execution as well as the execution of anne and four other lords in her circle. but he most likely lied

long answer: mark smeaton (last name probably originally smet or smedt) was from flanders and later moved to england. he was a commoner, and the people in the royal court did not let him forget that. he originally worked under cardinal wolsey teaching choir boys, but was later transferred to king henry's court in the early 1530s when henry was doing his church of england thing. mark was quoted to be a "very handsome young man", "one of the prettiest monochord players", and "the deftest dancer in the land"

very little is actually known about him, except that he was getting paid very well by the king and queen. in less than two years his yearly salary nearly doubled (going from modern day ��750 to £1250), and that doesn't even include the bonuses he received from them. to the point where he was able to afford expensive horses, clothes, liveries, etc. the horses alone were worth more than three times his yearly salary. he supposedly also had land and servants of his own. he was the court's sugar baby and some lords hated his attempt to social climb

we know he received a manuscript of two poems from viscount rochford. inside is inscribed "this book is mine, george boleyn 1526" and underneath "a moy, m. marc sn" which directly translates "to me" but basically "mine"

he was a favorite of anne boleyn and was probably in love with her. his downfall started when he was standing outside of anne's apartment window looking sad. anne asked him what was wrong and he replied that it was "no matter" she then chastised him for wanting her to speak to him as if he's a nobleman. he's a commoner and he should be glad she's speaking to him at all. he replied "no, no, madam. a look sufficeth, thus fare you well."

this conversation was reported to thomas cromwell (the king's secretary) who invited mark to his house for "entertainment" but it was a ruse. no one knows exactly what happened that night. most sources say he was tortured. but the next day mark confessed to sleeping with the queen along with four other men, all of whom were part of her circle. mark was the only one of the five men to confess and plead guilty.

he probably lied as the dates he gave didn't match up. the days he said he slept with the queen, she was somewhere else entirely.

he and the four men were executed in tower hill. despite being a commoner, he was beheaded (the nobleman's death) instead of hung and quartered. supposedly for his cooperation with cromwell and his crew. he was the last of the men to get beheaded and was described to have stumbled back when he saw the bloody scaffold and said "masters, I pray you all pray for me, for I have deserved the death"

he was buried in the tower of london in either where the building for the crown jewels are being displayed or behind the chapel royal of st peter ad vincula

I think he's the most fascinating person to have ever existed and is the definition of "I'm here for a good time not a long time"

[exitpursuedbyavulcan]

A Companion Chapter 1 Sneak Peek

I’m too sleepy to write an intro. This is coming Friday babes

Otto passed the time observing the remaining guests, noting who had spoken to whom and about what. It helped him discern who would make a potential ally, who needed more convincing, and who needed to be removed from court. He had just dismissed the grumblings of two minor lords as inconsequential when his eye caught on two people – a man and a woman - that he did not recognize.

They both seemed familiar, yet Otto could recall no name to match their faces. Perhaps he had seen them in passing during the events preceding the wedding – the tourney possibly, or even the morning feast. Though if it had been one of those, he likely would have remembered them.

Still, something about them was scratching insistently at the back of his mind and bringing an unpleasant feeling to his chest. More so the Man than the Woman, but still. If they were somehow a threat, as his instinct suggested, it would be prudent of him to watch them closely.

The Man wore entirely ostentatious clothing, the dyes obnoxiously rich and bright. A gaudy purple shot through with the whitest white silk Otto had ever seen. He was clearly trying to impress his peers and ensure his house was recognized. Still, Otto could not quite place the heraldry, an irony he allowed himself a moment to delight in. The purple and white were relatively unique, but stars were so common that they offered no hint of who the man was.

Northern, most likely, judging by his thick dark hair, hard gray eyes, and stocky build. His features, individually, were well-formed, yet it made an unpleasant whole. A man of brutality and brutishness. A man who smiled rarely. And when he did, his smile likely indicated something wicked. A thoroughly unpleasant figure.

But the Woman – the Lady…

A pretty young thing. A very pretty young thing, likely only a year or two older than Alicent. She wore no heraldry save a small silver pin on her breast. Her clothes were simple, all made of dark fabric that could easily be mistaken for black if one did not look closely. Though she bore no ring on her finger, her hair was worn braided and pinned back like that of a married woman.

With the sinking feeling of both realization and pity, Otto realized that there was only one reason why she would be wearing such clothes at a royal wedding, of all places – she was in mourning.

Yet her companion seemed to hold no pity for her. They were far enough away that Otto could not hear the words, but from the deep furrow of the Man’s brow and the Lady’s tired, resigned eyes, he knew the conversation was not pleasant. He had only just made the decision to stay out of whatever family squabble this was when the Man turned to look at him, then seized the Lady’s arm, hissed something into her ear, and thrust her in Otto’s direction.

At least this did not seem to be the work of Rhaenyra. No, this was all the work of the unpleasant man. It no longer mattered what house he was from. It only mattered that he was desperate to raise his station, and that Otto did not like him.

The decision was easy to make – he understood her pain, having lost a love himself. He would be kind to her, but he would not impose himself on such a lovely young woman in mourning any longer than necessary to temporarily sate her companion’s apparent social climbing aspirations. No matter his promise to the King, or his burgeoning desire for a companion of his own, this girl deserved better than an old man. Once he spoke to her, perhaps he could even introduce her to more suitable bachelors.

For he certainly was not the match for her.

[moonbreezes]

wait George Villiers was a shitty person? what did he do?

Hi! I’d like to preface my answer to this question by saying that I’m not a historian (I have a degree in linguistics and literary studies), and all of my information comes from doing a lot of research regarding George on my own, therefore there might be a lot more info on what exactly he did or did not. So if there is someone more knowledgeable about this, please correct me.

What George Villiers did, and, quite frankly, how his career had gone could be described by a line reportedly spoken by Queen Anna of Denmark to Abbot, the archbishop of Canterbury (and Pembroke), two people who worked together to install George in James’s bedchamber as a favourite “You and the rest of your friends know not what you do. I know your master better than you all, for is this young man be once brought in first person he will plague must be you that labour for him.”

As opposed to the previous favourite Somerset (Robert Carr), Gorge was deeply ambitious as he not only wished to enrich himself while in favour, but he also wanted to become an important player in the political sphere. (If I dare say so myself, I believe, that his time as a politician, would not be half as bad if he had received a proper training. Tho he was undoubtedly a shitty, to put it mildly, person) He knew that key to his success was the affection and love of the king as he could literally take everything that was given to him and make him once again the poor George that he once was. (I really do not want to talk about their relationship as it would take more than a sentence to summarise it). Thans to how rapidly he climbed the social ladder and received more titles and positions at the court which in turn allowed him to have actual sway in the country’s internal and external politics. Geore was also keenly aware that apart from the royal favour he needed connection to face his opposition (the ancient families of England). So patronage, it was something common (even now). He installed his immediate family at the court and secured them positions, (mmm nepotism), the marriage market was also fair play as George slowly but surely arranged marriages for people in his family, win-win situation.

Addressing his now growing family, his wife – Kate Manners, became one as he possibly kidnapped and raped her. (There are some rumours that he “what-a-surprise got locked” with her in one building so after that they just had to get married.) It was a marriage for the money she could bring, and the connections did not hurt either, a nice bonus, one might even say. He also made a deal with Edward Coke to marry off his daughter (her mother protected her fiercely) to his brother. It is said that she cried during the ceremony.

In lieu of the theme of nepotism, as he slowly transformed the royal bedchamber into a place of the de facto lawmaking. He packed every place possible (to an extent) with people what would back him up. For that he was notoriously selling patronages, titles, and land, especially in Ireland where law did not hold him so much. Literally whenever the parliament tried to remove him from power because of how badly (Imo he would have done much better if he had training and not just gone with the general fuck around and find out rule.) he did his job, and people were fed up with him. He started a whole 20D chess match with Richelieu which was pointless, started a few campaigns that ended with him often not paying the soldiers (I mean no one would stab him to death over such thing… right), the last one being a pointless siege that only made England loose troops and money. (He could have one that one, he was so close to it, but he had to celebrate the possibility of victory rather than making people sing papers). He enraged the protestant England by helping to offer help France with fight off Protestants. What else… oh yes, he almost sa’d Anne of Austria which just… mmm the flavour of historical silencing of women, misogyny and men who just have dick measuring contests because.

Tho what I do not believe, and what many line up with, is that he did not poison James (or at least wasn’t aware of doing so??) because I think that he would gain more from helping the king survive than just killing him.

Sources

Bellany, Alastair, and Thomas Cogswell. 2015. The Murder of King James I. New Haven: Yale University Press.

Cogswell, Thomas. 2017. James I (Penguin Monarchs). Penguin UK.

Lockyer, Roger. 2014. Buckingham. Routledge.

Stewart, Alan. 2014. The Cradle King. St. Martin’s Press.

Veerapen, Steven. 2023. The Wisest Fool. Birlinn Ltd.

[haveyouseenthisskeleton]

Swapfell Sans and Papyrus (Updated presentations)

NOX (Swapfell Sans)

Backstory : To assure his brother and his own security, Nox joined the Royal Guard at 13 years old. Considered too young and fragile by most of his companions, he proved them all he was a force of nature that they would better not deal with, quickly climbing the hierarchy to become captain. Noticed by the Queen after he arrested 27 notarious criminals in one night, she made him his general and counselor, firing Alphys who had the job before him. That caused him to have a lot of enemies and rivals, both in the guard and in the population, soon known for his absence of mercy and how he tortures those he's catching. He's not a very popular general. His own brother, Rus, took a step away, not approving any of his methods. That almost break the bond between the brothers, Rus finding a shelter in alcohol, while Nox was too busy to care. But soon, the seventh human child was about to change that. Chara was not a nice kid, only wanting to cause chaos and hurt monsters who took everything they have. The brothers had to work together again to stop the resets for good. They never forgave Chara, who let them scarred for life. Now on the Surface, the brothers are learning to live with each other again, even if it's still not perfect. The only thorn in Nox's foot is still Toriel, who is now insisting to make him her heir and the next ruler of monsterkind. Nox can't take it anymore, and his brother either, and Rus is this close to tell the old bitch what he thinks of her. Despite wanting to quit the royal guard, Nox is too much under the control of the Queen, who convinced him he would not be able to do anything of his life if he leaves her. Nox is believing her blindly, but Rus won't lose his brother again this time and finally finds the courage to tell her to leave his brother alone and that he quits. Nox has now to readapt to a normal life.

Personality : Cold, criticizes everything and anyone, serious, loyal, natural leader, ambitious, arrogant, adapt to anything, charismatic, brave, cynical, honest, strict, proud, deceitful, cautious, annoying, bitter, manipulative, inexpressive, doesn't like to be alone, organized, observant, protective, moaner, scared of paranormal.

Job : Former general of the royal guard, goldsmith

Hobbies : Ruining the life of his Karen neighbour, martial arts.

Loves : Independance, cats, expensive suits, clothes in general, taunting Alphys, shows off his fight skills, pretend to be alright.

Hates : Obeying to Toriel's orders, ghosts and demons, black cats, ladders, storms, people he knows suddenly acting like they're possessed or something, the dark, insomnias.

The S/O of his dream : Someone who doesn't get mad when he's a bit rude. He's still learning social skills and sometimes he's not the best at comforting people or saying nice things. Someone who doesn't hesitate to tell him when he's going to far and to forget Toriel with.

Dealbreaker : Not understanding what he had been through Underground, trying to separate him from his brother.

Contacts :

Family : Rus

Best friend (but would never say it outloud) : Edge

Close friends : Grillby - Muffet - Demon

Friends : Red - Undyne - Copper - Tango - Creeper - Fang

Friendly rivals : Blue - Edge - Chief -

OK/Neutral : Sans - Alphys - Burgerpants - Coffee - Nugget - Pumpkin - Moon - Dune

Would better avoid : Asgore - Gaster - Papyrus - Gerson - Honey - Oak - Willow - Sun - Rambo - Salsa - Rumba - Ben - Delta

Absolutely hates : Toriel - Mettaton - Killer - Sam - Error

Would kill on sight : Frisk - Chara - Flowey - Ink

Nemesis : Wine - Torpedo

____________________________________________

RUS (Swapfell Papyrus)

Backstory : Rus never fitted quite right in the monster society. He has his own vision of life, which leads him to be a problematic kid. He was stealing, talking bad to people and he even insult Toriel once and almost got executed for this. But somehow, he has an insolent luck that helped him to get away with everything. It changed when his brother entered the Royal Guard. Now a target, Rus suffered in silence for years, forced to learn to defend and protect himself from his brother's rivals. He became paranoid, depressed, and lonely, as his brother lost all interest in him. Rus gave up at one point and fell into alcoholism, which lead to even more conflicts with his brother. When Chara first fell, they abused his trust to kill his brother the second he lowered his guard, right in front of his eyes. It was a shock, and Rus suddenly realised he was caring for him more than he thought. Forced to ally with him again to find a solution, he finally found time to tell him everything he had on the heart for years, which made Nox realised how bad he abused his brother and how bad Rus' mental really was. Once they reached the surface, Nox promised him to be a better brother and to help him get out of his addictions, which he did eventually. Rus is enjoying this second chance he has with his brother now, closer than ever, but he still had to open his mouth to tell Toriel to leave his brother alone, which she didn't take well and tried to kill him a few days later, but that's fine. He's not scared anymore, and he wants to live for real now.

Personality : Jokester, dreamy, loves physical touch, no social skills, sweet, bully, extroverted, lucky, pain in the ass, kleptomaniac, tattletale, chilled, scammer, drama queen, very clever, clumsy, impulsive, opportunist, lazy, optimistic, bragger.

Job : No thanks.

Hobbies : Very elaborated pranks, watching TV, playing video games.

Loves : Chicken mc nuggets, weird looking pets, putting himself in danger, make Nox believe there are ghosts in the house and watch him lose his mind, unaesthetic things, carry his S/O.

Hates : Toriel, Chara, people who treat him like a child, people talking behind his back, being kidnapped by his brother's rivals, blood, responsibilities.

The S/O of his dream : Someone who wants him is already enough honestly. He knows he's not exactly easy.

Dealbreaker : Using his addictions against him in an argument, trying to separate him from his brother, manipulating him for bad purposes, talking to him like he's a child.

Contacts :

Family : Nox

Best friends : Honey - Coffee - Ben - Killer

Close friends : Grillby - Red - Edge - Pumpkin - Fang - Dune

Friends : Undyne - Alphys - Muffet - Willow - Copper - Chief - Rumba - Demon - Delta

OK/Neutral : Sans - Asgore - Burgerpants - Gerson - Nugget - Moon - Rambo - Tango - Creeper

Would better avoid : Papyrus - Gaster - Oak - Sun - Salsa - Sam -

Absolutely hates : Toriel - Frisk - Chara - Mettaton - Flowey - Wine - Torpedo - Ink - Error

[fire-kitty-lol]

More Pale King Headcannons

Anatomy HCs

Wyrm’s are hermaphrodites, not too shocking, a common hc!

As you can see, I draw Pk to have a very long, fluffy tail. I like to think that The wastes are a cold place, so it’s probably used to help keep warm

Pk has sharp spines along his back and joints as added protection. Wyrm’s don’t have a lot of predators when they’re big, but when they transform greater protection is a must!

Is day vision is shit. Wyrm’s are cave creatures, the burrow and live mostly in the dark, so they primarily have night vision. They’re eyes tend to be reflective. Lights, like lumafly lanterns, can make it more difficult for them to see, as it goes from just enough for effective night vision, to too much light.

Man can’t see during the daytime, so he’s a nocturnal goblin for the most part.

While there are warm blooded Wyrm’s, PK’s species specifically is cold-blooded. Or more accurately, like a whip tail anole, where they are warm-blooded while young, and cold-blooded when fully matured. (Interesting phenomenon, look it up)

Legs made for running and climbing at high speeds

Genral HCs

He’s fully matured (clearly) but grew up in a more isolated canal island, causing something called “island dwarfism”, meaning competition for limited resources caused metabolic efficiency to go up, and size to go down.

He doesn’t eat much surprisingly, doesn’t need to, as he doesn’t digest at the same rate as most bugs.

He’s got some scars from battles, One from Xero getting a hit on one of his legs, and one from the BlackWyrm managing to nick his tail.

He’s an efficient healer, adept with soul usage, so it’s not a suprise he heals most wounds before they scar

He does have a scar from Ghost hitting him in the dream palace. And a broken horn. He doesn’t much care though, never was one for appearances.

He did cut off his own wings, a) as a punishment for his actions and b) they were deteriorating due to void getting in them

He has a mask that suppresses his glow, he’s able to live pretty normally thanks to that.

Long as hell claws

When Xero tried to assassinate him, he let the man get a few hits, just for entertainments sake. Then when Xero actually did damage (leg scar) he fucking mauled him. Was furious at himself after, but it did set a good example. Don’t attack the king unless you want to die.

Sleeping facing you is a major sign of trust

Aftermath AU

No, he doesn’t take the throne back, it rightfully belongs to Ghost now. Though If Ghost wants, he will give advice and support.

He’s trying his best to be a good parent, he’s not very good at the whole “emotions” thing though, and being a socially awkward hermit doesn’t help either when trying ti comfort upset children

Sleep?? What’s sleep??

He does still have his torn up old robes somewhere, it’s mostly uses as extra fabric in case he needed to patch a hole in something. He doesn’t care to wear royal things anymore.

He will always choose comfort and function over style.

(Yes, he has clothes I was just too lazy to draw them)

He’s trying ok?

Is relationship with Ghost is tense at best

Hornet doesn’t know how to feel, on one hand she missed him, on the other she’s angry, she’s giving him another chance tho.

Pk is way to anxious to really adress the situation

Hollow has separation anxiety, and is always by PK’s side, much to the Wyrm’s worry.

WL is…..conflicted. As is Pk, they loved each other, but in the end WL abandoned him and he shut her out. They decided they’re better off not speaking anymore.

[schcmcr]

{jayden revri, 28, genderqueer, she/they} We are so glad to see you safe, HEAD COOK ALEKSANDR 'SANYA' DEVI of RUSSIA! It’s dangerous out in the world these days, but I hear that you are CHARMING and RESOURCEFUL enough to handle it. Just don’t let your CALLOUSNESS bring you down! Stay on your guard, because with your secret being at risk for exposure, you wouldn’t want everyone to find out YOU WILL STOP AT NOTHING TO LIVE THE LUXURIOUS LIFE YOU HUNGER FOR

NICKNAME: Sanya (will not answer to any other name unless she's being scolded) NAME: Aleksandr Devi (true surname: Rao) AGE: 28 GENDER / PRONOUNS: Genderqueer, she/they ORIENTATION: Pansexual, polyamorous • • • FAMILY: Couldn't care less MARITAL STATUS: Unbetrothed but eager to change that LANGUAGES: Russian (fluent, native), English (fluent with a heavy accent)

BACKSTORY

Saint Petersburg is cold and unforgiving for those who do not have a single kopek to their name. Your family was rich and powerful during the Romanov rule. They served them for generations, and were given freedom to appoint their own for any position that was needed. That should have been your fate, had you not been born long after the assassination of the royal family.

After the war, your parents were shamed for their connections to the previous regime. Shunned, denied jobs, chased out of the capital. Remnants of the extinct dynasty were framed as the common foe that would unite the people towards a new collective goal.

They left for the countryside, and did what any couple in desperate need of money would foolishly do: produce as much cheap workforce as they could. Illness and starvation made you into a survivor. You can at least thank for parents for that, no matter how much you despise them. Your instincts led you to leave them quite young — better to starve stealing, than work eighteen hours a day and starve all the same.

You were caught only once, and they took your right little finger in retribution. You claim to have lost it as an apprentice, when you were still dumb, and clumsy with kitchen knives.

At the age of seventeen you had almost outgrown your aptitudes for sneaking into forbidden places and stealing nice things, and needed new sources of revenue. You already had a talent for selling things to people who don't need them, so this time you decided to sell yourself: instead of sneaking and stealing, you would be invited and given.

Your plan was fail-safe, or so you thought. You set your eyes on the youngest daughter of a merchant family. Dreamy, naive creature. Pretty, too. And filthy rich, behind the tsarina's back; another remnant of the regime. Felt almost like the home you never knew.

You became her friend, then stole kisses meant for her betrothed. Stole her heart. Her family's secrets. Her money, with honeyed words and pleading eyes. You attempted to steal her from her impending marriage, too, but her mother wasn't as stupid as she was, saw right through your intentions, and kicked you out like a dog. Your goodbye gift was to divulge everything you had learned and prompt an investigation on their dealings.

With a warning, if not worse, on your name, you sought refuge in the safest place you could think of: the great tsarina's home. You were smart enough to trick the service into believing you knew shit about cooking, and secured your new job by being competent, charming, and a skilled liar. You learn from your failures, and when you framed the previous head cook for a failed attempt to poison the family, you graciously accepted the role from him.

Now in Brazil, old plans are set into motion once again. Your greatest ambition is still not only not to starve, but to thrive, fill your pockets and climb the social ladder, whatever it takes. Yet, there isn't much more for you to climb in your homeland. So, you have set your sights higher: if you manage to secure a marriage with any of these foreign royals... maybe you could just leave Russia for good.

[frogprincesnowglobe]

Ultimate Young Royals Character Tournament

Sara Eriksson VS August Horn of of Årnäs

Sara Eriksson: First year student in Manor house at Hillerska boarding school. Loves horses. Really loves horses. Simon's sister. They were close. Real close. But she has her eye on the prize and that prize is climbing a few rungs higher on the social ladder. Loves Horses. Did I mention she loves horses? Loves Rousseau (he's a horse). Friends with Felice. Once betrayed her brother by not telling him she knew who took and leaked the explicit video of him that was taken through a window without his knowledge. Once betrayed him worse by sleeping with the guy who took leaked the explicit video of him that was taken through a window without his knowledge.

August Horn of Årnäs: Third year student in Forest Ridge house at Hillerska boarding school. Second cousin to Wille and Erik. His dad Carl Johan Horn of Årnas was Queen Kristina's cousin. Very high strung. Grieving. Looks good in turtlenecks. Addicted to ADHD meds. Anxious. Exercises too much. Once ate a whole leaf of kale. He has his eye on the prize and that prize is climbing many rungs higher on the social ladder. Currently backup to Crown Prince Wilhelm. Was prefect but isn't now. Was Captain of the rowing team, also isn't now. Currently avoiding Crown Prince Wilhelm. Gets soft around Sara. Once patted a horse's nose. Once promised his loyalty to the crown and then took and leaked an explicit video of the Crown Prince and his boyfriend that he took through a window without their knowledge.

[dailyunsolvedmysteries]

Rita Ellis: A savage murder

Rita worked in the kitchens of Princess Mary’s Royal Air Force Hospital Halton, a treatment centre for flyers and the first hospital in the world to make regular use of penicillin. The 19-year-had joined up earlier the same year, completing her basic training in Lincolnshire before her transfer to Buckinghamshire. Friends described her as “shy” and “a gentle soul”. When Wing Commander Roy Watson and his wife asked her to babysit on the evening of November 11, she agreed.

At 7.25pm that night, RAF apprentice Steve Tank and his nurse girlfriend Liz left Rita at the front of the WRAF block at Halton, where Wing Commander Watson had arranged to collect her.

The camp employed more than 2,500 people, many of whom were attending one of two on-base social occasions taking place that night – a disco and a bingo game, to which local civilians were also invited.

When the Wing Commander arrived at 7.40pm, Rita was not where they agreed to meet. Unable to enter the women-only block, he returned home and fetched his wife. She went in to find Rita, but Rita was not there. Unbeknownst to them at that time, Rita had already left in another car – and was perhaps already dead.

Investigations later revealed that another car had arrived shortly before the Wing Commander’s white sedan, pulling up alongside Rita. She had climbed in and, having never met Wing Commander Watson before, she seemingly accepted that the man driving it was her superior officer. The car then left the base with Rita inside – her body was discovered by a man walking his dog the following morning, in nearby Rowborough Copse on the western edge of the camp.

Young Rita had been sexually assaulted and strangled to death with her own underwear. The case was taken up by the newly created Scotland Yard, and one man was questioned.

But despite recovering DNA evidence of the killer’s identity from the crime scene, it was never matched to a living suspect.

At the inquest into her death, the coroner opined that the killer would likely strike again. He may have done so, as the following month two more local teenagers were attacked by a man in similar circumstances.

Thames Valley Police still wishes to hear from members of the public with any information or suspicions, and has set up a dedicated email inbox at helprita@thamesvalley.pnn.police.uk