#THERE IS A SONG OF FIRE [ . . . ] writ.

[a-world-of-whimsy-5]

The Fisherman and the Mermaid

Pairing: Maron Grey x Maelstrom (fem. | mermaid )

Themes: Some danger | Soft ending

Warnings: Mentions of death | Mentions of storms at sea | Mentions of possible drowning | Brief mention of nudity

Summary: Maron, a poor fisherman from Pyke, makes use of a boat gifted to him by friends, and ends up lost at sea. 

Word count: 2.2k words

Minors DNI

Long before the building of the Wall and the Battle for the Dawn, there once was a young man living on an island now known to all as Pyke. He was a poor man, with neither birth nor fortune to his name. He had no horse, and no lord to command his services. All he had was a shack, a tiny spit of land to call his own, and a boat.

He did not mind. He believed in carving out his own destiny with the strength of his back and the sweat of his own brow. Day after day he would put his boat to sea, and day after day he would return, his body worn and his catch meager. And still, he did not mind. This man was content, you see, for while he may have been poor in coin, he was rich in loyal friends: Blacktide and Botley and Drumm, Greyiron and Harlaw and Tawney, and so many more. They broke bread with him, laughed with him, and listened to him when he wove his webs of dreams, and one day, on his twenty-fifth name day, they all collected what they could and brought him a new boat.

It was no great beauty, that boat. It was neither large nor grand, but it was beautiful in his eyes, for it was a gift gladly given. He thanked his friends heartily for it, and the next day, at the break of dawn, he set off again.

The day started gloriously. It was all warm sunshine and vivid blue skies and great big puffy clouds. The young man cast his nets, and waited. And waited. The hours passed and the sun rose higher, and his nets were empty. He rowed further out to sea and cast his nets. The sun rose higher still, and his nets remained empty. The young man did not give up. He rowed further still, hoping a third time would bring him luck. He cast his nets and prayed. His eyes grew heavy, and he yielded to sleep, thinking he was still safe.

The sky turned orange and gold when the sun began to set, and still he slept. The stars started to rise, one by one, and still he slept. The winds grew stronger, the air grew colder, and still he slept. The sky darkened, his boat rolled from side to side, and still, he slept. It was only when thunder boomed and lightning split the sky like a white-hot lance did he open his eyes. The young man looked on, sweat dripping down his brow and the sound of waves roaring in his ears, while clouds as dark as sin obscured the light of the stars and rain fell on him like an angry beast. There was not an inch of land to be seen. He had gone too far out to sea. Fear sank its talons into his flesh, threatening to rip him apart. The young man held onto his boat while it listed from side and side, praying to any god who could hear, to save him from a watery grave.

That was not to be. No God heard him. The storm raged and the man wept, blaming himself for his wretched fate.

If only he had kept to safer shores! If only he had been content and gone back, he could have lived to see another day! Alas, that was not to be. The young man wept and held on while the wind and rain slashed at him, certain of his doom. The winds grew stronger, and the waves rose higher. He closed his eyes and mustered his courage to meet his end.

That was not to be either. The temper in the air calmed, degree by slow degree. The wind, once howling and raging like a living thing, began to die down little by little. The waves, once roiling and threatening to drag him under, slowly calmed and stilled. The young man wanted to shout and laugh. He was alive. The skies and the seas had unleashed their worst, and he was alive. Never had he been more grateful than just then. He wanted to turn back and try to find land. Some land. At least until he could gather his bearings and set out again. He picked up his oars, ready to row long and hard.

That was when he heard it, drifting over the waves like a mist. It was a song, but unlike any melody he had ever heard. It was rich and haunting and beautiful and bewitching and tender, like a sweet confession to a lover. The young man stopped for a moment to listen. That song grew louder and drew closer, and yet he listened. He had never heard such a wondrous melody before. He may hear its like again. He rested his chin on his hand and waited.

The waves grew as still as a looking glass. The young man listened to the song, paying no mind to the small ripple in the water or the silhouette beneath it. There was another ripple, this time louder. The singing stopped. The clouds drifted, revealing a bright full moon. There was a strange stillness in the air. The young man felt like he was being watched. He looked over his shoulder, fearful of what he might see.

At the bow of his boat was a woman. She was half out of the water, leaning on the edge with great ease. The young man was struck dumb by the vision before him. The woman’s skin was the color of a glorious moonlit sea, and her eyes shone brightly like twin stars. Her hair fell past her waist like molten silver. She looked on with barely disguised curiosity. The young man inched closer and closer, equally curious about this creature. He peered over the edge. A beautiful tail of black and silver swished beneath the water. He was taken aback to find he was in the presence of a mermaid. 

"I am hungry," she said in his tongue. It shocked him. "Pray do you have anything to eat?"

The young man gulped in fright, but remembered his courtesies. "Just salted fish and bread soaked through, my lady," he replied, cautiously crawling over to the other end. "Will that serve?"

"Yes," she said as she swam beside him, her smile radiant, her voice like a song. "That will serve."

The young man nodded and dug around a worn oil-skin bag, wrinkling his face when he pulled out the wet food. Strange creature or not, he did not wish to serve anyone such pap. "This is all I have, my lady."

"It will serve," she replied again, her eyes filled with curiosity as she studied the man. Of men, she had heard of and seen plenty. The wretched tales the youngest among her sisters told her were enough to feed her nightmares. But this man… he seemed different. "Lost, are you?"

The young man laughed bitterly. "After a fashion, my lady." He unwrapped the parcels and presented the food, such as it was, to her. "I grew too bold, too greedy, and too desperate. Then I fell asleep. Now I am here." He looked around, his eyes widening at the endless expanse of sea. "Where is here, anyway?"

"You are near Lonely Light, sir," she replied, biting into the bread. It was soaked, just as he said, but she ate it anyway.

The name gave the young man the shivers. "I thought none but the dead may go there."

"My sisters and I are the judges of that," she said even as she helped herself to the salted fish. "And only those who come seeking things they should not meet their ends. Not those whose hearts beat true. They may stay for a night or two before leaving."

"Really? Then does my heart beat gentle and true?" he challenged, his lips tugging at the corners.

"Perhaps," she said, and finished the fish. "You seem decent enough. Tell me, sir, why are you here, so far away from your home?" 

"The fish," he said truthfully. "I thought I would have better luck with a better boat." 

"I see," she murmured, and studied the boat. "It is well made. Did you make it?"

"No. I do not have the coin for such fine wood and tools. My friends gave this to me as a gift."

"Loving friends indeed, to give you such a gift."

"They are indeed."

She studied him again. There was nothing in his easy manner and a ready smile that gave her cause for alarm, and unlike her younger sisters, she could peer into the hearts of mortals. It was a gift that was both a blessing and a curse, but Maelstrom was still grateful. She looked into his, and found it just as she expected it to be.

He has a good heart. And he has been generous with what little he has. A reward is in order.

"What is your name?" she asked finally.

"Maron," came his answer. "Maron Grey."

"My name means Maelstrom in your tongue," she said, before swimming away from the boat to sing.

Her singing was the same as before—utterly sweet and bewitching. Maron watched, his eyes widening, when more mermaids appeared in the water, each as beautiful as the next. They swam up to the boat. One of them tied a thick length of rope made of seaweed to one end. They all took turns swimming and pulling the boat along with them.

The stars were out in all their glory now. Maron could see them glimmering in the water like diamonds. The mermaids started to sing, their voices a glorious harmony filled with magic. He was content to listen, and his eyes widened once again when a strip of land appeared before his eyes. 

Lonely Light. None but the dead may visit here, so the minstrels said. The creatures that lived here were of myth and legend. Each was thought to be as generous and cruel as the sea. They would bless whomever they chose, the songs said, and hinder whomever they chose. Maron hoped he was the former and not the latter. The wrath of a mermaid was a terrifying thing, the songs said.

The boat was guided to a sheltered cove. The air was so thick with salt that it stung the eyes, but the sand was soft and warm beneath Maron’s feet. The mermaids bid him to stay with rest and entertain them with his tales. Maelstrom joined him on the beach, shocking him even more when her tail turned to legs the moment they brushed over the earth. She was unclad, and he looked away, his cheeks aflame, humble words of apology dripping off his tongue. Maelstrom laughed merrily and said, "What gentle manners this one has! Come, eat. You must be famished."

Maron glanced at his feet. A woven platter filled with fresh fruit and roasted fish lay before him. He ate until he had his fill, before accepting a cup of mead so light and sweet that he sighed as in a dream.

"Now sleep," Maelstrom urged, moving to one side while one of her sisters brought a soft mat of woven reeds for him to rest on. "On the morrow, I will guide you home."

Sleep claimed him without a struggle. Maron slept and dreamed. What beautiful dreams they were. When he awoke at dawn, his boat gleamed under the sunlight. The other mermaids were gone. Maelstrom was all that remained.

"My sisters and I will help you find the way back," she said, her feet barely leaving a mark on the sand while she walked. "Now come. I will guide you home. Your friends must surely be worrying over your safety."

Nearly a day passed before Maron reached his home and friends, but he never forgot the maiden who helped him. He would take his boat to see her daily and was pleased to find her waiting for him. Maelstrom showed where to fish and how much to catch. She told him stories that were strange and too outlandish to be true. He listened still, and told her tales of his home. His hauls and income grew, but he spoke to no one of the cause of his good luck. Oh, he shared his good fortune and helped his friends, but he would never tell his secret. Even as a wealthy man, he would still take his boat to sea, to meet the mermaid that had captivated him and haunted his dreams. Their bond grew, and a spark flashed between them. A deep and abiding love soon grew from that spark. Maelstrom would swim towards the shores Maron called home. He would meet her there in secret and take her to his place, where they dined and laughed and share pleasures. Their love soon resulted in a child. Maelstrom gave Maron a son, but he could never stay with his mother. His blood bound him to the lands of mortals, and he was to remain in his father’s world. The laws of Maelstrom's kin deemed it so. There was nothing either one of them could do.

Maron crafted a tale where he claimed to have bedded a serving girl while trading on the mainland. Since the mother in the story was lowborn, no one questioned him. The child grew strong and came to know his true mother. Maron would take him to sea to visit with her, or Maelstrom would join them at night for supper. She taught her son all she could and showed him all the secret ways of the world. That child became the Grey King, the slayer of Nagga, the first sea dragon, and the founding father of House Greyjoy. 

[allovesthings]

I'm just doing one chapter tonight, I'm so tired and I tried to push through once with a Catelyn chapter and I genuinely don't know how it was coherent.

Also next chapters are Arya and Dany,I want to be fully awake for the two of them !

[borninwinter81]

William Blake - an introduction for Good Omens fans

I have sent @neil-gaiman an ask regarding his feelings toward the poet/artist William Blake a couple of times, but no doubt due to the size of the poor man's inbox I haven't received a response. So I did a Google search to see if he's spoken about Blake before, and it did indeed come up with a fair few hits. I think you might enjoy seeing this Twitter post if you haven't already, the painting is from William Blake's illustrations to Paradise Lost.

It's not surprising that an author like Neil Gaiman might have an interest in Blake. A visionary from a young age, his imagination was such that he was surrounded by angels made visible in his mind's eye, and he interpreted these visions through poetry, painting and engraving, and self-printed and published many of his own works. This gave him complete freedom to say exactly what he wanted.

Though he had a passionate faith in God, he also had a deep distrust of the church as an institution, and disliked the use of religion as a means of control. This poem from "Songs of Experience" perhaps summarises his feelings best:

"I went to the Garden of Love,

And saw what I never had seen:

A Chapel was built in the midst,

Where I used to play on the green.

And the gates of this Chapel were shut,

And 'Thou shalt not' writ over the door;

So I turn'd to the Garden of Love,

That so many sweet flowers bore. 

And I saw it was filled with graves,

And tomb-stones where flowers should be:

And Priests in black gowns, were walking their rounds,

And binding with briars, my joys & desires."

In his poetry there is often an incongruity with the generally accepted religious ideas of what is good and evil, Angel and Demon. In The Marriage of Heaven and Hell (there's a title that should make any GO fan sit up and pay attention) he tells us that "in the book of Job, Milton's Messiah is called Satan", signifying that he feels it is Lucifer/the devil who is the true Messiah of Paradise Lost.

He gives us The Voice of the Devil and Proverbs of Hell, and has Angels being transformed into Demons through enlightenment. He tells us that Jesus broke all of the 10 commandments, yet was still virtuous because he acted according to his own morality rather than rules.

The god-figure of his later works, Urizen, generally comes across as malevolent, seeking to bind and control, whilst Los, the Satan/Messiah figure represents freedom, imagination and creativity.

"Restraining desire" and acting contrary to your own nature seem to be the only real evils for Blake.

He expressed his faith through a love of the world and the beauty in it, summed up in this quote:

"When the Sun rises do you not see a round Disk of fire somewhat like a Guinea? O no no I see an innumerable company of the Heavenly host crying Holy Holy Holy is the Lord God Almighty".

He saw "God" in everything, in all the wonders we have around us, and considered writers/poets and religious prophets as essentially the same, since they both have a connection to the divine, and express it through stories.

It's quite ironic that probably his most famous poem, Jerusalem (the one that starts "and did those feet in ancient times walk upon England's mountains green"), was made into a very popular church hymn, yet it is supposed to be satirical in nature. The poem recounts the myth that Jesus may have visited England in his boyhood, and Blake is expressing his disbelief at that notion and the unworthiness of England.

Did I have a point to all this? Mostly to show my hand as a massive Blake nerd, but also to hopefully demonstrate that there's a lot of common ground between his ideas and those expressed in a show/book like Good Omens, and hopefully to inspire some of you who may not be familiar with Blake to seek him out. In particular I'd recommend The Marriage of Heaven and Hell to any and all.

EDIT: I should have thought to include this, here's Michael Sheen reading a Blake poem. I have the CD this is from, he reads several by Blake, as well as other poets I love ❤️ 😍

[myladysapphire]

His Sapphire Princess (VIII)

After the night in the brothel Rhaenyra is married to Laenor Velayron to protect the birth of her child. who in the years to follow is the only one of Rhaenyra's children that is believed to be his, she is loved by all in the red keep, even queen Alicent adores the girl, so when Rhaenyra proposes a marriage between Aemond and Rhaenyra's daughter Visenya, Alicent happily agrees.

The children having been best friends in their youths are more than happy to be wed but when the incident at drift mark occurs things change, will it be for better or worse?

word count: 1,385

CW: angst

Fem!oc x Aemond Targeryen (can be read as x reader)

Masterlist | series masterlist | previous part | next part

disclaimer:  i do not own any of claim any of the A song of ice and  fire characters, all rights belong to GRR MARTIN, all characters are his except for my OC

a/n its been so long since i last wrote this, i had honeslty completey forgotton about all of my fics, i do hope the writting isnt too different and that you all enjoy! sorry its short!

Also the ages of the characters as i myself keep getting confused (and i've changed some of the ages a little): Visenya - 17, Aemond - 18, Jace - 14, Luke - 11, Aegon - 20 , Heleana - 19

Kingslanding

Visenya

With her mother being the heir, she had expected a much grander greeting. She pictured a courtyard full of eager lords and ladies, eager to see her mother after years away from court. And yet as her mother stepped out of the carriage the courtyard was barren; the few lords and ladies that were there seemed shocked and unaware of our arrival. It was clear the once welcoming feeling had gone with them when they had left for Dragonstone. 

Their greeting party solely consisted of lord Beesbury, seemingly the only council member still loyal to her mother, it even seemed that the keep itself was not what was for their return as shown by the replacement of Valyrian symbols with symbols of the seven. The home she, her brothers and parents knew was long gone, and the short years they had been away had changed the keep and people greatly.  The Hightowers had easily asserted themselves into power, and it was clear that they now ruled, perhaps in her grandsires stead. With the court laced with green gowns, and the higher necklines that Alicent seemed to adore, all influecne her mother had had been removed or hidden away. 

Not that it was surprising, as most who were loyal to her mother had too moved to dragonstone alongside them. It seemed Daemon was right about the red keep becoming a viper pit, full of hightower loyalsits. 

She had quickly left her family to go find Heleana, in hopes to see nothing had changed between them, though they exchanged letters, though less so since the birth of the twins, the letters she received now were filled with rhymes and poems in them, a part of her feared her dreams had become to strong and overtaken her. 

She knew all about Aeogns life, a little of their children, it appeared Aegon was the only one keen to keep her updated on anything in the keep and seemed eager to answer her letters, though they were mostly stained in wine and gods know what else. 

But it seemed that in her years away from kingslanding the halls had turned themselves into a labyrinth, the muscle memory of walking throughout the castel had vanished, and she was left a wandering mess. 

Though she had eventually heard the clashing of swords, orienting herself somewhat, as she realsied she was about to approach the training yard.

She first saw her brothers, watching the duel in awe, enough awe to capture her own attention and move her sights to said duel. 

Aemond.

He had grown into what she could only describe as a Valyrian god. With his long silver hair and sharp features, he was even more handsome than she imagined,  

and even more talented with a sword than she would have expected. 

He moved with such grace and finesse it was hard to predict his next move, nor his thinking behind them. Perhaps he was just used to ser criston having a sparring partner, but the way Aemond moved to defeat him could only be described, at least the Visenya was…hot.  His movements were a dance, as was the way his face light when we one, even more so when he saw her brothers. The smirk he wore could not be mistaken as welcoming if anything it was menacing, but also gleeful that her brothers, that lucerys the boy who took his eye, could see the man he had grown into.

she also smirked to herself, proud of him in some possessive way. Even more proud when his face went from gleeful spite to its own form of possession at the sight of her.

They had not seen each in years, ever since that fateful night of his thirteenth name day. 

And it was clear he had missed her, clear as he quickly stopped taunting her brothers with the offer to duel to move towards her, as if she was the very oxygen he needed to breathe.

And yet, she made no effort to move towards him. Despite the want and longing to see him again, the desire to be with him and now seeing him in his entirty, all she felt was hurt, abandonment and pain.

Visenya had never felt more alone than when she returned from Winterfell to Dragonstone. With only the letters form Cregan and Aegon as company. The only scrapes she would see of Aemonds life were Aegons complaints at him spending too much time with a sword or book, and when he was not with them he was with Vhagar.

Though she had had her family on dragonstone she always felt like an outsider. As if she was watching them love and be loved and she was simply an audience member, watching from the outside.

Hells her mother had treated her that way since Jace was born. 

But with Ameond he never made her feel like an outsider. And so too loose contact with the one person who made you feel truley seen, well it felt like she was dying. Drowning with no one to pull her back up to the surface.

And yet he looks at her and all of a sudden she is finally being pulled free and her life is hers again.

But she can’t help but still feel abandoned. Why did it take her coming to kings landing, for their wedding, to finally be seen once more.

“My bethrothed” He proclaimed, the smug expression once again returning to his face. “Have you come to see me defeat your brothers?” he questioned, sending Jace and Luke a taunting glare. 

Finally moving into the training yard, making sure to sway her skirts as she went, she proclaimed “I have not, bethrothed” she then smirked looking over to Jace “ i do not wish my bethrothed to be so humiliated as to befeated by his bride's baby brother” she sent him a glare. A glare she hoped was filled with  years of hurt and anger to him.

He laughed “oh Princess, i do not know if you understate me or seriously overestimate your dear brothers abilities”

she shrugged, a look of nonchalant crossing her face, “i do not care which, then again i do not care much to see the outcome of such a duel” 

She was sure she heard her brothers say something but neither her nor Aemond acknowledged it, their eyes and ears only focusing on one thing.

Eachother.

“Then why grace us with your presence if you do not wish bto be so thoroughly entertained?” he questioned, his smile remaining taunting.

“Am i not allowed to wonder where i please, in my own home?” she snapped.

“my my, back for a few hours and we are already calling it home, have you missed me so truly betrothed?” he questiond.

“what was there to miss? with no letters or name days gifts to remember you by, oh i could even argue i forgot you, especially with all the bids for my hand i have received since our bethrothal” she smirked

Aemonds eye turned visicous, his smile flattering. His eye too began to show the hurt that she hoped her eyes portrayed.

He stepped forward, his sword taken from him and placed on the rack. His full focus moved away from the tauting he thought to be fun and games, and now stood and looked almost worried, and all too serious.

“forgotten?” he whispered, “ I am truly that forgettable my dear Visneya?”  His voice was quieter, more hurt, and spoken so sofltley it was clear their conversation should be held under more private cirmunsatnces. 

“i-“ she  could not say it, not now, she frankly didn’t even want to think about it. To be so vulnerable, especially when she knew he wasn’t the same Aemond she had first been bethtothed to, that she had grown alongside. 

Luckily Jace inruptupted the two, eager to end what was begining. “Sister,” she said, grabbing her arm, “we should go to our chambers and settle in, should we not?” he spoke, his eyes begging to leave.

She turned to look at Luke, he looked on the verge of tears almost, worried that at any moment Aemond might snap and steal his eye in an act of revenge. 

She nodded, grabbing his arm, and sending one last look to Aemond.

next part

Taglist (bold means could not tag)

@cathy1514 @iiamthehybrid @melllinaa @aleemendoza2425-blog @cassandra1995-blog1 @deltamoon666 @aelora-a @ryiana @isa-beenme @unique7676 @adriennepoison @idontknow12346hello @taragryenmoony @blossomedflowerofluv @violet-potter @flrboyd @theanxietyqueen17 @zillahvathek @dark-night-sky-99 @apollonshootafar @leavesmealobe

to be added to taglist

[rosesradio]

saw your leo headcannons about touch and i loved them! sometimes (most times) when we're overwhelmed or cant think of words for affection or dont want to be touched, we kinda just gently bonk our head to the nearest part of the person we're showing love to so you should totally do that with leo?

love your writting, thanks for reading this ^^

thanks so much—i wrote a little thing with this, i hope you like it !! 💌

It’s at an impromptu, unsupervised bonfire that you first give in to this previously unexplored point of contact. Your heart pounds, brain lagging as it catches on to bits of chatter from the campers and the crackling fire. The smells of smoke and marshmallows overwhelm your senses, the wood from the log bench digging against the back of your thighs.

It’s fine. It’s fun. You are having fun with your friends—especially with your boyfriend, Leo. But it’s also kind of a lot.

Unable to think of what else to do, you lean over and bonk Leo’s shoulder with your forehead.

Leo lets out a soft laugh. “Is this some kinda new dance move, or are you saying it’s time to go to bed?”

You let out a non-committal hum. You do want to leave soon, though it’s not urgent.

“Okay,” Leo started patiently. “Feel free to give me a bonk when I get the right answer…you want to leave right now…you don’t wanna leave any time soon…you wanna leave after this next song—“

At the last answer, you give him another bonk, nuzzling into the crook of his neck. You don’t feel like being too touchy with him, though his warmth tethers you, dampening the overwhelming feeling of everything else for just a moment.

“You’re so right,” Leo replies with an exaggerated yawn. “One more song, and then bedtime.”

He bonks your leg lightly with his, a promise of his own.

[artsyanapink]

GANONDORF X READER

I was in hospital for 30 hours and had to start writting the smut part while I was on morphine. Really great decision... 👍 Anyway it's my first Ganon fanfiction so I hope I wrote the character well. I Imagined Ganon in Hyrule Warrior while writting this.

Warnings: SMUT Dubcon (kinda, I just want to be dominated by that man 😳), lust potion and use of force (I like things kinky and hard sorry not sorry) I ain't into villains and bad guys acting like puppies, so don't expect fluffy stuff. He's a bad guy. Not the Demon King for nothing.

On AO3 as well

It's being three years since Hyrule fell. Three years since the castle darkened. There was no sight of the princess anywhere after the king falls. Rumors has it that an evil Gerudo man took the place of the late king and that was the reason why the sun was never in the sky, replace by black clouds, especially close to the castle.

You were always taking a walk in the shopping district of the castle, taking in the songs of the birds and the voices of marchands urging people to buy their stocks. Everything, you would buy it there. But not anymore.

With no more exchanges between the four cities, there was nothing to buy in Hyrule. It was a dead place no matter where you lay your eyes upon. You had to go by feet in Goron city for the spices, Zora domain for the fishes, Rito village for arrows, sugar canes as well as oil and Gerudo town for the fruits. Only apples were growing close to your home and it was getting dimmer and dimmer.

You made plan to get to one place each five days since the travelling was taking you two and a half. One if you were lucky to not incountered monsters lurking.

Today you would be going to Gerudo town to restock. You didn't dare go for some days after hearing more beasts were in the region. Hopefully today it would be calm. You changed for the heat while hiding your head from the gust of sand that were frequent and made your way to the town.

You knew you were closer when the dried grass started disappearing and the rocks made their presence known with their massiveness. They were huge. So big that they curved in the center, almost hiding the sun for any light to go through. And no sunlight in the Gerudo desert meant a chilling cold. Fortunately your clothes were warm enough to support the drop of temperature.

It wasn't warm enough however to keep you from the chill that went all the way through your spine. It seemed darker despite the sun hidden already and the shadow casted next to you gave you the affirmation you weren't alone. With small steps, you turned face to face with a enormous horse. His skin as black as charcol and his mane like fire. Your breath stucked in your throat when you saw the rider.

Ganondorf.  

You would prefer being embushed by ten bokoblins than with this devil. You had at least a chance of getting away with the first.

"What is a girl like you doing here at night?" His gruff voice made the hair on your body stand as his eyes stared at you in the darkness.

You didn't like the attention on you like this, especially from this type of person. You stepped back, hoping to skirt around the man. "Nothing that concern you, sir." But he moved his horse in your way, halting you as the animal tapped its left hoof angrily with a whinny. You almost tripped at its actions.

"I insist." Ganondorf got down his mount, the clacking of his metal armor resonating in the silence as he made his way to you. He felt something special about you and despite having his doubt about a mere hylian, he would get to the bottom of this. Just like the animal was, the man was huge. Some hair escaped from the shawl on your head, his own red free in the wind. "I think you know who I am."

"I really do not know." You wished he would leave you alone. Ganondorf was gorgeous in your opinion, yes, but a danger. An evil being. It wasn't recommend to mess or less talk with him.

He gritted his teeth. "Do not lie to me, little girl." He grasped your wrist forcefully and you let out a painful whine. "Lying to me is like spitting on my face. Showing dirrespect will get you nowhere." Your body struggled against his hold, profanities leaving your lips every second for him. His eyes widened suddendly when a light blind the both of you, but not enough for the man to losen his grip. "That mark—" A twisted smile appeared on his face at the middle triangle glowing on the back of your hand. "So the legend is true. It does exist."

Confused and scared, you didn't falter your movements. "What are you talking about?" Your eyes met, the claws of his armor leaving a gasp from you. "Let me go!"

"I can't do that now with you in possession of something so important." There was a pregnant pause as his eyes gazed over your form. "You could still proved useful after I've taken it." Your brows furrowed in confusion at his words.

"What—"

Ganondorf reached for the glow with one hand while the other was still holding you in mid-air. It felt like he was piercing your skin and you screamed, the light around you growing bigger. By the time the light dismished, your body fell limp. The triangle that was on your hand turned grey, getting a scoff from the man. He smirked nonetheless knowing he was closer to get the power he wanted and deserved.

"Just two more."

•°•°•

Your sleep was over when you were throw on something soft. The action making your body bounced and mind alert. The hair on your skin rose up when your eyes made out a figure.

How long was he there?

"Look who decided to finally wake up." He sneered. You jumped from the bed but a yelp left your mouth when you were held back, tangling on the side of the bed. A gold chain was on your ankle, great.

Your eyes glared at him after colliding with the bedpost. Anything to be far from him although you knew inside that wouldn't stop this monster. "You got what you want Ganondorf. Why am I still here?"

The man chuckled darkly. "Feisty, aren't we?" He started to take off his armor, only the armsets with the claws staying. When he turned around however, red flood on your face. He already seemed built but without a top? The man was buff with muscles, red chest hair contrasting with his skin color. Your eyes broke from the sight immediately, hoping the Gerudo didn't see that.

But, oh, he did. "Enjoying the view small one?" Ganondorf threw the armor far while approaching your form dangerously. His eyes slit, challenging you to lie to him again and that shut you up. It only left you angry at yourself for finding this evil king attractive.

"You will stay here to keep me compagny and do as I say. Better started getting obediant now."

Keeping him compagny? "So now I am your pet?" You murmured unhappy, yanking the chain in resilience.

Ganondorf smirked devilishly, lookind down at you. He sounded condescending. "If you want to call it that way, pet." He emphasized the last word. "But you will watch your mouth soon enough."

"Or what?"

The door knocked suddenly, catching you on guard at who it might be. However, by the smile widening on the Gerudo man, you weren't excited to know. A sheikah entered the room. They look at you briefly and then at him. "Lord Ganondorf, I had found what you requested." The sheikah bowed down, giving the man a vial filled with red liquid.

Ganondorf didn't even look their way, his amber eyes on the vial with a twisted expression. "You're still being loyal after all these years, Sheik. I'm surprised."

"I follow whoever is the enemy of the royal family."

"That'll be all." The Sheika left in a puff of smoke.

"What is that?" Your voice was hoarse from the anxiousness, your gaze between the vial and the man.

"Something to keep you in line. It will bring great excitement to you, don't worry." The Gerudo man thugged the chain toward him, resulting in your body sliding to the end of the bed like a doll. It's like you weight nothing. It got a yelp from you and a booming laugh from him. He gripped the ties harder, bringing your face closer to his after the man crouched. "Open wide." But your mouth stayed close. Ganondorf growled at your disobience, irritated. "Don't start again, girl." He grabbed your cheeks and pressed with his armored claws digging into the skin. "Drink."

You finally let go after looking at him. The liquid ran down your troat. Instantately you felt hot and lighthead. "That fast huh?"

You couldn't keep your eyes off Ganondorf, your silent attraction reavealing itself so easily. "I feel strange."

He positionned himself on top of you, chest in full view. "You understand the effects do you, princess?" That nickname was new but it didn't bother you much as it turned you on more instead. Ganondorf cut the clothes with the sharp tip before grazing your nipples, eliciting a loud moan from you. Your voice ragged and reaching for air. The man continued to massage your breasts. "How does it feels?"

"You bastard—AH!"

He smirked triumphally while sucking the sensitive part. His tongue was hot and moving fast against your nipple. Your breath quickened at the attention your body was receiving. You hate that you love this. "Don't stop..." You whimpered, hiding your face with your hand.

"What was that girl?" You were interrupted by his hand caressing your lower parts. "Mh." Ganondorf gazed down a moment, his grin larger. "You're enjoying this quite a lot I see." The squishing sound of your garment and the juices were making you even more embarrassed.

"Just...." You try to ignore his eyes lingering on you. "Please continue..."

"Certainly princess."

Your lower body was naked as the air caressed your pussy. The man didn't struggle to take off partly his robe, revealing his member pulsing in front of you. Your pupils dilated and your mouth opened. "It won't fit—"

Ganondorf hands grabbed you easily by the hips, putting you on his lap, just over his member. Your owns instantly placed on his shoulders to create distance. "You were so excited to continue this little game." His voice resonated in your ears like honey, earning another whimper.

"I—"

His armored hand grabbed your cheekbones with power while you watched him with a mixture of lust and fear. "I'm in charge here girl. Don't command me, a king."

The intrusion was sudden but weirdly not as painful as you had thought. Maybe because your juices were flowing and cascading down the interior of your thighs. "That's it." He groaned silently, closing his eyes. The man's hands moved to your waist, applying more force before bringing your down again.

Your gasps filled the room. You were shaking. "It's too much! I'm too filled!"

"Perfect." Ganondorf replied and smacked his hips into you repeatively. He grabbed your hair from behind, another moan leaving your lips in exctasy. "You're mine to keep." He rolled his pelvis, touching new parts inside you that made you see stars. "Your power is mine. All of you—" He growled, changing position so you were now crouched on top of him, his arms snaking around your body and entering deeper than he had previously. "Is mine."

Your eyes rolled to the back, tongue out and sweat running down your body. "More....More please." You whimpered, shaking.

The movement stopped suddenly as his grip on you losened. You watched him with confusion and despair. You were so close! "Why are you stopping?" Your hands were on his pecks, his breathing moving your whole body to the ryththm.

"Oh, don't worry, princess. We are far from finished." He explained smugly. You were roughly switched on your stomach, your eyes half-lidded from the potion and the pleasure. Ganondorf fondled with your buttcheeks and you were vocal again after metal slapped the flesh.

"Ah!"

The man hips collided with your back, the new intrusion farther inside you. He gripped one arm, arching your body towards him while the other hand rest on the redened flesh. "How do you feel?" He huffed, his pelvis either creating round movements or entering forcefully, eliciting shocks across your body. "I sense your lust from your part of the triforce." He groaned, slapping harder but slower.

"I can't feel like this—I can't—" You mumbled inconherently and before you knew it, white filled your vision.

You rested there on the bed, panting and disheveled as Ganondorf looked over at you one last time then left the room laughing with an evil smile on his lips.

[theirondragonrants]

Here's the thing, and bear with me:

Rhaenyra wanted, nay, needed a reason to unleash hell on the Greens. It's not enough that they stole her birthright, Rhaenyra is no stranger to the selfishness of people (like Viserys said to her and she spat at him during the marriage debacle, the vultures circle to pick at the carcass), but it's that Alicent who saw that she would make a fine Queen turned around and betrayed her. With the hand of friendship and trust she took a knife and stabbed her in the back. She also needed to know, she's grown knowing the throne will be hers and safe in the knowledge that her father, who was wise and made sure the realm prospered and stay united so they could defeat the forces of the Other, trusted HER to safeguard the Seven Kingdoms. And it's all fallen apart. Alicent, who believed in her once, stole her throne, and Rhaenyra needs to know why. Because she has to have KNOWN that there is a bigger reason why Viserys never wavered and betrayed him and Rhaenyra both regardless.

And she says the Prince that was Promised, and Rhaenyra breaks it to her that Viserys meant Aegon the Conqueror. I'm sure in this moment, Alicent probably remembered the countless times Viserys called her Aemma in his delirium, the confusion of a dying man. And now all the cards are on the table and this is bigger than a throne and petty squabbles and a name writ on the pages of history. This is about Survival, this is about the Song of Ice and Fire and a task given to the Targaryen Kings and Queens by the Conqueror, and now that Alicent has some of the information she can do the right thing. Rhaenyra thinks rationality and good sense will win the day. And it doesn't. But that is out of Rhaenyra's hands. And we see her realize. If Alicent won't pull back the tide of war, then Rhaenyra has no choice. She's officially given Alicent the tools to realize that for the sake of everyone, Aegon needs to step down if they are to be ready for a fight against the others.

But Alicent knows it's too far gone. The war is out of her hands, if it was ever even in her hands to begin with. She lost control over the boys the moment they were born, she lost them when she filled their heads with the hatred for Rhaenyra and now she can't stop them, even if she knows what's at stake (or has an inkling), even if she understands that she was played a fool by her ignorance. It's too late. And that's why she says there has been no mistake. The guilt will drive her crazy if she doesn't convince herself that she did the right thing. It can't be.

Rhaenyra now has confirmation that her father never wavered, that he trusted her to hold the realm together, and now there are no qualms. The greens are no longer the bearers of a petty family fued, they don't know what they have, Aegon doesn't understand what it means to be King, it's not about being loved or having power, it's about being the bearer of a terrible prophecy and ensuring every move made is made to prepare the realm for a fight against the end. And it's in EVERY scene Aegon is in, failing to be a good King. It's not just that he doesn't know how to do the job. When he's in the small council chamber he's playing with the dagger that has the prophecy written in it, and he's using it to intimidate and order preparations for a war he takes as a game. He quite literally holds the fate, the legacy, the sworn duty of the Targaryens in his hands, and he shows no respect for it, uses it incorrectly, and cares little for what it means. He carries the dagger of the Conqueror without understanding the weight. He's unfit because he doesn't have the information and because he never will. The only one who knows the truth is the person to whom that dagger belongs, the then heir and now rightful Queen—she is the bearer of the legacy of duty, not him. He might have the conquerors name, and his sword, and his armor, and his throne, and his city, and his crown, but Rhaenyra has the knowledge passed down from King to heir, and THAT is what makes her the rightful ruler. It's what finally seals the war. If Alicent won't have Aegon step aside and let her do what she, and her father, and her great grandfather, and those who came before them have to do, then she's going to make them.

There is no other choice anymore. A war amongst kin is despicable, but it's worst to know that there is something more terrible out there that all the people you are responsible for will be woefully unprepared to fight if you don't do what you must.

The greens are not kin now. They are the enemy of humanity. Rhaenyra has to do what needs to be done.

AND THIS IS WHY, TO MAKE A LONG STORY SHORT, THAT CONVERSATION NEEDED TO HAPPEN. It's not for Alicent. It's not for an apology, it's not even for the remote possibility of peace (Rhaenyra believed too strongly that if Alicent knew everything then she'd see reason, but that was grasping at straws). It NEEDED to happen because Rhaenyra needed to be reassured, Mind and Heart, that whatever she has to do she's doing it for the good of the realm.

She's listened to Rhaenys. She's tried every possible way. She's gone above and beyond, not retaliating for her son's murder, not setting her dragons loose, holding back a tide. She's tried again and again, and she can say now, with conviction, that she's doing this for the realm and not for herself. This isn't about Aemond's eye leading to Lucerys' death leading to Jahaerys' murder that all stemmed from a betrayal and the ambitions of men. This is about the Song of Ice and Fire, and if Rhaenyra wants to save the realm, there is nothing else but to let the tide wash away the greens.

She's not raining fire on the Greens for her ego. She's doing it for Westeros. And that is all the justification she's ever going to need.

AND like... Rhaenyra is BASICALLY offering Alicent an armistice. Have Aegon step down, impress upon him the seriousness of the mistake that has occurred. Rhaenyra isn't being vengeful. Even at this moment, she doesn't have to promise Alicent that they will be safe. It's implied. Just do the right thing, and it can all be as it was. Or even better than it was. It's a further nail in the coffin of Alicent's mistake. If Alicent doesn't convince herself that no mistake was made, then she's going to lose her mind. Rhaenyra is in front of her, giving her a solution to everything. In a perfect world, she would take it. She's showing her that Otto was wrong and Rhaenyra will not put her children to the sword when she ascends the throne, even after everything that has happened. Admit your mistake and be welcomed into my family once again. But she can't. The die was cast long ago, and it's too late now.

[the-pen-pot]

He saw Arthur burst from the forest, wide-eyed and pale-faced. Sweat plastered his hair to his forehead, and fear locked his expression in its clutches. One hand stretched out as if to grab him. So near and yet so far. The moment fled. Gravity won, and there wasn't even time for Merlin to cry out as the bandit's weight dragged him over the cliff and into the stormy waters below. **** When Merlin is hurt during a bandit attack, Arthur finds himself torn between the longings of his heart and his duties to the crown.

Chapter One

They were going to die.

Merlin's breath stalled in his chest as the dappled sunlight glinted off the blades that surrounded them. They had made camp no more than a candle-mark ago, and many of the knights had taken their ease. Their swords were a few paces away, buried point-first in the earth. Only Elyan had been standing sentry, and now the tip of a dagger pressed into the hollow of his throat: his life nothing but a bargaining chip.

'Don't, Your Highness,' one of the men growled, no doubt noticing how Arthur had glanced towards his weapon. He looked like the leader, scarred and grim: a survivor through-and-through. 'Make a move, and he dies.' He gestured to Elyan. 'Now, how about you hand over that trinket you're carrying? I've a buyer who'll offer a great deal of coin for such a relic.'

Merlin ran his tongue over his teeth, cursing their bad luck. The bandit wasn't wrong; they had been on a quest to retrieve a cursed amulet that was poisoning the land. In theory, only forge-fire could destroy it. That, or a fireball of pure magic. The gold had boiled and seethed as he plucked apart the foul fortune woven into it, and by the time he was done, not a trace of its presence remained. Unfortunately, it seemed perhaps just a touch of its malice had latched onto them – a final vengeance – because with its destruction they had nothing to offer up in surrender.

'I don't know what you're talking about.' A hint of an empty smile hooked Arthur's lips, but Merlin could see that strategic mind at work, racing through the possibilities. He was more than just a pretty face; more than one enemy had forgotten that fact. They may be outnumbered, by they were far from defeated. Arthur would not go down without a fight, and Merlin wasn't about to let him fall to the blade of some two-bit bandit with delusions of grandeur.

'None of that, now.' The knife dug deeper into Elyan's throat, and Merlin winced in sympathy. 'Your men don't have time for these games.'

Around them, the peace thickened, interrupted only by the sigh of the breeze in the branches and the song of the birds. No one dared move. A single flinch could be enough to tip the scene into violence.

Leon's gaze was fixed on Arthur, his determination to keep the Crown Prince safe writ in every line of his expression. His own life would be forfeit if it meant Arthur was spared. Percy ducked his head, watching the closest attacker from beneath his furrowed brow. People never underestimated his strength, but they often overlooked his cunning.

Lancelot seemed to be searching for the right words to diffuse the anger that simmered in the air. Good to his core, Merlin knew he would hope these men could be reasoned with, even when faced with all the evidence to the contrary. Gwaine watched the scene with dark eyes, his expression fixed in that empty, jovial mask that meant everything was about to go to shit. He kept glancing at Elyan, who appeared furious for having been caught off-guard.

All the knights were at the wrong end of at least one sword, but the bandits had dismissed Merlin's presence. After all, he was just a servant. They did not consider him any kind of a threat.

Their mistake.

He reached out with his magic, hoping to plunge them into sleep, but though his power rose willingly to his call, no one so much as swayed on their feet. The spell coiled like smoke around them, invisible, yet no matter how hard Merlin tried, it could not sink its claws into them.

It took longer than he would have liked to notice the charms they wore on their wrists: cheap bits of metal stamped with runes – protections against the efforts of a mage. It seemed unlikely that they knew Arthur counted a sorcerer among his confidants. The Prince and his knights had known about Merlin's magic themselves for less than a year. It remained one of Camelot's best kept secrets, and Merlin cursed his bad luck for coming across a gang of thugs who had some common sense.

If he conjured up a fake and handed it over, it would disintegrate as soon as they touched it. They'd know they were being tricked within moments. Still, just because he could not use his magic on them, that didn't mean he couldn't use it at all.

First things first, he decided, he had to get them and their pointy blades away from Arthur and the others.

'This amulet?'

The illusion in his grasp gleamed butter-gold, as vivid as the real thing. Even if placed side-by-side with the original, he knew no one would be able to tell the difference. His magic leant it a touch of extra sparkle, and he watched an ugly smile crack over the leader's face. His body language shifted as cool eyes raked up and down his frame, no doubt finding him wanting. He saw what Merlin wanted him to see: baggy clothes over a lanky physique; no sword, armour or rank. He looked at Merlin and saw someone harmless, the same as almost everyone else in Camelot.

Everyone who didn't know his secret, anyway.

'Give it here, boy, and no one has to get hurt.' It was said in a cajoling tone, as if the bastard wouldn't stab him in the gut the moment he got close enough to reach. He could see that in his eyes: the cruelty of a bully. Still, that was something he could use. No way would this man like being outwitted by a peasant.

Merlin glanced at Arthur, seeing the emotion in that blue gaze. He knew the amulet was fake: he could guess what Merlin was going to do. It was written in the tension that hardened his jaw and the lines upon his brow. He gave a fractional shake of his head, as if urging him not to go down this road, but they were running out of time. The others needed just one moment: a split-second where the balance shifted, and he could give it to them.

'Why don't you come and get it?'

He darted away like a deer taking flight, ducking through the trees and sprinting into the welcoming gloom of the woods around them. Behind him, shouts of outrage rose in chorus with the clash of swords. The knights had taken advantage of the bandits' distraction, as he had known they would, but they were still outnumbered. He would have to trust in their superior skills to get them all out of this alive.

Arthur's cry of warning – Merlin's name made hoarse by fear – was enough to tell him he was being followed. Even if not for that, he could hear boots crashing through the forest: a steady percussion that underscored the shouting, bellowing rage of the men who chased him.

Merlin ducked under a tree branch, lengthening his stride as roots threw themselves out of his way only to rise up in his wake, forming loops to trip the unwary. He might not be as strong as a knight and he had little luck with wielding a sword, but he could outpace any of them, especially if they were weighed down by chain and plate armour. Dressed in nothing but linen, he was light on his feet, though lacking in protection. He tried to ignore how the space between his shoulder-blades itched, vulnerable. At least the bandits didn't have crossbows. If it came to a fight, they'd have to catch him first.

Voices hounded him, cursing and yelling as his pursuers careened through the undergrowth. Their threats were little more than garbled sounds, too distant to make out, but Merlin knew he'd be in trouble if they got their hands on him.

Overhead, the wind picked up speed, rattling leaves and waving the branches against the sky. His magic rose with it, a rushing swell of power that delved down beneath the roots and surged in the sap of the trees all around him. Wood creaked and groaned, stirred to new life, but Merlin didn't dare look over his shoulder and check what was happening. One stumble could cost him everything.

Was it his imagination, or were the voices baying for his blood getting fewer in number?

It took a moment for him to realise that another noise embellished the air. It started as little more than a low, rolling roar, but by the time the forest turned damp and lush around him, the din of the cascade had grown all-encompassing. It thrummed between the trees, battering at his ears, and he stumbled as the fringe of the woods released him onto a large, flat outcrop of water-slick granite.

Bending over, Merlin braced his hands on his knees, licking the spray from his lips. A stitch bit into his side, and his throat was parched from panting for every breath. Beneath his feet, an underground river found its freedom, tumbling from the top of the cliff into a deep pool below: all frothing rapids and a raging torrent. It was a long drop, at least as high as Camelot's curtain wall, and Merlin grimaced at the dizzying height before turning back to face the way he had come.

The tip of a sword halted him in his stride, and he sucked in a breath as he stared down the length of the blade at the man who gripped its hilt. The leader was alone, his hair matted with sweat and his leathers torn. Blood trailed from a scratch on his cheek, and his eyes were half-mad with rage. His lips pulled back, baring a broken front tooth along with the rest of his snarl. He trembled with anger, but the weapon remained steady and firm, braced to run Merlin through if he so much as flinched.

'The amulet.'

Merlin swallowed, his mind racing. If he tried to duck past him and flee, he'd probably end up with a sword stuck in his back. He couldn't retreat. There was nowhere to go but over the waterfall, and he didn't rate his chances in the tumultuous waters far below. In the end, he had no choice but to open his hand and let his eyes flash gold. The illusion dissipated into sparkling motes as he spread his palms in surrender. 'I don't have it.' He wet his lips before offering a shrug. 'I never did. We destroyed the amulet two days ago. It's long gone.'

The bandit's scream of fury echoed around them, a cresting note of inarticulate anger that rode the clouds of mist boiling up from the foot of the waterfall. Merlin's magic bunched, braced and ready to retaliate, turning the iron arc of the striking sword blow to nothing but ash before it could touch him.

Yet, for all it spared him from the bite of metal between his ribs, his spells did nothing to stop the bandit's body crashing into his own. His legs, already burning from his mad dash through the forest, wobbled at the sudden weight. He staggered, fighting off the clumsy flurry of punches as he grabbed at the man's wrists. It was a useless, frantic scrabble, neither of them able to get the upper hand, and Merlin's breath caught in his throat as he stumbled backwards.

His foot found nothing but empty air.

There was a split-second of perfect stillness so strikingly clear that he wondered if his magic had stopped the world. Except no. He could feel it, distant and unreachable, pushed from his grasp by the single point of contact where the man's protection charm touched Merlin's palm.

He saw Arthur burst from the forest, wide-eyed and pale-faced. Sweat plastered his hair to his forehead, and fear locked his expression in its clutches. One hand stretched out as if to grab him. So near, and yet so far.

The moment fled. Gravity won, and there wasn't even time for Merlin to cry out as the bandit's weight dragged him over the cliff and into the stormy waters below.

[tyriongirl]

Tyrion's Heterochromia as an Analog to Lann The Clever Stealing the Sun

This is inspired by this post by @jackedup180 and further conversation with them.

Tyrion does not fit the mold of Lannister looks (fully blond hair, fully green eyes, and, in Tywin's and the rest of abelist Westeros' views, able bodied) and instead is this mix of both blond and dark haired, eyes both dark and bright, supposedly not looking like a Lannister 'should' look.

Tywin clearly thinks Tyrion isn't "truly" Lannister, and this is strictly because of his looks and his highly hyper visible disability:

"[...] Men's laws give you the right to bear my name and display my colors, since I cannot prove that you are not mine. To teach me humility, the gods have condemned me to watch you waddle about wearing that proud lion that was my father's sigil and his father's before him. But neither gods nor men shall ever compel me to let you turn Casterly Rock into your whorehouse."

However, Lann's looks weren't "Lannister" either. In reality (or actually, imagined history / mythic past) Lann wasn't blond, even if that part of the story is being de-emphasized.

"The Lannisters were an old family, tracing their descent back to Lann the Clever, a trickster from the Age of Heroes who was no doubt as legendary as Bran the Builder, though far more beloved of singers and taletellers. In the songs, Lann was the fellow who winkled the Casterlys out of Casterly Rock with no weapon but his wits, and stole gold from the sun to brighten his curly hair."

[AGOT, Eddard VI]

Lann The Clever didn't fit the mold. There was no mold, and there still isn't one now. There's no 'right' way to be or look a Lannister. The story itself is only a legend, a myth, a tale with no actual or very little basis in history:

"Names such as Brandon the Builder, Garth Greenhand, Lann the Clever, and Durran Godsgrief are names to conjure with, but it is likely that their legends hold less truth than fancy. [The World of Ice and Fire, Ancient History: The Age of Heroes] "It is highly unlikely that such a man ever existed; like Lann the Clever [...] the Winged Knight is made of legend, not of flesh and blood." [The World of Ice and Fire, The Vale: House Arryn] "Lann the Clever supposedly lived to the age of 312, and sired a hundred bold sons and a hundred lissome daughters, all fair of face, clean of limb, and blessed with hair "as golden as the sun." But such tales aside, the histories suggest [...]" [The World of Ice and Fire - The Westerlands]

Tyrion's looks stopped Tywin from seeing that he was the essence of what house Lannister was about, before Tywin's bizarre "traditional"-made-up house values that didn't exist until him. Tyrion is a trickster, Tyrion does use his words as his weapon and assets, Tyrion can and have tricked his way into getting what he wants - as we can see with his first trial in the vale, and his deal with the mountain clans.

Instead of acknolwdging that, Tywin prefers to see it as a fault of Tyrion:

"He closed the shutters, frowning. "You have a certain cunning, Tyrion, but the plain truth is you talk too much. That loose tongue of yours will be your undoing." "You should have let Joff tear it out," suggested Tyrion."

[ASOS, Tyrion VI]

Tywin can pretend forever that Tyrion is not a 'true' or 'proper' Lannister ("this was the last time I will suffer you to bring shame onto House Lannister." ASOS, Tyrion I), but in the end it is clear that Tyrion is both a Lannister in values, deeds and character, and inherently Tywin's true and undisputed son:

"Now that's where you're wrong, Father. Why, I believe I'm you writ small." [ASOS, Tyrion XI] "[...] But Tyrion is Tywin's son, not you. I said so once to your father's face, and he would not speak to me for half a year. Men are such thundering great fools. [...]" [AFFC, Jaime V]

Also I just think being the og Lannister would be the cruelest and most fun revenge Tyrion could enact on Tywin <3

[thescribeoflostmemories]

*coughs* Pants in kakegurui au with reader as a (personal) housepet

Let's say the only reason Pantalone is holding back himself is because you were his benefactor when he first arrived to the academy, losing to him on purpose so that he could pick some cash up for himself everytime it's fund collection time. Everyone knows this isn't some special treatment for him since you do it for everyone who's lacking in funds (for the student council's fund collection) but Pantalone on the other hand is like, *lol*(classic template, I'm sure yk what he does alr)

And pants being the sly bastard he is, uses the cash he won from you to gamble with others, slowly *leveling up* till he becomes the student council treasurer now.

Oh how he wishes he can just talk with you like the other students do but he's just so shy *lol more to insecure but it's ur call here* so when he heard the news you lost in a big game because you've been tricked by one of the students you tried to save, it's show time for Pants *lol*

He acts hella fast too, he won't give you the time to recover from your debts so boom, fund collection time, you are screwed big time.

now you are inevitably a housepet and Pants didn't waste time in trying to be your saviour *lol*, oh you should have noticed how he's the one who has been pulling strings behind your back. You are in fact, not a bad gambler so he ensures that no one will play with you. (The rest is your call)

But one scene I'd love to see (if possible) is probably Pantalone taking you in as his personal housepet (maybe reader lost their sanity by pants' sweet words and the fake security he gives reader) , while your status remains a housepet, the collar and leash on you definitely warns people to not toy with you unless they want to *lol* become one.

Classic and simple but hey, maybe you know a way to add spices :3 (tia *rolls*)

Silent Night

Original title: “Lord of the Night”, " Mine, Mine, Mine! “

Kakeguri Au

Yandere! Shy(?), soft (?) Gambler!Pantalone x house pet! Reader

(Songs listened to while writting: Stalker’s tango by autohearts, Something no everything is wrong by Madoka, whims of fate persona5, Elite four pokemon gen 5)

“Assuming both of them are teens, and mentions of alcohol and abuse of substance is present. But either way, Yandere isn’t a first choice for a healthy romance, not that I am judging by the way. Even if this reached 6,600 words, this work somehow feels so cheap in a way.”

- P of Li’mu

" Even if you have stayed true, the path one will take is ever treacherous and more despicable. Everyone has their own shadow to deal. And every Wiseman is a fool. “ - Scribe, The overseer of Li’mu.

—

“Where is she? It has been at least an hour!" Walking over to the young student who was supposed to be the overseer of the appointed match, they had just received the notification from their cell phone.

Your seventeenth attempt to grasp upon the reigns that taunted you so by the coined cruelty of your own carelessness.

“Where, is, she?" Repeating your statement like a revenant hungry for flesh, wanting the answer in your mind to be vanquished.

The word irked you further once you heard the nickname they associate with you. “Bonny, she backed–” the reasoning is more than enough to be furious, clenched fists pushed the ill-fortunate student away.

You then proceed to storm out of the common room, seeing Pantalone chatting with a student who had a yellow armband.

Hearing a hint of their conversation, “tell that jester, the appointment—” Hushing themselves once they noticed you.

" Ah, senpai, how was it?" His veracious ghost of a smile made present upon facing you. Waving a dismissive gesture at the schoolmate away, in which did so.

“ Fie. " Words came out more like a roaring sizzle of a fire, indication of another failed attempt.

“ Let’s get you home Senpai, I have some new clothes for you to try on. “ Without fear, he showed the paper bags that have the high end named brands.

At home, walking out of the curtains of the walk-in closet is you, grumbling. Even though it is your own abode, you are not sure how to feel about it now that the Regrator is a frequenter in your comfort zone.

" Are you comfortable with that? " Pantalone asks, shuffling the deck of cards in his hands seamlessly wedging the cards between the others. Eyes closed as he faced you, you who wears the gaudy pink punk-like aesthetic ensemble. All you need is bubble gum to complete the look of a rebellious teen.

“ I would not say uncomfortable but, " You sighed, putting on the fingerless leather gloves and flexing your hand. “ Still, wearing something like this, is borderline of the school’s dress code. ” You raised your concerns, the choice of style is seemingly at random. He knew you prefer a more lovely coloured hue hence he got the one you might ‘endure’ the most.

It's fishnet like hosiery, black leather boots. Dreamy coloured lower article, matching sleeveless top, loose jacket. You look far from being who you were before this whole mess. Especially that black lacy necklace you wear, adding a tiny cute bell to it. The purpose of it? He says it is the latest trend, not that you care about it.

Pantalone frowned a bit, and put away the deck of cards, " Sorry, but I have to atleast make you wear something like this. You know how they act if they know you aren't being treated like a 'housepet'." True, with all the false information circulating, you were sure Pantalone wouldn’t come out of his room for a while. Much like when news spread when your ownership fell to him.

You then sat down on the plush bed of yours, crossing your legs and arms facing him. Is there anything in this room that is not ‘gifted’ by him? The decor, the bedding, clothing—

Pantalone called out, suddenly, "You look so," The bespeckled young teen smiled shyly. “ Stunning in that." He continued his words, especially with how ‘tall and intimidating’ you were compared to him in those high boots.

“Pantalone, please," Another sigh escaped your lips as you looked at the pile of gifts you received from him. It doesn’t feel like a gift for some odd reason. But all of these were the things you found interesting and loved, like that latest game you wanted, or that stuff toy you were eying, even clothes for you to wear whenever he brings you to meetings or indulgent parties he was invited to. Perhaps he doesn’t want you to miss out on things he has?

Pushing up his eyeglasses that reflected a fragment of yourself on it. "You don't have to worry about that, you can repay me back, once you found an opponent that could spell out freedom." His signature thinly veiled smile that seems relaxed in your presence.

Adding to that he replied with, "You'll find them, because I trust that brain of yours to think up a plan." Him being the treasurer does give him some perks of possibly scraping a few zeroes into his name. But you knew he wouldn’t stoop to such a low blow, especially that he prefers a more ‘sophisticated’ approach.

You were about to ask him of that strange person earlier, though. Quickly silencing that trivial thought. It was not your place to question what a person entails, no matter how strange and unfamiliar they are.

“It is not easy to scout out opponents,” Given how much you were willing to bet. A meagre brooch that passed down to you as an heirloom is considered a mere child’s decoration to them. But to pawn it, and pay the compounded interest is not ideal.

“I would have thought others would think I would be easy prey to battle considering my connection to you. ” Another concerning thing is that he was recently promoted into the newly established circle called; ‘The Court’ as the ‘King of Coins’. With that kind of title, it would have garnered much attention to you as a chance of mooching off of him. But the juxtaposition of your initial plan, it might as well crumble to dust.

Eyes closed, as you tapped your finger against our arm, "Don't worry, you can just depend on me for now.” Pantalone gestures over to the basket woven object next to the bags of designer clothing,

" Come on now, I got some sandwiches and snacks. I even got a reserve space for us at Jovino’s.” It was almost like you could imagine him wagging his tail, if he has one that is. Opening your eyes just to face away from him with an aspirated expression.

“Pantalone, I appreciate that you would at least take this a tad seriously.” Voicing another concern of yours to him, it is not like a housepet to have a say against their owner. That is at least one thing that sets you apart from them, you are merely ill-stricken with fortune.

That seemed to make him frown, "What's so wrong in having a break once in a while, senpai?" He pouted, it is just so frustrating to see the cul-de-sac of your labour. “You do not have to push yourself," the Rex of earthly desires huffed, crossing his arms. Though, seemingly to understand your point.

Your last opponent, Miss Patisilinia, one of the somewhat richer students yet within your reach of having a higher chance for freedom, had stood you up at the last moment. Like the others who you challenged fell and failed to obtain the winds' breath. Choices thawing thinner and inconceivable each time you try. Treasured assets on hand were resorted to liquefying, thus transferring to the Regrator whenever you lost and he won it back for you. Sitting down on the bed, its plush memory foam sank from the weight.

You can't keep this up, especially the dripping pile of hallowed promises being shouldered by him. ‘Are you even productive enough that another person will have to sweep you off your feet?!’

"How long will this string of mishaps continue?" Pulling on your hair and throwing yourself back on the bed, you’re at wits end. This never ending cess pool game ping-pong of unpaid debt and loans are the heaviest burden of any gambler.

The investor of the hundreds if not dozens of assets under his keen watch tried to comfort you, “ Senpai, please–" Face softened, coming closer and leaning down on the bed next to you to place his gloved hand on your shoulder.

How vexing! To think he claimed himself as your Kohai…

Brushing him off, gently. Turning your back on him while still laying on the bed, mumbling in a low voice you said: "I, this is insufferable." Even though he hasn’t done anything to harm nor force you to do stuff for him, it is kind of him, compared to what others could force such repulsive commands they’ll give you. He does bring you along to his trips, meals, and seemingly keen on listening to your financial advice.

"You could find someone, you just haven't met them yet," Pantalone leaned his head on your side. “Wait a little longer okay, they’re just provoking you to lose your temper.” While that is true, you don’t have anything worthwhile anymore by that time comes.

Much like the previous school vice-president; Oscar, once a wealthy man now turned into a tumbling jester upon loss to one of the Court.

Your throat feels like someone is suffocating you.“How much do I owe you?” one-hundred and eighty-five school days since you were in liability. Those insulting names they called you; ‘Bonny this, Bonny that.’ You were not some sycophant to Pantalone.

Pantalone hesitates as he dictates the amount you lost and he gained. “Do you want me to put it in the journal for you?” You were never fond of putting things on paper. Though certainly grateful that he did not place a compounded interest rate on it nor ask anything much more.

Not even facing him and letting him lay on your side still, “No, no need.” Before you were turned into a house pet, he was a considerably casual gambler, in your eyes at least. Always hanging from the sidelines after you had taught him the ways of the school. Despite his accumulated ranks, he had much rather spend his time with you.

Always so aware of this growing affections, politely declining of his yearning grandiose amore so he would find another that would suit him.

“What am I going to do with you?” The bespeckled, inky haired lad sighed, sitting up from the bed knowing he might not be able to convince you to go on a picnic with him. Not in this state at least. “We really need to loosen you up a bit…” Adding that statement.

With a clenched fist that scrunched up the bedding, “I do not need rest, what I need are answers to solutions. I cannot just be idle,” Dismissive of his idea of being so still, being on standby only feasts upon the Damocles that hangs over you.

Muttering as well as honoring you, “Senpai.” Lazy eyes that stared back at him, realising the singed contemplation of his words.

“ My apologies, I was just–” you say, trying to retract your sentence.

His gloves hand gave pause. " It is understandable considering your position, but please, as for who I am now, I am responsible for your well being. So, please, just this once: humour me. " He pleaded, with softened stillness. Even with his plea, you know your answer to him out of contrite.

Lights erratically move, distasteful music thrums through the speakers of the dance room floor. Laughter of haughty, grim socialites made clear. This is not your forte; Abuse of substance, intimate comfort and loose tongue of conflict, it all reign supreme in the Jester’s playground.

Thanks to Pantalone for the early reservations, still wearing a similar attire from last week now lay resting behind the trinket curtains that poorly give privacy, one cascade down on one side. Sitting on the semi-circle couch with a table in the middle, across from you is a briefcase of his.

Then entered the beast that swaggered “ Are you having fun, Senpai? " Smiled Pantalone, holding a bottle of champagne in his hand and pouring himself a glass that uncomfortably sits at the edge of the rim.

Holding in your tongue that you clearly do not want it to spill over. Hesitant hands held the thin stem of the glass before your resenting gaze peered at the sparkling money that flowed into the clear oubliette, a reflection returned even the most boldest gaze.

Only the booming silence between you in this false box of seclusion remained evident, it is concerning to know that the annual after finals party that promises darkness for depraved emotions. Blaring lights of multi-colored dangers and intangible noises that pass in and out to the other ear. The bottle of champagne was then placed at the table in front of you.

“ Senpai, you do not need to be so, uptight." His posture mimics one of yours, before carefully taking your own glass by the rim from you to grab your attention to him.

“ I have no words, but reserved for any actual opponent. “ And stayed silent you did. Stewing with self-made rejection and tears to brood about your own misery.

The ever artful smile on his face is still, strobing light of pristine dread hit his face. He then hums and gives the gold coloured champagne back to you.

“Since the night is still so young, how about we entertain your idea of freedom?" Standing over you as he raised his glass.

There it is, that uneasiness that settles in your gut. Switching from alert thoughts to another.

Staring at the flute wine that he proposed the prospect of your world cage to be open.

“Look around you, Senpai. Everyone is having fun except you. “ his own cup that greedily has his ooze rest almost readily to the top, only taking careless, shy sips of it. Controlled hands that move so freely, making gestures to the people of the dance floor, not caring for the singular drop of extravagant affluence on to the ground from his prize.

“ I will allow you to let loose, just this once." Pushing up the lenses to properly rest on the bridge of his nose.

“Have some fun,” he pulled out from the suitcase of what seemed to be a stack of 1000 yen similar to a smooth brick and tossed it onto the low table in front of you.

“A gift from me, to help you get started." He hesitated for a brief moment, trying to find the right word to not put a blow on what little dignity you have left.

“Why?” What you gave is an incomplete and incorrect phrase, my dear, it should be—.

“Because: as your Kohai, companion, and fellow schoolmate. It is not wrong to find a supporting pillar of strength for a time.” He replied with confidence, swirling the almost overflowing champagne in his hand that it was held so absent-minded-ly that’s been tainted.

But before you could muster up the strength to phrase your concerns, he raised his free hand. “I am well aware that you do not take charity lightly, which is why I propose we play a game; once that you have found yourself in a predicament,” He then raised his transparent glass to you, your face seemed to blend with the ever bubbly liquid.

" I shall step in, now knowing this gambling world has too many variations for one such as yourself.” He spoke as if he already knew the outcome and already decided your fate in a mere glance—.

‘But this could be our only chance.’ Muttered Es, a lone quiet voice of your own mind that rivaled your own Ego Rex. Yet the darkness that slither up to your eyes of a shadow that mirrored you.

‘Take it and be permanent in a state, or never take it and be forever mournful?’ You and I knew what must be done.

Without a word, you hastily took the dough that was presented to you. Its grainy texture of bills felt like it was meant to be savored, every sliver of it.

“ Very good, now, if you excuse me.” He then makes a toast before swiftly and voraciously gulping it in one go of the liquid gold in his hand followed by a server in muted colors collecting the empty container from him.

“ I shall leave you to your hunt; enjoy the night, Senpai.” The ravenous bespeckled young man bid you farewell for now with a shy look on his closed eyed smile before waving and leaving with the briefcase in hand.

Instead of just waiting for some sod to take the initiative, to think you’d be your own worst enemy; the worst kind of parasite, an opportunist.

___________

“Three of a kind!"

How quickly the tables have turned. Earlier you were so desperate for a breath of relief. Underhand tactics are below you, even if it does give leverage. The Ego Rex does not approve of it.

“Flush!"

Gasping, you are running out of time, four hundred quib and it still isn’t enough to ensure your freedom that drown out by the singer from the speaker; ‘Keep your focus’

Cheating hands that tried to play you into their game, it was clear you were not here to entertain the folly they wanted.

“Pay up!" Yelling out against the voices of the masses that cooped in this dreary game edifice, Simply esurient!

‘Win it’

Coughing out the smoke that the people rolled in lavished mold, the scent is ever nauseous enough to choke on it. The giggles from the gaggle of salacious ladies cooed and comforted the loser from his loss.

‘Maybe lose it all.’

Another hour has passed as you look down at the total winnings you have. It was not enough to satiate the looming debt that chained you. Any slip ups are not allowed, once you do– well, let us hope we do not need to think of it much.

‘So we roll the die, see where it may fall’

From there you spotted a game of sic bo. Your mind tells you it is a simple game, but you knew better than to blindly leave it all to chance.

Nearby are the whispers of wealth; ‘—Oh, to have dreams that are of grandeur!’ ‘ One such as thine should we the (?) feast upon the nines.’ ‘A little wait is all you need—’

Just as you were about to leave, taking a single step, a certain person caught your eye.

‘ — spin the wheel, see whom it may call.’

It was Patisilinia..!

“You!" Stomping towards her, pushing aside the other loitering faceless. She was playing a card game with three other students who wore a similar outfit as hers. Your hand placed on her shoulder and forced her to look at you.

You could see her clearly. Ruffled long black hair that covered one side of her face, and that unnerving eye that stared back at you. Even after the school day, she still wears the school uniform so boldly, the only difference is that she has a gold earring hanging on her earlobe.

No words came out from Patisilinia, instead a young man with long red hair stepped forward.

“ If it isn’t Little Bonny, savant of the Elite King of pentacles. Enjoying the night of ” A young flirtatious, slick red haired man winked. The wild right eye seemed to be glittering with lucre trained on you.

You recognized him in an instant, they were the former Elite C. A. R. D.s that was dissolved, Oscar: Ci-devant vice-president, The Duke of Diamonds. But why, out of all the people you could have run into.

“Leave her alone, brother. We have no ill qualms with her." The person on the other seat said, they look similar to Oscar but with shorter and fluffier hair. His eyes are obscured by a metal masque, with only a hint of gold piercing through the eye slit. His apparel mimics those of impeccable discipline and emotion numbing obligation, the Regent of Cups, Justin.

What are the two C. A. R. D.s doing here? Especially playing with Patisilinia, To mock you even more? Or was this a trap laid by—

The Trampled stud raised his hand, “Funny you should say that brother, but we have every right to pick a fight with her. “ Deft finger dragged on the wooden border of the table as he walked over to you. Aggressively swipe off the dust using his finger off the table before pinching it off his skin. Not breaking eye contact with you for even a moment.

“How about a game, Miss Secretary?” He replied with a shy sly smile aimed toward you, " a little tit for tat, if you know what I mean.” The same finger he used to drag on the table is now slowly caressing your cheek on the backside.

Now is not the time for theatrics, pushing the red head away from you and giving him a stern look.

“You are overstepping the boundaries, warlock." Crossing my arms over my chest, the hint of chime from my choker sounded.

“No need to be so abrasive, dear. You’re just in time for a little, reunion.” It was clear that he was not appreciative of you appearing but, that inane grin he has indicated his intentions.

The dealer then walked in with a brand new deck of cards, it was way more than the standard bicycle was used. No, this was way taller and foreboding.

“ Let’s play a game, just like old times, Sweet-ums.” Taunted the one who used to be your closest companion. Grabbing the deck of new cards that seem to be a perfect fit in his hand.

With a huff, brushing past him. “ I don’t have time for this, Oscar.” You then grabbed Patisilinia’s wrist to drag her, but was stopped when Oscar grabbed the girl’s other hand.

" Up-up-up! She stays, the contract states; she has to complete her obligations.” He wagged his free finger with such smugness.

“Bullshit" replied you, who knew you couldn’t do anything for her now. Just as helpless as you were to the whims of stringed strangers.

“ Read the terms and conditions, funny Bonny! " Oscar laughed. " Now, let go, former equerry. The boss has more than one query." A single tug on your fellow teen made you let go, you could see her staring back so longingly as he dragged her back to the gambling table.

‘Another one lured into the sweet promises of untold glimmer of joy, little servant.

They never change, neither did you.

“Release her, now, Duke." His steps were stopped once you made your move, humming in mild curiosity.

“Come back to your senses, did ya?"

Justin took a step forward, a small frown made present, " Savant, you do not have to humor my brother’s antics, it is all just a mere jest to him. Turn away and continue your hunt.” Yet despite that, perhaps that is why you decided to step up against them.

“Save it, Jush. Perhaps we could make a deal with the one who raised their sword.” The smile upon Oscar’s visage rises this familiar trepidation. Once fearful now the every fiber in you, yearns to gnaw at him using primal discomfort.

Just as you were about to pounce at the short red haired ‘Duke’. “ What is it that you desire, little Scintillating friend? '' Oscar suddenly asked, as if the world went dim, spotlights aimed, leading all eyes upon the sou of a soul!

Dry lips parted to speak,“ My freedom. ” You wanted to graduate from this hell hole, though you didn’t expect his next words.

“ You’ll have it then. “ He said nonchalantly, of course, you aren’t stupid. It reeks with foul intentions.

" What’s your plan, Oscar? " Your eyes then darted around from him to various spots around the room, even upon the dealer and on the poor student.

“ Can’t an old friend help another? “ Scoffing at his words, knowing he wouldn’t do it for no real reason, and friends are no exemption.

He then suddenly added, " Well, if you are that negative about me, how about this? ” Oscar then walked back toward the table and made a hand gesture. " Round one is on me, and round two: I’ll unshackle little itty bitty missy if you win. ” Pointing at the student who wears a bucket hat, she had not spoken since you entered the room.

The sickly looking girl in school attire, you always knew everyone in the school. And yet that student with the yellow arm band eludes your watchful eye.

Even though you have no obligation, and you were about to gamble with her earlier. Still you stood up for her, somehow. Perhaps, it was by fate that you wanted her to be bound to you, as you were to Pantalone? What maddening sadism came over to you?

Oscar gave the deck to the dealer with gentle ease." You do know how to play our favorite, right? " The red haired and vocal socialite asked, and you responded with a nod.

" Excellent! Let the stage, begin. ” Both players then drew a card from the darken dealer. Tired eyes beheld, three people holding their cups up in the air in celebration. I threw the card down on the table so they could see it as well.

From his side the Devil card of the major arcana was thrown, facing upside down. The chains that connected from its fist to the two sinful beings.

“ Lowest, go first. '' Oscar chuckled as the dealer collected the two cards quietly to begin the shuffle. Giving five cards to both of us.

The Lovers; A trump card! Queen of Swords, that could be of use as well later on a bid. Three of coins, ace of coins, and ten of coins. All three are useful to sacrifice until a good card comes up.

It was silent in the game room, the muffled sounds of the songstress could be heard ,

‘Give into temptation.’ As if!

The silent dealer spread a set of cards, revealing one of them.

“Call” You announced before pushing some chips and organized. Face turned unrelenting, tuning out most of the sounds and focused on the game and Oscar. But not before you have felt the eyes of a coyote staring down, watching your every move.

Fingers tapped against the table, as his own brother took his side beside Oscar just as always. “ How long will you last against me, or better yet, why didn’t you ask us for help? ” The ‘Duke’ asked.

The cards felt like they were moving too fast, the ticking of the clock sounded so loud even with all the chatter and debauched music playing. Skin touching the grooves of the linen card, as a set after the other were exchanged.

“ Was pride too much for you? ” he childishly tilted his head but then broke into a sly smile. “ Or was it— ” But you stopped him, if you weren't in a situation like this; a good wring of his neck would surely che—.

“ If you want to continue to gamble against me, I advise: you should keep that mouth of yours shut, Oscar. ” Silencing him, as you gave a side eye. Gripping the cards ever close to you.

“Pft, of course, of course,” He waved your words off.

It was a decent, fair, dead-honest trade. By the time you made your bid on the card the ‘first’ round had ended.

“Round two~” Oscar sighed, taking a sip of the sweating beverage next to him.

As the dealer gathered the cards once more, the short haired colleague spoke “ You were always the brave one. "

“ Perhaps that’s why so many leave mountains of love letters or do anything to be close to you.” He continues his words as he glances up at the card dealer who had their own austere expression, staring at the shuffling cards.

“Stop beating around the bush, you flaming-boy-band-cabaret.” You knew what he was going to do. All he speaks of is mere trickery.

“ You’re the center of everyone’s attention, why leave? “ You could see the green tint of his eyes scanning you up and down. Not a word was spoken as the line of fibery cards hit each other loudly.

Another five sets of cards unto the table in front of us.

‘You will win this…’

Empowering yourself with such flimsy words. As you recall your past victories, this gambling peer seems to be indulging your serious face.

Another somewhat alright hand that showed themselves, Justice, by the dealer. “ This feeling, I almost forgot these emotions… " Chuckled Oscar, twisted ecstasy displayed upon his face.

" Was it your heart, or is it just mine? “ What is he blubbering about? Is he trying to stall again?

Glancing back at your hand, reveals: Eight, nine, ten of swords, while the last two revealed to be seven of cups and king of swords…

No trump cards to play, seems like the king of swords is your only hope, if you played your cards right and bluff Oscar into folding, you could have a chance. ‘You could do this.’

‘Success so clearly in view, but is it merely a trick of the light?’

“Miss.”

Someone with a soft voice spoke. Looking beside you is Patisilinia, her hand is placed upon your shoulder. “ You do not have to do this, it’s alright. There is no need to prove anything to anyone. “ ‘The end waits, for the slightest lapse of concentration, afterall.’

Instead of being grateful for her words, the walls seem to whisper conspiracy in your ears. ‘ prove what? Is she one of them? She was suspiciously quiet earlier, she must be. ’ Keyed eyes glance up and down on her appearance, she is equally fretful and wrung out like a drenched shirt.

“ Do not talk like that as if you knew me for a long time, Patisilinia.” Such coldness of your response made the one eyed girl back off.

“Sorry, you just look really stressed and… “ Leaning closer to whisper; " That card guy, can you tell me about him? “

Looking at the plain looking man that wears a golden bow tie, eyes shadowed by their ruffled black hair. Even the smile is so lovingly, yet so evidently sinister.

Thoughts of what this could mean have entered. ‘Who is he?’, ‘do those two have a connection with him?’, ‘is this a ploy?’

This stirring agitation raises more alarms. Gripping onto the luxurious playing card granted more signs of edged awareness.

" Why don’t we switch it up a little? “ With a sly lazy grin, he tossed a cheque on the gambling table, a cashout that weighs more than your debt.

" All, or nothing. “ He added.

You had no money to pay back should you lose. “Bastard, spill it, this is your attempt to save face, isn’t it?! “ Pointing an accusation at him, to which he calmly and teasingly replied; “I have no idea what you’re talking about darling."

‘Self-Preservation is paramount at all costs!’

Refusing to show even a hint of woe, you have failed to realize that there are more than the people in the room who are staring at you.

“ I won’t let the battle end your way, coward! “ You have no idea what is up his sleeves, though for sure it isn’t pleasant.

Hasty gaze placed upon the cards you’ve held. There is no point in integrity if the opponent has no respect!

‘in this decrepit tomb of refined fashion.’

With grit teeth, and rekindled blade. Despite of Ego Rex had said, securing the win is more important than being sorry and ended up with even more trouble.

‘Come on, let's just enjoy the spice// (Of) Life and feel so free//’

Vision slightly blurry for a moment as you heard the songstress’ words. Fueling you to push onward to a better possibility. Though, it is most probably why they prefer this kind of masquerade.

“ This Someone has not rusted yet. " The Dealer mused, as he began to shuffle the cards with ease.

With using every trick you have accumulated over your days as a normal student. It was going relatively well, until you noticed your points are slowly building up compared to Oscar.

“Hoho, surely this will be our very best bet.” Chuckled Oscar, though him speaking like that makes you feel on edge.

—

In a fit of illusioned madness, everything seems to blend and melt once Oscar prompts his arm on the table, revealing his conniving smile.

You should have known that being so wily and clever, deceiving and swindling never ever makes a person so clever. Was this, who you truly are? The scummiest of all gamblers.

“Save your dignity, little Bonny." Hearing the chair being scraped against the floor caused you to stand up and look at the hulking figure of the Captain that followed the wealthy student Regrator.

You tried to follow suit in an attempt at pulling the ‘bodyguard’ of Pantalone. “Capitano— wait!” you cried out, disregarding tugging on to his arm and silky clothes, " Don’t tell Pantalone! Please!" Tears escaping your eyes as it all happened so fast that you couldn’t process what just happened.

“My apologies, but he is already here." Eyes widen as you see Pantalone, opening his briefcase from the entrance of the room. In one swing, an unfathomable amount of paper bills began to shower everyone in raining crisp geld.

" I’m disappointed, Senpai. I told you if you were in a bind, I wouldn’t mind that I have to help you out. “ No, that’s not the look of a stymied person.

" Let us fully relax, and relish all of these! " His voice seems so primal yet refined, as if his inner demons were being satiated by the act he had committed. Followed up with a wave of his other hand to catch a wad of bills to fan himself.

“Capitano, please help me!" Backing away from the affluent stud and begging at the bodyguard to help.

He stayed silent, making the alarm in your mind blaring. Facing the three you were just with.

“Oscar! Justin! Pastilinia, Please! “ The more you tried to scream out the three would answer you the same. Attempts to move closer failed.

" What isn’t real, could never fade. I truly enjoyed your performances, Regrator, Captain, and of course you as well dear little Servant." The dealer smiled and waved so cheekily.

" Pastilinia! “ Screeching out, anxiety from the realistic danger turned aggressive. Dilated eyes focused on the one eyed girl before you heard a soft click.

" Huh… ? " Moving your gead slightly to see the ever twinkling face of the Regrator just over your shoulder. Not realizing he had let go of the fan money and briefcase to attach a leather leash that’s wrapped around his other fist.

“Dearest Senpai. You haven’t forgotten our promise do you?" Breaking away from his space.

" I can still win! I just need a little bit more time. “ he tugged on the leather to pull you back, making you gag and move closer to him. “Right, Pastilinia!?"

When you realized that your bargains no longer reach his ears, “ How could you?! “ Your aggressive tendencies became apparent as hands reaching out for the sickly girl and the rest that basically sold you out to lash out on.

“ I’m sorry but the Jester promises us happiness as well.” Pastilinia replied softly.

Justine scoffed, " a fistful of happiness more like."

“ SCREW YOU! " You roared as you tried to go over to the three but somehow Pantalone managed to get a good grip on the string to drag you away

“Now, now, we don’t threaten a stranger with a good time, Senpai." No matter how many times you hear him say that, it is always so unnerving.

On your knees and clawing at the carpeted floor, you would have held tightly onto if it weren’t for the money he spilled earlier to make it even more difficult. “ Please, have mercy Sire, Pantalone, Regrator.” Never in your life would you think of being seen this pathetic, infront of your old friends at least.

As a last ditch to hold on to, " MASTER!!!" You screamed that held so much vile emotions into the night. In hopes of making out of this treacherous cage alive.

He once dreamed in the dark for the most part, and now, it is your turn little pet.

Bonus cutscene:

Pantalone truly did wanted to be the one to save the day, yet you did not have a say in what he trade away. He waited for this moment ever since his first day in this academy.

“That’s not how you do that." He chuckled as he moved over to you so he could aid you in putting the clothes on, well more like a jewelry thats running across your body like a sash it doesn’t even conceal anything. It felt cold to the touch, making you shiver.

Pantalone steps back to admire the model that wore nothing but gold jewelry on the bed.

Of course, you felt shame that you tried to cover your chest and hid your lower parts using the blanket. No matter what you did, all it does is add more tease for him to unwrap.

After a glance at the name wheel, he smiled before picking up wrapped candy and putting it in his mouth.

This bewilders you until he pressed his lips against yours, passing the hard peice of candy to you. It tasted chokingly sweet yet sour at the same time.

Tongues twirled and swirled around the hard candy, making loud wet squelches.

He moaned as he lean closer to enjoy it further until you were almost going to fall backwards on the bed if you haven’t clung to his clothes.

With one last push, he successfully laid you on the bed, making the gold on your body made satisfying clinks.

“Be a good girl, for master~" he tugged on the leash, rolling up into his fist.

Confused on what he wanted you to do, you only gave a whine. Though afraid if you pissed him off again.

" Down here, Sweet.”

He purred as he pull down his trousers revealing his shaft.

" It’s alright, take it slow.. be careful.” He guided you closer that his free hand is gripping your hair.

“Be… mindful.” He thrusted into your mouth, letting out soft grunts and moans.

The jingle of the gold pieces on your body sound whenever you and him made skin-on-skin contact.

“Af… after this… you.. you got .. puzzle… solve.. “ Bated breath, Pantalone reminded you of the tast he given you. Though it was an excuse to get behind you and do unspeakable things.

Hints of tears began to appear on your eyes as you felt his tip poking down your throat. You wanted to speak, but all you could do is suck on this one-eyed snake.

The night is only half eaten afterall.

[dyannawynnedayne]

Which character parallel do you like the best?

Propaganda is encouraged!

Jaime and Criston

Ask and are rejected by their lovers to marry them in spite of their situations

"I am sick of being careful. The Targaryens wed brother to sister, why shouldn't we do the same? Marry me, Cersei. Stand up before the realm and say it's me you want. We'll have our own wedding feast, and make another son in place of Joffrey." She drew back. "That's not funny." "Do you hear me chuckling?" "Did you leave your wits at Riverrun?" Her voice had an edge to it. "Tommen's throne derives from Robert, you know that." "He'll have Casterly Rock, isn't that enough? Let Father sit the throne. All I want is you." He made to touch her cheek. Old habits die hard, and it was his right arm he lifted. Cersei recoiled from his stump. "Don't . . . don't talk like this. You're scaring me, Jaime. Don't be stupid. One wrong word and you'll cost us everything. What did they do to you?"

ASOS, Jaime VII

That night, Septon Eustace reports, Ser Criston Cole slipped into the princess’s bedchamber to confess his love for her. He told Rhaenyra that he had a ship waiting on the bay, and begged her to flee with him across the narrow sea. They would be wed in Tyrosh or Old Volantis, where her father’s writ did not run, and no one would care that Ser Criston had betrayed his vows as a member of the Kingsguard. His prowess with sword and morningstar was such that he did not doubt he could find some merchant prince to take him into service. But Rhaenyra refused him. She was the blood of the dragon, she reminded him, and meant for more than to live out her life as the wife of a common sellsword. And if he could set aside his Kingsguard vows, why would marriage vows mean any more to him?

Fire and Blood, Heirs of the Dragon-- A Question of Succession

/////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////

Jaime and Arys

The legacy of Criston Cole affects them both

The best and the worst.” So one of us is like to live in song. “And a few who were a bit of both. Like him.” He tapped the page he had been reading. “Who?” Ser Loras craned his head around to see. “Ten black pellets on a scarlet field. I do not know those arms.” “They belonged to Criston Cole, who served the first Viserys and the second Aegon.” Jaime closed the White Book. “They called him Kingmaker.”

AFFC, Jaime II

“The first Viserys intended his daughter Rhaenyra to follow him, do you deny it? But as the king lay dying the Lord Commander of his Kingsguard decided that it should be otherwise.” Ser Criston Cole. Criston the Kingmaker had set brother against sister and divided the Kingsguard against itself, bringing on the terrible war the singers named the Dance of the Dragons. Some claimed he acted from ambition, for Prince Aegon was more tractable than his willful older sister. Others allowed him nobler motives, and argued that he was defending ancient Andal custom. A few whispered that Ser Criston had been Princess Rhaenyra’s lover before he took the white and wanted vengeance on the woman who had spurned him. “The Kingmaker wrought grave harm,” Ser Arys said, “and gravely did he pay for it, but…” “…but perhaps the Seven sent you here so that one white knight might make right what another set awry.”

AFFC, The Soiled Knight

[fishnamedsushi]

“Hmmm,” Obi-Wan said, consideringly. “I’m afraid I don’t quite believe you, darling.”

Try again.

Anakin’s breath left him in a broken sob, a trembling exhale that shook outward from the center of his chest, ripping itself from his depths, his toes. He was on fire. He was burning up from the inside out, and Obi-Wan was being so mean, so cruel -

“Now now, Padawan-mine,” Obi-Wan soothed. He ran his fingers through Anakin’s hair, nails catching slightly on the sweaty strands that fell heavily into his face.

Anakin butted up against his hand, pleading.

He tried to whisper, but nothing would come out.

It hurt to talk, now. They’d been at this for what felt like hours, and Obi-Wan wouldn’t let Anakin touch him, not until he sang. He never clarified what song, exactly, he wanted to hear, but Anakin suspected it was something only Obi-Wan knew - some vibration in the Force that rang with the sound of his surrender, his submission.

Anakin had made plenty of noise as they played, tonight, but it was his third orgasm that had been wrung from him, screaming.

He didn’t think he had much more noise to give.

Obi-Wan, he tried again. The word floated along their bond, lighting it up like little fire bugs. Each one bursting was a shiver across his skin.

“You do ask so nicely,” Obi-Wan allowed. He brought his hand down across Anakin’s brow, his cheek. Anakin sucked in harshly as it trailed down to his jaw, cupping his chin and twisting his face upward and to the side.

Obi-Wan was so imposing like this. He was always resplendent. Regal, even. But now…

Towering over him - broad chest exposed, strong muscles glistening with sweat and sharply contrasted in the light - he was something else entirely. His eyes glittered dangerously, with that unique eagerness Anakin always associated with hidden depths and unexplored temptations. With joy, and the visceral satisfaction of a job well done.

Seeing that pleasure writ so clear on Obi-Wan’s otherwise impassive face was like a jolt to spine. It energized him, and Anakin shifted his knees on the cold ground, digging them in and arching his back further.

He licked his lips.

“Please.”

Obi-Wan grinned at him, and Anakin’s heart sped up.

He cleared his throat, putting everything he had - everything he felt - into the words. “Please, Master.”

Obi-Wan’s smile grew teeth, and Anakin knew he’d won.

[I blame the Obikin Discord server and yes Mean Dom Obi-Wan is a treasure 🔥]

[randomvarious]

Today's mix:

Nite:Life 04 by Terry Farley 2001 House / Deep House / Tribal House

Well, this probably isn't the greatest commercial mix that legendary house producer-remixer-and-DJ-extraordinaire Terry Farley ever made, but it's still a decent one. Farley was an integral cog in developing Britain's acid house scene into a total fervor during the mid-to-late 80s. He co-launched a fanzine called Boy's Own with the late, great Andrew Weatherall and others, co-hosted and DJ'd at events by that same name, and also co-founded the Boy's Own record label too. And then in 1992, he co-founded the Junior Boy's Own label as well, which ended up with both Underworld and the Chemical Brothers on its roster. And then when you think about how important *those* groups are in particular to the growth and popularity of electronic music writ large, and know that they wouldn't have sprouted up if not for acid house catching fire in the UK in the first place, you realize just how indispensable someone like Terry Farley is when it comes to literally all of this.

But ultimately, I think the thing that mars this mix more than anything else is that Terry really seemed to be partial at the time to these super deep and moody tunes that featured hushed-tone spoken-word monologues from rugged-voiced dudes and I just think a lot of that stuff, especially in retrospect, is pretty damn corny. All you have to do is press play on this mix to get an immediate taste of what I'm talking about here. And then that same voice returns on the "Tom Middleton Cosmos Vocal" mix of The Path's "Praying" too, with sets of lines like the following:

I'm prayin' I'm prayin' for the black I'm prayin' I'm prayin' for the white I'm prayin' I'm prayin' for the straight I'm prayin' I'm prayin' for the gay I'm prayin' I'm prayin' for everybody I'm prayin' I'm prayin' for all the freaks, in the big, dark rooms I'm prayin' I'm prayin' for the children of house

Now, had these super generic lyrics been sung in some sort of way, rather than just delivered in a deep monotone, we may have been able to just overlook their Derek Zoolanderish simplicity and keyed in on the melody instead. But we can't, and as a result, this song and others like it just feel very lame almost a quarter-century later 😒.

But despite all of that, Farley still brought some pretty sweet bangers to this set. "Musica De La Celva," by Hipp-E & Tony (Hipp-E is from the duo of H-Foundation, who mixed the prior installment in this Nite:Life series that I posted about yesterday), has this beeping stab in it that you may not realize is actually a sax at first, until that little note proceeds to expand further into phrases, and then has another bit of sax introduced afterwards to complement it all too. Quite nifty track construction there 👍.

And then for the closer, we get some of that good ol' 90s garage house-disco flavor from longtime diva Linda Clifford, with the Ralphi Rosario mix of her "Changin," which I'm sure particularly lit up a whole bunch of gay dancefloors when it was out and thriving all the way back in 2000. Feels like a really lovely, blissful dance anthem, but it's very different from the much darker mood that coats the entirety of the rest of this mix 🤷‍♂️.

So, given his legacy, I think I was expecting a bit more from Terry Farley here, but even the best don't always end up delivering all the goods that you necessarily seek (see: Paul Oakenfold). Still, though, this thing is definitely solid regardless.

Listen to the full mix here.

And for more on Boy's Own and Junior Boy's Own, check out this dope retrospective that looks back on some of their output from 1988 to 1998, as well as a few tracks that inspired Terry Farley and his pals to start all their ventures in the first place.

Highlights:

Bernard Leon Howard III feat. 80 - "Mars Carter" Hipp-E & Tony - "Musica De La Celva" Datar - "B (Danny's Space Terrace Mix)" Linda Clifford - "Changin (Ralphie Rosario Mix)"

[no-where-new-hero]

Welcome to my blog!

Since I recently passed a follower milestone, I figured it was time to give this unwieldy space a table of contents.

My name is Blake, 20s, librarian in training, fiction writer, and hopeful novelist. This is a side blog (because I was a bad planner a year and a half ago), so I’ll follow back from @ichariancarrion.

My major author fandoms here are LM Montgomery and Diana Wynne Jones. For the former, I use the tag #lmm lockdown, though also post frequently with #emily of new moon and #blue castle book club. For the latter, my posts will be under #diana wynne jones or #fire and hemlock. I also recently hosted a Fire and Hemlock readalong during spooky season, and you can catch up on that at #fh readalong.

I post fanfictions on Ao3 under the name ASellerofDreams—I started there due to the Blue Castle Fanworks Challenge, which inspired a Barney Snaith POV fic, but I’ve since branched off to another fandom that gave me brainworms. Stuff related to my fics can be found under #writing life or my general diary tag, #blake’s last braincell.

Other content you’ll find on here:

#immortal poets society has hot takes, analysis and reviews, mostly of literature or stories writ large.

#kinema holds gifs and reviews of movies and shows. Lately I’ve been on a k-drama bender, so a lot of stuff will be about that!

#some are born to endless night features quotes.

Check out #sing a song of sixpence for music recommendations.

For some academia commentary, medieval jokes, and vintage aesthetics, try #the abbess will speak to you now, #the archivist will speak to you now, and #big brain moment.

A mostly defunct tag for moodboards and dark academia visuals and vibes is #I dream for a life in sepia.

Finally, visit #the ganymede club and #illuminates the room like the edge shine of a knife for a look into my mental centerfolds.

Enjoy your time here! My ask box is always open :)

[zvtara-was-never-canon]

https://www.tumblr.com/perfectlypanda/659481021941710848/zutara-and-the-unimportance-of-canonicity

what do you think about it?

The points I agree with

1 - A ship being canon or not does not tell us anything about the quality of said ship.

2 - Zutara fans need to chill with craving canon validation.

3 - The spin-off works like the comics and The Legend Of Korra often contradict the canon of the original show, and thus people need to either take only one as canon and ignore the other, or have "double-thinking" to take both as true. Honestly, even just within the original show there are canon inconsistencies: We are told in Book 2, by Iroh himself, that he got the nickname "Dragon of The West" by breathing fire on his enemies like a dragon, but in Book 3 we get ANOTHER explanation for that name, that it is a title given to someone that killed an actual dragon.

4 - Bryke can be real dicks sometimes. Saying "you like this ship, therefore you're doomed to always have bad relationships" is just pure nonsense, because even with stuff that actually IS deeply problematic, what really tells if a person's idea of how romance works is deeply unhealthy is not their enjoyment of the fictional relationship, but rather if they can tell what would or would not be okay okay in real life. I LOVE Beauty & The Beast, this does not mean I think people should marry someone that held them as prisoners. Azula is my favorite character and I would like her to have a redemption arc (and for the comics to stop claiming that being mentally ill means you're evil and any abuse you suffer is justified because you're "crazy and unstable" even when you're not doing anything) - this does not mean I think she never did anything wrong and am "part of a cult" like Bryke said.

The point I slightly disagree with

"There is no canon confirmation that Aang and Katara kissed for the first time in Cave Of Two Lovers" that one is partially true - we did not see the kiss, and the characters did not mention it at other points in the story... but COME ON, if they didn't kiss, why were Aang and Katara blushing at the end of the episode, when hearing the song about Oma and Shu? Sure, it's not explicit confirmation, but it is the show VERY STRONGLY hinting that the kiss absolutely happened.

The point I REALLY disagree with

"Zutara would have objectively been a stronger narrative choice" No. Just no. Not only do I feel it would not have been a better choice than Kataang and Maiko, I say it would be a TERRIBLE writting choice.

I could end this post with a "we'll just have to agree to disagree", but unfortunatelly I can't, because this person did not say "In my opinion, Zutara would be the superior choice, here's a link to my thoughts on why that is" They said "OBJECTIVELY Zutara would be the superior choice, here's the list of 'proof' I got."

And that's the thing I cannot stand with Zutarians. Even when they're making a solid point (in this case "This fandom gotta chill with using canon to dunk on other people's personal preferences, or demanding their headcanons to be elevated to canon so they can dunk on other people's headcanons") they HAVE to ruin it by going "But Zutara is totally the best and if you disagree with me, you are just completely incorrect" without a shred of irony or self awareness.

This really is their equally terrible alternative to "It is totally canon, people just think otherwise because of an evil conspiracy Bryke was in charge of." Instead of saying that, they go with hidden entitlement "Canon does not equal good... but Zutara SHOULD have been canon because it is scientifically proven, by me, that it is the best ship ever"

People have every right to disagree with me when I say Zuko and Katara would never work as couple, or ever be into each other in the first place. They can write all the meta about it too. But they do not have the right to try to force me to change my mind - be it explicitly or trying to be sneaky about it.

[blackjackkent]

Continuing Rakha's explorations in Last Light - we wander into the last side room on the bottom floor and encounter a familiar face!

HI FLORRICK!

Rakha remembers the woman - an associate of Wyll's father, a leader in the city she has never seen - from the fire at Waukeen's Rest. Florrick looks considerably more put-together now, albeit even more grim. Near her on one of the inn's beds is a semi-conscious man in trousers and an arm sling, mumbling a strange, incoherent song to himself.

Florrick is in the midst of a conversation about the invalid with one of the Flaming Fist as Rakha approaches.

"He still won't speak. Just keeps going with the bloody song."

"Nothing of use on his person?"

"His original writ of duty - signed by Eltan himself. Fella must be one of the very first Flaming Fist."

"He must know something. Let's not give up on him yet." Florrick pauses, turns to look at Rakha as she approaches - then flicks her eyes over to Wyll.

"Florrick."

"Wyll?" Florrick looks troubled - and extremely tired. "Gods, please, no. The Blade of Frontiers was supposed to be my secret weapon."

(A/N: I'm legitimately not sure what she means here? Probably that she doesn't want him in danger here because she was hoping he'd help with the Absolutists back in the city? But that doesn't make sense because she was the one who told us to go after Ravengard out here in the first place. Perplexing.)

"We believe the cultists have taken your father to Moonrise Towers," she goes on soberly. "I don't suppose you've found a way in?"

"Not yet," Rakha answers. They have possibilities, certainly - particularly this Selunite that Jaheira mentioned upstairs. But no sure plan yet.

Florrick lets out a heavy breath and nods. "I trust that you will do everything you can to free the duke. But in case you don't find a way, I'll be heading to Baldur's Gate to seek reinforcements. The Council sent a carrier pigeon with news that the city has been dealing with Absolutist attacks. The Steel Watch is holding strong. I'll request that Lord Gortash send some of them to aid in the fight against Moonrise. The curse won't harm them."

Rakha goes still. She barely registers the comment about the Steel Watch - which means nothing to her. But that name...

Gortash.

She knows that name. Karlach has spoken it as well - the man who sold her to the Hells. And both times it has struck her like a blow. She doesn't know why. She has no memory associated with it. But she knows that name...

...and it makes her feel ill to hear it.

"Gortash, as in Enver Gortash?" Wyll is saying, sounding puzzled. "Last I knew, he was a minor player in city affairs."

"A lot's changed since you left Baldur's Gate, Wyll," Florrick answers. "Gortash has gained considerable influence since then."

Rakha finds that her mouth has gone dry. "Gortash," she rasps out. "That name... it's... sickeningly familiar..."

Florrick squints at her, clearly bemused by this reaction. "Lord Gortash is the man responsible for the creation of the Steel Watch. It's no wonder he earned the title. The Steel Watch are the future of warfare. Gondian automatons that can be sent into battle without risking any live - except those of our enemies. Lord Gortash had only completed work on the prototypes before Ravengard and I left for Elturel, but even they were formidable. With the Steel Watch at our backs, we could storm the tower whatever Ketheric throws at us, I'm sure of it."

Were this any other conversation, Rakha would no doubt be listening intently. This is information, important information; Florrick is describing machines of death that she means to bring in to fight at their side against the cult.

But she is barely listening - and despite the subject matter, neither is the beast in her head. Both of them are still fixated on that name, which echoes repeatedly within her at each utterance.

Gortash. Gortash. Gortash.

Who is he? Why does she know the name? Why does Florrick know him as a Lord - a title of importance, Rakha gathers - and Wyll know him only as a minor player and Karlach know him as a traitorous arms dealer? Why does Rakha know the name at all?

Florrick is looking at her, clearly expecting an answer, but Rakha is far too preoccupied to provide one. After a while, the Counselor just shrugs. "I'll do my best, but there's every chance I'll fall to the curse or the cult before I reach the city," she goes on. "Don't count on me, and assume no aid is coming. Work with Jaheira - that Harper's mind is as sharp as her blade. Follow her guidance."

She draws back and inclines her head at Wyll. "Farewell. We'll meet again, gods willing."

------

As Florrick turns with her guard to stalk out the door, Wyll looks at Rakha with some concern. "All right there?" he asks. "You look as if you've seen a ghost."

"I know the name," Rakha mutters. "Gortash."

His eyebrows lift. "You're remembering something?"

Her jaw works with evident frustration. "No. It's just... familiar. I knew him. I must have..."

He tilts his head, thinking. "Perhaps you were a politician, then," he says cautiously. "Since Florrick says he's climbing the ranks."

"I don't know." Rakha lets out a sudden hoarse growl of frustration and slams her fist against the mantel over the fireplace, startling one of the nearby Fist. "I don't know," she adds more sharply. "I am tired of not knowing, Wyll."

"Yeah." His eyes narrow sympathetically... but of course he has no answers to offer. "When she comes back with these Steel Watch, we can ask her further," he suggests. "Maybe she can track down something about where you came from. Frankly, where the city's concerned, I think Florrick's capable of just about anything."

"Perhaps."