#the sun and moon in endless chase

[atopvisenyashill]

people really think arya is going to hate sansa when they meet again, even going so far as to hate her, want her executed, perhaps even as far as kinslaying with her own damn hands. meanwhile arya-

When she thought of seeing Robb's face again Arya had to bite her lip. And I want to see Jon too, and Bran and Rickon, and Mother. Even Sansa . . . I'll kiss her and beg her pardons like a proper lady, she'll like that.

does NOT give a shit lmao she just wants to see her sister alive again!

[chaos-has-theories]

Can someone explain to me why I keep dreaming about fridged Marvel Ladies. I haven't even SEEN any of the later movies

[loljaeyunz]

𝐒𝐔𝐍 & 𝐌𝐎𝐎𝐍 | 𝐏𝐒𝐇, 𝐒𝐉𝐘

𝖼𝖺𝗎𝗀𝗁𝗍 𝗎𝗉 𝖻𝖾𝗍𝗐𝖾𝖾𝗇 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗋𝖺𝗀𝖾 𝗌𝗍𝗈𝗋𝗆 𝗈𝖿 𝗍𝗐𝗈 𝗉𝗋𝗂𝗇𝖼𝖾𝗌, 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝖿𝗂𝗇𝖽 𝗒𝗈𝗎𝗋𝗌𝖾𝗅𝖿 𝗅𝗈𝗌𝗍 𝗂𝗇 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗍𝗎𝗋𝗆𝗈𝗂𝗅, 𝗎𝗇𝗌𝗎𝗋𝖾 𝗈𝖿 𝗐𝗁𝖺𝗍 𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝗐𝗁𝗈 𝗒𝗈𝗎𝗋 𝗁𝖾𝖺𝗋𝗍 𝗍𝗋𝗎𝗅𝗒 𝗅𝗈𝗇𝗀𝗌 𝖿𝗈𝗋.

the sun burns bright, alone and bold, lights up the moon with its endless gold.

READ HERE!

PAIRING: neglected prince!sunghoon x princess!reader

SUMMARY: park sunghoon, the forsaken prince of the south, had always lived in the shadows of jaeyun's favor. but then you arrived. your presence ignited a flame within him that he had long thought extinguished, and he became profoundly attached to you.

but, when the news of your marriage to jaeyun, the very bastard who had usurped everything sunghoon held dear—reached him, his world shattered once again. now, consumed by helplessness and bitter longing, he understands that no matter how desperately you both cling to each other, you are slipping through his fingers. there is nothing he can do but watch as the love you share is slowly pulled away, knowing that no amount of trying can change the fate that’s already been written. but still, he is willing to try.

GENRE: royalty, love triangle, forbidden love, angst, smut

WORD COUNT: 8k

RELEASE DATE: 12th september

so could the moon can gleam with its lover, stars, their light a whisper of sun's scars.

READ HERE

PAIRING: crown prince!jaeyun x princess!reader

SUMMARY: spending years loving someone who will never see you in the same light is a quiet kind of pain, one that lingers and deepens with time. it is a pain that hurts jaeyun, like a lonely moon forever chasing the night sky, knowing it will never reach the stars. you are always so close to him, yet you remain just out of reach, forever distant. he can only watch as you give your heart and love to another—his brother—while he is left to bear the silent ache of unfulfilled longing.

GENRE: royalty, love triangle, arranged marriage, unrequited love, brother rivalry, angst, smut, infidelity (?)

WORD COUNT: 15-20k

RELEASE DATE: tba

TAGLIST: send an ask or comment on this post! only 18+ pls.

a/n: sorry for dumping my shit here but this fic has been sitting in my docs since last year and i think its time to publish. sunghoon's part is already written, but i need to revamp it before the release date. then, i'll dive into jake's part, which im really excited about because all the crazy shit happens there

[sixosix]

wc, 500. talks a lot x listens trope, but with xiao.

Xiao dislikes wasting time.

There are a million reasons why he doesn’t indulge in small talk. Get to the point, he urges, tell me what you want. For their sake, but there’s also that he’d rather not involve himself in anyone else’s affairs.

But he could listen to you talk for hours. Days, years. You could hold him down, trap him in your arms—and he can break free any time, and he would, had it been anyone else, but he finds that he doesn’t want to right now.

“Xiao,” you say. Your breath hits his face. He feels warmth creep to his cheeks, and he’s already thinking about using your “unbearable” proximity as an excuse. “Xiao… Listen, you know how two weeks ago I made you that plate of Almond Tofu?”

Xiao hums, willing himself to make his gaze less soft, to something more intimidating. But you’re undeterred, grinning at him and skirting around why you’ve pinned him against the wall and completely disrespected his bubble of space. Not that he minds, anyway. He finds that he doesn’t mind a lot of things when you do it.

You’d been terribly occupied yesterday. You didn’t call Xiao’s name once—and usually, you’d be calling for him all the time, doing it to provoke a reaction out of him, but if Xiao really hated it, he would’ve stopped appearing eventually. He always appears, be it when you’re on the brink of death, or you want him to pick what you’d have for dinner that day.

Now, he’s willingly helpless as you talk and talk and he listens.

“And you hated the Almond Tofu I made, do you remember that? You made a face. All scrunched up—and it was cute, actually. That was a really funny face you made, I wish I had my Kamera with me at the time.”

Xiao wilts, still embarrassed you caught onto his visceral reaction. He doesn’t mean to offend you, even if right now it seems you’re taking it all in stride. “It was just different.”

You laugh brightly, like Xiao’s looking right at the sun, and he’s the moon chasing after your endless warmth. “No need to protect my pride. It made me want to do better. So, yesterday, I practiced all day to perfect it. I had all the chefs I know taste it, and they said I’ve gotten better this time!”

Xiao’s face burns. He squints to keep his eyes from blowing too wide.  “You were… practicing.”

“For you.”

“For me,” he echoes.

“…Do you want to try it?”

“Tell me about the events that transpired yesterday as I eat it,” Xiao demands, shifting to free himself from your arms, entirely missing the surprise that washes over your expression. He turns and finds you frozen in the same spot. “Well?”

Your gaze snaps back to him, beaming. “Well, if you missed me talking your ear off and wasting your time, then gladly.”

It’s not wasting time if it’s time spent with you, is what Xiao keeps to himself.

[venussaidso]

𝐌𝐨𝐨𝐧-𝐑𝐚𝐡𝐮-𝐊𝐞𝐭𝐮: 𝐓𝐫𝐮𝐞 𝐕𝐚𝐦𝐩𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐬𝐦

the prominent themes of vampirism such as desire, hunger, mystery and illusions tie so perfectly with the moon and its nodes. it wasn't surprising to find the nodes dominating this genre the most, along with the luminaries (moon & sun nakshatras, but more fittingly the moon). i will not be touching on the few sun nakshatras playing vampires, as the moon makes far more sense symbolizing true vampiric nature.

So many vampire movie posters have this luminous glow to them, likely done consciously because of these creatures' affinity for nighttime, and generally being nocturnal as they're extremely sensitive to any type of sunlight.

I've once briefly mentioned, in my "Moon Dominant Themes" post, that lunar natives can operate very secretly, such as 'working in the shadows'. And the whole lore of vampires always emphasizes their ability to hide themselves while still living among humans.

Vampires undergoing periods of dormancy and resurgence is interesting as that can also be linked back to the moon's cycles of waxing & maning. The influence that the moon has on vampires, in some legends, is during certain lunar phases in which they become more active. A full moon could literally mean that their strength has enhanced, whilst a moonless night could mean their desire for blood is heightened.

Rohini Sun Colin Farrell

Claire Nakti explored, in her "TOP 3 Most Magical & Mystical Astrology Signs | Cults, Divination, & Occultism | Part 2 (Nakshatras)" documentary, on the ability of Moon nakshatra natives to brainwash/mind control/hypnotize.

daniel kaluuya is a hasta moon, not rohini.

As these natives are often cult leaders, their ability to influence the mind goes back to their lunar-rulership. The Moon rules over the mind, emotions and subconscious. A vampire's ability to hypnotize humans and other lesser beings is in parallel to the Moon's influence over the psyche and subconscious.

This illusory nature found in vampires can be connected to the shadow planet, Rahu. As Rahu is illusions, desire, hunger. Rahu is very seductive and tempting; this could tie back to some legends in which vampires lure their prey giving them promises of pleasure.

Ardra Sun Tom Cruise.

In "Interview with the Vampire", Tom Cruise plays Lestat who is an overindulgent, greedy vampire. Rahu governs desires and the pursuit of worldly pleasures. It's related to insatiable cravings that lead to greed. The lustful nature of Rahu is seen in Lestat's intense bloodlust and the chaos it brings.

Rahu's associations with eclipses relates to their ability of being hidden in the shadows. Another hint is in Rahu being a Shadow planet itself, just like Ketu is which is also related to vampires.

The story about Rahu's head getting decapitated by Vishnu for trying to get a drink out of the nectar of immortality can be brilliantly paralleled with vampirism. Due to Rahu's consumption of the drop of the nectar, he became the infamous dismembered immortal. His dismemberment a symbol of the detachment from humanity to vampirism.

Rahu is considered an entity of darkness and malevolence, preying upon cosmic forces and defying the natural order of things (such as vampirism which does defy nature itself, ie. the dead becoming undead) in pursuit for immortality. Vampires are literal parasites, and Rahu is also parasitical. Vampires feed on humans without providing any benefit in the ecosystem in return, a one-sided relationship which resembles one between a parasite and its host. Rahu is depicted as insatiable and consuming, feeding and draining one's energy. It creates a cycle of thirsting for more without any fulfillment, a predicament vampires find themselves in.

Ashwini Sun Luke Evans

Rahu and Ketu represent the lunar nodes, respectively depicted as the head and tail of the celestial serpent. Their energetic interaction can be likened to the endless chase between a vampire and a vampire hunter, villain and hero, the friction between unlikely lovers. It's obvious in how Rahu embodies the insatiable hunger for experiences and the craving for fulfillment that it can be the vampiric force in such a dynamic. Like a vampire, Rahu relentlessly pursues its desires, often leading to greed and excess. And then you have Ketu, on the other hand, which embodies detachment, spirituality, and liberation from worldly attachments. It quite literally symbolizes the renunciation of desires and the quest for enlightenment, opposing Rahu's restlessness for more. Ketu is a cutting force, and like a determined vampire hunter, is skilled in tracking down illusions and breaking free from temptations.

Although it sounds like a more fitting interplay between Rahu as the evil force and Ketu as the hunter, it's actually more seen in the other way around.

It is more so that Rahuvians are the vampire hunters, which I found so intriguing; showcasing how Rahu is both the parasitical (illusory), and also the one to be rid of parasites (disillusionment). And I have explored this particular theme in my Rahu post -- how Rahu natives experience a lot of disillusionment from their reality, wanting to cast away the illusions that drain the life force.

The reversal of roles showcases the fluidity of the nodes; their roles almost always expected to reverse, illustrating just how Rahu and Ketu are deeply intertwined with the concept of karma, representing the push-&-pull between cosmic forces of destiny.

More nodal-vampire movies, and other examples in which Rahu & Ketu find themselves on opposite sides of the same spectrum in which they are both vampires, similar to the friction seen between Louis (Ketu) and Lestat (Rahu) in "Interview with the Vampire".

In the film "Fright Night", the one who has to kill the villainous vampire is an Ashwini native. It is also interesting how in "Queen of the Damned" (above, right), the villain is a Magha native who must be stopped by her Mula lover -- both being vampires.

As mentioned in the figure image about the film "Abraham Lincoln: Vampire Hunter", where a nodal-ruled native is paired up with someone who is lunar-ruled, this is a type of pairing seen a lot in these supernatural stories.

Similarly to "Twilight", as Edward was the one to turn Bella into a vampire, we see the planetary reversal of this in which the lunar-native is the one who turns the nodal-native.

Or the film "Vamps" in which Hasta Sun, Shatabhisha Moon native Alicia Silverstone turns Mula Sun, Magha Moon native Krysten Ritter into a vampire.

It isn't a surprise that the moon and its nodes are related to the extremities of the mind. These energies can cause isolation due to how polarizing they come off in regular society (furthermore validating its relation to vampirism), so they become attracted to one another -- especially the nodal natives to the moon natives, because of how much they feel magnetized by them, and vice versa.

edit: also paul wesley could be a purva phalguni moon instead of magha, there is an unconfirmed birthtime out there + he is a pushya sun and i have noticed sun nakshatras along with saturn nakshatras in vampiric roles as well. might touch on this some time soon.

The presence of some Sun nakshatras in vampire stories is present and that could tie to the Sun's influence over the Moon despite the fact that solar symbolisms regarding vampirism don't exist, and vampires are far too sensitive to the Sun so much so that they get sunburn during the full moon where the sun's light reflects (interesting to think about). The whole point of a vampire is to lurk in the shadows or during nighttime, so the strict avoidance of the Sun could make sense in there being solar-natives in vampiric roles. It makes for an interesting contradiction, certainly.

Ketu is the body of the severed demon Rahu following the consumption of the elixir. Much like Rahu, Ketu is also associated to darkness and illusions. But it symbolizes the darker, unseen aspects of reality -- all the hidden forces and energies as I've touched on in my Ketu exploration. Ketu and Rahu are two sides of the same coin, it isn't surprising to see them share many vampiric roles/stories.

Ketu is about spiritual liberation, detachment (in this context, becoming a vampire means a harsh detachment from normality/the old life), transcendence; these existential themes are found in vampirism.

The character Louis in "Interview with the Vampire" played by Mula Sun Brad Pitt describes his existential crisis as a vampire to a Magha Sun human who interviews him.

The enhanced strength, agility, speed, hearing and all these abilities are gained after the painful transformation process, going from human to vampire. This process is seen in the film "Interview with the Vampire", Mula Sun Brad Pitt's character going through excruciating pain when turning. My mind immediately takes me to Claire Nakti's first Mula nakshatra exploration, in which she touched on the interconnection of pain and evolution for access to more powers.

edit: robert pattinson is an ardra moon, not sun. and i accidentally used jk rowling's face as l.j smith, ugh! 💔

Vampires are caught between worlds, trapped in a liminal space between life & death. Ketu can cause feelings of entrapment. The yearning for release from their eternal existence is a common theme, as Ketu wants to escape its body. Louis de Pointe du Lac is the best character as example of rejecting one's own nature and wanting to cease to exist.

Mula Sun Brad Pitt

nodals being so emo jfc

notes: colin farrell's birthtime accuracy is botched, he's definitely a mula ascendant. tom hiddleston stays a possible ashwini moon until he's not (until his birthtime is available and accurate).

[entities-of-posts]

Hi, I have a question not directly tied to the roleplay (though I don't mind if you answer it in that direction): A while ago, you talked about your theory of a potential 16th Fear emerging to balance the emerging Extinction: the Dull. I find that concept compelling, but in that post you also said that each of the powers has an "opposite" due to how people like to categorise things and I'd be curious what you would consider the opposite of each power. (Mostly because I like lists and sorting things xD)

Some do have a pretty clear opposite (Vast/Buried, Lonely/Corruption), but with a lot of the others it's less immediately obvious or simply up to a bit more interpretation. iirc Elias says the Stranger is the antithesis to the Eye, but the Dark and the Spiral similarly foil its central concepts, and I'm not sure what else their opposites would be, really.

Let me just preface this list by saying that this is my own opinion and interpretation, and thus 100% right and correct and indisputable.

I will also say that there are Fears which I would call near opposites, but imperfect mirrors - such as the Stranger and the Eye - and some that just seem to hate each other without being antithesis - such as the Desolation and the Corruption. It’s also worth mentioning that overlap always exist between mirrors, of course; this is why there is a classic duality between the moon and the sun, but no one talks about the duality between the moon and a giraffe, even though they have much less in common.

That said, here is my list:

The Vast - The Buried: the most widely agreed upon. Spaces too large versus too small. The terrible freedom of being adrift in an endless ocean, of freefall, versus being crushed in place with not the space to crawl an inch. You get it. The comparison is so clear and easy that it kickstarts the speculation about all the others.

The Eye - the Dark: extremely straightforward; just as much as the Vast and the Buried, to me. Knowledge versus the lack of it. Stark light versus impenetrable darkness. What sees you versus what you cannot see. Literally symbolized respectively by an open eye and a closed one.

The Corruption - the Lonely: Toxic love versus miserable isolation. An overabundance of company, much too close, under your very skin, a swarm of uninvited guests within your deepest sanctuary who will not leave, versus a life so barren of any company at all that that you might almost start to crave the former. The heat of fever versus the cold of fog.

The Web - the Desolation: careful planning versus reckless destruction. A trap so intricately laid, hundreds of delicate moving pieces and redundancy measures waiting for just the right time… so easily laid to waste by an unthinking, spontaneous act of cruel hunger for rubbles. Man’s quest, since the dawn of time, has been to tame and leash fire. And we still haven’t mastered it.

The Hunt - the End: a wild fight for life versus its cold ending. The journey versus the destination. The two oldest fears. The Chase wants more than anything to never End. The End doesn’t Chase; it just waits. And you’re the one that walks towards it every instant.

The Stranger - the Slaughter: here is the part of the list where people start to look at me oddly, because they’ve often never considered those pairings; but hear me out, and remember that I am inarguably correct. The fear of something Else pretending to be human versus the fear of what truly lies at the core of every human person. The fear of being tricked by an elaborate disguise versus the intimate knowledge of the truth: that those who hurt others aren’t monsters disguised as people. They’re just people. And the urge is in you too. Masks, versus what is revealed when all masks are cast off. And they both have musical motifs which makes for some fun parallels.

The Spiral - the Flesh: the horror of the mind versus the horror of the body. Unreality versus a reality only too physical, only too inescapable. Your brain is lying to you, but your body keeps the score. Follow the patterns, the Spiral says, there is more, they are lying to you, just follow me down - this is all there is, the Flesh whispers, this is the raw and dripping truth, this is all you are and you will never escape it. The Distortion even admits it can’t digest an avatar of the Flesh.

[witherfide]

as much as i love the idea of moon being an adorable sweetheart, i can’t help but favor the interpretations of them just being a straight-up nuisance to others around them

them constantly picking fights with the other animatronics knowing they’ll lose, making sun’s job 10x harder than it needs to be by saying stupid shit in his ear, growling and hissing at the employees when they walk past, chasing you on all fours while you’re screaming in fear, hanging out in the vents for hours while staff frantically searches for them, stuffing food in their chest cavity that ends up rotting in there for weeks on end, stealing anything and everything from the employee’s jackets which results in lost badges and no pens in sight, using the wire like it’s a swing until it snaps and drops them from 20 feet in the air

the possibilities are ENDLESS and i think you should consider “chaotic” moon more

[eudemonia13]

In Bloom

Asmodeus x Reader

Fluff. W.C. 2348

Asmo learns just how much you adore him with the help of human world flower language

Asmodeus liked the Winter.

He liked how the blanket of snow, untouched and perfect, looked like angel down. How the beautiful white hydrangeas were captured in a frosted moment of stillness, as close to being immortalised as he would ever be. Glittering beneath the pale moon like stars fallen from the sky.

He liked the breathlessness that caught his lungs when the cold wind danced through his hair, the tremble of his hands as he took fistfulls of powdery snow and felt his nerves protest before they grew numb.

There was beauty in it, a kind that was out of reach lest it melt from even the gentlest touch. Like a snowflake resting on his fingertip, no matter how cold he willed his blood to run, it would always melt. A beauty that would fade if he held it, no matter how many times he reached out. He smiled, because there was beauty in that yearning too.

Tonight there was no such comfort. It was hot, loud, and buzzing with the energy of lust and passion coursing through the streets. Early in his life he had learned, summer was hot no matter the realm.

Whether it was the ticklish kiss of endless light in the Celestial gardens, or the jewel blues and ivory whites that stretched to the horizon of a human world beach, or even the promising, rich darkness of the Devildom as lights flashed and sweet perfume mingled with smoke like an aphrodisiac, all had a exhilarating energy. All felt like young love, like sugar and sticky lips, and whispered secrets he really should have kept.

In the middle of it all, posed effortlessly beneath an illuminated bar sign, Asmodeus stood waiting more impatient by the minute.

Really, he knew better.

Craning his neck down to steal a glimpse at his D.D.D, and another not thirty seconds later, like the entire street didn’t have him in their sights. Like every perfect, irresistible inch of him wasn’t being watched. Not that a tilt of his head and a pout didn’t look good, he was sure anyone with eyes would be falling over themselves to witness such a cute sight, let alone be the cause of it… But that wasn’t the point. He didn’t chase, he didn’t stand outside any club waiting. He didn’t have to show up 20 minutes early to any date. He was Asmodeus.

All it took was a smile and a pretty bat of his eyes and he had anything, anyone he wanted. But that didn’t matter, because you saw straight through him.

You, a pretty little human with a heart as impenetrable as ice. A human with eyes as sharp as a knife, and a mind to match. You, the quick witted, daring little lambwho had convinced him to give himself to you for just a chance to get close enough to lose himself in the enigma that you were.

His master, who cut him down like it was nothing with those piercing eyes. You treated him like he was anybody else. It didn’t matter that seduction was dripping from his tongue when he called your name, or that his hands hinted at all the wonderful things he could do to you when he painted your nails and traced his name into your palm…

That wasn’t enough for you, you didn’t want quick and easy pleasure, or to reap the benefits that would come with sleeping with him. You didn’t want him, not like that, and he didn’t know how to deal with it. For the first time in his life, the beautiful mask he wore couldn’t hide the things he buried beneath the surface. . . .

“So tell me, have all your needs been met during your stay with us?” He smiled, massaging a luxurious cream into his hands. You were in bed, relaxing in the shared guest room of the Demon lord's castle. His eyes drifted along your form through the reflection of his vanity. Taking in every dip and curve of your body, draped beneath the vermillion blanket that made it so much more fun to imagine what was underneath. “For the most part. It took me a while to get used to no sun, my sleep schedule has been a wreck.” Your voice was soft and a little bit hoarse, no doubt weakened by the eventful day behind you and the pull of sleep.

Simeon had left to look after Luke, which was fine by Asmo, having a moment alone with you was rare. Mammon had been clinging to you like a wet blanket, hovering around you from the moment you had made him yours. Though he hated to admit it, Lust and Greed had more in common than one might think. Both of them wanted.

“Hm, I’d hate to see that delicate skin of yours become dull, Little lamb… If you aren’t sleeping, there are more than a few ways to pass the time and wear you out.” He smiled at you, holding your gaze while trailing his hand down his forearm, and under his robe. You smiled at him and shook your head. “Haha, I’m good thanks.”

The heavy silence that had settled was cut by the chime of your notifications going off. With a stretch, you patted your arm around and reached for your D.D.D. “So, uh…” He didn’t look up, letting you continue.

But you didn’t. This wasn’t something he was used to, people were stunned by his beauty, yeah, blessed by his presence… But no compliments fell from your lips, no dreamy look glossed over your eyes, and his oh so tempting offer hadn’t stolen your breath. Were you scared? Ah, how cute!

Before he could say anything, your D.D.D chimed again and you turned your attention to your screen. A scowl quickly formed on your face, but even in the dim candlelight, he could see the affection in your eyes.

“That dummy…” You sat up and typed back a message to, undoubtedly, Mammon. Fighting to keep a smile off your face.

Instead of speaking, he looked away. What did Mammon have that brought you out of your shell? What could his annoying, loud, stupid older brother have that made you smile like that? And why didn’t you smile at him like that? Didn’t you see him? The Avatar of Lust! In nothing but a satin robe! All alone in your bedroom, and you were paying attention to Mammon?

Lust, and Greed… Even in the darkness, he was certain you could see the shimmer of sin in his eyes. But you didn’t look at him again. . . .

It was fifteen minutes now. Fifteen long, slow minutes until you would meet him. Flicking open his compact mirror, he studied the glittery eyeshadow he had dusted over his lids. It enhanced the natural draw of his eyes, which he hoped would keep your eyes on his. He understood, of course, that he didn’t have to impress you but he was still, well, he was still Asmo.

A little glitter, a little flirting, that was who he was! But you had shown him that wasn’t all he was. . . .

“Oh, Asmo! I’ve been looking for you.” He opened his eyes, and yawned. Maybe Belphie was onto something with these afternoon naps. You ran up to him, holding a basket of different flowers. “Hi, Hon. Don’t tell me you’re actually going to do that assignment?” By the looks of it, you were. Bits of dirt had stained the cuffs of your uniform, and you smelled like petrichor, earthy. Roots and stems stuck out of the woven basket as if you had stuffed it full.

“Uh, yeah. Of course I am.” You shook your head, not everyone could get away with handing in a premade bouquet like him.

The cultural exchange class, part of the new curriculum for the exchange program, had issued an assignment about flowers. More specifically, contrasting and comparing symbolism between the three realms flower languages and social history. He was excited at first, but after hearing that he was expected to grow and pick the flowers himself, he was out. Uh uh, he was not getting dirt under his nails

“Come on, it’s not so bad! Sol taught me a spell to instantly sprout and blossom these little guys.” You handed him the basket, which he daintily took. “Hm. I don’t see how that’s any better, but show me what you’ve got.” You grinned and sat beside him, watching him open the basket.

“These are Gypsophila, or baby’s breath. Narcissus-.” He giggled at that one. “Just listen okay!” He threw his hands up and nodded as you continued. “Otherwise known as daffodil. This one is Heliotrope.” He twirled it between his fingers, admiring the little blossoms you had grown. “So what do they mean?” He set them back and moved to give you back your basket. Instead, you gently set it in his lap. “You’re gonna have to figure that out yourself, Pretty boy.”

Pulling a thick tome, or… Gardening book, out of your school bag, you placed it among the flowers and smiled. Before he could protest, you bounded up to your feet, leaned over, and kissed his temple. He felt the warmth of your breath against his skin as you pulled back. “Oh! I-I…” His tongue fumbled over all the clever responses he was struggling to think of.

Tucking his hair back, you pulled a stem from your sleeve and placed it behind his ear. It was a small white flower, with not a speck of dirt on it. You had clearly spent the most effort on this one, preening the stem and leaves so it would rest comfortably in his hair.

His eyes widened and he stared at you, you were so close to him… His face felt hot and he didn’t try to speak again. “Alyssum.”

“What?” You giggled, and stepped back. “That one…” You nodded towards the blossom adorning his ear. “Is Alyssum. I think it suits you, and…” You paused, looking away. “Well, just read the book and do your homework!” Laughing, you ran off just as quickly as you had come. The sound rang out like bells, as you rounded the hedges and left. Asmodeus blinked, and finally breathed out.

Looking down at the basket and all the pretty flowers, he realised there wasn’t dirt on any of them. Each one, while not as pristine as the Alyssum, was preened and carefully selected so he could handle them without sullying his hands. You had grown them… For him? His hand covered his mouth, and he giggled softly. Picking up the book you had left him, he felt giddy to learn what each one meant. . . .

Ten minutes now. Ten minutes to ready himself, ten minutes until he could tell you he had gotten an ‘A’ on his assignment, and that he was so… Happy. Tears blurred his sight, and he wiped them away before they could ruin his makeup. The chatter of the crowds had faded out, the scorching heat and weight of all the eyes on him gone. His mind was spinning and he had to keep reminding himself to be patient. He would see you soon and he just couldn’t mess up the delicate bouquet he kept behind his back. Gosh, would you like them? Were they pretty enough for you? Would you… Would you understand?

Looking around anxiously, he stood on his tip toes and searched the crowds for you. He didn’t feel you, but maybe you would show up early? Maybe you wanted to see him sooner too?

Ever since he had made a pact with you, he felt elated. That piercing clarity, that cold beauty finally felt like it would last. You were Winter. Sharp, beautiful, and ephemeral in a way that made his heart ache.

The demon shook himself off, and took a deep breath. He would know when you were there.

He didn’t have many pacts, sure. Just two. His pact with Solomon was different, it felt like electricity. Like power that commanded attention the moment his little human master was anywhere near him. His mark felt like the tingle of static in the air before lightning struck, dangerous and seductive like all power was.

But you felt… Softer, or maybe more subtle. There was no doubt that you were strong, you could subdue him with an effortless, overwhelming force that not even Humanity's strongest sorcerer could command. There was elegance and mystery in your power, like you had a secret that he oh so very much wanted to unveil.

Asmo was pulled out of his thoughts by the feeling of frost forming in his mind.

Cold, invigorating winds rushed through him. A feeling of calm, serenity filled his chest. If he focused hard enough, he could feel the soft kiss of snowflakes on his face. His pact mark tingled and his skin raised like he had laid back into fresh snow. You were here.

Opening his eyes, he grinned and turned around. You waved and smiled at him. You were here early and he didn’t have time to give himself a once over before. Was his hair nice? Did his makeup run? Did you notice he was wearing your favourite colour?

“Hey, you’re here early!” He put on a charming, flirty smirk. “Did you want to see me sooner?” Tilting your head, you laughed and his heart stuttered. “Definitely.” Only you wouldn’t point out that he was there first.

With a quick, deep breath, he pulled the carefully arranged bouquet of Forget me nots and held them out to you. He had rehearsed all the things he wanted to say, all the words he could use to make you see him. Instead, like a little kid, he held a fistfull of flowers in front of his face and avoided your gaze.

Your eyes sparkled, like stars fallen from the sky. Glittering like snow beneath the moon. And he was left breathless, hands trembling as he felt the rush of a powerless yearning overtake him.

You took the bouquet, and he knew you understood.

[see-arcane]

Blood of My Blood - Danse Macabre

(The next grisly step in Blood of My Blood.)

The moon shines on a holy rooftop and a bloodstained street.

The music rises to a grim crescendo.

And a last dance is shared.

Ao3 link is here.

Time turned fickle for him after the first century.

He had not expected that. In truth, it had never occurred to him as he laid the foundation of his planned eternity. Irony distilled: A man chasing immortality without once thinking of how to pass the time. Even in his prime, he had been a child. Conquest was his only prize to chase until, as his men reminded him that they were only flesh, and his enemies smeared together under his hunger, and the sounds of steel and screaming blurred in the mad whirlpool that was his brain warring with itself for control, he had blinked. And suddenly he was a solitary shadow sitting in a ruined castle in the mountains he had blighted into his genius loci. Had a century passed by then? Had two? He had thought to ask one of the servants, only to realize there were none. No one in his retinue. No confidantes.

It was only him. A glutted Thing of power beyond human scale, huddled in its cave and desecrated earth. Alone.

There was no recalling how long or short the time was before he stole the first of his women away. A fair girl, almost as flaxen as—no. He would not think back to that. Forward, old devil, forward. Yes, he had snatched up the First in haste. Desperation. Someone to be a man for rather than the peasants’ monster. Then another. Another. A hoarder of pampered cats. But he had loved what they were, if not the women themselves. His pets. His pretty faces. His musical noise to fill up the castle halls with laughter, even if he was its target. And why not? He had let the malaise catch him. The ennui that even his instructors under the Mountain had warned him of.

Time turned into fumes for him in that period. The only thing that kept him aware of the calendar was playing the role of Count. A nobleman still had his duties to the swatch of country that was his and vice versa. Endless busywork and ever-increasing mountains of paperwork to slap him awake lest the wrong attention be drawn to the Dracula estate. Oh dear, has the old bastard finally croaked? Have his endless chain of lookalike descendants? No, not to worry. Still here. Always here.

Always. Always. Always.

Time rushed. Time crawled. Time turned to snowmelt between the itineraries.

Nights were his allies, at least. Those he could count on to stretch for him in his domain. An hour in Transylvanian darkness was three hours anywhere else. And the days! Oh, what a coward the sun became when his rule claimed the land! Sunrises limped and sunsets sprinted.

Tonight he wondered if time had done the same here. The night stretched and spilled like tar. Yet the notion brought him no comfort.

The night was going on too long. His senses reassured him that sunrise did still exist and it was coming, but for the first time in almost half a millennium of undeath, frustration made him suspect the dawn was purposefully withholding itself. At last the sun was taking its revenge by refusing a reprieve that would force himself and half the players of the night’s farce back into sleep. There would be no more intermissions, no more pauses. Tonight was to be an end or a beginning and nothing else, bar an ever more irritating slew of highs and lows. Every victory in the battle was chased by a fresh needle to the eye.

The woman had flung the sky—his sky!—at him. A stalemate until he struck her down with a fortunate shot. The boy was going to her aid now. Him and the freshly minted nuisance of a bride. But before he could go to congratulate the happy couple?

 Him.

A silver-white blur and a streak of red to mark his eyes. There was not even half a second to dwell on his wonder at the change in this creature. His thrall, his friend, his runaway beloved. Not before the Thing that had been Jonathan Harker was on him like a hound seizing a wolf. Not one of the lordling’s insipid pups, no; those mockeries of breeding were good only for rending rats and rabbits. If Jonathan Harker were any animal, it was a dog bred for hunting whatever beast looked at its sheep or its master.

And was he not that still? Was he not Master of the dog’s Mistress?

He tried to prove as much for an instant with his mind flung out to the woman only to be thwarted. His strike had done too much and her mind was too deep in blackness even to be stirred to his aid, let alone to pull Jonathan’s leash. Being caught in this revelation was what let his friend land the first blow. His Master struck him back. This earned him two strikes more and a startling view of the interior of the man’s mouth as it tried to bite his throat out. He’d never been on the opposite end of the surreal maw his conscripts wore. Sometimes the jaws of a bat, other times a wolf. Jonathan’s seemed to double up in a hideous way, bristling with teeth enough to fill an anglerfish’s mouth.

They grappled and tore, bit and struck, around and around in brute parody of a waltz. There might have been room in him to spit a comment to that effect, but for the boy’s darling wife. Her and her damned—ah, the burn declared otherwise!—blessed pistol. She was what was called a ‘crack-shot’ back on the lordling’s balcony. So many new holes had been made in his head. He had soothed himself to think that he had been starved, aged, distracted, her shots pure luck. It had not even occurred to him to bother with a trance.

Now he was fed back to his prime, she was perched atop the church, and his senses prickled in warning of what she wielded. The damned pistol had been replaced with something worse--a blessed martyr's weapon. He did not doubt that his speed and the girl's hesitance to strike Jonathan would be enough to thwart her aim. Probably. Still, there was no point in extending the risk.

“I’m afraid you must pardon me, my friend. The young lady is due for a meeting with her father-in-law.”

Crack.

Jonathan’s head broke the brick, but the wall had its revenge in a starburst of blood. His friend wobbled, but caught his arm and clamped it into solidity before the mist form could finish. How..? 

“I do not dismiss you,” Jonathan hissed. The whites of his eyes had gone rosy. “You have kept the Reaper waiting too long.” Was there something in the words or the will of his friend that anchored him? It must be so. He wouldn’t have suffered his next few injuries otherwise. It was only when Jonathan made a grab for the kukri that he left himself open.

Crack. Crack. Crack!

More broken bricks. Jonathan lay broken with them, groaning in a pillow of rubble. The white of his hair stained to crimson.

“Do not trouble yourself, my friend. I will tend to the children tonight.”

He was gone like a gust. An aching, bleeding gust, if one too quick for the little would-be markswoman. Nor could she dare to waste such precious ammunition on a gambled shot as he melted into the dark. The waning wedge of the moon was an admirable light on the scene, and aided twice over by the streetlamps. But mortal eyes could only strain so far. Pity.

His form congealed as he rose, the head of a dragon arching up to devour. His laugh turned the young couple's heads. It tickled to see how their faces went white before the sight of him. “My congratulations to you, newlyweds. I must have lost my invitation t—,”

Bang!

There went a holy bullet. And with such true aim! Yet it was a pointless shot, traveling through the cloud of him with no more effect than a pebble flung through fog. Even as it stung upon exit, he laughed again while his daughter-in-law chewed back a curse.

“I had assumed your gilded gnat of a father would have taught you the rules, girl. For shame.”

 As he hoisted himself to further educate on the matter, something drew tight around his ankle. Then pierced it. So quick and so tight that it tore through his Achilles tendon.

He snarled and twisted, glare aimed down, only for a sudden wave of horror to douse his rage. Anger drowned to that strange shuddering fear he had not known until that faraway day in Piccadilly. Back when he had seen the flash of steel and hollow burning eyes as his good friend gave chase to carve him open. Despite the familiarity of the dread, he did not recognize the figure crushing his ankle as Jonathan Harker. So much blood had fallen over the face and the face had so distorted with the rictus of its grin that he thought he was seeing a visitor from his years under the Mountain. Possibly one of his own tutors come to collect its due for the Lessons learned and the bodies piled. Or else something older. Colder.

Death leered up and spoke in his friend’s voice, “No more running. No more hiding in the mist.” The iron hand tightened again, this time cracking bone. Red rivulets painted Jonathan’s knuckles. “Twenty years of feeding cannot be washed away with a few nights’ gluttony. Blood of my blood,” he hissed, his fangs doubling in the open jaws, “your time has come.”

Jonathan tore them from the building’s side in a tangle of limbs and snapping teeth. A tangle that was impossible to be extricated from even when they landed in the churchyard and thrashed back to the street. There was not a half a second to be won without his friend pouncing again, ripping him out of the beginnings of fog form and back into the churning state of physicality. Injure, heal, injure, fight, injure, curse, injure, injure, injure. To his credit, he struck as many blows as his opponent, perhaps more. Each strike was given more venom than the last with his aggravation.

The girl was no doubt following them with the barrel of the gun, waiting for a clear shot in the whirling rush of them to make a new hole in him. An opening that became all the more likely as his friend kept hold, anchoring him to tangibility even as his flesh bruised or split. This, when Jonathan himself suffered damage upon damage, and that with but a scant dose of lifeblood in him. Even undead, his Harkers did so fuss about their meals. Such caution with the mortal chattel left his poor friend depleted. His healing grew slower and slower as his once and future Master beat him back for every blow struck.

And yet there was no shaking him. Jonathan cackled at the fact, sounding like so much shattered crystal. Undeath or lightheadedness had fully chipped through the silence that had once pinned his tongue when the man was called upon for violence. 

“Count, I am hurt!” he chided. “Why do you insist on leaving the floor? Is this not what you wanted? Here we are at last! In England, enjoying our overdue dance. Come, let me have your hand.” Jonathan’s bear trap mouth lunged out and would have torn said hand off by the wrist were his Master a half-second slower.

“Have it then.” His fist flew. Jonathan ducked and reached for— “It is my turn to be stung. I thought this was a gift.” He had to fight for evenness in the words. It was another battle in itself to keep Jonathan’s hand from swinging down with the kukri blade straining for his neck.

“It is! Only you must wear it closer.” Jonathan turned them as they spoke, trying to bare his Master’s back to the enemy. “A new brooch to have at your throat.”

The words turned some flagstone over in his chest and sent a hundred blind and bitter vermin running and biting through his heart. Strength surged. So did the clouds. A curtain was drawn back over the freshly-emerged moon just as the streetlamps doused all along the block. No audience from above to spy now. In the same tide of will, he finally tore the kukri free of his friend's hand. It rang against the street as it was flung aside, metal on stone. Jonathan lost a moment in throwing his attention after it in the new gloom. A moment was all it took.

He seized his friend in both hands and drove him down into the pavement.

Crack!

A heavier sound than what had come from the brick. Jonathan’s eyes rolled blearily in their sockets, but his hold remained steady. One hand gripping, another swiping for his Master’s face.

Crack!

“Stay down.”

Jonathan clung. His blood held, his hand held, he was trying to rise again, to—

Crack!

“Stay down!”

Crack!

“Why do you do this to me?”

Crack!

“Why do you make me do this when we both know how this ends?”

Jonathan sprawled dazedly in the rubble. His hands and his blood still gripped their Master. Scarlet streams ran from pained eyes. An image rose up of that childish night of gluttony inflicted to taunt the woman. His friend slumped, mauled and sluggish, dreaming traitorous thoughts of a flight from the window.

“You think you know…” Jonathan croaked in the present, “…but I see it. Tonight is where it ends. All of it. No victories. No conquest. None of us are yours anymore, Dracula.” His smile was not bitter. It was the tired curl he had seen the last night they had all lived in the castle. Ghoulish and sad and beautiful. It trickled until the lips blazed like red lacquer. “We never will be again.” 

“You are all mine,” his Master insisted back. His own hands tightened on the leaking heap of his friend. “The woman, our boy, you. She may have bled into you, but it is still my gift. Or do you think just because your Mistress sleeps for the moment, that you shall remain free of the leash I shall see her strangle you with? This is only where we start, my friend. We all have eternity before us. And all of it under my will.” It was his turn to smile. He tried to sharpen it, but found it creaked on his face until it was a mere desperate baring of teeth. “Undeath ends in but one way. Over 400 years of attempts and empty prayer have failed to deliver that end to me. You and the children and the thieving Jackal shall do no better. There is a Lesson waiting to be learned in that. A long one. But you will learn it. Or I will cement her in a wall for the next hundred years.”

To his shock, there was no horror on Jonathan’s face. Not even anger. There was only melancholy. His lips quivered, fighting not to part. Then:

“Or we could leave them,” came the whisper. “I was ready to, all those years ago. I think I may even have sold my soul at the time. There’s no telling for certain, but…yes. I think I must have for things to have gone this way. Before I ever became a Judas for my love, I was ready. I am still prepared, if that’s what it takes to free them from us.” One hand on his Master’s arm. The other clutching weakly at his lapel. “We need not chaperone or stain the family any longer. Let us go now. While they do not see.”

Either blood loss or the deeper weakness his friend had been seeding for twenty years almost paralyzed him.

For one starving instant, he caught himself imagining it. He pictured himself snatching Jonathan’s ragged form up in his arms and darting away into the night. His will was still supreme. He could sever the woman’s mind from his own and hide them in some secret corner of the world. If her mind wailed for her beloved to come running like a hound after its whistle, he could silence it. No amount of stolen sorcery could unmake that contract of their condition. Was it not how he planned to puppeteer the world from the beginning?

He could do it.

They could do it.

But no. He could have laughed or screamed as he felt Jonathan’s fingertips trace along his sternum. The claws growing and aligning. Oh, his dear Scheherazade and that magic tongue.

“Come. Hell is waiting for us, balaurul meu.”

Before Jonathan’s hand could drive forward and tear out the ancient heart—the metaphor made flesh—his Master seized the plotting fingers in his own crushing grip.

“No, my friend. No Hell. Only home.”

“Two names for the same place,” Jonathan grated. He was struggling again. Grasping, trying to rise. And still holding his Master solid. The fight would never overbalance in his favor without his fog or his focus. He had to. He had to… “We made a vow, she and I.”

“Jonathan—,”

“We will die before we return to you,” the gore-streaked face spat. “We will die before we let you have our son.”

“Yes. You will.”

CRACK!

Stone and skull fractured against each other. It was one of many sounds he had enjoyed over the centuries: The fragility of the human frame echoing in his ears. This time the noise was a knife in his chest.

Jonathan Harker slept in the crater with his eyes open. A corona of blood grew from his head in a monstrous halo as one hand fell away and the other hung limp in his Master’s fist. In the shattered skull, no thought or life paced. There was only quiet.

With a shudder, he squeezed the cold hand once before laying it aside. His fingers worked gingerly under what was left of his friend’s head, cupping blood, bone, and brain as one might try to save the yolk in a mangled egg. He knew the man was dead when he pressed lip and tongue to the slack mouth and felt no resistance. His last kiss went to the stained brow, cradling the corpse against him with a sigh.

“I am sorry, my friend. No, do not scoff. I mean it. I wanted none of this. We could be home right now. Our diavol safe and strong. Time wearing your compunctions smooth. No matter how long the Lesson, how harsh its teaching, time would win. And some night, this century or the next, happiness would find you. Misery breaks like bone under enough pressure. Joy is in its marrow. Was that why you did it? Why you betrayed me and our bliss to come? Was the thought of happiness in my arms so awful?”

Jonathan did not say.

The silence was answer enough.

He laid the carcass gently in the bed of pavement and swept a curtain of hair from the puckered brow. Even death did not bring serenity to the man’s face. He had watched his friend sleep more than once and had never come upon him without the look of a penitent begging Morpheus in his dreams for mercy or punishment. That such still existed in him as a vampire was as much a pain as a marvel. Undeath itself could not temper the martyrdom in him. It would need extracting like a tooth.

Perhaps. But first he needs a piece added. He left it behind so carelessly.

His thumb traced the bright stone at his throat before fishing out its mate from a vest pocket. The brooch glowed with internal fire under the waning moonlight, eager to return its rightful place. He closed Jonathan’s shirt collar and bowed to set the pin before a thought occurred—

Moonlight moonlight the clouds you lost focus the clouds are open and the street is visible she can—

— too late.

Bang!

A lance of fire shot through his hand. Blistering torture erupted there and made the injuries collected thus far feel like the nipping of insects. It had wounded more than flesh.

In his fist, snapped shut in pain, there was mere crystalline dust. That and a crumpled setting of ornate gold. Nothing more.

What clouds were left bayed anew with thunder as he snapped his head around. He found the lordling’s daughter taking aim again.

No more.

“No more,” he intoned to the air and to the hateful girl with her toy. He did not have it in him to relish the spasm of comprehension as the trance pierced her eyes and wrenched her rebelling brain into an obedient knot. Not even when he ordered her to lift the gun until it was level with her own temple. His son bleated once in horror—

“Lu, no!”

—thinking his Father meant to throw away a bargaining chip so foolishly. So painlessly. No, no. Nothing so easy for her. For any of them. Ah, and it seemed the boy’s cry was enough to rouse the limping mother at last. His will cracked at her like a whip:

Hold him.

A flare of fury from her, then another baffled cry from the boy. Good. Wonderful.

He looked again at his friend. His friend stared blindly at the stars. He paused long enough to slide the eyelids shut.

“Sleep, draga mea. This will be over soon.”

The promise made, he dashed down the street to retrieve the fallen kukri. He turned to mist a moment later and raced off to the climax of the night. Perhaps if he had turned back a final time, he would have reconsidered.

He might have hesitated in his return to the roof. (He did not.)

He might have stopped to examine his friend, the better to be certain he was dead. (Mr. Harker was.)

He might have wondered, just for an instant, if he did not feel Time’s seemingly infinite sand dwindling to its last grains in the hourglass. (If so, he would not admit it.)

But he did not turn and so did not see his friend’s face.

Dead and dismissed from the rest of the night's pending acts, Jonathan Harker was still. With the exception of his head. It had slumped to the side and its eyelids had slipped open. A proper corpse could do no more. If one could interview such a cadaver, he might have admitted that he had nothing to do with it. But something did.

Gravity? The final mindless motions of a dead body? Certainly.

Yet they had acted under a guidance that ensured the body stared in the direction of the church, of the ex-Master, of the eastern horizon made jagged with rooftops. And they had left the glazed eyes open for whatever audience might watch things unfold through the windows of a dead man’s unblinking stare.

If only to be sure that what was left of Jonathan Harker and Itself might witness the end of the dance.

[atopvisenyashill]

there’s a few potential sansa romantic endgames that i think have some textual basis and i think all of them come with a lot of issues wrt sansa being able to publically claim these relationships which is why i think sansa will say her children are “fathered by a wolf” because regardless of Who she’s with or even the legality of it, she’s going to be actively concealing their identity AND YET she needs to have children.

i think especially that even though arya’s love life is guaranteed to be less complicated, sansa will feel obligated to take this “burden” of ensuring their line onto herself; she wants arya to have the freedom to go where she pleases, be with who she pleases, and follow her passions and that is not easy to do if everyone is expecting you to come home and start popping out kids. I consider them a sort of reflection of ned and lyanna in this way in that sansa, second born and not meant to rule, uses her newfound power to let the wild, youngest girl (but not youngest child) in the family follow her passions wherever they may take her.

this is all kind of weird with the nixed time jump but considering that george has talked about writing stories from arya’s pov about her adventures, I think it’s going to be fairly important in story regardless of their ages that arya will attempt to offer to stay home and marry and have children as a way of helping to protect sansa’s very shaky claim on winterfell but that sansa encourages arya to do whatever she wants. to travel, to help shepherd the boatloads of refugees from the various wars to wherever they want to call home, to settle displaced northerners in other parts of westeros as well, to get involved in the lives of the people arya is helping and agree to help them liberate their own homes by using her skills (crucial here that arya is A leader but not the SOLE leader), or to go out into the woods and be a secret not-quite-an-outlaw (bc sansa isn’t outlawing anything that could hurt arya’s lil crusades, probably is helping bankroll arya) to bring justice to the smallfolk, like whatever it is arya wants to do with her life, the point is that she offers to give it up and sansa refuses to take the offer.

and then we have the idea that her kids are fathered by a wolf. not elizabeth-ing herself here exactly because she’s having children but never publicly acknowledging a father or a husband or even a lover.

i think the candidates most likely are jon snow and theon, with both brienne and podrick as like “i’m not saying he’s gonna do it but i am saying they make a lot of sense narratively” and aegon vi as a huge long shot but still undeniable contender. if briensa does go canon everyone owes me five bucks each tho. i think the options other people float are not just wildly unserious they also clearly don’t think sansa will be The Ruling Lady Of Winterfell, but some much more minor or less emotionally resonant title and i just do not vibe with that shit at all. harry the heir, sandor, sweetrobin, tyrion, littlefucker, like never mind sansa never once showing any real interest in these guys and NONE of these dudes being satisfied by the idea of being her secret husband, if sansa says to arya “yeah i’m marrying tyrion” arya is going “blink twice if you’re being held hostage and you need me to kill him” but it’s too late because jon snow is already unsheathing longclaw and bran is attacking with every raven in winterfell. it’s not fucking happening and imo it’s unserious to pretend like it could happen in canon. (and if it DOES happen in canon you will find me rocking up to george’s house in jersey and demanding to know why he’s so weird about teenage girls). i think margaery is a huge long shot here (and not just bc it would make them both canonically on screen gay) because i don’t think she’s gonna live to the ending, and jeyne poole is too traumatized at this point in time for me to feel confident in putting her in the same category as brienne and pod.

(theon’s trauma is WHY i think he’s still a contender - post reek theon is going to struggle a lot with figuring out where he’s supposed to be, who he’s supposed to be, and who he can trust as he puts himself back together, and that lends itself nicely to the idea of a secret husband/lover imo. once again, we are talking extreme trauma bonding here - that’s just the only way i see sansa’s romances going).

if you’re asking “who do you think arya is winding up with” it’s gendry. i don’t doubt that there were some plans for edric dayne, arya, and gendry but i think gendry was always going to be her great love here, that she’s always going to turn down the idea of marriage to him but gendry doesn’t care so long as they are still together. there’s a neon blinking sign over gendry’s head that says “endgame material” and i think it’s unserious to pretend it’s not there too!!

[mylove-iv]

⠀𐔌 . ⋮ eyes don't lie .ᐟ ֹ ₊ ꒱

ʚ botw! link x hyrulean princess, fem! reader ɞ

synopsis: in a sea of people bearing facades, his blue eyes oh so honest enraptures your heart unbeknownst to even yourself.

genres: fluff, romance.

content warnings: implications of mistreatment and a power imbalance, snapping due to frustrations, really messy but pining idiots who've yet to realize that they're pining for each other, longing disguised as helpfulness.

reader specifications: reader was detailed to have rosy cheeks and wears heels.

word count: 2.39k words.

―originally posted on @mydarling-iv, dec. 31, 2023

‎‧₊ ─ masterlist .ᐟ ༘

The sun warms the skin of your rosy cheeks as it pours from the canopy of leaves overhead. The woods smell of fresh earth as it had just rained prior, allowing the cool air to kiss your nose sweetly.

You've forgone your constraining heels, deciding to go bare foot as you race through the forest, hoping to find a rare herb whose blooming window now only opened.

If you miss such an opportunity, the herb won't bloom until a couple moons later. Such a thought causes you to huff as you continue running, hoping to out run your knight who seems keen on following you.

Besides your soft pants, you hear your assigned knights heavy footfalls. Odd, you think as his foot steps are always so light.

Breaking from the tree line, the morning sun paints you in a golden glow that warms you up, chasing away the chill that was starting to settle in your limbs. You hear the footfalls come closer and you start your sprint once more, being careful with running on a fallen log that acted as a bridge over a small ravine.

"Your highness!" A voice calls out, the familiarity of his voice causes a slight upturn of the corners of your lips.

You're halfway on the large log before you meet sky blue eyes that remind of you clear, cloudless skies that you oh so adore. His cheeks are slightly flushed, his hair windswept from the run from the castle to the forest you've forced him to endure, and yet, his eyes remain kind.

"Ser Link," You hum thoughtfully, borderline coy. "Kind of you to finally join me."

You see Link's nose scrunch slightly, such a small twitch would've gone unnoticed if you haven't been paying close attention as your knight never seems to break character.

Always it seems that he chooses to keep a tight lipped mouth, his face stern, his body rigid as to alway be prepared, and yet, his eyes are such an endless pool of blue that you can read quite well—more likely are allowed to—and only with you, he seems to talk, his words always so soft and endearing.

Even if you cause trouble, like now, where he's to chase after you, or if you were to endanger yourself accidentally, it is never anger or frustration you see in his bluebell eyes, but always worry.

"It's dangerous." His words are curt, yet there's a slight furrow to his eyebrows that will go unnoticed by many. But you aren't like most people, you catch on quick when it comes to his tells and his eyes-

Stars, they're filled with an apparent worry that guilt starts tugging at your soul.

You swiftly turn, resuming your dash to the other side as a flash of lavender and your eyes widen as you see a superbloom of armoranth, a rare commodity even for the likes of the nobility and imperial family as well.

"Princess!" Link calls out worriedly but your feet is already touching the soft grass on the other side of the ravine and only after a few steps away from the log, you turn.

Your eyes widen as you see Link hurriedly crossing the makeshift bridge, his sword strapped to his back as his arms a somewhat raised to help him balance on the log as he hurried to you. His lips are pursed cutely, the furrow between his brows deepening and becoming apparent. Such a sight causes you to smile widely as a sweet laugh tumbles from your lips, being unable to hold it back.

Link's eyes widen as his head snaps quickly to your direction as he stumbles off the log slightly and onto solid ground. You're kind enough to quickly grab ahold of his hand to keep him steady and even kinder to reduce your cackles to soft giggles.

"You must be careful now, Ser Link, I don't want you tripping again." You tease softly as you give him a sweet smile and your knight looks gobsmacked at the sight.

You cough slightly, snapping Link out of his daze before he drops to one knee, keeping your hand in his in a firm yet soft grip that allows you to pull away if you so desire to. He's quiet as his eyes become somewhat sad and you feel bad for teasing him and keeping such a nonchalant facade with him.

┊ ੈ✩‧₊*°࿐ྂ

Palace politics and the nobility were unkind, you and Zelda having not been spared from it as the sole heirs to Hyrule. Having been assigned knights against both of your wishes, Zelda was rightfully angered, feeling more constrained by your father's decision.

In a fit of anger, she had urged you to rebel against your knight as you also shouldn't be controlled even more. You sighed, silently promising yourself that you'd be polite to your knight while trying to maintain a facade of indifference to your knight in hopes of quelling your sisters unhappiness.

It was only when Zelda's showcase of her displeasure and unfair treatment directed towards her knight became so blatant that you are reminded to maintain your promise to yourself to treat your own knight with grace.

You recall of the times Link had saved you from your own stupidity so selflessly and without regards to his own safety and it pushes you to soften your cold facade with your knight as he too is only fulfilling his purpose, a royal guard bound by the king's order whose words is absolute.

After arguing with your father about the medical treatment regarding those affected by a sudden winter blight, or therefore lack of, you stormed out of the throne room in anger.

You then callously snapped at Link for no reason as he simply followed you as he usually does to your quarters. In the heat of your frustration, you became blind to his sky blue eyes faltering, hurt flashing through them briefly.

Later that night, going against your father's orders and not informing Link, you sneak out of your room and into the Applean forest. The said forest is a great deal of distance away from the castle but you had caught wind of a great deal of herbs growing there that would effectively help combat the effects of the blight.

Bundling them a handful in a small cloth, you scolded yourself for your harsh words to your knight and promised to make a healing balm composed of the herbs to give to Link as an apology, and to hopefully turn a new leaf as well.

But as you are starting to make your way out of the forest, a loud squeamish squeal rips through the air and your blood chills. From the corner of your eye, you see the red skin of a bokoblin wielding a wooden club.

Chastising yourself for not bringing Link with you, you break into a sprint, the beast giving chase. Breaking out of the the tree line, your heart pounds against your chest but as you gain a decent distance between you and the bokoblin, a chilling sound of a guardian focusing its laser causes your heart to drop.

You look up swiftly, seeing the reddish glow of a guardian going on the offense due to detecting an enemy. A malfunctioning one, Zelda had mentioned some defects. You cursed, biting your bottom lip anxiously as the bokoblin closes in on you and the guardian prepares to fire its beam.

You berate yourself for your unkindness towards Link in your last moments with him and you are forced to come to terms with your untimely death.

Time seems to slow and just as you see the laser make its away to you, a firm yet gentle arm wraps around your waist as your back lands against something solid and warm. The smell of sweet spearmint and earthy pine fills your nose and your body slackens in relief as you recognize this scent—his scent.

"Link." You murmur softly as you turn your head, bearing witness to his skills that rivals none in the kingdom.

He quickly brings the Hylian shield you had gifted to him during his knighthood ceremony and quickly parries the guardian beam causing the large tank of ancient tech to combust immediately before Link tears his arm away from you, choosing to draw his sword and making a quick work of the bokoblin.

Time between you and Link seems to stand still as you stare at his back. Guilt consumes your heart, you worried him horribly this time. Stars, if anything had happened to you, they would've punished Link and ultimately put his head on a pike.

You open your mouth to profusely apologize but Link is quick to bend the knee in front of you, his eyes never leaving yours and you feel horrible when you bear witness to the clear stress and worry swimming in his eyes.

Link gently grasps your hand, squeezing softly that doesn't hurt you in anyway that seems to reassure himself that you're safe and real. "I-.. I know you despise me for restricting your freedom, but please- please, next time if you wish to go out, please take me with you so I am to safeguard you from harm." He looks away, lips pursed softly as his eyes become sullen.

By some instinct—an urge—you cup his face, softly easing him to look at you in the eye once more. You're to speak yet the earnest look in his eyes forces any words to die on your tongue and you're taken off guard with how kind and true your knight is.

"Ser Link, I'm sorry for making you feel as if I despise you. In truth, I don't hate you at all, yet despite that, my actions showed you otherwise, and for that, I apologize. I apologize for snapping at you earlier, and I'm extremely sorry for worrying you with my stupid stunt tonight."

His eyes widen softly, the stars gleam from overhead making them twinkle and the sight seizes your breath. "I'm sorry, Ser Link, for everything." You murmur softly, bowing slightly.

A gentle squeeze to your hand encased in his brings your attention back to him. Your eyes widen from the sight in front of you, your heart stuttering and breath hitching ever so slightly as you see a small smile grace Link's face. He then leans further to place a soft kiss to the back of your balm, his honest eyes never straying from yours.

┊ ੈ✩‧₊*°࿐ྂ

Guilt ebbs away at your psyche once more as you recall that you've never apologized for your constant indifference towards him and have actually kept it up.

A grimace itches at your face, "I'm sorry, Ser Link, for the incessant teasing." You sigh meekly, your thumb mindlessly rubbing back and forth on Link's gloved hand.

His eyes widen slightly and you hate yourself even more at the implications—stars, of course he doesn't expect a sincere apology from you as you've gone up and ditched him the second time since the guardian incident!

His reaction bothers you more knowing that the reason why you've began to avoid your knight was because of the constant skips your heart would make whenever you and Ser Link interacted.

Stars, he is your knight and you a princess, never mind your reputation, you'd only sully his and make him a court fool in front of the nobility if you're to pursue him-

You lose yourself to the brewing storm in your mind and ever the observant knight he is, Link notices how your eyes become sullen. He gently squeezes your hand, a move you've become familiar with, and it works as your attention moves back to him.

"Princess, I've no need to forgive you for something that doesn't upset me. I- I'm just glad that you've begun to talk to me comfortably." He murmurs softly and you will your heart to not skip a beat because stars-

His eyes are so blue—an endless sea of honesty and softness that you've come to realize that he's granted only you the privilege of seeing—and the sight has your heart pounding.

A small smile tugs on your lips, "It is one of the many things I can do to make up for how cold and indifferent I've acted towards you, Ser Link." You purse your lips, looking away and Link sees how truly sorry your are in your eyes.

He squeezes your hand once more to get your attention on him once more and the pained smile on your face tugs at his heart strings. "I've constantly taken advantage for your unwavering loyalty, Ser Link. I'm-"

Stars, it truly is upsetting. He is only doing what he is ordered to by your father and you punish him nonetheless? How unkind and unjust for you to treat him like that-

How cruel can you be to someone so innocent in royal affairs? The thought is chilling and it overwhelms your control over your emotions.

A choked gasp leaves your lips as he sees your eyes glaze over with unshed tears. Link is quick to rise, his body moving closer as he patiently waits for your signal.

You catch on and nod despite being unaware of his intentions. Yet from the honest look in his eyes, you realize that you trust the man in front of you wholeheartedly. "I'm sorry for every wrongdoing I've committed against you." You mutter, looking away from him in shame.

Link's hands gently cups your face, and like on the night of the guardian incident, he mimics what you had done and makes you look at him in such a gentle manner that intensifies the ache in your chest.

Your lips are pursed, eyebrows furrowed in guilt, and Link smiles softly to ease your worries. You melt, cheek leaning into his hand as he gently caresses your cheek with the soothing motions of his thumb.

Beautiful. Absolute stunning. Link finds the thought at the forefront of his mind as he looks at you.

"It's okay, princess. Just promise me that you'll allow me to stay by your side." Link murmurs, eyes looking into yours with such a softness that could make you melt even further.

You bring up your hands to cup his as the sweetest smile gracing your face sends his heart racing. "I promise, Link."

© 2024 𝐌𝐘𝐋𝐎𝐕𝐄-𝐈𝐕. do not copy, repost, share, or translate any of my works to tumblr, social media, and any other websites/platforms.

[imagines--galore]

||Written In The Stars||

Summary: You had met him in the forest. A meeting that left an impact on you, just as it did. Neither of you escaped unscathed from your encounter. At least your heart didn't. And after that fateful run-in, perhaps it was finally time to bring to light what was clearly written in the stars. Pairing: Legolas x Reader Rating || Genres || Warnings: T. Romance. None. A/N: When I tell you I swooned at the Cinderella bit? I mean I ADORE the live action Disney remake and the dance scene is just gorgeous. Hope you enjoyed it @kililove. Also I couldn't help it! You HAVE to watch that dance to envision the last part of this fic perfectly ok?!

The first time you met him had been a chance affair.

You had been running through the forest, wind whipping through your hair. It was quite the norm to find you racing through the trees of the forest you called home. There was just something freeing about it, with the adrenaline rushing through your body, the wind whipping through your hair, and the near endless shelter of the forest you adored with all your heart.

Lothlórien was truly a place to behold no matter the season. The leaves would dance with the wind, the trees would sing joyful tunes to the morning sun, and lullabies to the moon and stars at night. The flowers would sway in the breeze, the animals would play with no fear of being hunted or coming to any harm. If there were ever to be a place akin to Valinor in Middle-Earth, it would be your home.

As you cleared yet another obstacle in your path, you let out a laugh that echoed against the very leaves of the trees you passed. Your laugh was one of pure joy, of freedom and utter happiness. You felt like you would race off the edge of the world and even then you would keep running because who's to say the world ended there.

And perhaps it was that laugh that pulled him towards you, that compelled him to halt whatever he had been doing and his head to instead follow the sound of your laughter, echoing as you raced away.

Any other person would've dismissed it and went back to their task, but not this listener. He was curious. Curious to know who would laugh like that while racing through the trees. A laugh so full of joy in such dark times. Surely this person had only ever known joy and nothing more. Sorrow, hopelessness, loss, none of these words could ever be associated with a person with such a laugh.

Little did he know why you laughed so. He would come to know later, much later, all that you had suffered, all that you had lost, all that you would loose. But despite it all, you never lost your will to live, and live happily. Live to enjoy everything around you. From the smallest of flowers, to the grandest of trees, nature brought you a sense of joy that nothing ever had.

Well that is until you met him.

You saw him from the corner of your eyes, a figure of gold and green that ran a few paces to your right. He had given no indication for you to stop, not that you were about to. You kept running, hair flying behind you, skirts ripped to allow your legs better movement, cheeks flushed, eyes bright as you turned you gaze ahead.

For him you were something akin to a wild thing as you raced through the forest. Free and untamed, like the horses he had seen racing in the fields of Rohan. He was barely able to make out your face, and wanting to look at you properly moved to step in your path.

But you quickly evaded him, all but dancing out of his way, jumping over a fallen tree, and continuing.

And so began a little dance.

One where he would try to get you to stop, but you would always change course and dash off. You should've found it annoying, and perhaps a little alarming that an elf was chasing you. But you didn't.

In your heart of heart you somehow knew he meant no harm. You had even allowed yourself to laugh at his failed attempts, a laugh that only prompted him to increase his efforts tenfold.

And not just because he wanted to stop you. But because if his attempts would make you laugh so, then he would gladly do so over and over.

Just to hear that sweet sound again.

Perhaps Lothlórien had traces of old magic left, something that was effecting his mind.

As he rounded a large tree, intent on stopping you once more, he skidded to a halt at the sight that greeted him.

You stood at the very edge of a cliff, your back to him, gazing out at the near endless landscape as it sprawled in front of you. The setting sun cast the last of it's warm glow, the wind blowing softly, prompting you to inhale deeply, closing your eyes, and holding out your arms at your sides. Almost as if you were embracing the very beauty of the nature around you.

He stood a few paces behind you. The very scene would remain with him till the end of days was something akin to ethereal. For him, everything in that moment was just that, ethereal. But none more so then you.

He had no idea who you were. For all he knew, you could be a mirage created from the very deepest recesses of his heart. What he did know, was that the moment he had heard your laugh, before he had even laid eyes on you, he had begun to feel his soul slip away from him.

And when you finally, finally, turned your head ever so slightly to look at him over your shoulder, he felt the very essence of his soul, his fëa, leave him to bind itself to you forever.

While he struggled to keep his composure, given how intense the moment was for him, you couldn't help but wander if perhaps your heart was beating so fast because you had just been running, or because it was beating so fast that it was trying to tell you something.

To tell you that the elf who had run after you and beside you, was the other half of your fëa.

Neither of you spoke a word, not as the sun disappeared and the stars peeked out. Not as the forest around you began to come alive with the creatures of the night. Not even when the moon shone down, bathing her cold yet somehow gentle glow on the both of you.

You were each lost. Lost in each other. It was almost as if you could read his heart and mind, and he could do the same to you. You could see his bravery, his loyalty, his kindness, his weaknesses and strength. And him? He could see your empathy, your joy, your devotion, your fears and resilience.

You were the one to make the first move. One step forward. A movement that he matched. One foot in front of the other, the wind blowing softly, pushing your hair back from your faces, the moonlight allowing your elvish features to glow in the dark. You were both only three feet away.

Two.

One.

A brief pause where you were almost nose to nose, your eyes never leaving the other's.

Intense.

Wanting.

Passionate.

Adoration.

Heated.

How were you able to convey all that and more with just that one look, you had no idea.

But then it was over.

You walked past him, slowly picking up speed, until you were running once more.

And this time, he did not follow.

                                             ————————–

You never forgot him.

He never forgot you.

You knew him by name, he was a Prince after all, and a member of the Fellowship.

All he knew about you, was the color of your hair, how expressive your eyes had been, and how, in his eyes, you were the very image of perfection.

He did not follow you that night. Not when he could not make any promises. Not when he had a mission to see to.

Legolas had often wandered what awaited him beyond the destroying of the ring, should he survive. He had no desire to go back home. And while he had made plans to travel Middle-Earth with Gimli once Aragorn was King, it never felt right in his heart.

And as he walked out of the Citadel, where the newly crowned Aragorn, and his Queen Arwen, were dancing so joyfully, he began to envision his own mysterious lady. The one he had met in Lothlórien.

The Lady.

Who was never far from his thoughts.

Who occupied his heart.

Who held his entire soul and had no inclination of it.

He could still picture her so clearly in his mind, he mused as he walked past the blooming tree in the middle of the courtyard.

You standing there at the edge of the cliff. Unconsciously his gaze lifted to the very end of the walkway along which he strolled.

An elleth with y/h/c hair, strangely the same color the figure standing at the end of the walkway possessed.

A figure, dressed in a blue dress, a color that reminded him of open skies during the day and the twinkling stars at night.

.

.

.

.

He stopped.

His eyes widened.

His heart quickened.

His fëa rejoiced.

His feet catapulted him forward.

The figure had her arms open. And while the last time those arms had been open to embrace nature, this time they were open to embrace him.

And while the last time the both of you had walked past one another, wanting, no yearning, for the other, this time it was different.

You watched him dash closer, you stumbled a few steps forward, until finally, you had him in your arms.

Neither of you knew how long you stood there for. Minutes. Hours. Days. Months. Years. Eons.

It was all the same.

"It would seem our meeting was written in the stars." His voice was low and gentle, prompting a warmth to race through your entire body as you hummed in agreement.

"The stars in my dreams were the ones who told me to come find you tonight." You responded, a dream you had had not so long ago coming to the forefront of your mind. "I was flying. On a Star. And it told me it would take me to you."

He joined your laughter, the both of you still holding each other close. Now though, he pulled back so he could look at you, his arms still wrapped around your waist, while yours laid over his shoulders.

"And here you are." He whispered, his gaze searching yours.

You gave a nod and a smile. "Here I am." You reassured him, leaning to press your forehead against his.

The music from the open door of the Citadel was perhaps what compelled him to lean back slightly. While your arms dropped to the side, one of his hands never left your back.

Your eyes never broke their intense stare as the both of you, slowly, began to dance to the song filtering from the Citadel.

You danced, and you danced, and you danced.

Your need to be close to him over-powered all else. His need to touch you overtook any sense of decorum he had.

Neither of you spoke a word, and yet you didn't think anything needed to be said. Not when your eyes spoke for you. Not when your Fëa sang to one another.

You were sure of what you felt for him, and he was sure that his heart belonged to you.

And as the new dawn greeted you with her warm glow, you finally allowed your eyes to close, an act he mirrored.

Before sealing that unspoken promise to never leave each other with a kiss that was more binding and irrevocable, then any vow a living being could make.

[artemis-potnia-theron]

How I perceive different deities' energies

(based on personal experiences)

Apollon ☀️: Light coming up from somewhere deep in the gut. An ache that almost burns. And it might if I stare too long. Swelling gold. A chorus of music too perfect to be written, words that could shatter my tongue if I tried to speak them.

Brigid 🔥: A lump at the back of my throat. Tears in my eyes while I smile. Joy and grief mixed together under my ribcage. Melodies sung through the ages, and through tears. Warmth at my back and a hand on my cheek. Baked bread. Garden herbs. Clear water from a well. An embrace that could last an age.

Nyx 🌌: The low, echoing hum of something eternal. Something too ancient to comprehend and too overwhelming to be perceived. Endless. Ethereal. Peace and chaos. Quiet and thunderous. Coffee. Red wine. Onyx.

The Morrigan 🐦‍⬛: A chant of words I can't understand, spoken in a language I never knew and never forgot. The cold steel of a blade's edge. Sharp, precise, and unwavering. Her language of secrets and ancient knowledge could swallow you whole if you let it.

Hekate 🗝: Whispers. Shadows against candlelight. A flickering flame that knows how to dance in the wind and never extinguish. The smell of old parchment and herbs. A ripple on the water. As intricate and mesmerizing as a spider's web. Silent and sharp like a viper. A bark and a growl heard from somewhere too far away for me to see.

Aine 🧚🏼‍♀️: Sunlight breaking over the surface of a river. Citrus. Wildflowers. Fresh grass. Wind sweeping over a meadow. Chimes. Fruit trees finally coming into bloom. The juice from an apple trickling down my neck. Laughter. So much laughter.

Aphrodite ❤️: Flower petals. Something sweet and soft like honey that trickles down the back of my throat and seeps into my belly. It spreads all through me like starlight trapped in my veins. Bells. Bliss. A want that could dissolve me. A yearning that would hurt if it didn't taste so lovely. The pain feels like a lifetime away.

Tiamat 🐉: Clusters of stars. Endless reflections of light on the water's surface. The deep song of a whale that echoes through the pulse of the sea. An eye that gazes down from the cosmos.

Caer Ibormeith 🦢: A lullaby that has been with me for longer than I know. A kiss pressed to my forehead. That place between sleeping and awake, between real and not. Cool air at twilight. Dew on the glass before sunrise. Clean fabric. A veil. Flying over the world as it sleeps.

Artemis 🦌: Freedom. Breath-taking, devastating freedom. A stag drinking fresh water from a spring. A doe and her fawn, sleeping as the songbirds chirp at dawn. A rush. An absolute rush like mountain air in my blood. Fireflies in an open field. Bones bleaching in the sun. The thrill of a wolf pack chasing its prey. The moon over the ocean at night. Teeth. Bird calls. Wildflowers. A great bear that walks in the stars. Hymns only beasts can sing. Jasmine and animal fur and the midnight air.

[youareunbearable]

Its late and im tired so please excuse if this doesn't make sense but lately, I've been thinking about Angry Aredhel must have been

Like realistically, when has this woman made a single decision about her future for herself, and in the few times when she did, when did it not end in tragedy

She must have been so angry, so frustrated and wrathful at her lot in life. She was meant for other things, greater thing! She was a disciple of Orome, the Maiden in White, one of the best hunters in his group along with her cousin.

Yet here she is, caged and trapped like a pretty little canary in a wire house. Stolen from her purpose because of her eldest brother's blind loyalty, her father's stubborn pride, her second oldest brother's blinding grief, and her baby brother's terminal bravery. She's across an ocean, escaped one cage for another by her tormentor and abuser posing as a husband.

The bastard won't even name their child.

She must have be so angry, stuck in that endless darkness, the forest must be such a familiar landscape but so different, twisted and wrong like looking into a warped mirror.

Shes grieving outside her "home" one night, having managed to convince the trees to part their branches just enough that she can glimpse a star or two so she can bask in the starlight. Its been a year since the birth of her son, and nothing has changed. Eol won't look at the boy, and she can feel herself drifting. Without the ability to see the passage of time, without the Light of the Trees or with the Sun and Moon chasing each other across the sky, things are blending together and she feels adrift.

At least when they crossed they ice, they were able to watch the stars move across the endless dark.

The starlight warms her skin, as weak and distant as it is, so she basks. With her eyes closed and face tilted up she feels like a lizard in the mid day sun. Behind her, she hears a noise, a twig being deliberately stepped upon. Aredhel whips around, raising her glowing lichen lamp, wondering if its her husband or one of his servants come to take her back. She feels a little feral at the idea of being dragged away from the pitiful starlight.

A wolf, with a pelt as crisp and clean as the snow dusting Himring's mountain top, slinks into the soft glow. Its fur takes on an almost sickly colour in the green luminescence. The wolf settles at the edge of the light, resting on its haunches as it observes her.

Aredhel thinks she's beautiful, for it is a female wolf. Even in the weak lamplight the beast's silver eyes seem to glow on their own, piercing her very fea and enticing her to come forward, to come closer. There is a power within the she wolf, one Aredhel craves.

The white beast introduces herself as a member of Orome's hunt, and Aredhel believes it, for the she wolf looks like the perfect hunter. The wolf asks her what she, as a fellow hunter, is doing out so far away from her kin and cub.

Momentarily surprised by the ability to speak, for not even Huan can speak so freely, Aredhel responses. She shares her desire for light, her frustration with her "husband," and how she wants a different life for her son. She never wanted this, and she wishes she had the ability to take control of her own fate.

The wolf is sympathetic to her plights, and offers to help her free herself and her child.

"You do have the ability to change your own fate, young one. Asking for help is something no one else could have done for you."

So Aredhel leads the wolf back to Eol's house. They walk through the entry way, both hunters are silent as the dawn as they go. Aredhel heads towards the master bedroom, but hesitates at the door. She can see Eol on his side of their bed, snoring lightly as he does. She hesitates, seeing a vision of what will happen once he realizes she's gone. Fire, doom and death follows her, poison and a flash of fang would flicker in him before he strikes her down for disobedience, for stealing away the son he won't even name.

The wolf nudges her aside, ghosting past her into the room. Aredhel's throat closes up and she slinks away, heading towards Lomion's nursery. She leaves to go strap her sleeping infant son to her chest, then grabs some supplies from the kitchen in a bag. Not even hearing a mouse skittering in the walls, let alone her wolf companion, she steels her nerves to check the master bedroom one more time.

As she passes her bedroom, she can see through a crack in the door and her breath freezes. Standing over the now corpse of her husband, maw dripping red from the freshly torn out throat, the white wolf looms. Aredhel stares transfixed, she can almost taste the blood between her own teeth, feel the rush of the kill, ache of her gums as tendons and tissue would rub against them. The wolf turns to look at her, silver eyes wild, white fur stained with her kill. Aredhel feels the air return to her lungs, she feels lighter and free, a little giggle slips past her lips and the wolf peels back its lips and bares its dripping fangs in a smile.

Aredhel leaves the house, fleeing on foot and all the while she can hear the wolf following her, keeping pace and shadowing her in the darkness, and at some points, ahead of her, leading her out of the woods. Running like this, oh she hasn't done this in years!. The wind snapping at her hair, branches and leaves kissing her cheeks and arms, the rush of a completed hunt with another one ahead of her feels like her first real breath in a long time. It feels like days later, and seconds, heartbeats, when she can see the treeline, dawn's hazy reddish glow peaking through the trees.

Aredhel gives a joyful cry and runs faster. That laughter bubbling up inside of her finally bursts past her lips once she breaks the treeline. The sun on her skin is warm and bright and all she wants to do is laugh and cry and scream until her throat is raw and her tears run dry. But she has to keep moving, she has Lomion still with her, and she is too close to the woods to feel truly safe yet. She walks north, and east, not really knowing where she's heading but knowing that she'll cross into her cousins' land soon. As she walks, she soon realizes that she hasn't seen or heard from her she wolf in a while. Stopping, Aredhel turns to look back, but no where can she see that brilliant white coat, or any tracks that look like wolf paws. She squint, looking back at the distant treeline and sees nothing but shadow. She mourns for her companion, wishing she could have wished her well or at least thanked her for her help. She wonders if Orome set the wolf to free her, not wanting to see one of his hunters in chains.

Its about mid morning when she comes across some of her cousins men, and they're horrified. They ask if she's ok, of she's hurt, they take her to a nearby stream even though she insists she's fine, that she wants to see her cousins.

When she sees her reflection she's scared for a moment. All she can see it blood, dried and crusted down her throat, staining her lips and chin. There is red all along the collar of her white dress, her sleeves, but her hands are clean, and so is her son still asleep strapped across her chest. She looks into her reflection, not yet comprehending. Silver eyes that seem so familiar stare back above the red, above the proof of her freedom.

She bares her bloody teeth in smile.

[kissofhoon]

MIDNIGHT FICTION !

꒰♡˃̶̤́ ꒳ ˂̶̤̀ ꒱ ⠀ ── ⠀ 𝗅𝗂𝗄𝖾 𝖺 𝖿𝖺𝗇𝗍𝖺𝗌𝗒

𝒑𝖺͟𝗂͟𝗋͟𝗂͟𝗇͟𝗀 𝗉𝗋𝗂𝗇𝖼𝖾 𝗌𝗎𝗇𝗈𝗈 𝗑 𝖿𝖾𝗆 𝗋𝖾𝖺𝖽𝖾𝗋 𝙜𝖾͟𝗇͟𝗋͟𝖾 𝖿𝗅𝗎𝖿𝖿 𝒘𝗈͟𝗋͟𝖽 𝒄𝗈͟𝗎͟𝗇͟𝗍 𝟫𝟧𝟪 𝗐𝗈𝗋𝖽𝗌 𝒘𝖺͟𝗋͟𝗇͟𝗂͟𝗇͟𝗀͟𝗌 𝗇𝗈𝗍 𝗉𝗋𝗈𝗈𝖿𝗋𝖾𝖺𝖽 𝒏𝗈͟𝗍͟𝖾͟𝗌 𝗂 <𝟥 𝗆𝗂𝖽𝗇𝗂𝗀𝗁𝗍 𝖿𝗂𝖼𝗍𝗂𝗈𝗇 ( 𝓵𝗂𝖻𝗋𝖺𝗋𝗒 )

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floating.

it’s how you felt whenever the prince was around. the stars and moon shone brighter, the breeze was always perfect when the two of you chased each other in the field of flowers that neighbored your castle, everything moving as if it was something out of an old film.

tranquility reigned when prince sunoo visited from time to time, not bothering to indulge in his duties as heir to the throne and instead pining over you and your beauty, unbeknownst to you.

his foolishness would end with a scolding from his father and a sympathetic look from his mother, someone who understood how much he yearned for you, the princess. she was once in his shoes, longing for a prince she couldn’t have.

you, on the other hand, were wild and carefree. your parents never paid mind to what you did, hoping you spent your years well before being shoved into the light of the throne. it was obvious you were spending them well, chasing the one person that made your days feel like a dream. nothing could make them happier than seeing their daughter pursue the prince she adored so much.

your visits were never long, neither were his, but the two of you always made the most of it. sneaking off at midnight, frolicking in the flower garden that accompanied your respective castles. they always ended with the two of you resting beside each other under the biggest tree in your gardens, a feeling of peace washing over the both of you each time the two of you fell asleep watching the sun rise.

but one night — one wondrous night — the prince had planned such a marveling evening for you. not too long ago, he found secluded area near the lake that separated your kingdom from the others. ruins, adorned with overgrown vines and flowers, border the lake. it was beautiful, like something out of a fantasy. he knew it was the perfect sight to execute his plan.

and after much arguing with his father, he had convinced him to allow him to marry you. he couldn’t bear the thought of losing you to another prince, much less be married off to some princess that wasn’t you.

asking for your father’s permission wasn’t as hard as sunoo assumed it was; your father knew how much you loved sunoo, and being married to a prince like him guaranteed your endless happiness, which is the one thing he wanted.

that night, sunoo made sure that everything was to his standards — the perfect meal was prepped and lanterns were hung on anything that could possibly hold the lanterns. a beautiful silk blanket rested on the floor of the ruin, emulating a picnic blanket, your favorite treats lined and a basket full of food on top of it.

your maids helped you choose your best dress, well aware of the plan the young prince had. you, on the other hand, were oblivious to what was happening, under the assumption it was another family dinner that was set up out of the blue.

modeling the most magnificent dress in your closet, your father had walked you down to the spot sunoo shared with him. in a way, he wasn’t ready to marry off his only daughter, but knowing you were to be proposed to by the one prince he truly respects, his qualms were slowly dying down.

nothing could have prepared you for the dream-like setting, and nothing could have prepared you for how handsome sunoo looked.

your night was filled with laughter and food, sunoo gladly feeding you your favorite sweets. it was truly the most blissful night you experienced, but it would only become more precious as the night carried one.

as the sunset across the horizon and the two of you packed to head back to your castle, hoping to make it before night grew. to your astonishment the beloved prince got down on one knee, revealing the ring he had gotten, customized to your liking. it caused you to halt your movements, admiring how gorgeous it was, the ring glittering in the moonlight.

so many emotions crashed onto you; joy, surprise, but most importantly — love.

your love for him was stronger than any other force, and it only took this long for you to figure out how much you were truly enamored by him. the little things he did always brought you butterflies, and though at the time it didn’t make sense, it did now. you loved him like you loved no other.

and who were you to say no to prince sunoo?

delighted by the surprise, you nodded, holding your hand out for the prince. he gracefully slipped the ring onto your ring finger, kissing your hand then after. the gesture made you blush, to which he smiled triumphantly.

swiftly, he got up and pulled you towards him, his hands moving to rest gently on your waist.

“may i kiss you?” he would ask in a whisper, to which you nodded in response.

his cushion-like lips met yours, capturing them in a sweet kiss.

what a perfect way to end the night.

with a yawn, you closed the story book in your hands and perched it on your bedside table. your droopy eyes couldn’t stop themselves from fluttering shut as you brought your blanket to your chin, nuzzling into it.

as you drifted into a soft slumber, your mind replayed the scenes in the story book, a warm smile on your face as you dreamt of a prince just like the one in the fairytale.

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© kissofhoon, 2024

[existentialgaybirdnerd]

If Johnny is the sun and Simon is the moon, does that mean they chase each other eternally?

Does Simon only shine when Johnny gazes upon him and shares his warmth? When Johnny turns his burning passion towards him and their team?

If Johnny is the sun and Simon is the moon, why do they follow this eternal dance and never get closer and why are they never able to love the other?

Maybe the sun and the moon aren't the appropriate things to compare them to.

Maybe Simon is the moon. And maybe he orbits his world with an undying passion and fury, giving light in the darkness and hope in desolation.

Johnny is the very thing that leaves Simon breathless and draws him in, gives him gravity to keep moving and to keep turning, to keep living. Johnny very quickly turns into the very thing that keeps Simon from drifting into the dark endless expanse of space and simply giving up.

Simon turns his love and his light directly to Johnny, keeping him in his sights and loving him in the only way he knows how: protection and devotion.

Johnny keeps Simon in his gravity, pulling him towards himself and letting him feel like a person again, like he's important again.

Johnny looks at Simon like he hung the stars, but only because he knows that if he had the opportunity, Simon would grab the constellations directly from the sky and turn them into only the best name disks with their names nestled side by side as a reminder that they were once alive and once the very thing that made the other who they were in the end.

Simon looks at Johnny like he was his own personal sun. He orbits this man and loves him with his whole being and losing him would mean losing the last bit of himself that makes him human. Johnny is Simon's world, and while Johnny doesn't produce his own light, he gives Simon reason to keep going and reason to shine upon Johnny himself instead of wallowing in the dark by himself for eternity.

They may not chase each other for eternity, but they're close. They see each other day in and day out and love each other so deeply that they produce phenomena comparable to storms and waves, their love runs into the roots of their very beings and keep them tied together through fate. They circle each other for eternity, and their love lasts beyond that, echoing in the abyss even after death and oblivion take them.