#they could become a councillor

[rowanthestrange]

i voted

took me forty minutes to put the x in the box of the party i am literally a member of

successfully rationalised that we’re a new and probably swing constituency so we’ve got to

feel a truly unmatched sense of depoliticised disenfranchised hopelessness

[ellemarianne555]

Mother Issues

Summary: Aegon’s new wife is a Hightower and he isn’t sure how he feels about this. Fluffy smut.

Author’s note: this is so fluffy and self-indulgent and my first time ever writing smut so if it’s cringey and too much plot I’m sorry! Please leave feedback, I know my grammar can be iffy sometimes xoxo

Content warning: mdni, slight mommy kink, implied breeding kink, severe praise kink, heavy mommy issues and mentions of alcoholism and childhood neglect. Aegon is a dick for half of this but don’t worry he comes right in the end (literally lol).

⋆⁺｡˚⋆˙‧₊☽ ◯ ☾₊‧˙⋆˚｡⁺⋆

With your long wavy hair and big unblinking eyes, the court had been whispering about how much you resembled a young Alicent since you were a girl. Your father was a brother to Otto, and rumours had long been rife that Otto had laid with your mother and had her married hastily to his kin to cover the scandal. You knew this wasn’t true though, as your mother was devoted to your father and you possessed his wit and kindness as well as your grandmother’s looks that had seduced Viserys into making your cousin, Alicent, his wife.

The rumours and gossip became even more pronounced when you were betrothed to Aegon. The sulky young King with his disheveled blonde hair and the pouty lips stained permanently red from the wine he had been known to imbibe. Aegon had thrown a fit when he heard you were to be married as he petulantly resented anything to do with his distant mother and belittling grandfather. He barely talked to you on your wedding night, since he had gotten so drunk that when he stumbled into your bed early in the morning he was unable to perform his marital duties. Flushing red, sweating and swearing to all who would listen that it was his wife and her Hightower features that were to blame; you two become even more distant as you became married in name alone.

So you kept to your chambers, armed with your ladies in waiting and mountains of mind-numbing embroidery to hide from the shame of a husband who couldn’t stand you. You heard that Aegon was busy with his whores down in the Street of Silk and though your ladies pushed you to take a handsome young lover, you were committed to the Faith and your role as a dutiful wife.

Time passed and you seemed to see even less of your husband as he struggled with the roles and responsibilities of being in charge of the realm. You heard snippets of fights and arguments, the rare times you ventured outside of your apartments for more reading materials, between Aegon and his councillors as he fought to have his voice heard and opinions valued.

Doors banged and shouting echoed down the hallway to your bed chamber as you heard arguing through the cracks of the stone wall.

“But it isn’t my fault!”, one voice said as another voice became more clear.

“How can you expect anyone to take you as their King when you can’t even prove yourself as a man?” Angrily responded another voice, that you recognised as that of your mother-in-law.

Your husband and his mother were arguing. About you. In front of your bed chamber.

Suddenly the door flew open as Aegon burst in, scowling and seething with anger.

“Are you happy now? I’m in her damn chambers and I’ll fuck her until you have all the precious heirs you want!”.

You nearly stabbed stabbed your thumb with a needle as you jumped out of your perch of a wide cushion nestled into the window. Fortunately your ladies were not there to witness your mouth open and close in sheer shock as your husband entered.

For not the first time, you wondered how miserable your life could be that when the man you were married to entered your room, that it was as shocking as though if Vhagar had started wearing gowns and demanding weekly tea parties in their honour. Shaking the image out of your mind, you could see your husband grit his teeth in frustration.

The door clanged heavily behind you and you heard short angry footsteps disappear down the hallway until you were both alone. For the second time in your marriage since you had stood at the altar, you were alone with your husband. But for all his cruel words that had passed around the court and confined you to these chambers in humiliation, you weren’t scared of him. He looked slightly small in fact. With his lips trembling and eyes glistening he looked more like a furious king and more like a lost boy.

He scowled at you, with his lower lips jutting out in such a way that you felt more like wiping his cheeks then scolding him for the embarrassment and isolation he had put you through.

“I’ll have to stay here.” He said petulantly. “For at least a few hours until Mother thinks my duty has been performed.”

He looked over to where your abandoned embroidery lay and his upper lip curled in disdain.

“I see there’s nothing to entertain myself with, so I might as well sleep.” He looked pointedly at you upon saying the word “entertain”, but again it seemed to came off as less hurtful but sulky and strangely self-conscious.

“What do you do to pass the time in here? Seeing as you never bother to come to court.”

Your mouth gaped open again as you realised that your husband was actually talking to you for once, instead of at you.

“W-well, I embroider.”

His eyes rolled nearly to the ceiling.

“A-and I read.” Your voice choking in your throat as his red rimmed stare snapped to your trembling lips.

“Really? I thought it wasn’t becoming of such a high-born lady to entertain herself with such foolish pursuits.”He said mockingly, and instead of rising to his disdain, you laughed.

“It seems I am not the only one in this marriage who amuses themselves with frivolity.”

His nostrils flared in anger as you realised that in your attempt to jest, you had instead struck a delicate nerve.

“I am not as foolish as you or this court believe you know. I have a great interest in my family’s history and that of the realm. Of course everyone just assumes that there is nothing else to me but the drinking and the whoring.”His mouth curled upwards in a way that showed you he had long been used to demeaning himself in front of others .

“I’m sorry.” You paused hesitantly, “I just don’t know how to talk to you. It seems like we are more strangers than when I had never met you.”

“Well, you don’t have to treat me as if I were an idiot. I get enough of that from my own kin.”

Again, you felt a pit form in your stomach as you thought how it must of been to grow up feeling lesser than. You had had not exactly an idyllic childhood in Old Town, but you knew your parents loved you. Even if they were misguided enough to agree to betroth you to a man who clearly hated you.

You tried again, “I’m sorry. I also find the stories of our history fascinating.”You held out a worn copy of folklore and fairytales from under one of the cushions from your childhood, one of the only things you had managed to take with you from home.

“You’re reading children’s stories?” Aegon scoffed.

“They’re not really stories at all. They introduce the stories of our past to children so they take an interest in the way things came to be. My favourite is how Visenya Targaryen and how she conquered the Vale.”

“Really?” Aegon said catching himself quickly before he sounded too interested.

“When I was younger I always dreamed of being like her, so strong and brave.”

“So did I.” He said almost begrudgingly.

“It must be hard. To grow up with a brother who often thinks less of you and diminishes your accomplishments.”

Aegon blinked, again surprised at how this woman who he had pushed away so harshly seemed to know him so well.

“I was just finishing this chapter. I could read it aloud? If that is alright with you, your grace.”

He nodded stiffly and sat at the edge of the window seat as though he were afraid to come any closer.

You patted the worn cushion next to him and smiled, “I don’t bite, my lord.” You teased. Again a smile seemed to escape from him as he slowly inched closer.

As the chapter progressed and the pages turned you noticed that your husband was falling asleep, first on your shoulder then burrowing down to your lap. You stiffened, unsure of whether to wake him but you decided that he seemed in need of a good rest and slowly wound his straggly blond hair through your fingers.

Before you had realised, you too had drifted to sleep. Only woken by a soft chiming of the bells from the Sept declaring that it was late at night, and a rather peculiar stiffness poking into your thigh.

Your eyelashes fluttered open, only to look down and see your husband, mouth slightly agape and sleeping peacefully. You realised what had happened, he had clearly brushed against you by accident and gotten aroused.

Trying to be respectful, you gently tried to move his head out of your lap. His eyes snapped open, blinking as he tried to place where he was.

“You look very beautiful when you sleep.” You blurted out softly as though scared he would bolt. His cheeks blushed a delicate shade of pink as he looked down and noticed his cock as though for the first time.

Scrambling out of your lap, he tried to cover himself with a pillow while cursing angrily with himself.

“I-it’s okay, you know.”

He froze, unsure of how to respond. So you decided not to let him.

“It happens to me too.” His eyebrows knit together in confusion as he was unsure if you were saying what he thought you were saying. That you also dreamed of him? And you felt the same attraction you denied yourself when awake?

“We don’t choose our thoughts when we dream. You must have been dreaming of a beautiful woman or an old lover perhaps.”

He frowned, if only you knew that it was you he wanted. Why had he pushed you away so much? Because he resented the lack of choice? Because he was so determined to despise anything related to his mother? The woman who had been so absent and cold towards him throughout his childhood, yet was unable to see why he drank and surrounded himself with whores to cope with the emptiness he felt.

You looked at him again, worried that you had somehow upset him. “You can go back to sleep, you know. I don’t mind.” You said, patting the cold space in your lap where he had been.

He smiled softly, and shyly lay back down.

How odd this man was, you thought. One moment he was fire and hatred but the next he seemed so lost and scared.

You started humming to yourself quietly as you again stroked his face. His eyes cracked open again.

“What is that song? It sounds familiar.”

“It’s just a song we sing to children in Old Town. My mother taught it to me so that maybe I could one day sing it to my own.”.

“It’s nice.” Aegon said gruffly and closed his eyes once more.

The rhythm and lyrics poured out of your mouth as you sang a nursery rhyme praising the child that grew in your belly, promising they would grow to be strong and that you were proud of him. It was an old song said to promote fertility and help form a bond through the womb.

Suddenly, you noticed something again poking into your lap as your husband blushed red with shame.

“M-mommy” he choked out in heaving gasps, his greasy hair wrapped around your fingers as you froze, tugging the roots sharply. The whimper of pain he released sounded almost like a moan and looking down you noticed the damp spot on his breeches.

Aegon jumped up as though he had been doused in icy water and backed up against the door. His chest falling and rising with small gasping hiccups.

You realised that this was probably the first time anyone had shown him the tenderness he so desperately craved, and that he had been seeking in the bottom of his cups and the bottoms of well, prostitutes. It was only natural that these feelings of shame had combined with arousal, and how he was attracted to the softness he had never known but always craved. You smiled kindly, reassuringly as if to let him know it was alright.

“I didn’t mean to-“

“It’s alright,” you said speaking to him slowly with your hands reached out, as though you were tying to tame a horse rather than a king with serious mother issues. “You can call me whatever you need.”

His lips were still quivering as more tears leaked out of his eyes and caught on his round chin before trickling down below his shirt.

“I am so sorry.” He whispered, so faintly it took a few seconds to sink in.

“It’s alright.” you repeated.

“N-no, it’s not. The moment I saw you I thought you were the most beautiful women I’d ever seen. But then I became aware of the comments about your resemblance to my mother and I became so angry and confused at how someone I could desire so much could resemble someone who hates me so.”

You froze. Then before you knew it you were up against the door, pinning him to the cold iron that seemed to only increase the heat between your bodies.

He looked into your eyes, and you slowly traced the tears that had fallen down his soft chin and placed your finger in your mouth. As if to show him you wanted all of him. His sadness, his love, his unease.

Your husband seemed to snap at the image of your plump mouth slowly sucking the finger inside and gripped the back of your head, as he wound his shaking fingers around your long wavy hair. The kiss was searing, harsh and longing as you seemed to fall down and down into the feelings you had been denying for so long.

His length was aching and hard against your thigh as you suddenly pulled yourself from his embrace. Breathing heavily, you moved to untie his breeches. But he surprised you yet again. And got down on his knees.

This time it was you pressed against the door, as he lifted your skirts hurriedly only to look up questioningly as though asking your permission.

“I know I’ve been a cunt. But I hope that I can show you how sorry I am.” He grinned broadly as he waited for your approval.

“It’s fine, Aegon. You don’t have to do anything you don’t want to.”

“Well, my wife you clearly don’t know me very well if you think I would find tasting your sweetness unpleasant. Let me make amends…With my tongue.”

As soon as your head let out a shaky nod, not sure whether to believe what was happening. He was back under your skirts. Licking and tasting like this was the first meal he had all day, knowing him it was probably the first that wasn’t liquid.

You had never felt such an intense pleasure before, never in your nights of touching yourself under your sheets, your shaking fist shoved in your mouth as you thought of the stories your ladies had told you of all the ways a man could please a woman. As you thought of how beautiful your husband had looked in his armour the day he was crowned, so unsure and so vulnerable. You really seemed to have a weakness for sad men. But mainly just him, just your husband who was licking and sucking at you as he deadly slipped his tongue between your folds.

You cried out as he slowly breached your entrance with his finger.

“Is this alright?” He said worriedly as he looked up for your approval.

“Of course, sweet boy.” And in response your husband groaned, deep and full. His efforts redoubled as he sought to press his fingers inside at you at the point your inner walls started to crumble and be torn down by his efforts. Crying out in ecstasy, you collapse to the floor. His head still in your hands as he looked up at you adoringly, chin glistening with your release as he proudly smirked and wiped it off with the back of his hand.

You sat there together. On the floor for a moment. As you thought of how misunderstood the man who rested his head in the crook of your neck was. At how he loved you, every part of you. Even the parts that resembled his mother. Because maybe with at was what he needed. To see a version of himself, reflected in yourself as kindness. And maybe he wasn’t afraid anymore. Of loving you so entirely.

You smiled at him softly as he panted into your shoulder and you noticed how the hardness in his breeches had only grown fiercer and more pulsing.

“May I?”, you spoke, gazing into his eyes and now he was the one who was shy as he nodded gently.

Reaching into his trousers, you took his cock in your hands. “Pretty.” You could not help yourself say. You worriedly glanced at your husband only to find his face bright red yet again. He pulsed in your hands and you realised what he needed. What he had been denied for so long.

“Such a good boy.” You murmured into his neck. The reaction was instant, his head burrowed further into your chest as he moaned low and unashamed.

“You’re doing so well. Being such a perfect boy for me. So so pretty.”

He latched on to your breast, yanking them out of your gown fiercely as he began to suck harshly on your nipples. You moaned, as you increased your efforts on his aching red cock.

“You’re a good man, Aegon.” You choked out between sighs, “You’d be such a good father to our children, I’d be honoured to be their mother.”At these words, your husband pulsed furiously and exploded into your palm.

Shaking from pleasure, he again rested his head in your lap. Looking up at you as though you were still strangers and he was still shy, despite his tongue having been inside your cunt moments before.

“D-did you mean that?”

“Mean what?”

“That I’d be a good father. That you’d want to have children with me.”

“Of course. I couldn’t think of anything I’d want more. Stop denying yourself the love you want to give and receive, from me, from any children we may have.”

He smiled at this, like the sun was breaking across a clouded sky. Like he was seeing what his lifecould be for the first time.

“Well.” Your husband grinned; “I think we should start trying to make children more productively.”As he again pushed you to the floor, both of you laughing and smiling as he kissed you again and again.

[saphronethaleph]

Longform Statistical Analysis

“Master Nu,” Windu said, with a smile. “It’s nice to see you in the Council Chambers once more.”

“Thank you,” the librarian replied, inclining her head. “Unfortunately, I bring dire news.”

“...you do?” Windu asked, worried now. “What kind of dire news?”

“Dire news coming out of the library is usually either trivial or an absolute disaster,” Ki-Adi-Mundi contributed. “Which is it, so we can decide how worried to be?”

“Quite possibly, both,” Nu told him. “To summarize… Masters, two years ago we discovered that the Sith were not extinct. With this in mind, I have been engaged on a long-term project – I evaluated data about the discovery, admittance, tenure and ultimate loss of every single Jedi for which we have data. Every one in our archives.”

“Now I understand why it took so long,” Even Piell said. “In fact, I credit your skills for taking so little time. That must have been… what, a thousand years… there are ten thousand knights now… hundreds of thousands of Jedi total?”

“Around that,” Nu confirmed. “But the problem is… this. This is the number of active Jedi at any one time, during the first hundred years after Ruusan.”

Her holoprojector activated, showing a kind of flow diagram made out of strands of light. Light yellow marked those newly discovered and accepted as initiates, green padawans, blue for knights and purple marked those who were masters. The tiny Order, wounded but triumphant in the years immediately after Ruusan, was reborn and swelled as it gained more members and those members it had reached greater degrees of Mastery.

“Two hundred years,” Nu went on, as the diagram swelled and zoomed out. The growth was slower now, harder to see on the same scale, but the Order pulsed in colours of green and blue and purple as the Golden Age of the Republic continued.

“...you said this was dire?” Adi Gallia asked.

“We’ll get there,” Nu said, accelerating the projection a little.

As it ran forwards, decade after decade passing by until it approached the present, Master Yaddle leaned forwards in her seat.

She wasn’t the only one. It was subtle, almost imperceptible, but the Jedi Order – which had swelled to enormous, triumphant scale during the Golden Age – had begun to contract again.

By the time it reached the present day, it still possessed deep reserves of strength, but the colouring was… just a little different. The purple of Mastery was less common, though the blues and greens of Knighthood and Padawan were still fully present, and Nu manipulated her controls a bit more.

A second strand appeared, this one much thinner and more intermittent. And, as time tracked towards the present, it went from a shading of mostly blue hundreds of years ago to shades that were a little more green.

“This is the members of our Order who left our ranks due to their death,” Nu explained. “While the differences year-to-year are so minor that I would hesitate to describe them as meaningful, when given the long view and looked at in aggregate the effect is clear.”

She folded her arms. “The Sith faced by Knight Kenobi is the anomaly – an open Sith attack which makes no pretensions as to what they are. This is what I would call a true threat, Councillors. Not a single Sith who seeks to kill individual Jedi in a duel, but a centuries-long program of gradual, subtle, pervasive damage to the Jedi Order, chiefly through the loss of Padawans before they become Knights.”

“You think the Sith are behind this?” Ki-Adi-Mundi asked.

“Behind any given casualty?” Nu asked. “...no. I have no proof I could offer, though a detailed examination of the loss of any given Padawan may conclude that there was some other factor behind their death. Behind the whole pattern? I think it’s quite possible, Master Mundi. We know the Sith can plot and plan for something for a thousand years, and there are only two targets for such a plot that make any sense – ourselves, and the Republic.”

She met the gaze of each councillor in turn. “If this is not due to the Sith, my friends, then we must ask ourselves – what is? They have been doing something for ten centuries and we know nothing about it.”

After a slightly dismayed silence, Yoda tapped his gimmer stick on the floor.

“Much to think about, we have,” he said. “Master Nu – more to say, have you?”

“Yes,” Nu replied. “My presentation, I hope, serves as a reminder that the Sith did not appear out of nowhere two years ago. They have been doing things over the last thousand years, and it is quite possible that we have run into their machinations without identifying them as such… it would be a great mistake to generalize from the Sith defeated by Knight Kenobi.”

“...hmm,” Windu said, frowning. “During the interrogations of Nute Gunray. He said that his actions were based on a shadowy figure pressing him to get a treaty signed by Queen Amidala of the Naboo. That treaty would have benefitted the Trade Federation, but nobody else.”

“The wording of the treaty, benefit the Trade Federation, it would,” Yaddle said. “The existence of the treaty – benefit someone else, perhaps?”

In his office, Sheev Palpatine paused halfway through reading a law.

He had the strange feeling that he’d just been betrayed by his greatest ally. But that was nonsense, since the closet thing he had left to a true ally was paperwork…

[izzystizzys]

There is a scratch mark on the floor of the Council chambers that Mace has never noticed before. Not a deep one, mind, quite shallow. This matters because it’s making the white-hot pulse of agony stabbing through his eyeballs ebb momentarily. Then, he chances a glance upwards at the fidgeting Knight in front of them, and it returns in full force.

Huh, he’s never seen Oppo Rancisis’ face turn that colour before.

“Hmm”, Master Yoda hums, deep and scratchy. His expression is unreadable even to Mace beyond a baseline gremlinness, and the force with which he grips the edges of his seat is making his bones creak. Master of the Order you should become, they said. Follow the calling of the Force, you should. A fulfilling purpose, it will be. Mace is going to hunt the little goblin for sport when this is all over, and he’s going to laugh the whole time.

“Show us the livestream again, could you, Knight Parvo?” Yoda asks. Mace bursts a capillary, he’s pretty sure, and so does poor Knight Parvo, whose orange Mon Cala skin tips all the way into blood red with stress. “Most unusual, this is.”

“Absolutely not!”, Ki Adi intervenes before Mace has to, thank the Force for little mercies. Plo Koon’s tusks tremble slightly with either suppressed laughter or abject horror, maybe both, and Stass Allie has her head in her hands. “The holo stills should be enough”, Ki Adi proceeds to add, and Mace has to reconsider all feelings of grace he just felt towards his fellow Councillor.

He never wants to watch Yoda zoom in on someone’s abs again. Or Depa raise her eyebrows at the curve of thighs bent over the dripping front of a speeder.

“Speeder Wash For Our Troops”, his former padawan reads out loud from a still of what has to be hundreds of the things gathered in the public senate parking lot. “Fund Our Boys And Get A Wet Seeing-To!” The series of images features dozens of Coruscant Guard troopers in various stages of unkitted, gleaming and shining with soap suds and water. The fact that the whole thing is also massive shatterpoint after massive shatterpoint is, quite frankly, insulting.

“Well hello- oh dear”, Obi-Wan’s blue form crackles to life in his chair, followed by several sounds of choking that are definitely not him. Good, Mace thinks acidly. If he has to deal with this, then so does kriffing Skywalker. “I’m sorry, why am I looking at Commander Thorn using a washrag like a lasso on top of a speeder?”

“Oh, the Guard’s little fundraising project”, Bail Organa says, as he steps into the Council chambers. Normally, Mace likes the man well enough. Now, he just smiles and adds on, “I’ve already donated, in mine and Breha’s name. Remotely, of course.”

“The Guard’s fundraising speeder wash?”, Obi-Wan repeats, edges of his holo form flickering with what Mace suspects is Skywalker very unsubtly trying to edge in. Force, but the man really is horrible at any and all stealth, like kissing his secret wife in an open arena in front of his Master. “And they are fundraising for…?”

“GAR budget allocations have to come from somewhere”, Organa shrugs. “And with the tide of public opinion turning, they’ve been tending towards cuts. The Guard feels them more keenly than any other sector - they’ve been reduced from half to quarter rations, and medical supplies have not made more than a token appearance in the last draft. The Chancellor has cancelled three consecutive meetings on the matter, and thus it was agreed that a more hands-on approach was needed. Any surplus will go into the Army fund.”

“Surely it can’t be that dire”, Oppo protests, a slightly less concerning shade of purple now. Senator Organa shrugs again, jostling the smattering of cracks slowly building around his person in a way that makes Mace wince quietly. “It’s all publicly available data, Masters.”

It really can be that dire, as it turns out. And quarter rations is only scratching the surface of how dire, considering the Guard has apparently never had access to bacta in all their posting, and also includes requisitioning forms available to the Senate for reconditionings and decommissionings, two words Mace has only heard Ponds whispers amidst shuddering in the early days of the war before Shaak Ti went off and just about tore some throats out over it.

“Alright”, he concedes, rubbing at his temples. “Fair enough, we have failed to tackle a massive blind spot in the Guard’s well being. There is no Jedi assigned to Coruscant, and that’s an oversight on our behalf. But how in the everloving kriff did this get past the Chancellor and Commander Fox?!”

Who have both signed, black on white. Bail Organa smiles cryptically. “Well, if you scroll a bit past that one image, up to the industrial speeder in the back - Commander Fox is currently having credits stuffed into his codpiece in the back, I believe.”

“HE’S WHAT IN THE WHAT NOW”, Commander Cody screeches through the speaker of Obi-Wan’s holo image, and Mace has to summon every bit of Jedi-serenity he possesses in his body to keep from dropkicking a cackling Yoda through the chamber windows.

[artinvain]

in the midsts of hellfire (pt. 2) (pt 1 here) wc: 3.3k

cw: smut, angst, verryyyy toxic relationship (reader x vi), a little bit of smut.

pitfighter vi x reader, sevika x reader, vi x caitlyn.

in the first two weeks while you stayed with sevika you were quiet. you mostly stayed in bed crying or sleeping and you’d shared with her between bouts of crying pieces of your past with vi. you’d carried her for months on your back, like a giant cross to bear. and still, though that heavy weight has been ripped from you, you feel the phantom mass cracking your back. the wounds throbbing and the blood they drew burning your skin.

vi had moulded you into her caretaker, her saviour. if you needed to leave - vi was on her knees. if you stayed when she did not want you to, she made sure you knew you weren’t wanted. and still you cleaned her wounds, fed her, loved her. because when she was kind, her light shone on you and warmed your skin - it was like winter sun and you had become addicted - waiting for the next time she smiled. you were starting to believe you were made to take the pain. That like she said - love was pain. why not? you had been doing it so well with vi. 

when you started to talk to sevika - she only knew how to show you how wrong vi is. tracing your skin with love and ordering your steps away from unneeded apologies or fear of backlash. sevika started to show you how soft and joyful love is. knowing the truth about your relationship, sevika was filled with rage for days, she contemplated tearing through piltover and killing vi and anyone she was with. 

In your third week with her, you’d never been this calm during your relationship with vi. by the end of the month, you had recovered from your tearful and depressive state. your romance had stopped being about what you didn’t have with vi and all about this connection that has finally simmered past the surface. you started to see a councillor twice a week at sevika’s suggestion and she watched you bloom as you healed. you hadn’t spoken about what happened the night you came over and sevika didn’t feel like there was ever a right time to bring it up.

sevika didn’t mind, she would wait for years if she needed to. she didn’t believe she could love like this until she met you and now she knows love can never be any other way. with you her heart was true, she was known by you and she’d never been more comfortable truly being seen.

It was a week ago, after two months of basically living together that you’d made sevika dinner and welcomed her home to desert baking and her home smelling like you. she was filled with a warmth she hadn’t ever felt seeing you open the door for her, your skin dewy with the heat of the kitchen and a dopey smile on your face, the smell of weed lingering on you. you offered her a burning joint and lead her into the kitchen.

“and what’s all this for?” she chuckles as you sat her in a chair at the dinning table and poured her a glass of wine.

“I have been cleared for counselling twice a month,” you smiled nervously - “i know it’s not a big deal, but -” sevika stands and pulls you into a hug, whisking you around before setting you down and without thinking she swoops down to kiss you and sighing happily when you kiss her back.

“I’m so proud of you bunny,” she huffs, her eyes closed and her forehead pressed against yours. you reach up to cup her cheek.

“thank you for being so patient,” you smile and sevika rubs her nose against yours. “do you feel like yourself again?” sevika asks, her arms coming to wrap around your waist and pull you close. your hands settle on her strong arms and squeeze gently.

“more than i ever have,” you whisper, “and that’s why i know i’m ready. for this for us. If you still want me -”

sevika answers you with a fervent kiss, your hand cupping her head as she licks her way into your mouth. 

“i will always want you,” she proclaims, “you are mine and i am yours - i always have been,” sevika sighs and uses her strength to pull you up onto her waist, her mech arm holding you up while her other is gentle on the back of your head, guiding you to her mouth.

sevika takes her time kissing you but rushes to her bedroom to lay you down. “I want to show you,” she whispers between kisses to your neck, “how much i love you,” sevika moans, feeling you buck your hips up into her. she moans when you whimper as she pulls your silky night dress down and sucks your nipple into her mouth, her other hand coming to grope your tits, her rough fingers teasing your sensitive nipples. 

Sevika grinds her hips down onto yours and whines at the taste of your tits leaking into her mouth as she squeezes and teases your nipples. “please vika,” you gasp as her hands rip the dress from you and she’s burying her head between your thighs. kissing the insides of them and nuzzling your core - suckling on your clit through your panties and her hands come to hold your hips down so she can tease you. 

“fuck, need to feel your mouth on me, please,” you whine and your lover acquiesces, pulling your panties down and licking up your cunt, tasting you and making you shudder, her mouth finally taking your clit in and letting her tongue roll and lap against it as you moan. 

“you taste like heaven my sweet,” sevika groans, her fingers working lazily into your pussy as you whine and open your legs further for her. sevika takes a moment to watch your swollen cunt swallow her fingers, your wetness coating them - she’s entranced as she rubs your clit,

“fuck baby, your pussy’s drooling for me baby, for me yeah? all mine?” 

you nod and dig your hands into her hair, gripping and grinding onto her. “just for you,” you sigh and tighten around her fingers when she curls them into your gspot. 

sevika whines, looking over your face - eyes crewed shut and plump lips stretched in a moan “oh bunny, you’re so fucking beautiful,” she smiles and you cum, groaning and tightening your thighs around her head as your back arches. sevika replaces her fingers with her mouth, even though you’re overstimulated you’re hips are still moving against her face as she eats you, tasting your cum and moaning, licking into your hole for more.

“need to be inside you,” sev moans - her belly tighening with need. sevika kisses up your body, her hand rubbing and squeezing over your skin. “please,” you whine and she kisses your mouth and then stands at the edge of the bed. sevika quickly rids herself of anything that would stop her skin from touching yours and secures her strap and then clambers onto the bed between your legs.

sevika rubs lube over her cock and kisses your knees gently as she lifts your thighs to your chest. “I love you,” sevika groans as she pushes the tip of her cock inside you and your pussy pulls her in, you whine and grab for her thighs as she bucks into you. 

“I love you sevika,” you moan and sevika whines into your neck, falling between your legs and pulling your thigh up beside her.

“fuck, fuck you feel so good,” she moans fucking into you, her strap rubbing up against her clit as she grinds into you - your warm wet walls pulling her in with each thrust. “oh baby, please cum with me,” she groans her hand squeezing your ass roughly and pulling you into her. you buck your hips against her and you grab for her arms, scratching down her back.

“yeah, yes want your cum inside me, cum with me,” your eyes find sevika’s after a heated kiss and you whimper out, “i love you,”

she says with you, your orgasms crashing over you, your eyes hooded and still trained on sevika, her eyes full and wide with pleasure and love. you both sigh into each other, placing kisses on ever piece of skin available until she’s ready to pull out and get under the covers to pull you close.

 sevika kisses your forehead and brushes your hair from your face, pulling you into her body. “will you stay here? move in with me?” she asks quietly and you nod your head, turning to kiss her - “that depends,” you smile. 

“will you be my girlfriend?” you ask and she grins, leaning over you and reaching into her bedside table. sevika pulls a bracelet from it and lets you finger the bejewelled gold bracelet. you lean in to kiss sevika. 

“yes, i’ll be your girlfriend,” sevika blushes. “It would be my honour.”

***

In piltover, at the outskirts in a rural farm was cait’s hideout. they hadn’t spoken about you. cait had jumped her bones that first night and it was exactly like she imagined it would be. the shock and joy of finding her long lost fuelling her kisses and needy touches. but that night as she slept - she dreamt of you. the first night you two had met. 

It was summer, the night humid with a cool breeze drifting over vi’s sore skin. vi sat in a dingy bar, touching over her bandaged wounds just to make them hurt. and then as she turned to ask for another drink, there you were. 

you’d only just clocked in and vi had spent the entire night trying to get your attention. you were charismatic, you worked your crowd and earned your tips. making even vi laugh until your cheeks hurt and she could smile - she hadn’t smiled in months. 

vi follows you out on your smoke break and leans against the wall beside you. you chuckle at her cool demeanour and offer her a cigarette before she can work up the nerve to ask to bum one.

“you know i had a whole line planned,” vi scoffs as she take the light from you. you roll your eyes and take a sip of your beer. “and what were you going to say?” you ask leaning on your arm and turning to face her.

before she can answer an alarm sounds through the streets, glass smashing and a small group runs past the alley in masks, the smell of smoke following. 

In the silence vi answers “something about an angel - shouldn’t be smoking or whatever,” she mumbles.

zaun had fallen. silco had died and their nation was in peril. and still you were at work, here to get your ends meet and put on a show.

“In the midsts of this hellfire, i think i should be okay.”

vi couldn’t leave you alone. your will was strong but she wore you down. she started to wear you down in all ways. at first she was addicted to your attitude, your wit, your laugh - she loved the way you asserted yourself. but it was when you started to show how much you cared for her that vi got scared. she had come to you the evening of a particularly rough match. she doesn’t know why she came to you but all vi could think about when she went down in the ring was what you had said to her a few nights prior. 

“I could be a little reprieve,”

and you were. she’d spent so many nights, laying kisses between your thighs and hearing you whine, making your back arch as she flicked her tongue against your clit. she remembers the way your thighs tightened around hers when she rubbed her cunt against yours. 

but vi couldn’t shake that cold feeling at the back of her neck. everyone she had ever loved had died or run away and she didn’t think she could take it if you did the same thing. so she started to push - just a little bit at first. picking fights here and there - choosing to bicker when she knew she didn’t have to. and you stayed. and then she started saying mean things, pushing you and throwing things. It happened so quickly, every time you stayed she wondered if she had gone too far. she wanted to test if you would leave - a vicious cycle she’d overthought herself into.

and now you were gone, sevika had made sure of it. It didn’t take vi long to figure it was her who tipped cait off as to her whereabouts. vi could feel rage the heat of branding rod thinking about the two of you together. she could also be good - she just needed to show you, and it wasn’t as if sevika was a saint. did it not matter that she had taken part in ravaging zaun?

of course you had no idea about her father, vi hadn’t told you the truth about him, but she’d been trying to warn you - tell you the truth about sevika. but every letter she sent came back unopened and every line she had to you went cold.

“finn is the only leader in silco’s circle still alive,” cait says, vi looks down at the plan of the last drop. there was a tunnel there to every one of silco’s closest associates and they’d all turned up dead just days after silco did. “sevika is also still alive,” vi says, clearing her throat and tracing the tunnel to her house. 

“vi we spoke about this - she isn’t our priority. finn is the most likely to try and get the distribution of shimmer up and running again. he’s already gathered twenty men and women with children all willing to sign on. He’ll be trying to push shimmer worse than silco did,” cait says, she stretches her neck and finally vi looks at her. 

“how do you know it won’t be sevika?” vi asks and cait huffs, crossing her arms, “she’s - i don’t know - she hasn’t made any moves,” she replies. cait had already told vi that she was sure the tip had come from sevika. It was a sloppy cover-up and even though it wasn’t cait's fault she couldn’t bring herself to talk to her for a day. 

the silence that follows makes the electricity running through the house loud. “you act like i committed a crime for finding you, i thought you wanted me to find you,” caitlyn sighs and vi puts her hands in her head. 

“I’m sorry, it’s not your fault i just - it’s hard adjusting to being back to this - to this fight,” vi sighs and feels cait rub her shoulders. “maybe we should take a day off - just get back to me and you,” she whispers in vi’s ear and rubs over her chest, curling her arms around vi’s neck. Vi nods and smiles politely, pressing a kiss to cait’s temple.

***

There’s a cool breeze drifting into sevika’s bedroom, cooling your heated skin and making your nipples perk up, and you shift into sevika’s waiting arms. she often can’t sleep, it’s been better having you in her bed but, there are some nights where she stays on high alert.

It’s probably residual stress from work. a part of her worries someone will take her from you as she sleeps. or break into the house and try to hurt you. she knows people in her old circle are upset with her because she’s been keeping a tight rein on shimmer production, and their pockets were slowly emptying. just the other day finn had cornered her with some of his new goons. she’d escaped with only one flesh wound but still - their audacity to attack her in public showed a deep upset - a wrath coming she feared she would boil over onto you.

sevika set up a protection order for you - of course you had no idea, she didn’t want to scare you. but in order to protect you sevika had to know the names of anyone who even gleaned your way. and it turned out to be more handy than necessary. there had been several reports to her about vi trying to contact you. letters and whispers she’d intercepted and snuffed out, vi didn’t deserve any part of you and a part of sevika knew she didn’t have the right to control your life in any way but she just wants to protect you.

her phone lights up on her bedside table, a vibration starting and she answers before it can ring a second time.

“what?” she spits into the phone as she leans back in bed. “kiramman’s at the drop looking around,” a gruff voice answers.

“get them out,” sevika answers and drops the call. sevika bites her lip, squinting into the dark of her bedroom. she needs to seal her tunnel off, it would take them more than one scope to find hers. what the fuck were they snooping around for? what more trouble could she possibly want? 

sevika is so sick of their righteous bullshit and her vi’s self-entitled claim over zaun. as if xander hadn't given up his throne by choice years ago. she shakes her head. she has more important things to worry about - the shelter was broken into and the rations of shimmer for the patients weening off were stolen, and three hospitals had been raided. when her phone rings again she’s ready to tear someone’s head off but then ran speaks. 

“how are you?” ran asks and sevika sighs. “tired,” she replies.

“mhh,” ran breathes at the end of the line.

it’s quiet for a bit before they speak. 

“look we’re on the shelter and the hospitals.” ran says  “we all think you should take some time off - you’re not yourself. after silco-”

“I agree,” sevika interrupts and chuckles, “don’t waste a speech. I’ll take some time off,” sevika looks down at you. she needs to get you away somewhere safe.

“okay, good. Goodnight,” ran says smiling and hangs up.

sevika looks over you, a small smile coming to her face until -

“vi please -” you whimper as you sleep, your face turned into her pillows, sevika watches your fists clench around the blankets and your eyes screw shut, “it hurts,” you groan. although you were better - there were nights where you were overridden with anxiety as you mind circles the old pain.

sevika pulls you into her chest and kisses your face, gently and then your cheeks and then your eyelids as they flutter open. 

“bad dream?” sevika asks and you nod, stretching your leg over her lap and humming into her neck. 

“why don’t we go away for a bit, just you and me?” sevika asks and you’re more awake with the question, looking up at her. “are you sure?” you ask and touch her cheek. sevika smiles down at you coming to kiss your mouth. 

“yes, now will you help me relax?” she asks and you squint at her - “how?” you yawn and sevika rolls you onto your back, kissing down your cami and kissing your clit through your panties.

“my god - you’re insatiable,” you laugh as sev hums against your thighs.

“have you seen yourself?” sevika smiles and pulls your panites to the side to lick your pussy and suck your clit into her mouth. Sevika’s shoulders relax as you start to moan and she licks into your hole gathering your wetness and groaning at the taste. 

“god,” you whine and sevika holds your hips down, her copper arm rest over your belly as her fingers slowly sink in, your pussy so sensitive from the way she fucked you just a few hours ago. 

“fuck, you’re still so wet,” she moans as you whimper at the stretch of her fingers. 

“god, this pussy’s made for me,” she grunts, “my pretty fucking girl,” she smiles against your thigh, 

“gotta make sure my doll’s taken care of,” she groans, letting you tighten your legs around her head. 

“cum for me baby,” she whispers and you do, your orgasm overtaking you as you shake and whine. sevika sucks her fingers clean and gathers you into her arms and finally, she is able to sleep.

✨🏷️ usual sev tags @archangeldyke-all @sexysapphicshopowner @sevsbaby @iamaboringrattat @lavendersgirl @opropheticsoul @ariariarr @femme-historian @maneskinwh0re

imohf tags @lia-winther @pendejalian @abbysunderwear @nanathecannibal

[venerawrites]

Silco x reader headcanons?

author's note: I swear, the things this man makes me feel... whew! Anyway, this is my first request for Arcane and I was so excited to write it! Thought it would be interesting if I made reader a councillor since I always see headcanons for him with an employee. Hope you enjoy and thank you so much for requesting! <3

All his life, Silco thought he would either remain a bachelor or eventually get with one of his employees. He didn't care much about finding a partner - taking care of Zaun and Jinx was already enough responsibility. Having someone to demand more of his time and attention was the last thing he needed.

But fate had a wicked sense of humour, so when you sent some of your bodyguards to go and arrange a meeting with him, his interest peaked. A councillor from Piltover seeking him? My, my, that would be interesting.

The initial arrangement was a simple alliance - Silco was supposed to keep the undercity's movements for freedom in check, as well as keep Jinx away from the topside. You, on the other hand, promised to provide information about all upcoming decisions and changes in the law approved by the Council.

He usually would never agree to trade with someone from the other side of the bridge, but something about you intrigued him. You were born and raised in Zaun, yet somehow made your way into the City of Progress and climbed the political ladder till you got to the top. While you claimed you had Piltover's best interest in mind, he couldn't help but be suspicious of where your loyalty truly lies.

Listen, Silco may think innocence and naivety are cute, but what truly attracts him is power. Brains. Someone who knows what they want and how to get it. Someone like YOU.

Soon the political dealings started to become more... intimate. Perhaps because none of you had a romantic partner, or simply because your secret meetings always took place late at night in his office, but it did not take long for your verbal exchange to become physical.

First, there were lingering gazes. He followed each one of your moves, almost like a hunter waiting for the right time to attack. Later, you started closing the distance, often circling him while you pried information about the latest rebellion news in the city. Your hands sometimes found their way to his shoulder or arm, gently squeezing his muscles or dragging your nails down his skin.

The eye of Zaun tried not to fall for your charms. He really did. But as you were luring him in, like a siren, how could he stay away? Plus, it didn't have to mean anything, right? Both of you were interested in influence and power, not love, so it wouldn't hurt if he just gave in to his desires at least once.

Except it wasn't just once.

After having a taste, he couldn't stay away. He would never admit it, but he definitely fell first. For you, it was all fun and games, but for him, it was a completely new experience. Sure, he fell in love once when he was a young adult, but it couldn't compare to what he was feeling toward you now.

God knew how much he hated himself for catching feelings. And for a councillor, of all people?

He tried to hide them for a while, but the way he grew up to be super possessive of you made his intentions clear as day. He liked to keep you as long as he could with him, delaying your meetings on purpose just so he could spend more time with you. He also asked to see you more often than your arranged meetings and if you said no, he would just show up at your home in Piltover, completely unbothered by the fact that you could call security on him at any point.

It would be a lie if you said his behaviour didn't trigger anything in you. You've met many men who were manipulative and calculating, but no one who was like him. His whole existence screamed 'DANGER' and by the time you realised you should not get involved with him on any level deeper than just physical intimacy, you were already a victim to his charm.

Being from two different worlds - one dark and dangerous, the other one safe and progressive - your relationship was pretty toxic. There is a constant distrust between you and quite a lot of arguments, especially in the beginning.

Slowly he started to open up to you, letting you know about his dreams for Zaun and his rocky relationship with Jinx. You also shared your story of how you escaped the streets of the Undercity and eventually earned your seat on the Council.

Jealosy is something you both possess and is a common cause for conflict between you. Silco sees competition in any male in Piltover (after all he has 0 influence over there, so he could never make an official claim over you!), while you severely disliked how obedient all his female employees are, especially Sevika. He finds your annoyance quite amusing, but he likes seeing that side of you, so he never really tries to reassure or comfort you.

He is not really romantic, but from time to time he likes to randomly give you gifts. He always tries to play it off, as if he didn't put any thought it in or if he just randomly saw an object in his house he thought you may like, but the amount of effort was visible in the beautiful packaging and the hand-written card. He especially likes giving you jewellery and making you wear it during your Council meetings.

Without a doubt he would try to influence you to give up your seat and join him and his cause. After all, you were born in the Undercity and is where you belonged.

As you won't give into his request and he doesn't want to give up on you either, your relationship would cause a lot of chaos and tension between the cities. Silco would often send either Jinx or one of his workers to go a cause mischief in Piltover, just to spite you. Every time you confront him, however, he would deny, a small mocking smile on his lips.

Overall, very toxic, but highly exciting relationship. He would burn the world for you to belong to him and ONLY him, and no matter what he did, you just couldn't stay away.

cc artwork: "Arcane" concept art

[gingermintpepper]

You're not wrong, but all the gods are terrible in Blood of Zeus. It's why Gaea goes scorched earth.

Actually, I'd argue that we only see a case for the older Olympians* being terrible and even then, it's not all of them: Poseidon, for one, is a really good example of someone who understood that mistakes were made, that something had to give, and was more that ready to set old conflicts aside in order to move forward in the wake of Zeus' death. Hera also seems to be genuinely reflective and apologetic for the crimes she wrought and wanted, more than anything, to be given the opportunity to make amends for her actions by doing the one thing everyone thought she never could; give up her power.

Going down the line, the talking point of "oh, all the gods in Blood of Zeus are terrible" becomes weaker and weaker: Apollo's only actual crime is being too filial/his contempt of Hera, but he shows more compassion and understanding than anything - both while comforting Electra about the nature of her son and by welcoming and supporting Heron, Hermes is also similarly shown with a very strong familial loyalty, but prioritises his work above all else, Hephaestus is a councillor and assistant, Athena is protective and shown, not only rallying together her siblings in order to properly inform them of the nature of the foe they were facing (even when they had been on different sides of the Hera/Zeus conflict and even when it casts Hera in a good light and plainly makes it known that she's being framed) but also getting Persephone to fess up her part in the scheme without resorting to violence.

The only gods that were portrayed poorly in Season 2 were Ares, who feels like he'd be better off being called Damian Wayne with how intensely he's preoccupied with blood purity and being Zeus' legitimate son, Aphrodite who sides with him (but even then is shown feeling ill at ease at going along with his treachery prior to the Eleusinian Stone trial), and Demeter who is so far removed from simply 'being an asshole' that she's hurtled headfirst into being a sadistic supervillain.

(Of course Hades is also a tyrant and an asshole but I also consider him too wishy-washy and inconsistent to figure out what angle they were trying to take with him. I can't think of him as good or bad, merely confusing)

Anyway, I think people hold on to the idea that the gods in BoZ are all assholes too closely because Heron and Seraphim, our main characters, hold on to the idea that ALL gods are assholes due to being the pawn of -counts on fingers- exactly two of them. With the exception of Ares, all of the other gods have been nothing but welcoming and supportive of Heron! And what Hades does to Heron in S2 has nothing to do with his feelings about Heron himself but rather with his own goals and desperations that have been multiplied by Demeter's machinations and his own frustrations at being unable to keep his family together.

[naushtheaspiringauthor]

~Child Of The Storm~

Nikolai Lantsov x OC

Image by - @brokendreamtale2

Warnings- slight ptsd and mentions of scars

A/N- CHILD OF THE STORM IS BACK YALL. I am SO sorry for disappearing for like, three months life's been A LOT. There's only two three more chapters left until the fic's over. I cannot believe it's been more than a year. BUT there is something new coming up very soon (tho it would be a lot sooner IF I JUST FIGURE OUT HOW TO FIX THE DAMNED PLOT HOLE). Anyways, this chapter's a bit long so buckle in. And let me know if you'd like to be added or removed from the taglist!

Taglist- @pansexualwitchwhoneedstherapy @sirisuorionblack @evelyndane @marauders-wife @el-de-phi

Ch-65 ~and it was either going to make her stronger than ever~

Anaya stopped at the doorway. She took a deep breath before entering the ballroom.

The place was a massive hall with shiny golden walls and chandeliers that covered almost the entire ceiling. It was where all of the royal events were hosted.

And tonight, for Nikolai’s coronation, Genya had done a great job of making even the hideous Grand Palace appear endearing. 

Even though Nikolai was supposed to be the centre of attention tonight, every head turned as Anaya went in. 

Even Nikolai himself had turned to look at her.

“Great” she thought, not quite fond of the gesture. She’d already been late because she’d spent the afternoon working when she should've been preparing for the event.

She walked forward, her gown brushing against the laces of her shoes, a smile on her face.

She saw Genya and Zoya standing in a far corner, gesturing to her to come to them.

“Councillor Nasrazeen,” A man spoke up, blocking her path. “It’s an honour to finally meet you” he smiled. Though his narrowed eyes and raised eyebrow expressed how he was much more irritated to meet her.

 “Duke Verensky” he introduced himself.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you as well, Duke Verensky” Anaya said, a smile plastered across her face.

“I have to say,” he began. “Ravka truly is changing its ways of working” He raised his brows. “Given how the Council is now being led by a Grisha woman”.

There it was.

When the news of Anaya’s position had reached the nobles, some had been intrigued as to why she’d become the Councillor. Others had simply refused to accept it. 

“Surely you’re aware of all the events that have happened in our country since last year,” Anaya said, her voice unwavering. “Ravka is certainly seeing changes it hadn’t ever seen before.” She tilted her head. “And perhaps it’s for the best.” 

But the Duke only narrowed his eyes further, “That we shall see” he gave a nod, walking away.

The coronation began shortly afterwards and lasted for a while. 

Anaya glanced at the clock. It’d only been an hour since she’d arrived, and yet it had felt like an eternity.

The prying eyes of the guests and their never ending questions made her want to walk out the door, but she had no other choice but to stay.

“Why exactly did King Nikolai choose you for a position that holds such great importance?” One of the guests asked.

“I believe you would have to ask his majesty himself about his decision” She offered as pleasantly as she could. 

“Still, if you had to think of a possible reason, what would you choose?” She pressed.

It’s probably because I don’t ask useless questions.

“It could be, as I’ve worked by his side during the civil war and because of my experience on foreign lands” She said. 

“Surely you would need more factors than that to be worthy of running a country” the woman said, smiling.

Why don’t you run it instead.

Anaya forced her lips into a smile, “Duchess, I-”

“I deeply apologise for interrupting you,” Genya appeared by her side. “But I’m afraid I’ll have to borrow Miss Nasrazeen for a moment” she smiled and dragged Anaya away by her arm.

“How do I thank you for this favour Genya” Anaya let out an exasperated sigh as she went to the corner where Zoya was.

“By actually dressing up on time” Genya grinned as she rolled a single amber eye.

“That woman is a menace,” Zoya added, handing Anaya a glass of champagne.

“That I figured out” Anaya rolled her eyes, taking the glass.

“I have to say,” Genya glimpsed at her dress. “You do look good in blue”.

“‘Immensely endearing’ is the term I’d use” Anaya flashed a grin. 

She lowered her voice“ I'm surprised how you managed to turn this hideous palace appealing ”

“What can I say” Genya straightened her shoulders. “I'm very talented”.

“Where is David by the way?” She asked

Genya rolled her eye, “He left as soon as the Coronation was over. He's very repulsive to social gatherings”.

“However do you deal with him” Zoya said, shaking her head.

There was a brief silence, filled by their similar thoughts.

“It's so hard,” Zoya sighed. “Pretending to be thrilled about all this, as if nothing happened”.

Anaya gave a single nod of her head. “That's what this all is” she lifted a shoulder. “Pretending to move on, getting used to the changes, acting along in the play”.

“Atleast Nikolai’s doing it a lot better than us,” Genya said, her gaze drifting over to where he was standing.

Anaya nodded in agreement. 

Even after all he'd endured, he'd managed to keep the act going, playing the parts he was expected to.

She had no idea how he did it all, when she could do nothing to shake the feeling of her scars creeping over her, reminding her of how they came to be.

Slithering like thorned vines over her arms, her back.

The evening stretched on and the nobles continued to pester Anaya with their inane questions.

And she had no choice but to offer them and answer.

…………………………………..

Anaya stood near one of the tables at a corner, a glass of champagne in her hand. It was getting immensely difficult to get through the event without it.

She then noticed two of the grisha students silently creeping out with a bottle of champagne hidden behind their backs.

“And where exactly do you two plan to be going?” Anaya said, appearing behind them.

The Fabrikator and the Heartrender turned around hastily, trembling in fear upon the sight of her.

“Nowhere…ma’am” The Boy began, refusing to meet her gaze

But the Heartrender cut him off, “I actually needed some fresh air so I told him to go outside” She offered.

Despite being shorter, Anaya seemed to be the one looking down at them.

“And I suppose you also need the champagne to enjoy the fresh air” She raised an eyebrow.

“We-” The girl began, but Anaya's sceptical gaze stopped her from further speaking.

Anaya looked at them for a moment, “What are your names?” She said, finally speaking.

“I- Nestor Verakov”, ma’am” The boy looked at his feet.

Anaya's gaze shifted to the girl.

“Nina Zenik” she said, managing to look up.

Anaya sighed, “Fine go, just don't let the General see you” she glanced at Zoya who was surrounded by a group of First Army officials.

They barely nodded before rushing out the door.

Anaya sighed and went back to her corner before another noble could drag her off.

She looked around, taking a sip from her second glass.

“Going very fast on the champagne are we?” She turned to see Nikolai with a smile on his face. “I will need my Councillor to be able to work tomorrow you know” He walked to her side.

Anaya sighed, “Yeah yeah”.

“You know,” He stood beside her. “Even though it’s supposed to be my day, you’re the one gathering all the attention” He flashed a grin.

Anaya rolled her eyes, “These people ask the most inane questions” She shook her head. “I get people asking how I plan on bringing developments to the country,” She waved her hand. “But how am I supposed to know what kind of woman the new king would be willing to marry?” She turned her hand.

He shook his head in disdain but he was smiling, “Ah, the nobles” He tilted his head briefly. “They tend to do that quite a lot, you’ll get used to it”.

“Perhaps you should tell them that the King’s looking for a seamstress who plays the eighteen string Khatur”.

Anaya turned to him, “Why specifically the eighteen string?” She raised a brow. “Why not the twelve?”.

“I” He began. “am a cultured man Anaya” He spoke as dramatically as he could manage with the guests watching them. “The eight string is for uncultured fools, don’t you think?”

“I don’t know,” Anaya put her glass down. “I don’t have much interest in string instruments”.

He paused briefly then spoke, “I’d have to thank you for your advice” His voice was much lower and serious.  “Really helped me get through all this”.

Anaya looked at him and gave the barest shake of his head, “Well I’m not one to offer advice,” She met his gaze. “But I’m glad I could help” Her lips formed a small smile.

……………………………………………

The topic had come up the previous morning. Anaya had been in her study, working, when Zoya and Genya had shown up to have tea with her.

“Nikolai doesn’t seem very thrilled about it,” Zoya had pointed out.

Genya nodded, “He appears distressed” She lowered her voice. “After all he’s endured, I’m not sure if he wishes to be King all the same.”

“But he has to,” Zoya said.

Genya gave a distant nod, pondering upon something. “Anaya” She turned to her.

“Hmm?” Anaya looked away from her papers. 

“You should speak with him”.

Anaya furrowed her brows, “What why?”.

Genya picked up her teacup, “He needs someone to tell him that he doesn’t need to fret about being the King”.

Anaya looked at her with an utterly confused look, “Why me? Why can’t either of you speak with him?”. 

She glanced at Zoya. “Well not her, but why can’t you do it”

Zoya rolled her eyes.

“I don’t…really speak with him” Genya said, hesitation lingering in her voice. “Given all that has happened”.

Genya had been pardoned only because of Alina Starkov. So there still was some hesitation between her and Nikolai. And Anaya had the feeling he didn’t fully trust her yet.

“Plus, he does seem to listen to you,” Zoya added.

Anaya raised her brows.

“He does, actually,” Genya agreed.

So Anaya had spoken with him. 

Not the entire day. The only time she’d seen him was when she’d been walking down the hall with the Finance Minister. 

When she’d been walking back to the Little Palace at night, then she’d seen him. Standing near the lake, almost irrecognizable.

"Nervous about the big day?" Anaya asked as she walked towards him. 

He turned to her in utter curiosity. His gaze softened upon the sight of her, "Well yeah" he sighed. "It's quite weird".

 He looked up at the night sky, the gleaming stars. "Even though I've been preparing for this my entire life, it still seems very daunting". 

She stood next to him.

 "It is understandable" she met his gaze. "I mean it's not everyday you get to be the King" she tilted her head. "It can be quite strange, when the moment you've been waiting, preparing for so long, finally comes". Her voice was low, the breeze on a summer night, making the trees waver gently. 

"For a long while, it almost seems impossible".

 "Improbable, actually" Nikolai lifted a finger, a corner of his mouth turned up.

 "What?" She said, utterly perplexed.

 "Nothing is truly impossible, it's only ever improbable".

 She nodded briefly in amusement, "Well, alright".

The silence lingered in the air, gentle, comforting, a hand held in another.

“Is this what you wanted to do?” Nikolai spoke, turning towards her.

She furrowed her brows in confusion.

“To be the council leader,  run the country?” He amended.

She looked at him, startled by the question but soon, her gaze softened. “Well, I’ve been certain for a long while” she looked at her hands. “That I wish to help the people, work for their betterment”. 

“And if being the Councillor is my way to do it, then I’m content with this job.” She lifted a shoulder.

She turned to the sky, admiring the gleaming stars, the moon at the centre of it all, shining the brightest.

She could feel his gaze on her, lingering in the silence. She didn’t look at him, she didn’t believe she could.

“It’s not easy,” he finally spoke. “Pretending to be your best version, when you’re still picking up the pieces”.

“Isn’t that what we’re all doing?,” she said, finally turning towards him. “Pretending to be okay when we’re not?”.

He nodded, looking at the sky, appearing as if he’s reminiscing.

“You’ll make a great King,” Anaya’s voice wavered in the air. 

He met her gaze, his eyes gleaming in the moonlight. 

“Especially because you’ll have an immensely talented Councillor by your side” She lifted her grinning, a small grin playing on her lips.

He smiled, “That, I will”.

[boabel]

autism and neurodivergence in panem - an analysis

as an autistic person, i've always been intrigued by the experiences of people who are autistic or neurodivergent in other universes. after all, most "good" autistic representation in media comes from worlds that aren't our own (think the doctor from doctor who or luna lovegood from the harry potter franchise, although they aren't written as autistic, alot of autistic people see themselves in the characters through their traits and therefore take that as representation.)

in particular, the world of panem interests me because of its strict measures on people in the districts compared to the seemingly lavish lifestyle for those in the capitol. *by this im referring to katniss' time, not the ballad of songbirds and snakes, though that will be mentioned below.

in the entirety of the hunger games franchise, there is never a direct mention of autism or any other neurodivergences. this would be expected, since the world of panem is set three-hundred years into the future. there aren't any states anymore, just districts and the capitol. most if not all modern cultures have been eradicated. the conditions in the districts have worsened and with that, went decent healthcare.

we can assume from this that there is no knowledge of autism as a genuine disability and no proper means to diagnose it in the districts.

whereas, in the capitol, the healthcare is much better. in the ballad of songbirds and snakes, it's mentioned in passing that the academy has a school councillor, hippocrata lunt. so, no matter how small the hint is, it's implied that not only does the capitol have better physical healthcare than the districts, but mental healthcare too. it isn't a stretch to say it could be possible for autistic/neurodivergent people in the capitol to get a formal diagnosis.

so, how are autistic people treated in the districts? how does that compare to the capitol?

well, although there isn't an explicit reference to neurodivergence in thg, there is an implied one.

in the first hunger games book, when rue and katniss are talking about the night vision glasses, and how they're given to the children at night whilst they're working in district eleven, the topic of a boy called martin comes up.

"one time, this boy martin, he tried to keep his pair. hid it in his pants. they killed him on the spot."

"they killed a boy for taking these?" i say.

"yes, and everyone knew he was no danger. martin wasn't right in the head. i mean, he still acted like a three-year-old. he just wanted the glasses to play with," says rue.

although it's not explicitly stated, martin is clearly a neurodivergent child. with the "not right in the head" remark being used alot to refer to nd people in a derogatory manner, autistic people especially. it seems in the districts they know what autism presents as, and that people have it. they just don't really know what it actually is or how to diagnose/help accomodate it. on the next page, katniss also refers to a child who can be seen as neurodivergent.

-but i can't imagine peacekeepers murdering a simpleminded child. there's this girl, one of greasy sae's grandkids, who wanders around the hob. she's not quite right, but she's treated as a sort of pet. people toss her scraps and things.

again, the language used is indicative that the girl is perceived to be neurodivergent. the district people most likely pity neurodivergent children by calling them "simpleminded" or "not alright in the head", but simultaneously view them as waste because, in the districts mind, they become useless to their industry as they grow up. they could also be more susceptible to rigged reapings than their neurotypical/allistic counterparts, because the districts don't need extra mouths to feed that are "inefficient" in the working industry.

whereas peacekeepers would take the perceived inability in the work industry (which the district doesn't have the money to accommodate) as an excuse to give out more unnecessary beatings and/or killings like what they did with martin.

so what about the capitol?

assuming that there is an option for diagnosis, would there be any changes at all?

well, personally, i think there would be. the reason i believe this has to do with the way the capitol views the districts, particularly in the ballad of songbirds and snakes relating to reaper from district eleven.

reaper is described to be mentally unstable many times within the duration of the games. he is perceived to be childish and has a difficult time processing death (tbosas, 280) which are both indications that reaper could be autistic.

the capitol looks down on reaper for his mentality and paints him as mad, violent and dangerous, though he is evidently nothing of the sort. these are harmful stereotypes that can be projected onto disabled/neurodivergent people today, which have clearly been carried onto the capitol.

so, people in the capitol who are autistic could be looked down upon, like how poor people are, too. although they are capitol, they have an element of "otherness" which is associated with the districts (i.e neurodivergence which the capitol paints as madness) so they could be outcasted.

the capitol seems the type to pretend to care about the way their children feel, but don't. like coriolanus said, people's love of children is fickle (tbosas, 40). if a child in the capitol turned out to be autistic/neurodivergent, that inherent support could fizzle out, because of stereotypes and ingrained systemic hatred toward nd people, which is irrevocably linked to the hate of the districts.

tl;dr: the capitol views themselves as perfect, and any "imperfections" (ie a brain that doesn't function within the realms of societal expectations) are seen as lesser. this is associated with the districts because they are also seen as lesser, and any neurodivergent children in the districts are viewed as mad or violent by the capitol, whilst they are pitied and silently hated in the districts for not being able to contribute to the industry, as there aren't any accommodations to help them cope with the conditions (many elements of district industries would cause meltdowns/sensory overload).

obviously not every neurodivergent person is the same, so some would be able to cope with the working conditions, but live their whole life without knowing that they are autistic, which can lead to isolation and depression.

god this was a long post, please don't hesitate to give me ur opinions on this if you have any!!

[highlordofkrypton]

“You are not Atlantis, and Arthur  is not a threat. I am.”

- Queen Atlanna (with Prince Orm)

Commission by @ywnoart Based on the first chapter of The Lighthouse on AO3

I love the way this art turned out, omg!! It's everything I dreamed of and more 💕 Below the cut, you'll find the piece of writing that inspired this commission!

This place is suffocating.

Though there is no air, she craves the crisp feeling of it in her lungs and the warmth of the sun against her face. The surface—the surface is what she longs for with its simple pleasures and its anonymity. She looks upon the great city of Atlantis, dreaming of a little lighthouse in a small town. She grew up here, and yet, this place has become her prison.

I should have been Queen.

Her eyes flutter shut. Images flood her mind of a happy little boy whose heart is bigger than his body, and of a man who’s tender eyes always see right through her. They are so different from her with their sun-loved skin of deep ochre and bright, bright smiles it’s almost blinding. At first, Atlanna could not believe a boy like Arthur could come from her.

I want to be anywhere else, she laments quietly to herself, but she does not cry. Tears and sorrow are beneath her.

A tiny cry cuts through her thoughts. She spares not a second, gathering the little bundle out of his coddling clam and holding him close. Atlanna hushes the child, a perfect blonde baby—her little fry. He quiets at her touch, his blue eyes opening to look at her. He smiles, blowing happy little bubbles at the sight of her. He is so small and so innocent; he is the only thing that makes her happy here.

But if he stays here, he will not know happiness.

Neither of them will.

It happens in a split second; Atlanna tucks her son against her chest and wraps him tightly with supple fabrics. He will not fit beneath her armour, but she will die before letting any harm come to him. She returned to this place in hopes of protecting those she loved, and she had not wanted another child. She had wanted no offspring for the Kingdom was her child. She had plans to nurture it and help her people flourish. Her presence here meant Arthur would be safe, but who would protect this little one?

Atlanna has had enough.

She has had enough of her husband’s ambition and his betrayal.

She has had enough of the roiling feelings in her chest. 

“Your Highness, what are you doing?”

“You know exactly what I am doing, Vulko.”

The High Councillor has been with her since she was born, and now, he has lived to see the birth of her sons. Both of them. His expression is grave as he watches her prepare, but he does not stop her. He never will, for the heart and soul of Atlantis has always been with her. He raised her to be the Queen she always dreamed of being, one that ruled with no male by her side, but he could not sway her father’s hand. Ever since the marriage, he atones for being unable to save her from this lesser life. The bruises Orvax leaves on her skin are his trespasses as much as they are his King’s.

“He will not let you take his son.”

“My son. Orm is my son, just as much as Arthur is, and I will not let Orvax taint him!”

Vulko hangs his head, shaking it in thought. “Perhaps you should consider challenging him, for the sake of your children.” He has been encouraging it since the first time he noticed Orvax has been laying hands on her. “You are the stronger combattant.”

“And the Council?”

She breezes past the guards outside her room, knowing that Vulko would have them stand down. He follows closely behind her, speaking quietly. He motions for them to give them room.

“We will face the Council if it comes to that, but you have their favour. They know you, your Majesty.”

“Their favour? What good did their favour do when my husband went back on his word and took my crown in the name of tradition? I will not wait for him to change his mind, and I will not wait for someone to save me.”

Atlanna stops at the armory. She tips her head up, waiting for the doors to slide open and welcome her in. Nothing happens. She presses her fingers against the door, testing its integrity.

Access denied, speaks a robotic voice.

She tries again.

Access denied.

Her entire life has been spent in this palace exploring different rooms to her delight, yet now that she is grown, she is not trusted with sharp objects. Atlanna was born with a trident in her hand, and she would often pluck the crown off her father’s head when he held her. This is unacceptable. She bangs her fist against it, denting the door. Vulko cannot help her without compromising his alliance.

“Go,” she tells him. “Warn your king.”

It doesn’t occur to her to take Vulko with her. His place is here. He would rot on the surface. People like him—like her —were made for war. He can still save himself, but her life belongs to the little one curled against her chest with his little fists balled in errant strands of her pale hair.

“Atlanna,” her old friend starts, his voice rough with an unfamiliar emotion.

“Do not .”

Apologies are not his to give. She would refuse them anyway, so he might as well save his breath.

Vulko bows to her, one last time, and swims off to warn Orvax of his betrayal. It is his duty; his Queen has ordered it of him.

There is no hesitation in the way she swims through the halls of her childhood. Memories haunt her with every stride. Children playing—a little girl, and a little boy who could have been the love of her life instead of her greatest enemy—and laughing about dreams of princesses and karathens. She turns her back on the man he could have been, finally seeing Orvax for the king that he is. 

At the entrance of the throne room, the last statue of her youth stands, tall and proud with an old claymore of human making. The two of them had found it at the bottom of the North Sea and she had been so fascinated with its abnormally large blade. They had carried it together, snuck it back through the same pocket underneath the Gates, and hit it in a wreckage that only nobles could access, but none ever dared. Orvax had been proud to gift it to her upon their betrothal, a perfect addition to honour her statue—a perfect way to mark the end of their childish dreams.

Atlanna rips the weapon out of her coral-kissed hands, testing its weight. It fits her better now that she is older, wiser and angry enough to wield a dull blade against an enemy. Her rage will be her strength. She needs nothing more than that.

The throne room is a massive auditorium. Her people are welcome to attend any official rulings and its size accommodates not only for Atlanteans, but its neighbouring Kingdoms of the Wrights and the Bright Lights. She had stood upon the dais, thinking of all the good she could do with Orvax at her side. He had stood with her, dreaming just as loudly and just as fervently. When the crown had been within reach, when he had snatched it right from under her with laws and technicalities, she no longer bothered to visit this damned place.

“Atlanna,” Orvax purrs, floating towards her with his arms spread wide as if to welcome her home. “My darling son.”

She stops out of reach, just as his eyes flicker to her sword.

“Vulko informed me that you were going to run. Here, I thought he was overreacting.” 

Once more, he approaches her. Atlanna steps back. She is not here to posture, she is here to fight and there is no need to let him anywhere near them. 

“My love, come .” Anger simmers beneath his kind words. 

His hand darts out to grab her arm. Atlanna parries the attempt with the blade of her sword. It only serves to draw up mocking laughter.

“That blade is dull.”

She draws the blade quickly, adding pressure to it. Though it does not cut on its initial contact, by the time she has run the length of it against his offending palm, blood wafts in the water between them.

“But my intent is not. You will let me leave with my son and you will not follow.” The request is simple and clear, but her husband has made a habit of not listening. “Every guard, assassin or man you send after me will die with my name on their lips and their regrets for not pledging allegiance to me . Send an army and I will answer in kind.”

“Ha! You and what army? The surface dwellers?” Orvax’s lips curl. “Ever since my coronation, you have been a hook in my side. I am sick of it, Atlanna. You could have been a great Queen, but you insist on whoring around on the surface and raising that abomination . He will bring about our ruin.” When he tries to bridge the distance, to tower over her like he has done time and time again, Altanna points the tip of her claymore in the center of his chest, where his heart would have been, if he had one.

“If you are so curious, try me and find out.” Her voice does not waiver and her grip does not tire. Orm fusses against her, but her eyes do not leave Orvax as she runs a comforting hand through his soft hair. “You are not Atlantis, and he will is not a threat. I am.”

Orvax opens his mouth to speak and she shifts her aim towards his throat, the metal testing the yield of his skin.

“I am giving you one chance. You love Atlantis, as do I, but I have found something I love more. Leave me be. We will not disturb you.” 

In his eyes, Atlanna can see the anger and the pride. She knows he will not let her swim out of this Kingdom without a fight. She also knows that he will not raise his sword against her, not yet. She is too rational to justify such public violence, and he respects tradition too much to act without a public trial. He will chase her until the ends of the earth. What a shame.

“Go, but leave the boy.”

“No.”

“He is my heir.”

“And he is my son.” On that, she refuses to yield.

“You did not want him,” Orvax grits through his teeth.

“And I thought I wanted you. Things change, Orvax. If you come for him, or me, or anyone else in my family, whether it is here or on the surface, I will kill you. Slow. You are not a crown. You are made of flesh, bone and many soft things. You will not touch me again. Do you hear me?”

For a brief moment, fear flickers behind the King’s eyes. He hesitates, considering the merit of a fight.

“You are mine, Atlanna. The Widowhood gave you  to me.”

“I was never theirs to give.” The Queen turns to her former counselor. “Tell any guard you send after me that they will be slaughtered. Indiscriminately.”

“Do not command—”

Atlanna moves quickly, closing the distance between them. She shifts the sword’s trajectory, aiming the butt of the hilt towards his stomach. The feint works in her favour as he moves to block it. Her target was never something so obvious. She slams her forehead into his and a burst of blood clouds his face. She doesn’t dare wait for his retaliation; she swims as fast as she can.

“What are you doing?!” Orvax roars at his high counselor. “Go after her!”

“I am waiting for your command, your highness.” Is that not what Orvax wanted?

The delay of getting the orders to the soldiers gives Atlanna enough time to escape. The guards she encounters are reluctant to face their beloved princess turned hostage. No one speaks of Orvax’s firm hand, but they know. They always have.

This time, with her baby strapped against her chest, she does not look back.

Atlantis is not her home.

The journey from the Kingdom to Amnesty Bay is a long one. She can only ride her mighty shark so far before she sends it back on a journey back towards the only home it knows; she has no choice but to swim in  long and roundabout ways to preserve the safety of her family. Travelling by land is safer, but the shift in environment is too difficult for her little one who wails at the strange new sensations and the dry, dry air. 

“I know, my fry, I know,” she soothes, wading back into smaller bodies of water. Rivers and lakes are better, but they are not as accessible as she would like. There are brief periods where she has to travel by foot. Orm cries for the most part; she soaks him in birdbaths and forgotten kiddie pools. A family nearly calls the authorities on her. To them, she is a madwoman who has kidnapped a distressed child. 

With the lighthouse in view, Atlanna’s strength is renewed. She lights up and kisses the top of her son’s head.

“Look, we are home.”

[everliving-everblaze]

KotLC Fandom Gift Exchange: Poll 2

The first poll has decided that the July exchange will focus on a specific AU! (If you're not sure what an exchange is, check out that first post.)

I've selected a variety of AUs that will allow a range of interpretations. I'd be happy for any of these to be the theme!

Character AU Options

These can take place in any setting (e.g. the human world, the Lost Cities, etc.) or time period, but some characters are changed from canon.

Human AU: Characters that aren't canonically human are now human. This encompasses a lot of things!

Species Swap AU: The characters are now a different species (EXCEPT human). They could be something that's not in the series at all, like mermaids or ghosts, or could become a different canon species, like ogres or gnomes.

Ruler AU: Characters that aren't canonically rulers are now rulers. This could be either Lost Cities rulers (councillors, monarchs, etc.) or human rulers (presidents, monarchs, etc.)

Criminal AU: Characters that were previously on the "good" side are now on the "bad" side. They could be in the Neverseen, be supervillains, be assassins, or anything else.

Setting AU Options

The characters can be the same or modified to fit the setting, but the story no longer takes place in the canon world.

Fairy Tale AU: The characters are now in a fairy tale. This could be an existing one or an original one.

Hollywood AU: The characters are now in Hollywood. They could be actors, reality TV stars, singers, dancers, influencers, or whatever else you'd like.

Domestic/Mundane AU: The characters are taken out of the action of the story to a more mundane setting. This could be family life, working a human job like retail, going on a road trip, or whatever else.

Science Fiction AU: It's now a science fiction story. Think gadgets and machines, aliens, cyberpunk, and the like.

Time Period AU Options

These are similar to setting AUs, but specifically involve time periods of the human world. You could still set them in the Lost Cities, but show how the Lost Cities are different during these times as well (especially considering that they were formerly more connected to the human world).

Medieval AU: The story takes place in the (typically European) Middle Ages.

Old Britain AU: The story takes place during the Regency or Victorian era of British history (think Jane Austen or Emily Brontë).

Feel free to advocate for the theme you want!

[keitorin3]

The Reckless King and the Old Storyteller

So I had this idea that came to me one night just sitting around watching this movie "Three thousand years of Longing" on TV. If you've seen it, you'll probably know which part of it inspired me just by the title of this post.

So the setting for this story is based in the 1200-1300s where there is a young boy named Arthur who was crowned king at the early age of 11.

At age 20 he leads his army's to war, fighting alongside his men in the battlefield. Stories are told of his recklessness, even with his own life, but still with his strength and the power of his armies, he conquered the surrounding lands and the other neighbouring kingdoms as well. He returns to his kingdom as a conquer, but his soul has rotten in war, making him unable to shed his bloody armor (Figuratively speaking).

His councillors, fearing his bloodlust tries to distract him with other gratifications. They gave him all one could desire, alcohol, exotic foods, beautiful women and entertainment.

None could quinch his thirst for violence. Until the court summons all of the kingdoms best storytellers and bards to the castle in a bid for one of them enrapture the King with their tales.

At first, after many of storytellers failed and try to flee from the kings displeasure and impatients, they almost lost hope. But there was one that was able to enchant him.

The old storyteller went by the name Merlin, and he was a different kind of man. His insolence and quips would have earned his neck the blade, but the tales the man told stole the kings attention and even his foolishness and blunt comments was a charming quality to Arthur. It made him laugh and soothed the harsh king.

Merlin became his first friend. And that friendship eventually evolved into love.

Arthur grew very attached to the old man, and eventually it became a very common sight to see the two together as Arthur didn't just seek Merlin for stories but for company, somebody to speak too. For Merlin was honest in a sarcastic way that Arthur appreciates.

The tales Merlin told were many and holding a lesson and point of truth to be told. But Arthur especially loved the stories of Artorius. A Roman General from the 4th century who later becomes king after many adventures that helps to gather his loyal men of the Stone Round Table.

Arthur especially loves the tales featuring Artorius and his secretly magical Manservant, Myrddin. Their tale was of loyalty, love and heartache. Once, Arthur told Merlin that he thinks Artorius was in love with Myrddin and not the Queen Guinevere with how much they had been through together. It saddens Arthur that Myrddin had to hold onto Artorius dying body alone, weaping for him by a lake.

When Merlin finally reveals to Arthur his magic one day by via magic butterfly, and there and then, Arthur knew love.

Arthur tried to place Merlin in his court as advisor or court magician, but Merlin denies both offers and chooses to be his friend instead.

Now, this is where things get interesting! There's an assassination attempt on Arthur after hearing of the king going soft, someone had balls to try and kill him. The attempt is thwarted by Merlin who took a blade to the back after pushing Arthur out of the way.

The King holds Merlin in his arms as he dies.

The assassin dies shortly after with his internal organs ripped out and his head set on a pike in the front gates. But as soon as the bloodlust depleted, Arthur found himself beside Merlin's body and weeping.

The people ran for the hills as news of the Storytellers death spread, fearful of the violence the Kings grief filled rage will ensure.

Arthur did none, he remained at Merlin's side crying for the man who held his heart.

(Now here I would have left it off and said Arthur dies after drinking himself sick, but I'm a suckered for happy endings.)

It was only due to him never taking his eyes off Merlin that he witnessed it.

The Magic.

It was glowing gold, much like Merlin's eyes when he practiced magic, it sprung from the very earth and wrapped him. Before his very eyes Arthur watches in shocked Wonder as Merlin's sliver white hair turned raven black and his wrinkles disappear and smoothed clear into flawless white skin.

The best part was when Merlin's lungs breathed air and his eyes opened. They were gold for a long while before turning into very familiar blue eyes.

It was Merlin, his Merlin, only not so old anymore, but it's him and he was alive. Arthur had no restraint in hugging the just revived man tightly. Sobbing again but this time in relief.

Merlin: I'm ok Arthur, everything is ok my King.

Arthur: Don't- don't ever do something like that again do you hear me! Never again Merlin. Thank god you're alive.

Merlin: Err, your not shocked that I'm young again? Sorry about that by the way, I was planning on telling you but it slipped my mind, being old wasn't fake, just temporary. But man, it feels good to not feel my bones ache.

Arthur: You idiot. *then proceeds to kiss him dumber.*

Arthur would later trick Merlin into marriage and make him become King Consort. Nobody questions about the Old Storyteller become an Young Storyteller, content and happy with the positive effect he has on the Once Reckless King.

(This was great to get out of my mind. I loved the part of the Gjinns tale because instantly my mind went to Merlin and Arthur, but Merlin is the magical Being so he don't stay dead.

In my mind, the stories Merlin tells are all real events, especially Artorius and Myrddin. If it wasn't obvious, Merlin is Myrddin of the story and has been waiting for his King to return for 5-6 hundred years. He went across the lands telling their story. Now he found him in young Arthur and it was time they make new tales to tell, one of a round table and a sword in the stone.

That's all for now, till next time fellow dreamers~! ✨)

[sugar-coated-prat-dragon]

Title: Info on Cenred’s kingdom and army

Episode: "The Moment of Truth" questions #3

Questions by @tansyuduri

Tagging: @miyriu

Books used for reference: “Traitor Within”, Merlin the Complete Guide and Merlin Annual 2012

Question: Cenred does not hate magic like Uther does. He was fine with Morgouse. So it's quite possible that magic is legal?

So personally, I think Hunith was more afraid of Cenred taking Merlin and using him as a weapon?

(What we know of Cenred’s kingdom);

Cenred’s kingdom is described as a dangerous kingdom that lived by the sword, rather than by the rule of law.

They were NOT noble and chivalrous knights like those of Camelot, but mercenaries who were eager for a battle and yet loyal to their king.

One of the knights was quick to try and defend Cenred’s honor when Morgause called him a coward.

They were also eager to fight against the warriors of the Blood Guard accompanying Morgause and only backed down from the fight on their kings orders.

Uther himself admits that Cenred had never been openly hostile towards them without good reason and was therefore shocked when the mercenaries attacked without provocation.

(THIS ☝️ could also be a major reason why Uther was not willing to send aid to Ealdor, even in the form of a few knights. He was not willing to risk starting a war with a neighboring kingdom who had so far never attacked without provocation).

- We know Cenred had an army of twenty thousand or more men.

Gaius admits that number of soldiers means they are, ‘outnumbered two to one.' Which implies Camelot had somewhere in the ballpark of ten thousand knights.

If you take into account that Cenred’s army were mercenaries (not likely of noble blood) and Camelot only accepted knights of noble blood at the time, that explains why their enemy had so many more warriors.

That theory also fits with Will of Ealdor being a peasant and his father having died as a soldier in Cenred’s army.

Also, Cenred might have had a much larger army, but Morgause noted upon watching their initial attack, that compared to the Knights of Camelot, ‘Cenred’s army was a group of undisciplined rabble.’

My answer: Given what we know of Cenred, it seems likely that with his ‘live by sword, rather then law’ philosophy and his agreement with Jarl, the slave trader… to look the other way.

It’s stands to reason that if Merlin’s power had been discovered while in Ealdor, he would have been kidnapped and forced to serve as one of Cenred’s mercenaries.

Cenred is clearly not against kidnapping (since he abducts Elyan and Gwen as well) and any powerful magical weapon that could be conceivably used against him would be up for grabs, even if that weapon is a person.

I doubt Cenred’s entire army is constructed out of unfortunate sorcerers who were forced into his ranks (as is the popular fan theory), but if someone like Merlin were discovered within the kingdom.

I could see that becoming his fate.

Book description:

Cenred, king of the lands to the east of Camelot. It was a dangerous kingdom, one that lived by the sword rather than by the rule of law.

2. Perhaps he has lost his nerve. Perhaps he is a coward.'

One of Cenred's guards snatched at his sword, quick to defend the honour of his king.

Morgause's eyes flashed with blazing amber light and the knight was hurled across the room, slamming into a wooden table and shattering it to matchwood. He landed in a crumpled heap on the floor.

As one, the Bloodguard drew their swords, stepping close to their priestess. Cenred's men drew their own swords, eager to join the battle, but once again their king raised his hands to stay them and they lowered their weapons.

3. Uther frowned. Cenred had never been openly hostile towards them without good reason. It seemed strange that the situation had changed. 'Do we know why?'

'We've had reports that mercenaries are streaming into Cenred's kingdom,' he announced to the assembled councillors.

4. 'Cenred's, sire. We knew he was amassing an army-

'How many men?' snapped Arthur impatiently.

Sir Leon took a deep breath. 'Twenty thousand men, maybe more.'

'Forgive me, sire,' ventured Gaius, 'but we are outnumbered two to one.'

5. Huge siege ladders crashed against the white stone of the walls, and men swarmed up them.

For a moment Morgause thought that the battle might be over even sooner than she had expected, but Uther's men were too well trained and valiantly fought off the attackers, sending them tumbling and screaming as they pushed the ladders back or sent down arrows in a deadly rain.

Morgause gave a hiss of disappointment.

Compared to the Knights of Camelot, the army that Cenred had put together was an undisciplined rabble.

6. Cenred refilled Morgause's goblet with wine and regarded her suspiciously. 'I'm certain that you have not come all this way to drink, Morgause.

She sipped at her wine. 'You know me well.'

'Extremely well.' Cenred nodded sagely. 'And yet somehow we're still close.'

Question: Merlin doesn't actually show any lesser nobility that does not live in capital cities.

It does however imply they exist.

My answer: Northumberland and Wessex are both noble houses that don’t live in the capital.

(Source: They are both listed in the Merlin Complete Guide under the header “Outside Camelot”)

Book description:

NORTHUMBERLAND:

Lord Eldred of Northumberland has sworn loyalty to Uther, and his sons are therefore eligible to become knights of Camelot.

WESSEX:

The lord of Wessex has also given his allegiance to Uther. However his second son, Grimond, failed a trial to join the knights of Camelot.

[jackoshadows]

What I don't understand is why Sansa stans, who want to get rid of Arya in Winterfell, go for the laziest fanon of Arya being a tourist - a theory that's borrowed from ultimate hacks D&D and the garbage TV show and which ending GRRM has repeatedly disavowed.

Arya becoming some kind of world explorer at the end pretty much ignores her book story, narrative arc, characterization and throws away the material in her so far written 32 pov chapters for an ending they came up with because of a made up headcanon. An headcanon which is far removed from the book character.

If one wants to get rid of Arya in Winterfell to make way for Sansa, the least they could do is actually read Arya's chapters and attempt to come up with an ending that makes more sense for the character.

Arya is a character who wants to help. From Mycah to Weasel to Samwell Tarly, Arya is someone who stands up against injustice even at great risk to herself. She's selfless and would sacrifice her personal happiness for the greater good. She wants things to be better, for herself, for her friends, for the smallfolk.

One ending could be Arya Stark as a leader of the Riverlands, helping rebuild from the ravages of war, helping the people who survived. Arya, who has the empathy and the skillsets to help them, who has listened and learned from her father on how to govern. We see Willow Heddle take care of orphans and managing an inn with a quiet efficiency that mirrors Arya's and Gendry hanging around helping her. I could see Arya and Gendry continue their relationship, fall in love, marry and settle down in the Riverlands while Arya either rules the Riverlands as the Tully heir/Cat's daughter or as Lady of Harrenhal helps Edmure Tully rebuild the Riverlands.

Or, if Jon Snow leaves for beyond the Wall as the leader of the new territories and lands there, maybe Arya goes with him. Considering their close bond and love for each other and the fact that home is where each other is - something else that is again established in the books - if she had no choice but to leave Winterfell, going with Jon Snow to help him lead the freefolk beyond the Wall could be another option.

Or if Bran does end up becoming King on the Iron Throne, then she could stay in KL to help her much loved baby brother. She wouldn't like leaving Winterfell, but Arya is a character who sacrifices and does what's right, no matter how hard it is for her to do personally. Plus, she wanted to be a king's councillor and build things. Her training and skillsets with the FM would also make her alert to any future LF/Varys types trying to plot against Bran - not that someone who can see into the past and present needs a master spy...

Or Arya and Brienne start a school for young girls who are interested in learning different things and have teachers who actually develop their talents based on what they are good at instead of being hateful for what they cannot be.

In my opinion, any of these endings is better than 'Arya, world explorer' an empty, nonsensical ending that has no connection to the character's book story and is actually contemptuous of the suffering and trauma this child has been through over several books. Meet new people and learn new languages? What do these folks think Arya has been doing so far? The girl's been traveling from her second AGoT chapter, meeting countless people. sailed the narrow seas, engaged with new cultures, learned new languages. She's been there, done that.

What's even more ridiculous is that it's Sansa stans who often engage in the oppression olympics of Sansa having suffered the worst, that Sansa 'deserves' Winterfell because she suffered the most abuse, that the only ending that makes sense for Sansa is being back in Winterfell because she suffered so much etc. And yet according to these very same folks, Sansa is going to roll up her sleeves and tirelessly work to lead the people of the North, while Arya is going on a cruise ship vacation and vlog about the new cuisine she is trying out...Hey, maybe after having suffered the most of ALL characters in the series, maybe it's Sansa who deserves the cruise ship vacation, you know?

We have the author himself saying that Arya's harrowing experiences and journey through Westeros and Essos has aged her up so much that he considers the character older than some of the 40 year olds in the books! And yet there are still people harping on and on about tourist Arya ffs.

I personally think Arya will be in Winterfell at the end of the books, either helping her younger brothers Bran/Rickon lead the North or more probably as a leader in her own right.

Arya is a central character in the series, the female character with the most POV chapters. There's no way GRRM has one of his lead female characters end up playing a supporting role in her brothers or sister's story. No way.

The author has given her the character development in the books to lead the North. She has a hulking huge grey direwolf at her side - the sigil of house Stark. She is the lone Stark who has the Stark look. Her direwolf is named after the first Dornish princess who changed female inheritance in Dorne - a big clue for a character who has chafed against patriarchal restrictions on what women can and cannot do. I mean this is how we are introduced to Arya Stark in her very first AGoT chapter:

“The Lannisters are proud,” Jon observed. “You’d think the royal sigil would be sufficient, but no. He makes his mother’s House equal in honor to the king’s.”

“The woman is important too!” Arya protested. - Arya, AGoT

It's clear to me that her arc is heading towards her being the first Lady of Winterfell/Wardeness of the North, nicely bookending her arc which started with her wanting the woman to be as important as the man, arguing for equality when it comes to their house. That's how organic story telling and building a narrative actually works.

I am aware of the principal Internet forums about A Song of Ice and Fire and I really used to look at the American and English groups. Nowadays, the most important site is Westeros, but I started to feel uncomfortable and I thought it would be a better idea not to get to these sides. The fans use to come up with theories; lots of them are just speculative but some of them are in the right way. Before the Internet, one reader could guess the ending you wanna do for your novel, but the other 10.000 wouldn’t know anything and they would be surprised. However, now, those 10.000 people use the Internet and read the right theories. They say: “Oh God, the butler did it!”, to use an example of a mystery novel. Then, you think: “I have to change the ending! The maiden would be the criminal!” To my mind that way is a disaster because if you are doing well you work, the books are full of clues that point to the butler doing it and help you to figure up the butler did it, but if you change the ending to point the maiden, the clues make no sense anymore; they are wrong or are lies, and I am not a liar. - GRRM

[lagosbratzdoll]

On Daenerys, Colonisation and Race Discourse within the ASOIAF Fandom

This has been on my mind for a good long while and honestly, as much as I would like to leave discourse in the pits, it has been bugging me intermittently over the past few weeks.

Far too many of you get on here and call people who like the fictional dragon-riding family, neo-Nazis and that sentiment is so prevalent, that white people feel comfortable telling me a black woman that I am a neo-Nazi for rooting for Daenerys Targaryen. I am upholding neo-Nazi power fantasies for wanting to see a little girl live at the end of a story. I am a neo-Nazi for wanting to see the rape survivor have the family she aches for and children with the man (or men) she loves.

Then, those same people go on spiels about how the systemic erasure of those who sing the song of the earth and other old races is not colonialism. That their removal from their home is not displacement but an agreement between two equal parties. The fact that the only place where those who sing the song of the earth exist in the present timeline is north of the wall, surrounded by the bones of their dead, is not a travesty. That the expulsion of the old races from their home isn't that bad and should not be condemned. 

Instead, people argue, completely seriously, that the harm that the First Men and Andals have caused is centuries in the past, so essentially the slate has been wiped clean. The logical leaps that are required to arrive at such a boneheaded conclusion are truly mind-boggling, and those who make such arguments are not good people. 

I am unsure how one could read those books and come away with the impression that the old races do not mourn the loss of their home. I am unsure how one could read The Last of the Giants[1] and Ygritte’s reaction to both the song and Jon’s dismissal of the ethnic cleansing of the giants then believe that the old races and the free folk have moved past their displacement. 

In Westeros, from the Wall to the broken arm of Dorne, they all speak one language despite the fact they are all different ethnicities and they all landed on the shores at different times. That is not the case in Essos, we have been introduced to at least six languages and in A Dance with Dragons, Tyrion notes that the Valyrian spoken in the Free Cities has evolved into nine distinct dialects, and they are well on their way to becoming different languages.

How would a continent as large and diverse as Westeros maintain its hegemony over the people if not for forced assimilation, discriminatory practices and violence? The brutal repression required to keep one house in power for thousands of years is nothing to sniff at. The suppression required to keep the vast majority of Westeros worshipping one (or seven) gods. The systems in place ensure that language does not grow or evolve amongst the highborns at least.

Centuries before Aegon's Landing the maesters were the definitive educational authority and even now centuries after, nothing has changed. The grey rats still decide who learns what and when they learn it. There's one in every highborn home, all correspondence passes through them, they are the healers and the councillors.

The circular logic gets even more blockheaded when you factor in the fact that Daenerys is far from the only white character in the books. She is not the only character who wishes for home. She is not the only character who draws strength from her ancestors, her bloodline and her magical creatures. 

Cersei draws strength from her family’s iconography, and the Stark children (Jon included) all draw strength from their direwolves, their home and their blood. Sansa, Arya and Bran wish to return home and their home was built on the indiscriminate murder and displacement of the indigenous peoples. Their home is built on centuries of rape, murder, exclusionary practices and sexual slavery. 

However, if we give the nonsensical argument that time erases crimes air; the Starks, Lannisters and Tullys are warring to settle personal grievances in the present timeline. As a consequence of that war, thousands (a modest guesstimate) of small folk, minor nobles and even some major ones have been raped, tortured, maimed and killed.

Despite all this, no one writes meta after meta about how Sansa and her siblings must surely die for justice to be had for those who sing the song of the earth, the free folk, the giants and all the old races that fled beyond the wall.  

People write meta about Cersei and how she must die, but those are typically more misogynistic nature. They typically argue that she must die not for the “crime” of being Lannister, but for the “crime” of being Cersei and “ruining” Jamie. 

I would not mind criticisms of Dany and her peace-focused approach to ending slavery because the approach is naïve and she gives the slavers far too much ground. However, she is learning, growing and self-critiquing. At the end of A Dance with Dragons, she has decided to embrace fire and blood, her knight is breaking the false peace which is a necessary step forward.

What I find offensive is people saying that she should have planned better before she abolished slavery. And that the death, violence, and sickness that arises from her quest to eradicate slavery is somehow worse than the death, violence, and sickness that already existed in Slaver’s Bay. 

This argument often downplays the horrific conditions and suffering that exist(ed) under the slave system in Slaver's Bay. Such arguments are often in poor taste and prioritise the lives and comforts of the slavers more than the people they have enslaved.

I would not mind criticisms of Dany if people applied that same critique even-handedly. The same people who believe that Jon and Bran have done much to rectify the evil that their ancestors perpetuated believe that Dany has not done anything to right the wrongs of her ethnic kin. They praise them for the non-existent steps that they have taken, but in the same breath, they condemn Dany for not being able to immediately end the plague that is slavery. 

It is perfectly alright to not like fictional characters, no law requires you to like certain fictional characters over others. However, what is not right is making broad accusations about those who do, it is beyond the pale. It is disgusting, and annoying, and trivialises real-world issues to score cheap points against fictional characters.

Equating the survival of a teenage survivor to the restoration of a fascist house or neo-Nazi power fantasy when such designations do not exist in the world of ice and fire is strange behaviour. Saying that the teenage survivor will eventually be manipulated and raped (again) before ending up dead on her manipulator's blade is also strange behaviour. 

Dismissing the horrors of colonialism, especially when the text shows you that the involved parties are still affected by it, is not normal and often veers into real-world imperialism apologia. While criticism and analysis of characters and their actions are valid and even encouraged, it is essential that we do not resort to sweeping generalisations about other people and that we keep criticisms of characters grounded in the text. 

[1]  

Ooooooh, I am the last of the giants, my people are gone from the earth.

The last of the great mountain giants, who ruled all the world at my birth

Oh, the smallfolk have stolen my forests, they’ve stolen my rivers and hills.

And they’ve built a great wall through my valleys, and fished all the fish from my rills

In stone halls they burn their great fires, in stone halls they forge their sharp spears.

Whilst I walk alone in the mountains, with no true companion but tears.

They hunt me with dogs in the daylight, they hunt me with torches by night.

For these men who are small can never stand tall, whilst giants still walk in the light.

Oooooooh, I am the LAST of the giants, so learn well the words of my song.

For when I am gone the singing will fade, and the silence shall last long and long.

[the-halloween-jack]

ｒｅｖｅｎａｎｔ - ｔｗｏ

PART TWO OF 'REVENANT' SERIES Damon Salvatore x Winchester!Sister!Hunter!Reader  The Vampire Diaries x Supernatural Mini-Series Synopsis: Y/N Winchester was tired of living in her brothers' shadows; she needed to do something for herself for a change. When she heads to Mystic Falls, a town she was always warned to stay away from, she finds she may have taken on more than she can handle. Will she be able to eradicate the supernatural from the uncanny town? Or will she find herself tangled amongst it? WARNINGS: Drinking, Descriptions of Violence. Words: 2,103k Series Masterlist <Previous Part | Next Part >

A month had passed, and Y/N still found herself in the preternatural town of Mystic Falls; with every passing moment, her case became more thorny and twisted. Though, there were two things of which she was certain.

Vampires in this town did not succumb to their usual prison of daylight; the only logical explanation for a lack of night prowlers was that they simply did not need to prowl at night.

Secondly, the reason Y/N could not get any information from the townspeople was because they genuinely did not know anything; she had the nagging feeling their minds were patched up with fake accounts of nefarious events that they were unfortunate enough to witness. Y/N shuddered to think that maybe her memories had been played with, too; after all, she would not know. Y/N took to writing down everything she uncovered; if she were right about the memory tampering, all of her evidence and theories would be there to rediscover.

Y/N begrudgingly gazed upon her tenuous evidence in the form of a journal. Countless farfetched “animal attacks,” both historical and recent, missing persons and hospital break-ins. She knew three blood bank robberies had occurred within a fortnight, and yet no action had been taken by order of the sheriff. It was redundant to attempt a case so premeditatedly shrouded by the authorities, whose ill-judged aims of keeping locals nescient only paved the way for more of these “animal attacks”. 

The stalemate the young Winchester found herself in was beyond frustrating; she could not deaden the voice calling for her brothers’ help in her head, though her stubbornness prevented her from doing so. The further this case progressed, the more impossible it became, its virulent tendrils unfurling in every which direction. 

But the vampire case was not the only thing that frustrated Y/N; she found herself becoming quite comfortable in the uncanny town. Remaining in the same place for a couple of months gave her a strange sense of stability she had never experienced before. She found herself building relationships, and as depressing as it was, for the first time in her life, she could confidently say she had friends. 

The renowned Mystic Grill played a pivotal part in this; every other night, the locals would flock to the establishment, blissfully ignorant of the wary pastimes of their councillors. It was the seemingly tight-knit nature of Mystic Falls that first attracted Y/N to the town, and although she had only resided there for a short while, she had already begun receiving invites to their extravagant founders' events. 

Of course, Y/N was wise as to what these seemingly inconspicuous gatherings really were, though she still found the fact she was already being invited heartening. 

Though friends and a sense of community were not all that was new, Y/N tried desperately to quell the feelings she had growing for the sardonic Damon Salvatore. Of course, she had had fleeting crushes before, but this time, she found herself infatuated. She was kicking herself for ever allowing it to happen. She would go out of her way to see him, convincing herself that she was only investigating the case, trying to get into the inner loop of the founders' council. Deep down, Y/N knew she was lying to herself. 

The sound of a knock on her motel door snapped Y/N from her thoughts. Hastily shoving her journal under her bed and tucking her wooden-bullet-filled revolver in the waistline of her jeans, she strode over and glanced through the glass peephole, finding Caroline, an overbearing but lovely girl Y/N had come to call a friend, standing on the other side clutching what looked like a flyer. With a sigh, Y/N heaved the faulty door open,

‘Hey Caroline, I wasn’t expecting you here; excuse the room, it’s a mess.’

‘I don’t know why you stay here; I keep telling you we have a spare bed.’ Caroline’s response was doubtful; she already knew what Y/N would say,

‘I’ll get my own place eventually; for the meantime, I’m happy staying here.’ 

Y/N liked the idea of staying in Mystic Falls, continuing the relationships she already held dear. She thought of her brothers and how long her anonymity here would last; how long did she have before they found her and forced her back?

‘Oh well, I didn’t come here to judge your living conditions; I came here to give you this.’ 

Caroline held out the piece of paper Y/N had thought was a flyer, though upon closer inspection, she could see it was an invitation to a ball.

‘Another event?’ Y/N’s words were incredulous,

‘I know, we always have them, but you need to come to this one.’

‘I’ve needed to attend the last few founders' events.’ Y/N’s fingers formed quotation marks as she spoke; Caroline ignored her jab,

‘Elena, Bonnie and I plan on heading into Richmond to find gowns; you’re welcome to join.’ 

Although Y/N acted as though she held herself aloof from these girly hangouts, between being an only daughter and living on the road, they had been something she had never experienced before, and she could not help the excitement and giddiness she felt every time she was invited. 

‘Okay, I’ll see if I can make it… Will Damon be there?’ Caroline’s eyes rolled so far back into her skull that Y/N was worried they would be stuck there. 

‘I’ve told you a million times, and I’ll tell you again. He. Is. Bad. News.’ She very carefully emphasised each word. It was Y/N’s turn to roll her eyes,

‘You know, I don’t understand why you’ve got such a big problem with him; you can tell me you know.’

‘Just trust me, okay? You don’t want to get mixed in with him; it doesn’t end well for anyone.’

Y/N wished she would heed Caroline’s advice; she could not afford to get mixed in with anyone, bad news or not; her lifestyle did not allow it. Though for a century and a half now, it seemed Mystic Falls was in constant danger from the Supernatural, would it be that unforgivable if she stayed and protected these people? Protected her friends? 

Y/N quickly learnt that Caroline was a fan of advice; if anything happened, she had an opinion about it. For the most part, Y/N found it endearing; she could tell it came from a place of care. So why was it that she was so vehemently against Damon? What was it about him that caused Caroline’s dismay? These questions riddled Y/N’s thoughts as she sat alone in the very spot she met the dark-haired man, knowing that it would not be long before he sat in the vacant space beside her. 

‘Why the long face?’ The satirical voice she had come to adore sounded from her left, and the face in question quickly shifted to a grin,

‘I knew you would be showing up soon; that’s enough to cause despair in anybody.’ Or at least Caroline, Y/N thought sardonically. Damon’s hand quickly covered his heart, his expression mocking offence.

‘You wound me.’ 

Damon pulled the stool next to the Winchester girl out from under the bench and lowered himself onto it with a hefty sigh, catching the eye of the young bartender,

‘House bourbon please…’ He glanced at the empty crystal glass clutched in her hand, ‘make that two,’ he added,

‘Thanks.’ She muttered, 

‘You know, I’ve noticed you never buy me drinks.’ He teased, eyes crinkling with his smile, Y/N scoffed, 

‘Nice try, Damon; I’ve seen your house. You don’t need me to buy you drinks.’ Her eyebrows furrowed,

‘What is it that you do for a living any way? How can you afford a house like that?’ Damon did not answer, instead, he waved his hand dismissively. He never answered personal questions; it was beyond frustrating. However, she understood she was being hypocritical; none of her new-found friends knew anything about her, nothing real anyway. She continued,

‘It doesn’t look like you have the time for a job; you spend all your time here.’ Y/N spoke with fake judgment; she spent a fair amount of her time here as well. She raised her eyebrows expectantly, hoping her statement would elicit some sort of answer, but to no avail; Damon simply took a sip from his glass and moved to another topic,

‘Did you get your invite to the ball? I heard the girls were going to get gowns. ’ His tone was teasing as he wiggled his eyebrows. Y/N rolled her eyes,

‘Yeah, I’ve also been invited to the shopping trip; I don’t know what I’m going to get; I've never been a dress person.’ 

‘Well, whatever you end up wearing, I’m sure you’ll look stunning; that’s something we have in common.’ Y/N's cheeks heated at his comment; she should be used to it by now; their whole relationship was built on cheap pick-up lines.

‘You flatter me.’ A chuckle escaped with her words, 

‘Speaking of the ball… Were you going with anyone?’ His words were hesitant but aired with confidence, 

‘You’re kidding, right? You’re just about the only person I know in town.’ Y/N was incredulous,

‘Well.. in that case… I suppose I better take you.’ 

Two days passed, and Y/N found herself in the back seat of Elena Gilbert's SUV, trying desperately to quell the feeling of giddiness settling in her stomach; the idea of a girls-day-out excited Y/N in a way she had not anticipated and although she had tried very hard to act aloof, she fears she had not been successful. 

Every time she complained about dresses, shoes and jewellery, Caroline, Elena, and Bonnie shared knowing looks. 

The day passed slowly, Y/N quickly learning to nod politely at the dresses she believed were only ordinary and gush over the ones she thought were stunning. By the end of their trip, Y/N knew that the girls would pass as goddesses at the ball, their embellished gowns complimenting each one of them wonderfully. Though she had not foreseen how difficult it would be to come to a decision herself, each dress she tried on never quite hugged or sat the way she wanted it. But when she glanced up at a mannequin she had yet to see, the dress she knew would be hers lied upon its shoulders. 

The burgundy gown adorned a tight-fitting velvet bodice, its sweetheart neckline drawing out to meet hanging chiffon off-shoulder sleeves. Y/N thought the skirt looked like deep gushing blood as it extended from the pointed waist of the bodice to the floor, its chiffon overlay flowing delicately to meet the rest of the dress on the ground. Complimenting the dress was a pair of long gloves made to match its ornate material and a necklace of warmly coloured pearls encrusted with a brilliant red jewel. It was utterly perfect. 

She drew closer to the gown, fingers stretching out to glide over the impossibly soft textile and called the saleswoman over, asking politely if she could have the dress and accessories to try on. As she held it up before her in the changing room, she was astonished to realise the material was even more stunning up close. 

She took timid steps from the changing room, treating the gown with utmost care. As she turned the corner, Y/N heard subtle gasps come from her entourage, her cheeks suddenly deepening to a pretty shade of vermillion. 

‘Oh my goodness, Y/N, you’re stunning’, Bonnie spoke earnestly, Elena nodding in agreement.

‘Hot and sexy are the words I’d use; whoever you’re bringing is a lucky guy’, Caroline added. Y/N was sure she suddenly looked culpable; Caroline’s eyes narrowed.

‘You know, you never mentioned who was taking you, only that somebody had asked.’ Caroline’s voice was suspicious, 

‘Well, um…’ Caroline raised her eyebrows as though she was already anticipating Y/N's answer, 

‘Damon may have asked me the other night.’ Caroline closed her eyes and sighed,

‘Y/N, he’s bad news; how many times do I have to tell you before the message sinks in?’ Her tone was frustrated,

‘You’ve never actually told me why he is “bad news.”’ Y/N’s fingers formed quotation marks around her last words. Bonnie, Elena and Caroline exchanged glances; they knew something they were unwilling to disclose to her, and Y/N would find out what it was. 

A/N: I wanted to add a reference for the dress Y/N found, though I could not find one that matched what I pictured, so I decided to draw what I was envisioning instead.

Here is a link to the image: https://i.pinimg.com/750x/60/af/61/60af61d9f9d20b5a4afa52cc71505831.jpg