#TREASON MOST FOUL

[coralinnii]

Hello, may I please ask for part 2 for Malleus in that isekaid villainess au? Heacanons please

"If you are a villain, then let me be your accomplice" 

feat: Malleus

genre: hurt/comfort?, romance

note: sequel to “being reincarnated into a new world as the bad guy”, roughly 1.5k word count

I hear you simps. I had an idea for an interaction with the heroine but the post got kinda long so I stopped here.

The past few weeks felt like a roller-coaster. You were pushed, pulled, and blindsided by the amount of things that were happening simultaneously. 

Firstly, you had to deal with the sudden proposal your family received for you, literally on the day you just had your previous engagement annulled. 

Secondly, your family had to deal with the accusations of treason from multiple families, which suspiciously included the families of the capture targets. 

Thirdly but probably the most concerning, your precious pen-pal and the man who sent the proposal was the Dragon King and hidden capture target of the game you were reincarnated into, Malleus Draconia. And he keeps appearing by your house to receive the answer you refuse to give yet. 

“Are you upset that I am the Dragon King, dear human? Do you hate me?” 

Screw him and his sulking figure right now. How does a Dragon King be so good at pouting?

After everything that has happened, you wanted nothing to do with the main protagonist and her harem and with Malleus being a capture target, he was just as liable to betray you like everyone else did. Your heart couldn’t bear any more. 

You were scared, which was why you attempted to distance yourself from him with logical reasoning. You tried to convince him that marrying you was too socially damaging. 

“So long as my family is suspected of treason, I cannot in good conscious marry you, Belle- King Malleus”

“Oh, is that all?” And with that, Malleus left leaving you confused. What did that mean?

Apparently that meant that Malleus had a mission to destroy what stood in the way of his beloved. Within a week, he and his aids searched for foul play regarding the accusations and soon found what he was looking for. The offenders responsible were arrested and sent to the imperial family in secret. He found something interesting but thought it would be better to hold onto this trump card for a bit. 

Thus, the accusations were dropped and your family was joyous over the news. And so was Malleus, albeit for different reasons. 

“What say you now, dear human?” 

“P-Please distance yourself, King Malleus!” 

Malleus was persistent and determined to woo you the human way if he must. With the advice he received from Lilia (poor choice, really), he attempts to win your hand in marriage. 

“My young Malleus, before humans marry, they tend to court each other first” 

And so he did. He would bring you expensive gifts and take you to “dates” (walks around his extravagant gardens count, right?) 

“King Malleus, please-“ 

“Call me by my pet name, dear. I believe humans call their lovers by terms of endearment” 

“That's beside the point! P-Please step back!” 

“But Lilia reported that humans are fond of physical contact and close embraces? In addition, you were fond of holding my hand when we first met”

“!!”  

Still, despite all of your fears, Malleus found his way into your heart and you chose to trust him despite his position as a capture target, against your better judgement. 

Which was why you chose him to come with you to meet them again. 

“They truly have no shame” your father seethed as your house received an invitation with the imperial seal on it, an invitation to a ball celebrating the new engagement of the prince. Your mother held you in a comforting embrace but she wore a look of great distress and rightfully so. Because it was sent as a royal invitation, to refuse is to insult the imperial house and your family was already in hot waters. 

“Sweetie” your mother spoke to you worriedly to which you tried to smile to ease her worries. You weren’t happy but you knew what you had to do. 

Luckily, Lilia heard of your predicament and offered a solution. 

“Dear, a human’s greatest arsenal could be those they have bonds with” the wise viscount hinted. “I’m sure my King would be more than happy to accompany you” 

Which brought you to where you were now, with Malleus offering a hand to you as you walked towards the castle you used to be so acquainted with. 

You were quite a sight to those attending the ball, the jilted former princess candidate being escorted by one of the most powerful beings in the land. Being unable to bear their piercing stares, you started to put focus on keeping pace with your partner, tightening your hold on his arm which you realized were rather built and firm. You knew Malleus to be lean based on his game design but the feel of his arms had your mind wandering slightly if he’s more muscular than you thought. Was he this firm everywhere else? 

“Dear human, are you alright? You seem deep in thought” 

Your body flushed with embarrassment as you got caught drifting too deeply in your thoughts. You released your hold on Malleus and stepped away a little to cool down before the draconian man realized. Luckily, he seems none the wiser. 

“So you chose to come afterall” 

You flinched at the voice. You dreaded your instincts to be true but it turned out to be so. It was the prince, accompanied by his closest companions and the star of the ball, the heroine. 

Swallowing your nerves, you bowed as expected towards the royal family. “As a loyal servant of the royal family, it is my duty to respond to the invitation” 

However, the prince scoffed at your figure. “Even when you and your family's disgraced themselves, you call yourself loyal?” 

You held back your tears but it was difficult when you could feel the heavy weight of disgust the prince held for you. Once upon a time, he was your dearest childhood friend and you thought the years the two of you spent together meant something to him. Sadly, it must have been one-sided on your part. 

However, as heavy as that disgust, it was getting overwhelmed by the aura of something else. The growing anger coming from next to you. 

“Young prince” your partner spoke in a warning tone, narrowing his striking green eyes. “I recall the misunderstanding was resolved and the true perpetrators were apprehended by the imperial knights” 

The prince was quick to silence himself and avoided your eyes which hinted he was already aware of the arrest. 

"Your anger towards my partner seems to be misguided, despite the knowledge of the true situation. Quite unbecoming for a future ruler, I must say"

Malleus continued to stare down at the shaking royal heir and let out a disappointed sigh. 

“I cannot blame you, however” Malleus said which surprised both the prince and you. 

The powerful fae, with gentleness contradictory to his reputation, held your hand in his. He brought your hand closer to his lips, bringing your attention, and the attention of others, to the tall man. You felt your heart jump as he smiled at you before speaking once again.

“I’ve come to understand the feeling of anger for the sake of others and the desire to protect those dear to you” 

Your nerves returned tenfold as your heart was beating to the point you were nervous to think if all of the surrounding attendants was able to hear it. 

Although his green eyes were soft when holding your gaze, it was quick to harden when he turned to stare down at the prince and his associates. 

“But I suggest you tread carefully, young prince,” Malleus daringly warned the capture targets. “In my investigation regarding the accusations against my dear’s family, I came across something curious” 

With that, the intimidating king took a step closer and leaned slightly forward, closer to the nervous prince but still situated in a way that seemed to look down at the prince. 

“The families that reported the treason were in one way or another connected to that woman of yours, which begs the question if these false accusations were done for her benefit” 

The prince froze and glanced at his new lover, who looked as worried as he did. No matter the power the heroine and the prince may hold, that kind of conspiracy would damage the heroine’s reputation as well as the prince and his associates who were quick to condemn your family due to these accusations. If it turned out that underhanded methods may have been used to dirty your name then…high society and the kingdom would be in an uproar. 

And Malleus was counting on that. 

“So…” Malleus' deep voice broke through the prince’s mental spiral. “I do hope you choose wisely before ever trying to interact with my precious one again”

[cherubispunk]

CHERUB (PART I) - Dealer!Joel Miller x AFAB!Reader

summary: your uncle can’t pay for his weed, joel finds another form of payment.

a note from Lucy: SHEEE'S BAAACK! im sorry but someone had to do it. I took it into my own hands. Hate myself...but I love this. When fleabag said ‘I am a bad feminist’>>>.

playlist | alternate banner by THE cherub @ramblers-lets-get-ramblin

wc: 3377 Warnings: 18+ MDNI! DARK CONTENT! no outbreak (but Sarah still dies sorry), no use of y/n but joel calls the reader ‘Cherub’, porn with little plot, bombastic age gap (reader is in her early 20's and Joel is in his late 50s), Smut, dubcon, P in V sex (unprotected), Creampie, Cumplay, dom!Joel sub!reader dynamic, sex as payment for drugs, allusions to oral - m receiving, Fingering, ever so slight assplay, Choking, gagging (not on his d tho *sigh*), panty sniffing and stealing, Light Spanking, mentions of using drugs such as weed, alcohol consumption, Smoking, use of pet names (baby, cherub, angel, good girl...etc), Joel being foul mouthed, cursing, dirty talk, spitting, spit play. Some of the most animalistic, disgustingly wretched and vile porn I have written thus far...with so little plot that this earned me my place in hell. Big Dick Joel Miller comes as his own warning.

series m.list | m.list

It was no delicate whisper, or hushed uttering that Joel Miller was now everywhere in you. Scraping the backs of your teeth, festering like a virus in your bloodstream. Melding to the marrow of your bones. The walls of your cunt. 

He had a devastating habit of seeping through the cracks of your closed lids. Ready to pillage and plunder his way through your head in its numbed state of sleep. When you could have finally— finally stopped and not felt. But he ebbs deeper.

He did not belong there.

He would not belong there. You’d not give him closure to live and breathe in intimate parts of your anatomy. The only place he would be from now on was between your legs. And maybe in your bed until the wee hours of the dry morning. 

That is where you would let him sit.

That is where he would stay. 

You hate him. You hate his face. You hate his voice. Hate his fucking temper. But worst of all— the cataclysmic catalyst in your small world of four bedroom walls—you hate how you don’t hate him at all. Not really. Your heart wouldn’t let you. It would break your own ribs clean in two to lurch from your flayed chest and into his palms. If only he’d open them. 

Joel Miller gnashed you between his teeth to let you splatter past his lips on the sun cracked dirt. He circled you like a wild cat. His pretty gazelle. Graceful, light on her feet. You felt the splintering distraction of him in the base of your skull. Dull and aching. Still there to rot into earth.

You came for the pleasure but you stayed for the pain. 

Distraught with him, you contemplated desertion. Something akin to treason for his tyranny. Cowardice churning at your gut. The pleasure you would draw from the curling scowl of his coarse brows. The thin line you’d make of his lips and dark mist of hickory that would cloud his eye and better judgement. 

But then what? You soon learned  that if it wasn’t devastating, reaping its agony in your silly little fractured chest— you didn’t dare need, nor crave it. Joel Miller was harrowing. 

Broken. Broken, broken, broken — Maimed, shattered, blistered to burst like waterlogged paint. He made you all, and nothing. Made you shrivel into your own shell at the phantom of his thought. Baring your teeth at the need to divulge in feeling deeper than satiation. 

—

You’d cycled back home, hair damp and lank with rare Austin rain. Slow circles of the pedals around a pivot, swerving gently from one side of the empty road to the other. Eyes ahead of you. It was like you were floating in a daze under the yellow saturation of the streetlamps. Past shabby housing estates back to the trailer park you called home. Tips from tonight tucked into the pocket of your apron, ready to be stored under the mattress in the moth bitten pillowcase. Ready to find your flight out of this town. 

You skidded to a halt in the pebble speckled dirt outside your trailer, brakes squealing in protest. Standing to lock up your bike to the railing by your uncles beat up, busted down truck. A heavy thunder cracked above, a swollen storm cloud rolling in to send the summer out on its departure with a bang. September was here. And the air smelled acidic with the promise of downpour. 

Glancing at the trailer next door, you came to realise your neighbour was in. Lights on, music rattling aluminium walls of his shabby home. You had to fight the urge to roll your eyes at him as he caught your eye in his window. Watching, thumb swiping over his lower lip as he eyed you in your uniform. A stupid yellow dress and pinafore, scuffed mary janes, frilly white socks. Ketchup stains. Doe eyes glued to him, you saw a swallow pass down the thick column of his throat. His deep hickory eyes were dark black in this light, pupils blown to devour the colour.  

Before the heat licking up your cheeks could pull to your centre, you moved one foot in front of the other, crashing through the door. The TV was on, a barbaric film of screams drowned out the thunder outside, rattling in your ears. Jarring? No. The regular. Your uncle, ever the washed up cop out he was, was on his fifth beer, no doubt would send a nightcap of whiskey down his throat before lugging himself off to bed. The bottle hung limp in his drunken hand, loosely dangled over the armrest of the leather couch.

He did not spare you a glance. 

“I’m home.” You called out to him, waving out a hand in his direction. His sunken stoner eyes didn't drift from the box television in front of him. Merely garbled grunt, followed by a beer burp passed his lips. You sighed through your nose, teeth set on edge. “You had dinner?” 

Another grunt. One you took as ‘the fuck do you think?’

You sighed, “Okay, i’ll throw somethin’ in the oven, yeah?” This time he did not spare an answer. 

You took it as a blessing. Could have been worse. He could have struck you for being late, taking on overtime for Dee, the young mother who worked alongside you on friday evenings. You needed the money. Uncle Luke got laid off last month, turning up to the impound lot drunk, reeking of hard liquor and staggering around machinery. 

So you left it at that, disappeared to hide your money, counting out the bills into piles of ten. Just shy of ninety six dollars. All gathered and stuffed under your mattress. Next was dinner. Nothing much in the fridge, a box of frostbitten waffle fries, out of date in the back of the freezer. Or leftover pizza from the night before. Why not both. ‘Have a feast!’ you humoured yourself dryly. 

It was an hour or so later into the evening when your uncle finally spoke up, empty plate resting on his beer belly, another belch to punctuate the first words he said to you all evening.

“Do me a favour and drop by Joel's will ya, doll?” You sat up, looking at him from the lazyboy seat you perched in, feet kicking down from the coffee table. 

“Joel’s? Why?” He looked over to see your brow furrowed in question. 

“Usual dealer is outta town. Joel’s hookin’ me up with some in the meantime.” 

“Come on,” You sighed, tilting your head at him the way a parent would do with a child in pity, “I thought you were clean.”

“It’s just weed.” He snapped, voice gruff in his thick drawl, slurred. “Aint gonna fuckin’ kill me. But you might. Expensive brat.” 

The thought flickered across your mind to argue. Fight back. Tell him you were fighting tooth and nail for the rent due next month. But the bruise of his handprint and the simmering burn of his slap to your face the night before stopped your words dry in your throat. 

“Fine.” You sighed. 

And so, with heavy feet and a grudge in your tight chest, you ambled on over to the next door, knuckles rapping on his door three times quickly. 

Joel Miller opened the door with a puff of air out his nose, cigarette hanging loose from his lips. A barrel chested man in a tight wife beater and low slung dirty jeans, brow set in stone. The corner of his lip curled into a sneer of a smirk, taking no shame in the fact he was eyeing you head to toe. The devil down smirk. It made something disgusting tug at your insides, pool deeper in the thick of tension. 

“What can I do for you?” He asked in a drawl, crossing great oaks of arms over his chest. The neck of his tank let tease a smattering of salt and pepper hair over the top of his chest. Bristly, wiry. You ignored the urge to feel it catch in your nails. Do the same with the scruff, scant over his jaw. The same gradient. Just as coarse. 

“Um,” You eyes dropped from their ogling to the step your feet were planted on, head hung with them, “Uncle Luke said you had somethin’ for ‘im.” You mumbled after clearing your throat. 

“I do.” He nodded, pinching his cig between his thick thumb and forefinger, taking a drag and parting it with his lips. He squinted as he exhaled, the stench of the cigarette catching bitter in your nose. “He sent you over here to get it? A sweet lil’ thing like you.” 

You nodded hesitantly, still not daring to look at the man in front of you. Above you. He chuckled inwardly at your display of subservience, cock twitching behind the zipper and denim of his jeans. “Look’t ya.” He mused, tossing his dying cigarette onto the gravel, hooking his tobacco stained fingers under your chin to lift it. While your head tilted up at his touch, your eyes strained to stay on the floor. He watched as the stretch of your neck struggled to accommodate a nervous swallow, skin rippling deliciously under his hold. “Lil’ angel aint ya?” He thumbed your head to the side, eyes relishing in the sight of more skin, the wash of yellow light over your profile. “A Cherub.”  Cherub. That’s what he named you. His little Cherub who was defiled and taken in a heated, frantic assembly of limbs. Pulled to fire at hell's mouth. Joel Miller's mouth.

Still you looked down. “Look at me, Cherub.” And with a heavy sigh you did. That was what was so easy about Joel. It took nothing to obey. Nothing to give in and keel over at his side. “That's better.” He mumbled under his breath, watching the rise of your chest. You could feel the pert tips of your breasts pebble at the meeting of his eyes, mixed with his touch. How delicate it was now. How deranged it would be later. “Come on in…Cherub.” He practically crooned the pet name, stepping aside. 

You passed the threshold, a mistake for the best and words parts of you. Because stepping across that line was the damning event in your experience of Joel Miller. Pandora’s box had been opened, left to decay in the woods somewhere as evil poured guilt free from it.

He rummaged around for a second, pulling a clear plastic ziplock bag from a duffel in the corner, dangling it in front of your face. A dirt green, clustered in form. You reached to take it, but he snatched it back with a cruel smile, making the walls of your stomach curl in dread, jaw clamp shut. 

“Luke’s gotta pay up, first. He give you money for me?” You shook your head. His eyes clouded darker.  “No?” He raised an amused brow, “How you gonna pay for it, Cherub?” 

You're stumped. “I– I…” Your voice died in your throat. But Joel can seemingly peer inside you to your own mind, part it like a page of a book or your own legs. 

“I don’t want your money, baby.” 

“Woulda been mine, anyway.” You sigh. And he narrows his eyes at you, tutting in disappointment. 

“I can think ’f one thing that’ll make it up to me.”

And that's how you ended up here. His thick, intruding fingers hooking into your mouth, unhinging your jaw as he speared you on his cock. Everything about him was larger than life. Even the way he breathed was domineering. Fucking you with flared nostrils that gave way to a billowing a breath. The other hand at your neck, revelling at the feeling of your pulse hammering under his splayed palm. Worming your way though cracks in his thick ribs while took you.

He had folded you in half, pressed the knobbles of your knees up to the sides of your head as tears ran thick, hot and slow down your temples. He made it hurt. But you loved it. Needed him to evaporate into air so you inhale him. Devour him. 

He grunted, watching in furrowed brow amusement while his thumb pressed into the soft flesh under your jaw, middle and forefinger coated in your slick form earlier and now your own saliva. 

It was a primal image. One some may find disgusting. To see him bent over you and ravaging your cunt raw. Bleeding you dry of a semblance of sanity. It was so easy when the tip of his hot, angry cock nipped at the mouth of your cervix with vigour like that. His hand is at your throat, pressing a purple bruise into your flesh over the old one made by another man. For you to marvel at later when he once again staggers from bed to refresh himself with a cool beer, clutching the ache that curled at the base of his spine. 

In his eyes, you needed a big god. A man to keep you to yourself. Never have you stray. Ground you with the slamming of his pelvis into your hips. Legs parted for him to eye the very core of you. The seam he would part with two fingers, hot, needly, wet for him. Aching and pinching and shuddering around his digits, tongue, dick. Letting him invade you like the good girl he told you you were, crooning into your ear with hot damp breaths. 

Joel dredged up an ache of humanity in you that felt numb so long before. Lay dormant in the chasm of your stomach. Swallowed like a peach pit to choke on later. After the sin had dried like the sweat on your skin.

“Fucking easy, ain’t ya, Cherub.” He would say as he penetrated your walls, invaded your mouth with his fingers. His lips draw open mouthed, wet kisses to the delicate column of your throat, down the bone between your breasts. Then he leans back, watching intently as his hips slow to grind, dragging the slick of your walls to drench the base of his cock. Ready for you to take down your throat later if he wished to meld you into that position. A hand let free the grip on your throat, instead watched with fascination as he slapped your tit, took the swell of it in his palm, cupping it, tugging at your pearled nipple. “Gonna take all of it for me, Cherub.” 

You garbled out a yes, a cry of submission to him. Before, Joel never felt the acidic aftertaste of guilt for being selfish. Since he lost Sarah, he took it upon himself to have what he wanted and when he wanted it, without a damn for the rest of humanity.

The only time he felt a shred of remorse was when he stole you; Hid you away from the warm, nurturing touch of others' more loving, less brutal hands. But you were his Cherub. All that was pretty a beautiful and to be desired in the world.

With his lip between his teeth, his thumb swiped tight circles over your swollen clit, slick aiding him in the fluidity of his strokes, heavy balls drizzled in your arousal as they slap wetly against your ass. A nod and his fingers slip further into your mouth, opening your jaw wider to peer inside. A glob of his spit drooled past his lips, splattering thick and warm upon your clit. It slid down to your entrance, where he punctures moans out of you, shaft stretching you, fucking you out, and thrusting with the intent to break you. You can feel the curve of it, the vein that runs steady on the underside of it. Heavy, full. You remember the slap it sounded out when you reached to pull it free. Before he parted your legs wide and sheathed himself in your pussy with one swift wane of his hips.

Joel smiles when you sob and break down for him, pull back a layer for him to slip into you. The walls of you drag him down into a grounding. A centre of a universe. Gravity strong enough to implode, create dark matter, compress tightly into a black hole. The centre of his universe. 

“Does my baby want it?” He crooned, and you yelped a yes, strangled by his being. The scent of him clinging to you, your sex. It gnarled at your skin. Scratched marks into flesh. “Does she want to come for me?” 

You didn't have to nod, he made you with his grip on your jaw. It was going to be your answer anyway. “Want you to say it for me too, Cherub.” 

“Yea, Joel!” You yelp, voice shrill, and cracked like the callus on the heel of his hand. “Yes!” 

He grins, wicked and wrapped with the inter to tear you apart from the inside with the jackhammering of his cock inside you, The delicious, toe curling numbness of it inside you. 

“Come on, Cherub, sing f’me.” 

“Yes-” It's a shriek, a quick, frenzied shriek. One that filled the hollow of your chest and then deflated it. “Yes! Please, please, please- Please!” 

Your begging melts in his ears, the sight of eyes rolled back, mouth open for him. And he needs to feel, reaching between where the two of you join with your own hand. The base of his cock now between your middle and ring fingers, his length swiping your fingers in combined precum and slick as he bucks his hips violently. The headboard shakes and trembles beneath his frantic movement. And he presses the heel of your hand into your clit, having you seeing stars. Crying to the heavens you fell from. 

His little Cherub. Plush skin and plump curves for his teeth to sink into and mark his territory. Whenever he may please now. 

“Come.” 

And you do, screaming his name to him as a numb weight fills the pit of your core, has your pussy pulsing in waves, ebbs and flows. It sucks him deeper, a lew squelch gaining his attention when his lower abdomen and balls tighten. He lets out a strangled groan, filling you with one final push upon your cervix. 

It has you gasping for air, chest heaving when he looks down between you, the white sticky ooze of his come seeping from your walls, softening cock still sheathed inside of you. Not ready to pull from the warmth your cunt hugs him with. 

“That’s it, angel, down you come.” He coos, before sifting his hips, leaving you to whine as your gaping hole fluttered furiously around nothing.  

He stands, pulls his jeans on, fly still undone, belt buckle loose and clinking at his sides. He swipes your underwear from the scattering of your clothes over the musty carpet, bringing it to his nose to inhale. “Part of the payment.” He mumbles, not that you’re listening, mind still swimming in its pool of oxytocin. And he slips the lace into his jean pocket, baby pink peeking out from denim. 

“Better get back, Cherub.” Joel said plainly, fingers dancing over your used hole, as cum dribbles gluttonously from it, down your crack to your puckered asshole. He thumbs it gently and you squeal, squirming away. His hand clamps down upon your thigh, dragging you back down the mattress to his unyielding touch. 

“Don’t be ungrateful now.” He growls, collecting the creamy spend with two fingers, scooping it back inside you. Your body jolts from the intrusion, but gathers itself again and desire swims low in the swell of your belly. “Want it all in ya’. Fillin’ you nice and good for me, Cherub. There we are, that’s it.” He smiles, eyes unmoving from your cunt as his fingers disappear inside and stretch it out, scissoring you to overstimulation. “Maybe one day i’ll get to use this one too…” And you feel his thumb once more at your butt, adding the smallest tease of pressure.

Joel pulled back, clapping a hand down on the plush, malleable skin of your thigh. 

“Up ‘n out, Cherub, ‘fore your uncle gets suspicious.” 

You know Uncle Luke won’t know any different. He’s passed out on the sofa when you get in, legs trembling with an ache weighing the marrow of your bones. You shut the door with your back and a shaking huff, tossing the weed onto the coffee table, retiring to your room, sobbing to nothing and no one but your grimy pillow, licking your wounds like the wounded bitch you had now become.

[drabblesandimagines]

Portrait

Joshua Rosfield x (painter) female reader Commissioned piece, 4,600 words (minor end game spoilers) Thank you so much for the commissioner for commissioning me in the first place and for letting me share here with you all! x

“No, no, no.” You’d swear the woman before you should be stomping her foot along to her words, her mannerisms being similar to those of a petulant child not getting their way.

The Empress of Sanbreque is usually a picture of decorum – carefully composed expression, hands clasped, never a hair out of place nor a wrinkle in her gown – but her façade appears to have cracked for she is scowling at you with clenched fists by her side. “Did you not understand my directions?”

You open your mouth, and quickly shut it again. Your mind is blank on an answer, probably looking foolish as you do so. You look at the portrait you’d unveiled moments ago for her private viewing, trying to see what she’s taken umbrage with, though you’re sure you followed her instructions to the letter.

“Your Grace, I-”

She raises her hand, stopping you before you can even begin a defense.

“It is quite clear that you did not.” Olivier, her three-year-old son and the subject of the portrait, sits at her feet, disturbingly well-behaved for his age, even for one of noble blood and upbringing. His eyes almost seemed lifeless at times – unnervingly so – with a cruel smile that was beyond his years. You’d tried to soften it out, is that what had upset her so?

“His Grace has been most pleased with my previous works.” You’d been brought in under the Empreror’s service first – endless commissions of he and the crown prince to celebrate every momentous occasion over the last few years.   

“His Grace has, yes, but only of Prince Dion.” The way she pronounces Bahamut’s name is as if it leaves a foul taste on her tongue. “But these won’t do at all for my darling Olivier.” She pinches the bridge of her nose in exasperation as she casts her eyes over your work once more. You swallow your pride. After all, it is far better to keep in the Empress’ good books than make an enemy of. “I will start anew-” “No – I’ve seen enough. You are dismissed, without pay. Come, Olivier.”

He grabs her hand obediently, but not without throwing you one last cruel smile.

--

Although you knew it would be difficult to remain in the city, you hadn’t expected a group of soldiers to appear at your door that very evening – armed with swords and spears, one holding a scroll of decree and beginning to read to you the moment after your name was confirmed.

“By decree of Empress Anabella Lesage, you are hereby commanded to leave Orinflamme at once.”

“Leave?” You’d planned to move – you knew her handmaidens would make quick work of spreading the gossip of your dismissal, whispering in certain noble ears to make sure the word spread far and wide – but to be banished altogether?

“Leave.” The captain of the guard confirmed, no sign of emotion on his face. “Refusal to comply will be seen as treason, of which the punishment is execution. You are to be gone by sunrise.”

You look around your small abode, trying to work out what you could possibly pack up and take in such a small timeframe – could you scrape enough gil together to rent a chocobo for the travel?

“Furthermore, all of your possessions are now the property of Empire. You may, however, retain the clothes upon your person.” The way in which he says it makes you think that he believes that is being far too generous.

“Excuse me,” a familiar voice calls and the crowd of guards splits. Prince Dion Lesage, regaled in the armour of the Dragoons and spear at his side, walks forward with purpose.

“My prince, there is no need to trouble yourself with such matters as these.”

“The Emperor himself requested my presence to make sure the Empress’ wishes are fulfilled. If you will excuse us, I assure you I have it handled from here and you may return to your other duties.” He casts a scathing eye over the seven men. “I doubt this task required this many of you either.”

“Yes, my prince.” The captain replies, tersely, with only a slight bow of his head, but none of the men make to move quite yet.

Dion’s hand tightens around the hilt of his spear and you are rendered speechless as he grabs you by the crook of your elbow and pulls you forward, out of your home – not even a chance to glance around and bid it goodbye - past the assembled guards and starts to lead you towards the city gates in long strides.

“I am sorry, my lady,” Dion says, softly, trying to avoid prying ears. You have always been fond of the crown prince – he had always treated you kindly in your interactions during portrait sitting sessions over the last few years. “I tried to speak to the Emperor to overturn the Empress’ command as soon as word reached me, but he would not be swayed.”

Your eyes widen at the idea. “Prince Dion, you shouldn’t have. That is far more kindness than I deserve.”

“Nonsense,” he chides. “I just wish I could do more. I saw the portrait before the Empress commanded it destroyed. I cannot think what has offended her so – it was the spitting image of Olivier.” He drops your elbow at last and retrieves a pouch off his belt, holding it out to you. “It isn’t much – shamefully, I am not adept of carrying gil around on my person – but hopefully it will be enough to see you through your travel.”

“No, your highness,” you shake your head. “I couldn’t possibly accept.”

“You must,” he presses the pouch firmly in your hand. “Do not make me order it so. It will be a long journey ahead - my concern is Northflame is too close to be out of the Empress’ influence.”

“I’ll head to Port Isodole – enough nobles reside there for me to gain employment once more, I’m sure of it.”

--

It was tricky upon your arrival to Port Isodole. You wanted to remain positive that you’d be commissioned on reputation alone by some of the Imperial nobles who resided there. Unfortunately, it soon became clear that the word had already wormed its way into eager ears, and those who sought the Empress Anabella’s favour wouldn’t dare to associate with someone she’d dismissed so blatantly and banished from the city itself.

You’d made do with work as a barmaid, part of your wages taking up with your food and board. Slowly, you’d built up your art supplies over the years and remained positive. Afterall, you could have had much worse luck in life than what you’d faced.

Finally, you decided to take a few of landscape pieces to market, hoping that surely enough time had passed - the Mothercrystal had been felled, Orinflamme abandoned in consequence, so why would the people of Port Isodole still hold such regard for the word of an Empress now stationed so far away?

“My dear, these are truly wonderful.” His voice is boomingly loud, surely drawing the attention of everyone in the vicinity. A tall, stocky, bearded man, dressed in finery looked in awe at your display and you so hoped pockets heavy with gil might be in store. “I feel as if I’m actually there, casting my eyes across the horizon once more.”

“Thank you, sir. Is there anything you’re looking for in particular?” “Mayhaps - do you dabble in portraiture?” “I do… or I did. It’s been a little while.”

“And who is your patron?”

“My… patron?” You hesitate, wary now that this is where Anabella’s tarnishing of your name would lead to your undoing.

“With a talent such as this, you must have one.”

“Well, I-“

“Lord Byron”, a man interrupts, looking scornfully at you and keeping his distance. A beautiful woman is hanging off his arm and looking mortified by the whole thing. “I’d be wary of her. Empress Anabella dismissed her from her services.”

“Oh… Oh, my.” He sets his face in a solemn expression and your heart sinks. “Thank you, my good man.” Byron nods his head, giving the man a hearty pat on the back and begins to walk away with the couple. You feel as if you may cry. Maybe coming here was a mistake, but it was as far as you could’ve gone with the gil Dion had kindly given you. Is Anabella’s scorn going to follow you round forever?

You try and steel your resolve for other potential customers – who would want to purchase anything from a tearful merchant? - though many pass without giving your wares so much as a second glance. A cloaked man strides past, hand scuffing your table as he does. At first you think he meant to swipe something from it, but there is only an addition in the form of a letter.

You lean over the table and pick it up, breaking the wax seal.

My sincerest apologies for how we parted. If you would be so kind, please attend the manor this evening and dine with me. I wish to discuss your talent further and, if I may, commission you, the Empress Anabella be damned. – Lord Byron Rosfield.

--

Lord Byron had heard tale of your portraits, it had turned out, but he still wished to see your work first hand before he would tell you what he truly wanted. A workroom was set up for your disposal, a plethora of supplies that made your eyes water at the potential cost, but he had waved it off, declaring himself a lover of the arts. He’d marveled at your portrait of him and bid you come the next day to see the project in full he wished to discuss. As you entered the workroom, the large table had been covered in rolls of what you thought were parchment, but instead turned out to be precious segments of his dear brother’s portrait – the former Archduke of Rosaria, Elwin.

“I fear it is far beyond repair – I was lucky to salvage enough as I did - but I wondered if you would be up for the challenge of a recreation.”

“I can certainly try. There’s definitely enough of his face to base from. And I have your likeness, my lord, to assist.”

--

“Oh, Uncle,” Clive has tears in his eyes as he beholds the new addition to Byron’s parlor. “It is just as I remembered – he is just as I remembered. How did you even get hold of this? I thought everything destroyed after the siege.”

“The original was beyond saving, torn and burnt in places, yes. This, my dear boy, I had it commissioned, using parts of the original as a guide. You see, I have taken into my patronage a very talented artist – allow me to fetch her.”

Joshua’s breath had been stolen when he saw the painting of his father. He could swear if he stared long enough, the eyes would blink in return, that he would see his father’s chest rise with breath once more. He couldn’t help but wonder if he’d be proud of the man he’d grown to be, if he had done the Phoenix proud before the Eikons were stripped from the world.

A warm palm rests on his shoulder. “It is like he is the room once more, isn’t it?”

“Indeed, brother. Quite remarkable. I… I worried I had forgotten his face, after all this time, but this…”

Clive squeezes his shoulder then, no more words needed.

The silence is soon interrupted by the heavy footsteps of their uncle as the door is thrown open.

“Lord Bryon,” you protest, trying to step back but his hand on your back remains firm, “My apologies, but I really am in no state to-”

“Nonsense, my girl!” It is too late for you are pushed in front of two of the most handsome men you think you have seen.

You curtsy, clumsily, and Joshua can’t help but grin. He said you were to meet his nephews and, as he was a lord, they deserved the same respect, however Bryon hadn’t even given you chance to wash your hands, nor check your face in the mirror for errant paint streaks before he’d ushered you to the parlor.

“My dearest nephews, allow me to introduce the talented painter behind this masterpiece.”  

Your cheeks feel hot, a little flustered in the way which Byron had pulled you in front of his nephews with no preparation. Joshua thanks the Founder that he was stood where he was, meaning that he gets to make your acquaintance first. Byron introduces you by name and turns to the blonde first, beaming.

“This is my youngest nephew – Joshua.” You offer out your hand but also curtsy again, forgetting yourself in the fluster. The Empress Anabella would not have stood for it. Before you can retreat your hand with an apology, Joshua takes it in his hand and drops to his knee, pressing a kiss across the back of it.

“It is a pleasure to meet the talented woman behind the masterpiece.”

“Oh,” your eyes light up and Joshua delights in it, already thinking of how he can achieve the same rush. “Thank you – that’s very kind. I admired Archduke Elwin very much – it was an honour to pay tribute to his memory.” Joshua slowly gets to his feet and relinquishes your hand.

“I… I served under your mother – the Empress Anabella - for a time.”

“Yes, before she was exiled for a portrait of Oliver Lesage not meeting her standards.”

“Ah. I pray you do not hold that against us.” Clive interrupts.

“Of course she doesn’t, my boy!” Byron booms once more. “This is my eldest nephew, Clive. Quite the rogue.”

“Uncle,” Clive gently admonishes. “I cannot see why our mother would be displeased with your work. This is… I feel like I can reach out and touch him. You’ve captured him remarkably well.”

You duck your head down in embarrassment, not used to receiving such amounts of praise. The Emperor would nod his approval, make no comment on style or substance, so to have the three sing your praises is a little overwhelming.

“Thank you.” You nod at Clive, a small smile across your lips and Joshua feels a twang in his chest at the sight of it – odd.

“And now this one is complete, I dare say we mu-“

The parlor door is swung open with a bang. Gav stands there, panting, hands on his knees to try and catch his breath. “Sorry, like, but we gotta scram. Imperial soldiers heading this way – caught wind of Cid the Outlaw sniffing about.”

Joshua did not see you for another year.

Regrettably, other matters had taken precedence. Ultima at first, a period of recovery for both him and Clive – Dion lost in the fight, and then focus had turned to helping nations adapt to a crystal-free life and the rebuilding of Grand Duchy of Rosaria. Parts of the castle were still under construction, but the capital itself had been rebuilt and ready to usher in the new Archduke.

“Your grace,” a servant called, diverting his attention from the latest pile of missives left at his desk, “Lord Byron Rosfield has arrived.”

“Uncle!” Joshua beamed, descending the stairs from the castle into the courtyard where Byron was emerging from a carriage. “We were not expecting you quite yet.”

“My dear boy,” he pulled his nephew into a firm hug. “I’m afraid I was far too keen to give you your gift to wait any longer.”

“A gift, Uncle? You shouldn’t have.”

His eyes widen as you emerge from the carriage, a hesitant smile on your face as you nod your head in greeting.

“Nonsense! The Archduke needs a portrait to mark this historical day.”

“Your grace.” You begin, cautiously. “I’m not sure you remember me, but-“

“My lady,” he begins, slyly taking your hand and pressing a kiss against your knuckles in greeting. “Of course I do. I assure you I could not forget one of such talent, nor of such beautiful visage.”

“You are too kind, your grace.”

“Joshua – I insist.”

“Joshua.” The word feels precious on your tongue. “Lord Byron is quite keen for me to paint a portrait of you and your brother, though I’m aware that this is probably quite a busy time for you to have long sittings.”

“Nonsense. You are welcome to my time whenever you wish, my lady.”

--

Joshua would never openly admit to it, but he had been somewhat jealous of Clive in their childhood. Not of the distain his mother had shown towards her first-born son, no, but of the freedom that maternal neglect had permitted him. Though Clive had taken the burden of being the First Shield upon his shoulders without a word of complaint, it was not as if Joshua had asked to be the Dominant of the Phoenix, nor that he had a choice in the matter at all. So many people were relying on him, championing him on, but when he was laid up in bed, downing elixirs and tonics made by the castle healers, he didn’t feel as strong as he needed to be.

Clive could go out wherever he wanted, do whatever he wanted without the watchful eye of Anabella or the gaggle of her handmaidens. He could wear whatever he pleased too, practical things, even. Joshua instead had been draped in the finest fabrics, shipped in from Dhalkmekia that he would be scolded over for dirtying even slightly.

He thought he was old enough to no longer experience such a childish notion as jealousy – he could wear what he wanted, go where he wanted, no longer burdened by Ultima in his chest or the Phoenix in his being… But the foul feeling is getting harder to ignore when he is forced to sit there as you grip Clive’s bicep, moving his arm a fraction of an inch to the left, or the way in which you shyly adjust his shirt, claiming it’s important to have the outfit the exact same in order for the shading, but you never show him the same courtesy. He had hoped for more private sittings, to have your company to himself – perhaps sitting shoulder to shoulder with Clive’s muscular form was doing him no favours - but Byron had requested the two men together in a portrait, so the sessions had been arranged for when they were both free so you could at least get the outlines down, as well as some initial colouring.

You tug Clive’s shirt down a little to try and get it to lay flat – face burning with how your hand ghosted across his muscular chest - it had ridden a little and bunched when he sat. Clive stared straight ahead, hands clasped, ever the gentleman, and Joshua found himself shuffling in position, hoping his shirt might misbehave.

The Founder does not bless him so, as you return back behind the canvas.

--

Joshua arrives for his sitting in a good mood for two reasons – one, it is just to be him as Clive is away in Eastpool for a day or so, and two, he had a plan.

He did have a morning and early afternoon of meetings and reports to get through, but he had promised the late afternoon and as much as the evening for his sitting to take place, and that is certainly enough time to put said plan into action.

“Hello,” You smile brightly as he enters, taking his usual position on the chair.  Joshua has his pose down to a fine art, whereas Clive needed more co-ercing to settle. “Are you sure you have time for this today? It might be a rather long one, I’m afraid I have a lot to get through as Lord Byron is keen for it to be ready for the day.”

“As I said, I am all yours for as long as you can stand me, my lady.”

You nod, stepping behind the canvas and pick up from where you left off. He doesn’t make his move for a good while, watching carefully as your eyes flick between the canvas and him and you begin to mix up paints once more, trial and error as usual as you worked diligently to find the right shade.

He makes his move when you turn back to the table to grab a clean brush, tugging the knot on the laces of his shirt clear and then shrugging his shoulder, revealing a little more of his chest than was previously on display.

You turn back round and your gaze flick between Joshua and the canvas once more… only for you to doubletake. He bites back a grin in celebration. It must be the candlelight playing tricks on your eyes because you could’ve sworn Joshua’s shirt laces were most definitely tied a moment ago. Mayhaps you should open a door – are the paint fumes going a little too much to your head after being sequestered in here all day long?

“Is everything all right?”

“Your, erm…” You put down the paint brush. “Your shirt laces have come undone.”

“Oh, have they?” He shrugs again, his top slipping down his shoulder a little more. “Oh, the shading, of course. My apologies.”

“That’s all right.” You wipe your hands clean on a rag, wondering how it had come quite so undone, before walking over to your subject. “May I?”

“By all means.”

You pull his shirt up his shoulder, lining it up with his ear -  a good reference point - and pull the laces taught to tie off once more. You step back, cock your head this way and that, and then forward again to adjust it once more.

“There.”

“Wonderful.”

You return back to the canvas and begin to paint, brow furrowed in concentration, whilst Joshua feels absolutely giddy that his plan had been somewhat successful in achieving your touch.

So much so, that he cannot resist a tug at the laces once more the very next time he sees you turn your back – this time to take a deep drink of water - shrugging his shoulder once more, so it reveals more of his collarbone. He composes his features, he can’t give the game away by grinning like a child.

You turn back after a few moments and this time notice immediately, opening your mouth to say something but not quite knowing what to say. You’re sure you tied the knot firmly enough to stay put.

“What is it, my lady?” He tilts his head in intrigue.

“Your… Your shirt, it’s come undone. Again.”

“No,” he feigns disbelief, looking down at his chest in surprise. “I only stretched, I assure you.”

“Of course – mayhaps I didn’t tie it tight enough.” You wipe your hands clean again on the rag and stride over, a little less cautious this time as you tug his shirt back up, now standing between his spread legs – when did that happen? - lining it up with his ear once again and tighten the laces before securing it in a knot. You nod, more to yourself, as you check over your handiwork and go to step back.

“Thank you.” Joshua catches your hand as you do so, stilling your retreat. “It is very admirable how dedicated you are to your work.”

“I think it is how I get them to seem as realistic as you say they are – the shading is everything.” Your heart is pounding in your chest by how close you are, stood between his thighs. “I should…”

“Of course,” he releases your hand and by the time you’re back behind the canvas, his legs are crossed once more.

You work in silence for a while, getting fully into the flow now that Joshua’s shirt appears to be behaving. He enjoys watching you work – the way sometimes you stick your tongue out when you are concentrating particularly hard on a certain element, how your brow furrows, how tiny smatters of paint begin to decorate your cheeks and your hair as you dab the brush onto the canvas.

As the time passes, he cannot refuse to chase the thrill of your touch one more time this evening. Clive returns tomorrow and maybe this will be his last chance for a while – he couldn’t so boldly unlace his shirt with his brother sat by his side. He waits for another opportune moment for your back to be turned, and tugs at the knot.

It holds firm.

Your back is still turned, so he tugs again.

Nothing.

He raises his other hand to try and help undo the knot, before leaning up in his chair slightly to see if he can see what you’re doing, how much longer you may be as he continues fighting the knot. He thinks you’re having another drink of water, so he risks looking down, finally pulling the knot free and frantically shrugs his shoulders – a little more vigorously than before as he feels his shirt slip down on both.

He looks up in relief, only to see you have turned back whilst he was looking down, your head tilted as you stare at him in confusion.

Joshua feels his face burn as red as his old cowl at being caught in the act.

You walk over to him again, trying to hold in a smile that is rapidly creeping across your face and feeling as bold as brass. “Although I would like to paint you sans shirt, Joshua, I don’t think your uncle would be best pleased.”

“You would?” His voice lilts before he shakes his head, embarrassment and shame overcoming him. “No, I beg your forgiveness, my lady.” He mumbles, tugging his shirt back up on his shoulders. “I have let feelings of jealousy drive my actions and it is most unbecoming of a future Archduke.”

“Jealousy?”

“I… desired your touch, but I understand that Clive is…”

“He’s…?”

“A finer specimen.” He feels entirely foolish and somewhat pathetic for even saying it aloud – his brother’s body had come from years of enforced labor, for Founder’s sake! “Please, my lady, I beg you for-“

You press your lips against his in a chaste kiss, before pulling back with a shy smile, heart pounding, hoping you’ve read the signs and heard him correctly.

“I assure you, Clive is not the one I desire.”

He lifts a hand to caress your cheek for a moment before pulling you back in between his thighs, a steadying hand on your back as your lips meet again once more – a succession of frantic kisses, as if you are both trying to squeeze in as many as you can before the moment is over.

The two of you begin to slow your rhythm as you nestle yourself upon his thigh, feel his tongue swipe across your lips, seeking entrance. You part them slightly and he is quick to divulge with a moan that makes you tingle.

You have to retreat to catch your breath at one point – never in your wildest dreams had you pictured the session ending with you sat on the future Archduke’s lap, his shirt now hanging open around his shoulders again.

“Please do not say you have to get back to the portrait, darling one.” He murmurs into your throat before pressing kisses across your jaw.

“No. Your complexion is too flush for me to continue,” you tease.

“Good. For I have something else in mind for the evening.”

“Oh?”

“A private showing, if you will.” He takes your hand and places it flat against the exposed part of his chest – you can feel his heart pounding through your fingertips.  

“Where would that be?”

“My bed chambers.”

--

Masterlist . Requests welcome . Commissions/Ko-Fi

Comments, follows, likes and reblogs make my day!

(The tags aren't working for this one - sigh...)

[ystrike1]

Your Majesty, Please Spare Me This Time - By Eclair (8.5/10)

Would you like to see some genuinely evil characters with layers? Get ready because there's like ten of those in here. This cute looking story is what some people would call grimdark. There's alot of taboo stuff in this, including everything from necrophilia to animal abuse. You have been warned.

Lariet. She was innocent, spoiled and stupid. She didn’t care sbout politics, because her father pampered her way too much. Her father is, however, a good man. His family does not live lavishly. Their citizens taxes go directly into public programs. He is a great man. Her mother was a prominent and beloved singer. Her brother, Lehane, is a promising knight. They all adore her, even though she is mousy and quiet. Sometimes, she does wish that she could wear lovely clothes like the other girls but...that's about it. She loves her family too much to complain about stupid things like that.

Stupid, naive Lariet dies. She dies believing that her loving family is innocent of treason. When the new Emperor, Rupert, kills them all one by one she hates him. She wants him dead. Everybody agrees. He's evil. The next Emperor is a demon who kills without remorse. He executes her under completely false charges. Before she is beheaded she calls him several foul names, and then darkness consumes her.

When Lariet awakens she is twelve, not eighteen. She knows her beheading wasn't a dream. She has the most awful memories. The details of the Emperors rule are too foul to be fake. Before her execution Rupert married a woman named Tori, who was his lady in waiting. He killed her the day after their wedding, with a shotgun. The Emperor is a monster. A demon. An unbeatable one. His siblings don't stand a chance, so Lariet chooses to serve Rupert.

For the first half of the story Rupert is a woman. He's cross dressing for various reasons. He doesn't have alot of power, at the moment. He is moving in secret, because the current Emperor has promised to make him Crown Prince.

We find out why later. Currently, Rupert is pretending to be a princess. He is selling magical weapons illegally as well. He is insanely smart and good at magic.

Lariet loves her family, so she pretends to be loyal to Rupert. She says she will be his completely. Rupert is lonely, so he likes that. He accepts her offer and he treats her like an object for a while.

Lariets brother, Lehane, is very handsome. Lariet's best friend Riche loves him. However, Riche and her family abandoned Lariet when Emperor Rupert targeted her. Riche is a fairweather friend. A weak woman who doesn't care about her family or her responsibilities as a noble. She wants Lariet to pity her, because she cannot marry the man she loves, but Lariet doesn't get it. Lariet is an odd protagonist. The strict rules of noble life aren't an issue for her. She is responsible and quiet. Willing to suffer under Rupert, who is almost certainly a sociopath, to protect her family and territory. It's very...noble. Riche soon reveals her true colors. Riche actually hates Lariet, because she's in the way.

Incest is kind of acceptable in this setting. It's not common, but it's not illegal, so it is possible for siblings to marry. Riche was never Lariets loyal friend. Riche was just watching, and waiting for Lariet to approach her beloved. Lehane does love Lariet, and that makes Riche completely turn against her lifelong friend.

Lariet is adopted, but the incest stuff was still quite uncomfortable to read. Lariet's father even considered betrothing them to each other, because he wanted to make his adopted daughter legitimate. Lariet doesn't know she's adopted for a long time, but it is relevant. Lariet might be special or magical, which would explain why time turned back when she died.

This is Tori, the future Empress...or not? Now that Lariet is in the picture things have changed. Tori the handmaiden is no longer the only woman who knows Ruperts true self. Tori actually isn't human. She is a homunculus created with magic. The material used to make her...is Ruperts mother...yeah. Rupert never loved Tori. They have a very toxic relationship. Tori exists to make Rupert Emperor, because that's what his mother wanted. Tori isolates Rupert. When he starts raising a pet racoon Tori continuously tries to kill it. Lariet has to keep it in her room to protect it. Tori also wants to be like Lariet, because she wants to know what being human is like. She wants to grow. She is stuck in the body of a child. Tori was (most likely) given the body of a woman in the pervious timeline so she could marry Rupert. But it was a sham and Rupert planned to kill her because she was too meddlesome. He might do it in this life too. Tori is kind of Lariet's friend, but Tori is definitely not human. It is very likely that Tori will turn on Lariet, when they both finally realize that Rupert has fallen in love.

The Empress, Eva, is very loved. The Emperor stole her because he loved her so much. He treats everybody else like shit. He is obsessed with her. Sadly, Eva was a spy. He had a husband she loved, but the Emperor abused her until she forgot his face. The Emperor is infertile, so Eva gave birth to a bunch of children out of wedlock out of spite. She decides to use Rupert to destroy the Emperors bloodline. It is her final revenge. A boy with no imperial blood will sit on the throne.

Is the Emperor stupid?

Why hasn't he killed any of his illegitimate children? Haha what a dumb...

No...

The Emperor loves Eva. At least he thinks so. When she killed herself he refused to accept it. Rupert has been "resurrecting" his mother to keep his father (that is not his father) happy. The Emperor has a Queen. He makes her do all the work while he plays with his corpse doll. Rupert is crazy and cruel because of the things he has seen, and he is tormented by what he had to do to become Crown Prince. The Emperor tells Rupert to fix Eva every time she breaks. Rupert has held, repaired, and handled his mother's lifeless body countless times.

After Lariet hears this story she realizes that Rupert was never the most evil man in the palace. She doesn't completely forgive Rupert, but her heart opens up. She matures and learns that her father wasn't faultless too. He didn't save Eva from the Emperor, even when she came to him begging. Also her father totally was going to commit treason. Rupert had every right to execute him from the beginning. Her family was never innocent.

Lariet has to accept that the world of nobility and power is morally grey.

It's a hard process.

Rupert chooses Lariet as his Empress. A couple of spoilers imply that there will be a happy ending, but it'll be bittersweet. I really do think alot of main characters will die before the wedding. Rupert considered killing Lariet about a thousand times, but there's a tipping point. He starts going against his mother's will (also Tori's will) just a little bit. Just so he doesn't have to be alone on the throne. Lariet becomes special to him because of her tenacity.

He knows she hates him.

He just wants a sliver of the love she feels for her family.

Then that's not enough, and the sight of a bruise on her face makes him murderous.

[gsirvitor]

When human life, a shame to human eyes, lay sprawling in the mire in foul estate, a cowering thing without the strength to rise, held down by fell Religion's heavy weight — Religion scowling downward from the skies, with hideous head, and vigilant eyes of hate — First did a man of Greece presume to raise his brows and give the monster gaze for gaze.

Him not the tales of all the Gods in heaven, nor the heaven's lightnings nor the menacing roar of thunder daunted. He was only driven by these vain vauntings to desire the more to burst through Nature's gates and rive the unriven bars.

And he gained the day; and, conqueror, his spirit broke beyond our world and past its flaming walls, and fathomed all the vast. And back returning, crowned with victory, he divulged of things the hidden mysteries, laying quite bare what can and cannot be, how to each force is set strong boundaries, how no power raves unchained; and now Religion lies trampled by us; and unto us 't is given fearless with level gaze to scan the heaven.

Yet fear I lest thou haply deem that thus we sin and enter wicked ways of reason. Whereas 'gainst all things good and beauteous 't is oft Religion does the foulest treason.

Has not the tale of Aulis come to us and those great chiefs who, in the windless season, bade young Iphianassa's form be laid upon the altar of the Trivian maid?

Soon as the fillet round her virgin hair fell in its equal lengths down either cheek, — Soon as she saw her father standing there, sad, by the altar, without power to speak, and at his side the murderous minister, hiding the knife, and many a faithful Greek weeping — her knees grew weak, and with no sound she sank, in speechless terror, on the ground.

But naught availed it in that hour accurst to save the maid from such a doom as this, that her lips were the baby lips that first called the King father with their cries and kiss.

For round her came the strong men, and none durst refuse to do what cruel part was his; so silently they raised her up, and bore her all quivering, to the deadly shrine before her.

And as they bore her, ne'er a golden lyre rang round her coming with a bridal strain; but in the very season of desire, a stainless maiden, amid bloody stain she died — a victim felled by its own sire — That so the ships the wisht-for winds might gain and air puff out their canvas.

Learn thou, then, to what damned deeds Religion urges men.

Freedom of Thought - by William Hurrell Mallock, originally by Titus Lucretius Carus, Roman poet and philosopher.

Upon reflecting on my recent ban, I have come to accept a new religion grips the throat of man, one of the worship of the state and the absurd, one that wishes nothing more than to turn clowns into rulers and silence those who speak out against the illiberal ways the world is ran.

This site is a haven for the most depraved and debauched of fanatics, and those who run it are bent on running any and all out who show modicum of clear and sane rationale, you use medical terms and it is deemed hate speech, you post sourced and cited research that goes against the collective and you are labeled a sinner, you even allude to the fact you are white or straight you get mass reported by a gaggle of sycophants.

The Left is a Cathedral and we must strike down its foundations, why do I say this? Because I am a Liberal, and Liberalism is not conducive with censorship.

Liberalism is a political and moral philosophy based on four foundational rights, that of the individual, liberty, consent of the governed and equality before the law. 

From these four foundational rights the other rights under liberalism can be derived, those being private property, market economies, individual rights, including civil rights and human rights, liberal democracy, secularism, rule of law, economic and political freedom, freedom of speech, freedom of the press, freedom of assembly, and freedom of religion and the right to the defense of self and property.

The Left is anathema to Liberalism, as the Left is made up of Socialist and other revolutionary ideological frameworks, while Liberalism spawned Libertarianism and Conservatism.

Anyway, this has been my post ban vent post.

[thedrarrylibrarian]

Hi! Do you know of any Voldemort wins AU drarry fics? There are lots of dramione ones but I haven’t been able to find drarry ones. Thank you!

This was such an interesting ask! I wasn't sure I'd enjoy this trope when I started it, but I found that I loved reading about Harry and Draco finding love and hope, even when all else seems lost. I hope you enjoy these fics as much as I did!

Just a quick note - mind the tags. A couple of them are marked dub con. In my opinion, they're marked dub con because it's a war and that can force people to have to make difficult choices, but make sure you know your own limits and read accordingly. They don't all end happily.

Voldemort Wins AU

After The War Is Lost by @ladderofyears (226 words, rated M)

Draco and Harry are forced apart.

Letters From Home by @arcticcat621 (1,151 words, rated T)

Writing to each other is all that's getting them through this war.

In Pursuit of Happiness by darkravenwrote (2,244 words, rated T)

Five years after Voldemort won the war, the Order is still rebelling from the shadows. With most of his Death Eaters dead, the Dark Lord has found a new army in the Dementors of Azkaban. But how do you fight such a foul evil when there is no happiness left in the world?

A Little Death Never Hurt Anyone by @tackytigerfic (4,297 words, rated E)

Harry's getting good at slipping through the Veil. He's determined to win the war, even if means he has to raise the dead to do it. Draco just wants a stiff drink and a good night's sleep.

In Plain Sight by @pennygalleon (4,634 words, rated M)

Harry doesn’t tire of this. It’s a sense of belonging he’d never even dared to dream of having back when he was living with the Dursleys.

So it's probably too good to be true...

Come to Heal by @p1013 (4,878 words, rated E)

When Harry Potter stepped out of the smoking rubble of Hogwarts Castle, no one expected him to fall at Voldemort's feet, his wand outstretched in shaking hands, and surrender.

not quite destiny (but maybe that helps) by Someone_aka_me (13,285 words, rated T)

"The Ministry had fallen. Harry Potter was dead. Dumbledore was dead. The war was over. " Except then Draco gets his soulmate mark which tells him that Harry Potter can't be dead. And maybe the war isn't as over as everyone thinks.

The Boy Who Died by @magpiefngrl (18,600 words, rated E)

Harry dies in the forest. Sixteen years later, he comes back to life.

The Boys Who Lived by @writcraft (49,054 words, rated E)

The Battle for Hogwarts is over and Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix have lost the war against Voldemort. When his father is killed for treason, Draco Malfoy is forced to return to Hogwarts and finds the school under the control of a much changed Slytherin House, and the cruel leadership of the Carrows. Yet even in the darkest of times, there is light and Draco finds an unlikely ally in Harry Potter. Battered and bruised by the war, Harry’s tenacity and determination gives Draco hope and the two boys forge an unexpected alliance in a post-war world where secrets tear friends apart and nothing is quite as it seems.

[alavestineneas]

King’s will

pairing: Aegon II Targaryen x OFC

summary: In the game of chess, the queen has more freedom on the chessboard. In that sense, the queen is the most powerful piece. On the other hand, the king has more value. Because if you lose the king, you lose the game. 

warnings: arranged marriage, medieval violence, slow burn

chapter 1 -> chapter 2 -> chapter 3 -> chapter 4 -> chapter 5

Spring of the year 111 AC, 

Highgarden

Otto took a sip out of the goblet, feeling a pleasant taste of Abor gold travel to his throat. It is how Gods intended the drink to be taken—slowly, under the warm rays of the morning sun. It was easy to forget oneself in those beautiful Highgarden gardens, surrounded by the sweet scent of blooming flowers and the gentle hum of bees. It was broadly different to King's Landing. The Westeros' cloak was nothing but dirt compared to those glorious hills. Even now, two years after his time as a King's Hand has ended, Otto felt the foul smell on his palms. 

''Enjoying our wine, Otto?'' 

 A brawny, strong figure appeared from the cool shadows of the trees. The small, prominent wrinkles covered the man's tan face, and his dark beard bore a few strands of grey. Although age and grief seemed to make a mark in his gaze, his brown, almost black eyes shone with a somewhat youthful, mischievous glimpse. 

 ''Fillis Tyrell in his full glory!'' Hightower smiled, standing up from the comfort of his chair to embrace the man in a hug. ''Beware, I may empty your cellar by the end of my stay.''

 ''You are more than welcome to, and you know it. I apologize for not greeting you earlier.'' 

 ''Don't, don't.'' Otto waved around, dismissing Tyrell like an annoying fly. ''I know how hard it is to manage without a wife.''

The man chuckled, ''Well, I'm doing my best. But I must say, it's not easy with two daughters.''

They stood in silence for a moment before Tyrell spoke up again. ''So, what do we owe the pleasure?''

"I decided to visit my friend in his magnificent castle and look at his mountains of gold myself.'' Otto raised his eyebrows, gesturing at the man's attire—black mourning cloth embroidered with golden threads. Heavy, shining jewels covered the large, noble hands and wrapped around the neck, hidden under the velvet collar. 

 ''Don't try to fool me, old fox.'' The man sat, taking a piece of fruit from the golden plate. ''The trading goes well; it always did. You are not here because of that.''

Otto raised an eyebrow, a smirk playing at the corner of his lips. ''You know me too well.'' He took a sip of wine before continuing. ''I am to ask for your support.'' 

Tyrell leaned in, his eyes narrowing with interest. ''Go on.'' 

''The Realm stands at peace, but we are preparing for war, my friend.''

The man sat back in his chair, rubbing his chin thoughtfully. ''You are asking a lot of me, Otto. Going against the King's will is the highest treason.'' 

 ''The King's will doesn't take away the birthright of the firstborn son.'' Otto followed the man's gaze. Two young children played near the fountain, with a maid struggling to keep them away from the water. 

 ''I have two daughters growing. Gods know how long I am yet to live and rule here before they are alone. They can't even hold a sword, and you want me to put them at war without any protection?''

It was not just his father's love that spoke; it was the lack of gain for his house that Tyrell voiced. Not even a life-long friendship could change the man's prudent nature; although sometimes wearying, it served him well.

''What do you want in return, Fillis?'' 

 Tyrell looked at him, a playful glimpse long gone. ''Wed them. Take my daughter to Oldtown, raise her in your traditions, and make her Aegon's wife.'' 

 Otto shook his head ''I can't do that. The prince is only four; your daughter is seven.'' 

 ''I have two. Elize is an heir. She will be the Lady Paramount of the Mander, first to support your grandson's claim when the time comes. Marcella is five.'' 

 Otto looked at his friend, entertaining the proposal. The price for Tyrell's support is immense; marrying his grandson to a pig in a poke was treacherous. However, the army and gold of the Reach could hold a deadly advantage if used by an enemy. Aegon had to marry sooner or later; no other noble house would agree to send their daughter to Oldtown to be raised as his wife. Tyrells were always trusted allies of Hightowers, sharing similar goals and values. A marriage alliance with them would not only secure Hightower's position in court but also strengthen Aegon's claim to the Iron Throne. ''It is a decision we can't rush.'' He finally answered. 

 ''I am not rushing you, Otto. You are welcome to stay as long as you like.'' Tyrell raised his hand, waving. ''Marcella, come!''

A shorter girl in a blue dress turned around. She was plump, with healthy fat on her cheeks and legs. Her hair, plaited in two heavy braids, jumped when she ran over to her father, a wide smile on her face. ''Father, who is this guest?'' she asked, looking up at him with curious eyes.

 ''Ser Otto Hightower, darling.'' 

The child curtsied rather clumsily, trying her best not to fall. Fillis chuckled, ruffling her hair affectionately.

''Tell me, Marcella, do you want to be a princess?" Hightower asked, his careful eyes studying the girl as if she were some rare bird. The child looked at her father, who also watched her, and thought for a moment. 

 ''No.'' She shook her head. ''I want to be the Queen.'' 

 Of course, the girl assumed it was a new game her father came up with; she was too young to understand the weight those words held. The men were silent for a moment until Tyrell spoke. 

 ''I'll be your brave knight then.'' He scooped Marcella up in his arms and spun her around, causing her to giggle with delight.

Otto watched them for a while, his thoughts far from the happy laughter. He will think about the offer later, careful not to make a mistake. For now, he can put it aside and finally speak to Fillis as a trusted friend, not as a strategic recourse. 

-

Otto stayed at the Highgarden for two more weeks, wandering through the gardens and walls of the city. He spent a lot of restless nights in the guest room, thinking about the proposal. It was not the girl that concerned him; the child was clever and vibrant, running around the castle, much to the dismay of the hoard of maids that followed her around. What kept him up at night was the possibility of a better deal that could come later. 

Tyrell was a patient man, although every patience has its limit, so as soon as the decision was made, Otto knocked at the door of his friend's chambers. Fillis was not alone, as usual; his daughters sat near the window, writing as he worked.

''Ser Otto!'' The older girl, Elize, stood up from her seat and nudged the younger one to move. Marcella waved a piece of paper with smudged ink all over it at him. 

 ''We are writing, Ser Otto," she chirped, an accusing intonation evident, as if Otto had disrupted them from a very important task. 

''I see.'' He tried to catch a glimpse of the words on the page, but the ink was too smudged to make out anything coherent.

 ''Girls, we will dine together later. Now run along, my dear. We have important matters to discuss with Ser Otto.'' 

 The older girl nodded obediently and scampered off, grabbing her sister and leaving the two men alone in the quiet room. Otto cleared his throat. 

 ''We accept your offer. Aegon will marry your younger daughter once they are of age.'' 

 ''Good.'' Fillis nodded, a wrinkle on his forehead disappearing. ''What about the King?'' 

 ''Alicent has her ways.'' Otto paused. ''The girl will study in Oldtown from the age of eleven. She will eat and live as my house's guest and receive the best education the Citadel can offer. I already sent a letter home.'' 

 Fillis nodded again. ''It seems like a definite plan,'' he said. ''When will we make an announcement?'' 

 ''No need to hurry with that; the children are still young. We have time.'' 

 The two men delved into a deep discussion about politics and economics, their voices hushed as they strategized for the future of the Realm. Hours passed before they finally emerged from the room, tired but satisfied with their progress. By the time they parted ways, Otto felt confident that he had made the right decision. He couldn't help but feel a sense of relief wash over him as he made his way back to his chambers. 

 -

Summer of the year 118 AC, 

Highgarden

The castle's residents all stood in the courtyard, ready to say their goodbyes to the second daughter of Lord Fillis. Horses huffed under the burning sun, stablemen manoeuvring around them with buckles of water. What seemed like dozens of chests filled a few carriages. Everything seemed familiar, except for one man. With his finer armour and the confidence of a skilled fighter, he stood out the most. 

 Ser Ywain was one of the Fillis's most trusted knights, serving House Tyrell for more than ten years. He had swarthy, rough skin and thick black braids with golden rings braided in them. A massive scar was evident on his neck, and he wore it like a glorious prize. House Ambrose was small but was famous for its deadly fighters; their motto ''Never Resting'' was not an exaggeration; Ywain trained more than anyone here did, despite not needing to. For now, the man resorted to giving occasional orders to soldiers around him, his voice calm but laced with authority.

The man of the house found himself once again growing impatient. Was it from worry or the hot sun above his head? The whole thing started to get on his nerves. Fillis didn't want to lose sight of his children even for a minute since his wife's death, let alone send one to a city he held no control over. But Tyrells weren't the one to break their agreements. ''For the love of Gods, where's your sister?'' he asked his older daughter, who was waiting beside him. 

Elize shrugged her shoulders, unsure of where her younger sister had gone. ''She said she was almost ready to leave.'' She, too, was getting tired of waiting. 

 Fillis sighed, running a hand through his hair in frustration. Just as he wanted to fetch someone to find his child, she came running.

 ''I'm here, I'm here!'' Marcella shouted, her voice breathy. ''I'm ready now.'' 

 ''You better be," her sister scoffed. 

''Darling, it's time we say our goodbyes.'' Fillis started, the irritation in his voice long gone. His daughter's eyes reminded him so much of his childhood. The same curiosity and spirit sparkled in them. While her sister, Elize, took a lot after him, Marcella looked like her mother. Tyrell could only hope they shared only good qualities. ''Be good. You will bring great honour to our house. And remember - I and Elize will wait for your letters here. Okay?''

Marcella nodded, tears streaming down her face. Fillis wiped them away gently, his heart heavy with the weight of their impending departure. 

''Come here,'' Elize mumbled, tears staining her face as well. As much as she didn't want to admit it, she did love her younger sister.

''I read your letters to that Tully. Gross.'' Marcella whispered to her sister before running to the carriage with a speed only an eleven-year-old could possess. 

 ''Marcella!'' Elize shouted, her sentiments long forgotten. The younger girl only laughed. 

As Elize watched her sister disappear into the carriage, she couldn't help but feel a pang of envy. Marcella was always so carefree and full of life. It was as if nothing could ever bring her down. Elize, on the other hand, felt weighed down by the responsibilities that came with being the eldest. Despite being the one to inherit the Highgarden, she always lost the race for her father's love. 

 As the procession started to move, she felt her father's heavy arm on her shoulder. 

 ''I guess it's just two of us from now on, darling. So, tell me about that Tully.''

 Elize felt her cheeks redden. It's going to be a long day. 

-

To the Lord of Highgarden and his daughter, Lady Elize Tyrell, greetings and deepest love.

The oldest city greeted me well. Lord Ormund Hightower and his family are the kindest of people. Their hospitality has been unmatched, and I am grateful for their warm welcome. The grand feast was held in honour of our house upon my arrival. 

Politics and economics fascinate me, but I also enjoy more lighthearted pursuits, such as dancing and horse riding. There is something so freeing about moving your body to music or feeling the wind in your hair as you ride through the countryside. And yet, despite all of these activities, I always make time for writing. So when I write to you, know that it comes from a place of deep sincerity and affection.

To my pity, I haven't been able to see much of the city yet, but one building caught my eye. If I am not mistaken, it is a new Sept. I hope to visit it one day, for I am sure it is even more stunning from the inside. 

These things, about which I write to you, are only a few of the many that I have done here. May the Seven watch over you, and may your lands prosper and your people thrive under your wise leadership.

Written in the summer of the year 118 AC

Your loving sister and daughter, 

Lady Marcella of Noble House Tyrell 

[theopulenthq]

WHAT GOES AROUND COMES AROUND….

Nothing stays hidden forever. Especially not during rounds of assassinations, and several world leaders tucked under one roof. As an uneasy civility settles in Lal Qila, those at the helm of power decide to assert their effectiveness. In an effort to re-establish their command of Lal Qila and curry favor with those affronted by the memoriam, the Mughal Empire (in collaboration with Madagascar) revealed the findings of their investigation in the grand hallway of an early morning, before breakfast was even served. The following list was revealed to name these individuals as the most suspicious within the court - and their reasoning why.

Egypt’s bookkeeper, Emine Bulut, is not as she seems. Many suspect that she is, in fact, working with the Perisa to investigate the Turkish royal family and may have other experience in espionage. 

Thailand needs to look within its own ranks. It’s been found that military commander, Kinsey Gladwin, is tied to the English forces.

The loyalties of those under the French flag cannot be trusted, fortune teller Delphine Baudelaire’s loyalties are debatable.

Correspondence highlighting Regent Sultan Rostam’s distrust in his family, suspecting them of contributing to his husband’s death. 

Copies of records of controversies related to the Qajar family previously thought to be all destroyed, found in the Sultana Arshiya of Persia’s belongings along with proof of the destruction of other documents.

Some suspicion is thrown towards Ethiopia - their interview scrolls were mysteriously disposed of, and it would seem their rooms were not searched as deeply by the French military as other courts. When pressed, both sides of the conflict admit that they have nothing on Ethiopia, and perhaps it is this lack of information that has left them under closer scrutiny. 

Not ones to be outdone, the vengeance of Thailand is never far behind. The findings of France’s search within the royal apartments and chambers are brought to light by sundown of that same day. Within the very same grand hallway, they call upon those in residence to reveal the following findings, attempting to further destabilize the Mughal Empire.

Evidence of foul play is brought to light against the Dowager Duchess Tatiana Kanto around the death of her ex-husband.

Letters exchanged between the Emperor Kaito of Japan and King Elias of Germany detailing Japan’s secret financing of Germany to ward off China’s motives.

The relationship between the Empresses and their lover is on thin ice, with Empress Eesha seen scheming with her lover against Empress Rashmi.

Growing unrest among the leadership in Scotland, with Commander Cailean suspected to be working with rebellious forces against the Stuart’s. Perhaps they have something to do with the King’s absence?

The Crown Princess of Germany, Eleanor Hatzfeld, is actively planning to overthrow the King and secure herself and her (unknown) lover on the throne.

Amidst the scandal and gasps, kingdoms with their own burning suspicions take the opportunity to reveal their own discontent. Sound floods the grand hallway as accusations are thrown every which way, but one voice was heard loudest. It is the Prince of China, Angelo Tolentino, who steps up to reveal what treason and theft lies within the Chinese Empire. Financial papers showing funds exiting the Emperor of China’s trust with the Princess Kai-Ming of China’s handwriting reveal Kai-Ming to be a suspect in this fight.

Meanwhile, those under the Ortiz’s employment call out the Bonaparte’s growing formidability and glory. Members of the Bonaparte family have been reunited at Lal Qila, and with so many of its former royals finding success and influence… Many Spanish courtiers speculate that they would be better placed to rule than the Ortiz’s. Screaming, fighting, and a perfect Spring storm befalls Lal Qila.

In the five days that follow amidst the rainstorm, the aftermath of spilled motives and agendas plague Lal Qila. What began as a step forward in the investigation instigated a greater divide between the two sides. Fortunately, saner heads prevail. Unperturbed by the revelations; Baron Hugo Von Galen, Viscount Maximilien Gauthier, and Princess Yifei Qing come together to bring reason and calm to Lal Qila. It is apparent that both sides are too consumed by grief and ego to lead the investigation. 

The three strike a plan; a council, run by kingdoms famed for their neutrality, shall lead the investigation forward. Untouched by the drama of the murders, and having notoriety for each going several years without war or exception strife, and the long-standing alliances with most Kingdoms in attendance. The choice of who to bring in to act as the facilitator is simple. The three peacekeepers appeal to the rulers from all sides, until a wary agreement is made and treaties are signed.

Not long after, the ships of Norway and Brazil land at the Mughal Empire’s coast. A sigh of relief can be heard through the halls as everyone comes around to the idea of peace… but who knows what hurt feelings fester beneath the new information brought to lie. Once a secret is told, it can never be untold, and now some may pay the price for their sins. 

Welcome Norway and Brazil to the Opulent HQ! Below the cut you can find additional information.

IMPORTANT! PLEASE READ! The investigative council, manned by the royal advisor of Norway and the commanding officer of Brazil, will consist of one muse per mun to be placed on the council. These muses, selected by each mun, will be given choices periodically to vote on that will change the course of future plot drops. More information, including the submission form for the muse you choose to put on the council, will be coming shortly. NOTE - your muse does not have to be a royal to be placed on the council! Ideally, we hope to see a variety of classes, countries, and personality types on this council.

Due to the sensitive nature of many secrets, some muns/muses did not get a feature (or as heavy of one), but these have been noted and will get recognition in the next plot drop!  

The muse count has been lifted to 8 muses per mun, but be mindful that the 1 week wait between muses is still in effect! That means if you apply for your 7th muse, you must wait a minimum of 1 week from acceptance to take on your 8th and final muse. 

Please visit our KINGDOM PAGE to read up on our newest arrivals to the group - Norway and Brazil! 

You do not need to end or adjust threads to stay in line with the timeframe, but you can if you want! Otherwise, all new threads must take place either within the events of the plot drop (including the 5-day rainstorm after the spilling of secrets) or afterwards. If you have any questions on this, don’t hesitate to reach out!

We understand that this may create a LOT of interpersonal drama. Please feel free to reach out to us if you want to let us know any big changes for your character, or to suggest how to implement any ideas for further drama, especially relating to the secrets that were revealed. We want to work with you to make your ideas come true!

[shadowmaat]

Cozy Fantasy

Travis Baldree introduced me to a subgenre I never knew I needed: cozy fantasy. Low-stakes stories set in mild locations that end more or less happily.

Legends & Lattes is Travis's book. I first heard about it on twitter and between the premise and the cover art I preordered it, read it when it was out, and fell in love. It's about an orc barbarian lady named Viv who retires from adventuring to open a coffee shop and the misadventures (and love) that ensue as she tries to find her way in a new and unknown market. Helping her out are Tandri, a succubus who excels as manager (and stealing Viv's heart); Thimble, a ratkin culinary genius; and Cal, a faux-grouchy hob who works wonders with wood. The stakes are low, but the fun is not. A++ highly recommend AND there's a second book coming out that's a prequel to this one and features a foul-mouthed ratkin.

House Witch by Delemhach is about a young man whose magic centers on hearth & home. He sets himself up in the royal kitchen expecting to keep a low profile, but soon finds himself in far over his head, saving lives, and cooking the most incredible meals anyone's ever eaten. It's broken into three books, but each picks up right where the last left off, so it could have worked as one. The characters are well done, the drama builds at a steady pace, and while a lot of serious stuff happens it never really loses its sense of fun. There are a couple of places where the author gets overly-enamored of puns and getting a little too silly, but it's still a good story.

Coffee, Milk, and Spider Silk by Coyote JM Edwards is a short story and TBH it kinda suffers from that. The premise features a drider retiring from guard service to open a coffee shop. I've seen some unfavorable comparisons to L&L but while the author acknowledges it as an influence, it's still its own thing. I just wish there'd been more time to expand on the characters. The emo teen dryad with accident-caused disabilities is a whole story on her own, and I would have liked to know more about the single mom minotaur who hides her anxiety behind a wall of cheerfulness. Even the protagonist Gwen feels a little hastily sketched. It's still a fun, easy read, but I feel like it needs more. More stories set here or a future expansion to a full-length novel.

The Tea Princess Chronicles by Casey Blair are good. Some heavy plotting, but still light enough to qualify. They center on a princess who chooses to run away from her family rather than get shoved into a convenient box of their choosing. She comes to rest in a tea shop and settles in to study to become a tea master. Lots of drama interferes, of course, and there are smugglers to catch, a lost people to rescue, and a kingdom to save. There are secondary trans characters and secondary queer romances as well.

The Bookshop & the Barbarian by Morgan Stang was not written for me. I only got a few pages in before giving up in frustration, though I may try again later. The premise should be fun: woman on the run sets up shop in a cozy little bookstore and then hires a barbarian woman to help drive out the encroaching goblins. It's low stakes, funny, and has a sapphic romance, but for me it was trying way too hard to sound clever. I prefer straightforward storytelling to meandering narratives that include snide commentaries on everything. That's a me thing, though, and might suit other readers better.

Can't Spell Treason without Tea by Rebecca Thorne is another good sapphic romance about a guard for an evil queen who runs away to the borderlands and opens a tea/book shop with her head-of-the-mage-guild girlfriend. Lots of good plotty stuff and maybe more angst than your average fluff, but it's fun and features a cozy setting with locals who are eager to help. Should be first in a series, since the queen is definitely not going to let them get away with this.

I'm still watching for more and if anyone wants to add to the list feel free.

Also, now that I've delved into some cozy fantasy, I'd love to see more cozy scifi. Coffee shop/bookstore AUs are a delight.

[shy-fairy-levele3]

2023 Book List

Unbelievably I read a staggering 70 books in 2023! The most ever! My only disappointment is NOT finishing Dracula Daily, I came so close...

Wolf Brother Michelle Paver

Skin-Walker Michelle Paver

Be the Serpent Seanan McGuire  

She Who Became the Sun 

Soul-Eater Michelle Paver

Nona the Ninth Tamsyn Muir 

The Girl in Red Christina Henry

As yet Unsent Tamsyn Muir   

Outcast Michelle Paver  

Leonard Cohen: On a wire Philippe Girard

Oath Breaker Michelle Paver 

Ghost Hunter Michelle Paver   

 Baggage: Tales from a Fully Packed Life Alan Cumming

M is for Magic Neil Gaiman

Silverwing Kenneth Opal 

Last Violent Call Chloe Gong

Malice: Malice Duology #1 Heather Walter  

Pandora Susan Stokes-Chapman

A Lady for a Duke Alexis Hall                                    

Boyfriend Material Alexis Hall

Emily Wilde’s Encyclopedia of Faeries Heather Fawcett  

Motorcycles & Sweetgrass Drew Hayden Taylor

Conventionally Yours Annabeth Albert  

The Unbalancing R.B Lemberg  

Stone Blind Natalie Haynes

The Winter Soldier: Cold Front Mackenzi Lee 

Ruby Nina Allan

The Strange Case of the Alchemist’s Daughter Theodora Goss

Husband Material Alexis Hall

The Secret Service of Tea and Treason India Holton  

My Dear Henry: A Jekyll and Hyde Remix Kalynn Bayron

The Monsters we Defy Leslye Penelope

Travelers Along the Way: A Robin Hood Remix Aminah Mae Safi

Madly, Deeply: The Diaries of Alan Rickman Alan Rickman

Morgan Is My Name Sophie Keetch

Threads That Bind Kika Hatzopoulou

European Travel for the Monstrous Gentlewoman Theodora Goss

Feeling Sorry for Celia Jaclyn Moriarty

Daughter of the Pirate King Tricia Levenseller

A Clash of Steel: A Treasure Island Remix C.B. Lee

Harley Quinn: The Animated Series: The Eat. Bang! Kill. Tour Tee Franklin

Magic for Liars Sarah Gailey

The Story of Owen Emily Kate Johnston

The Brilliant Death A.R. Capetta

Circle of Magic: Sandy’s Book Tamora Pierce

The Merry Spinster: Tales of Everyday Horror Daniel M. Lavery  

Death's Detective- Malykant Mysteries #1-4 Charlotte E. English

The Salt Grows Heavy Cassandra Khaw

A Touch of Darkness- Hades & Persephone #1 Scarlett St. Clair

Mortal Follies Alexis Hall

Witch King Martha Wells

The London Séance Society Sarah Penner

A Life on Our Planet: My Witness Statement and a Vision for the Future David Attenborough, Jonnie Hughes

A Game of Fate- Hades Saga #1 Scarlett St. Clair

Immortal Longings Chloe Gong

Hooked Emily McIntire  

Foul Heart Huntsmen Chloe Gong

Signal to Noise Silvia Moreno-Garcia

Daughter of the Siren Queen Tricia Levenseller  

Starter Villain John Scalzi

The Sinister Mystery of the Mesmerizing Girl Theodora Goss

Starling House Alix E. Harrow

A Marvellous Light: The Last Binding #1 Freya Marske   

A Restless Truth: The Last Binding #2 Freya Marske 

Thornhedge T. Kingfisher

What the River Knows Isabel Ibanez  

The In-Between: Unforgettable Encounters During Life's Final Moments Hadley Vlahos

Misrule: Malice Duology #2 Heather Walter

The Raven and The Reindeer T. Kingfisher

A Power Unbound: The Last Binding #3 Freya Marske

I started some series, and I finished some series. I found new favourite authors and revisited some old favourites. Please take them as recommendations, or if you have read any of the same books come talk about them with me!  

Reminder you can also follow me on The Storygraph to see what I am reading in real time, where I am simply shy_fairy   

Previous Years Reading lists can be found here: 2022 2021 2020 2019 2018 2017 2016 2015

[nonuggetshere]

Well, at this point in the timeline I imagine PK getting a bit paranoid, the infection getting worse and now suspicious of his 6th knight he decides to tighten up security around the points of most importance, giving ordering one or two of the great knights (ogrim and maybe isma?, Ogrim is PK's favourite after all, and ogrim and isma are a packeged deal) to guard the king's brand, not trusting the sentries to do the job.

He also explicitly does not TTHollow about any of this, giving Ogrim and isma the orders that they are not to tell anyone not even the other knights of their mission, making the excuse that the less people know the easier it is to keep the king's brand secure

So TTHollow who didn't know about this gets caught offguard by this when they try to sneak into cast off shell.

Ogrim doesn't recognise them at first, and isma tells a winged sentry to inform PK that someone has snuk into the shell as per their orders. Now with two knights Vs hollow, plus the fact hollow was not expected the place to be guarded by their fellow knights plus hollow not wanting to hurt them results in them getting captured

Only then do isma and ogrim recognise hollow (imagine them ripping off a massive hood or something), and of course ogrim doesn't want to suspect foul play on hollow's part, with isma worrying that they lost another warrior to the infection (I headcanon that Xero was a lesser knight of sorts, perhaps a minor general, but still a trusted member of the king's guards which is why it hurt when he got infected).

Only for it to be clear based on their eyes that the infection had nothing to do with this, hollow did this out of their free will.

Hollow tries to explain themselves, tries to convince ogrim and isma that they're doing this for the good of the kingdom, but hesitates when asked why they want to open up the abyss afraid to reveal their connection to it.

Unfortunately that hesitation costs them, as PK has managed to haul ass and shows up just before they could finish, his suspicions towards them now confirmed, and tells the ogrim and isma to arrest hollow for treason, stating that they are to be executed. (Again this is later in the timeline, so PK is paranoid as all hell, especially with him interpreting hollow's actions as a young wyrm attempting to usurp him)

Ogrim and isma are horrified and confused

Hollow is in despair unable to explain themselves as PK refuses to even look at them as they try to sign frantically

PK is a mess

Bad times all around

OUGGHH I LOVE THIS SO FUCKING MUCH. I ALMOST DONT EVEN WANNA ANSWER IT SO I CAN KEEP IT WHERE I CAN FIND IT EASILY AND REREAD IT OVER AND OVER AGAIN.

At this point imagine Hollow just drops all facade and tries to convince him by telling the truth. They think they've lost their mind until they unbadage their arm and reveal their chitin, pitch black even against his brilliant light.

[ride-thedragon]

My Characterization of Nettles.

I saw it come up that she's often mischaracterised, and rather than thinking about it throughly, I decide to take it as a criticism of the people who go out of their way to write her with broken English (I speak in my dialect so it's especially strange seeing some form of it written) and entirely childish, ignoring the fact that she's, smart and lived alone in a classist society, surviving so long by herself.

I also want to justify my own characterization because I think it's a bit different.

So the way I think about her is a smart, mouthy girl. She speaks well enough. She picks up different cultural slang and languages from around Driftmark, and her naiveté only shows itself with her actual age. She's at the age where most people question the systems that harm them, and as a brown skin, poor person in this world, she'd be in a unique position. She overcompensates for it, though. She doesn't let it show as much.

I think she's a quick thinker and fast learner as well. She observed the way Sheepstealer was interacting with people and saw the only thing he'd bend for, using it to her advantage. So, while Daemon is teaching her these things, she's actually responding to it.

She's a bit inquisitive as well. She cares to understand what she has to do before she does it.

Now, the mouthy part comes into how I think she earned the foul-mouthed reputation. She doesn't code switch while interacting with anyone. Say how she'd talk to Jace and a bar maid it doesn't change. She knows she can, but she doesn't want to. She speaks with the common tongue well enough, but she doesn't speak in the manner of someone who's talking to a prince and ladies.

It's genuinely vile things that shouldn't be said as well as just cursing.

Now, the next part is tied to her alleged love interest, Daemon. But I think she can be a very disagreeable person when she wants to be. It's not something that has helped her, but it is the reason why she doesn't have a lot of people around her early on. Daemon tends to like strong personalities.

She doesn't deal with authority well. That's just based on the fact that she's been alone for so long, with no one going out of their way to treat her like her age.

The innocence of her character is something I tend to disagree with a lot as well. She would hurt a fly, she'd kill a sheep, and she was raised on the streets of Driftmark. The moral pillar of innocence, like being overly trusting and caring, is a strange thing to apply to her.

She isn't a pious person. I know this part is strange, but in a world like Westeros, where sex is a form of currency, especially for non royal/rich women, I think she's had a few sexual encounters. Now I love the avoiding brothel work characterization, but I don't think commodifying sex is such an out of place thing for a girl in her position, it was a learning curve for figuring her way in the world without a big concequence like a kid. ( A small headcanon is that she fell for a bard from essos once, like a crush a young girl typically has).

I think her grief over Jace came from a place of bonding and putting her trust in someone for the first time and losing them so violently. Most people, unless they are victims of propaganda like Mr Jamie Lannister, don't want to fight in a war. During the fight, bodies are burned and piled, and entire ports are left burned and filled with ash. We see the Driftmark Characters have a distinct reaction for participating in the war that burned the place they were raised. Nettles has a lot of blood on her hands.

She has no one to confide that in.

I think after that, she gets a lot more agreeable because no one is looking out for her. It's a dangerous place to occupy, Rhaneyra is hardened by Jace’s death,and is killing people left and right for treason, that's terrifying.

Thankfully, she's sent away with a stranger who's dealing with the same shared grief that she has. She's been at the brunt of them losing two more kids and has just lost her home.

She's also sent away in a very similar situation to what had her crying on Driftmark. She has to see what Aemond is doing to the Riverlands after the Battle of the Gullet. She has someone to lean on, though, seeing as she gets really close to Daemon.

Close enough that her life being called for by the ruler of the seven kingdoms is put at the same risk factor as killing her and him finding out.

I genuinely think she becomes very similar to the person she was before which is why......

Lastly, she doesn't willingly leave. This is attributed to the tears, but I think Daemon lied and said he'd return to his family. That he wouldn't fight Vhagar. I don't think she'd allow him to sacrifice himself in that way.

All of this is speculation based on a character we don't know, so if it seems strange, that's fair.

[catsafarithewriter]

This snippet is entirely @tcrmommabear 's fault, for throwing a fake-marriage idea at me and then expecting me not to write something for it. Will I continue this? No clue. But you're welcome, shelbs!

x

The Cat Kingdom didn't have work visas, per say.

What it did have, however, was a mercurial monarch who could change the laws of the land on a whim, which was almost just as bad.

Not all of the proclamations that came from the palace were bad. Most, in fact, were just sort of odd. (It seemed bizarre to outlaw wearing pink on a Monday in a land that had never subscribed to the notion of weekdays, and Haru had felt quite sure she'd never fall foul of the treasonous crime of stealing from the castle fish pond.)

"But surely, there must be something I can do," she stressed to the hassled palace advisor who looked like he quite regretted coming into work today. "A form I can fill out, or someone I can appeal to, or... I don't know, a quest," she offered desperately. "You can't just kick me out of the kingdom because I'm not a Cat."

The advisor pushed the bridge of his glasses back up, in a gesture that somehow felt faintly apologetic. "Unfortunately, his Majesty has declared that no non-Cat shall reside in the kingdom unless bound to a feline by family or matrimony."

Haru paused to digest this statement. "I have to marry a Cat to stay here?"

"I don't suppose you already have a feline beau?" the advisor asked, in what was probably meant to be a helpful tone.

Haru flashbacked to her ex, who wasn't just human, but was also the reason she'd upped sticks and relocated to the Cat Kingdom. "I am tragically single," she deadpanned.

"Then I'm afraid I can't help you." The advisor hesitated, and then added in a tone which almost sounded genuine, "Such decrees rarely last long. After a month, he'll have forgotten all about it and we'll quietly repeal it."

Haru looked up from where she'd had her head slumped against the desk. "I can't just leave my job for a month," she grumbled. "I have bills to pay."

The advisor regarded her, his circular-rimmed spectacles giving him an almost owl-like appearance. "If you do fall in a sudden whirlwind romance, you'll need to book the wedding sooner rather than later," he said. "For obvious reasons, they're getting booked up pretty quickly."

"I'm not going to get married just so I can keep my job!"

The advisor gave her a wan smile. "People have married for less."

[maya-tl]

Sensory prompts 4 and Tevildo

Great were the mighty cliffs beneath Tevildo’s castle.

Within the kitchens the thralls slaved away in the heat of the hearth and the cats prowled, and all rodents safe the foul mice in Tevildo’s keeping fled from their path and hid behind walls and under the floorboards. The Halls of the Prince of Cats were filled with much evil, and his servants were made pitiful and miserable under his cruel command.

Yet not even the most powerful of creatures can deny their nature. The bitter smog and poisonous fumes that rose ever high from Angamandi darkened the sky and defiled the air, casting the dwelling of Tevildo’s master Melko in permanent shade, but beyond the reach of the Iron Mountains the Sun and Moon still shone untainted, warming the earth during the day and cooling it during the night.

And so about the battlements of Tevildo’s castle his watchers lay, lounging beneath the glorious rays of the midday Sun. Though their eyes were closed, basking in the pleasure of warmth with vicious satisfaction, their tails swished this way and that and their sharp ears twitched at every sound, and their sleep was light; many would have abandoned their duties to rest were it not for the unforgiving nature of their Prince, who neither tolerated nor allowed thoughts of treason.

Great were the mighty cliffs beneath Tevildo’s castle, yet the mountains towered still behind his dwelling, and many footholds there were in the rock by way of which one might scale their looming peaks—but treacherous were the heights and folly it was for any to attempt escape by that path, for the eyes of the watchers could pierce through the dark of the night with ease, and for a fugitive to be caught meant death.

It was high upon a jutting of stone on the face of that cliff that Tevildo liked to laze. His claws were sharp and his limbs strong, and so the climb was no great feat for him, and it seemed to him that the higher he went the more to his liking the sunlight became. His coat, black as coal, soaked in the warmth of the rock he lay on and gleamed beautifully in the light, and the golden collar adorning his neck purred with malice at his pleasure.

From his perch could Tevildo behold all that was his, the sprawling castle below and the cat-servants of Melko whom he commanded, and his pride knew no bounds; his power was great and his word was law, and safe for the mighty Melko he believed there were none who could challenge him and triumph.

He often banished thoughts of Huan, Captain of Dogs, who had humiliated him in battle and whom his underlings feared, for the sight of the woods where those dogs hunted never failed to turn his mood foul.

Tevildo stretched languidly and peered over the edge of his overhang, one eye deep red and one vibrant green gleaming wickedly in the light. The day was slow and dreadfully dull, yet Tevildo, who loathed such days and often sought to entertain himself by tormenting his prisoners, felt no compulsion to move from his spot. His servants kept to their duties even on these days and so there was no punishment to be dealt, and likely his thralls were toiling away in his Halls still, carefully watched.

Tevildo was very fay and very clever, but still his body was that of a fearsome cat, and cats love nothing as much as they love a good nap in the Sun, and so Tevildo huffed his frustrations away and curled back up, intent on basking in the sunlight until well into dusk. This was the life of a cat, after all.

—

Send me a prompt and a Silm/Lotr/Hobbit character and I'll write a short drabble about them!

[guess-my-next-obsession]

GMNO Pedro Certified™️ Book Club:

The goal of this book club is to establish community here for those of us that may not feel as though we fit in, to broaden our literary horizons/get back into reading, and to go through the books that Pollito has recommended over the years (as well as our own every now and again)!

We’re up and running! Our first book we’re going through is Master and Margarita by Mikhail Bulgakov.

Brief Overview: The Master and Margarita is a darkly comedic takedown of Soviet society, an audacious revision of the stories of Faust and Pontius Pilate, and a thrilling love story. (TW: religion, atheism, Christianity)

Total Pages: 350+

We will be reading this book up until the 15th of October, and then voting on a new one! So if Master and Margarita isn’t your thing, please stop by then to join in on the fun of the next book!

Please join us on Discord!

Rules:

18+ only (due to the fact that most of us are 20+ and it just doesn’t feel right to be interacting with minors like that for me personally, and maybe my foul language as well lmao)

everyone must be respectful and kind to others opinions/thoughts

this is an LGBTQ+ and POC safe space. no hate tolerated.

taglist for people already involved/might want to get involved: @browneyes-issac @wildemaven @laureliciousdefinition @alwayslurkinginthebackground @wheresarizona @pedropascalsx @berriesarepunk @fishingforpike @heythere-mel @castiellawolfkissed @madsforhannibal84 @star-wars-fan-2005 @tantamount-treason @olivelovie @trinkets01 @trickstersp8 @iccedays @paulalikestuff @deadmantis

and please! if you want to join/know anyone who wants to join, just tag them below or slide on into the server! we are very kind and chill and won’t bully you for not reading. this is all about supporting each other in our hobbies and learning together. 💞 also: there are going to be free PDF’s for each book we decide to read, but if you’d like to purchase a copy, you’re more than welcome to!

[maddyaddy]

Xenos of the Mavor Sub-Sector

Excerpted from the Sage Bede's "The Mavor Sub-Sector". Of note, the Aeldari Wild Riders of Saim-Hann oft assault the Emperor’s flock in Mavor. Despite the attempts of the Fennian Fianna, and later, the august Greymanes to dissuade them of this foolish course of action, they continue it incessantly. Such raids are joined by the Black Riders, a highly mobile band of Eldar Corsairs. Of the latter, some whisper that certain sub-sector governors – including those of Avidya and Tir Ablach – have made use of them as mercenaries. Such a thing is treason most foul, but has never been proven.

The Ork, as with seemingly everywhere in our great Imperium, also has a presence here. For the Greenskins, the Sappas warband, led by the Warboss Skoolkrakka, are the paramount force. In the Sappas, virtually every Mob is mechanized, and Wagons both looted and Ork-made abound. 

In their mad, endless pursuit of wealth and raw materials, some of the Kin abhuman-xenos have recently settled in Mavor. They are the Kindred of the Rymr Alliance, a staggeringly large Prospect based on the Kin World of Rymr. From exactly whence the Alliance came and why, this author cannot really discern. Perhaps they are refugees, set adrift by the Great Rift or the ‘Bane’ of the Tyranids. 

The Kindred of the Alliance’s Kinhost is highly divergent from the norm, with the Hearthkyn equipped and organized more along the lines of an Imperial Guard regiment. This speaks, perhaps, to previous service as mercenaries. Imperial vehicles, whose provenance I have no means of ascertaining, are also present. These include the supposedly extinct Autoch-pattern Predator, a specialized tank destroyer which trades the Syrtis-pattern autocannon for a ion cannon or twinned heavy magna-rail cannons. 

For the Leagues of Votann as a people-group, leaving the Core, indeed ‘sailing for Far-Space’ is a Truth-axiom denoting madness, so their presence here is extremely unusual. As for the masters of New Albia’s reaction to their recent arrival, it is shockingly muted for Astartes. If I were to speculate based on my own experiences, Cyning Bullroarer likely sees the settlement of the Alliance in Mavor as a bulwark against the other Xenos threats present. To quote that ancient sage, Ishirou Serizawa: “let them fight”.

Finally, the T’au xenos-brood and its expanding empire(s) are a matter of ever-present concern in Mavor. Of all the various aliens threatening the human race’s righteous dominion over the sub-sector, the T’au are perhaps the most insidious and confrontational. Surprisingly skilled in the waging and artifice of war for a race so young, they are also skilled diplomats and many outlying worlds have fallen to them without a shot being fired. Names such as the Six Blades Cadre, the Farstriders Cadre – infamous ones. I shudder at them.