#but god i LOVE his sword dances. they are beautiful and they are character studies of lxy/llh. so.

[seventh-fantasy]

美人舞如莲花旋 a beauty dances like a spiralling lotus flower [x]

li xiangyi/li lianhua + sword dances | 莲花楼 mysterious lotus casebook EP 9/34/40

[ricejukr]

Hi I wrote the story finally. Here it is, enjoy! (Love you all you Rogier lovers 💗)

Hold me close, please.

Wulfwyn is a young tarnished. Draconian, her class is prisoner, and she knows only a few spells. She has the ability to have prophetic dreams. Most are dreams of doom, death, or despair. She, however, cannot die, for she has grace. Her immortality has only made her feel more grief than ever. Watching those she cares for die around her, has taken a toll on her very spirit. Rogier is the light in her life, staying close to her and holding her close to him.. literally. He gives her strength and courage to keep moving onto the next day. 

—————————*•.*

Character is prisoner, wears the clothes but not the headgear. Name is Wulfwyn. You have picked up some heavier armor, which is in the beginning. Also, I think each race should have a special power. Since the character is draconian, I think greyoll’s roar should be apart of a power she has, needing no special attributes. Character goes with she/her and is female. Also AU is before he could go study godwyn’s face you basically stop him. Also, obviously spoilers.

This Fic goes out to all my rogier lovers, he’s my fav. I love him. He’s so cute. There’s fluff and angst, but the angst is lighter I would have to say. Also this is a named character, but I think anyone could technically be Wyn. Honestly. With that said, enjoy.

—————————*•.*

Chapter 1

The fight with Margit was one of many failed attempts. You danced with your blade alongside the mysterious summon by the name of Sorcerer Rogier. Each time he saw you die. Each time he saw you fight. You fought with a long curved sword. It was the Bloodhound’s Fang. A curved great sword, a beauty in your hands. Truly one of your favorite swords. Rogier had a rapier. And of course, his magic. You caught him glimpse at you several times during that fight. You found that he got a bit distracted. He would stumble a little when Margit attacked him. You tried to hold back a smile. 

After a long while, you began to get the hang of the fight. Your moves became more graceful, as you moved around Margit with great ease. Finally, with one swift motion, he was gone. You only caught a glimpse of Rogier after Margit was gone. Only a glimpse. You thought you saw a smirk. And you moved on. 

You huffed, your armor was so heavy on you right now. You just wanted to get away from the guards, and the weird omen guy and just.. everything. Your heart was racing as you got slashed at from every corner, swiftly dodging it with your rolls. You spotted an doorway, and quickly rolled into it and rolled behind the wall. Thank god they lost track of you. You sighed as you removed your helmet. Your dark hair braided messily was let free from the sweaty confines of the helmet. You noticed eyes on you. You looked up to see a man in a pleasantly green and brown sorcerers outfit smiling at you faintly. It was the Sorcerer from earlier. He looked a little worried to see you in such a frazzled state. He noticed you saw him and spoke,

“Ah. I apologize for staring. Are you alright?” He curiously stared at you.

“Y-yeah. I’m quite fine. Just a little shaken up, is all.” You nervously chuckled and looked back down. 

The air was quiet in the room. The sorcerer had a gentle gaze placed on you. The adrenaline slowly subsided, and you felt an intense burning sting on your arms and your legs. You slumped to the floor as though you suddenly couldn’t move.

“Ah!” You breathed through your teeth. 

“Hush hush, we may alert the guards. Let me see you.” He hushed you.

He began to carefully pull the armor off. It bought you back to your attire before, the blouse and the boots. He made haste of treating some large gnashes on your legs and arms. The sorcerer also saw the burns on your arm. They were bad. He quickly came to you. He took something that looked like the grease that coated your swords and gently grabbed your arm.

“This is going to hurt a lot, but please. Stay silent.” He looked into your eyes. You could see how beautifully green they were. You felt your face become warm.

He grabbed the grease and slowly rubbed it onto your arm. You winced in pain, as you felt tears streaming down. You began to breath heavy as he put more on your burns. You almost passed out from the pain, but he finished and bandaged your arm with cloth. He repeated this with all your wounds. Wrapping them gently.

“You’ll feel better soon. I promise.” He said.

“Oh and.. I never got to ask your name.” His face lit up a little.

“Oh.. my name is Wulfwyn, but call me Wyn.” You shook his hand with your not burnt hand. He smiled.

“My name is Rogier. Sorcerer Rogier.” He said.

Chapter 2

“What a lovely name.” You said. 

So this is definitely the guy from earlier.

“Thank you.” He looked at you with that same smile.

“Wyn, do you study sorcery?” He asked. 

“I do not. I’m not smart enough for that stuff. I do have incantations, and my lovely little wolves.” You smiled weakly.

“Ah. I see.” The smile disappeared a bit.

“I’m sorry. I just haven’t ever been able to figure those out. Nor can I wield a staff. I have my finger seal, though.” You showed him the bright golden seal in your hand. 

“How queer.” His smile faintly appeared again.

“I study sorcery. Though I am interested in finding out more about the black knife assassins.” Rogier said.

You didn’t hear him very well though, as you felt the fatigue overwhelm you. He sighed when he realized you weren’t listening.

“Tis’ late, Rogier.” You weakly said.

“Ah, it is.” He looked outside from where you both sat.

“I have not slept in a while, apologies.” You slowly blinked.

“Think nothing of it Wyn. Let us rest a while.” He said gently. 

He began to undo the intricate string of jewelry upholding his cloak, he set it to the side. He carefully took the cloak off, and handed it to you. You looked at him with sleepy surprise, but took it without saying anything. You put it over yourself. He began to faintly hum a tune, as you drifted to sleep. You swore you knew the tune. Just didn’t know where it was from. So familiar.. 

And you were asleep. You dreamt of Godrick, which in your mind you thought he looked like a bunch of hands. He screamed at you and crawled at you as you ran from him. The exit to this place was so close, you ran as fast as you could. Godrick screamed louder, and your breathe went faster, you ran but it was not enough! Just before your hand reached the door Godrick screamed and he- You gasped awake. Rogier sat still reading a book. His hat hid his gaze. He was watching you, intently. Trying to hide a smile as he looked up at you. You shifted awkwardly, still tired but blushing. 

“What?” You looked up at him.

“Oh, nothing.” He smirked at you. 

“Did I do anything weird? Say, anything embarrassing??” You said.

Rogier chuckled a little, “No, not really. More of something funny. You were murmuring about Godrick chasing after you. You squealed softly, I had to hold back my laughter if not to wake you.” He smiled. 

“Well yes, he came at me and screamed at me while I tried to run for a door.” You shivered. 

You slumped back down and held Rogier’s cloak tight. A light smell came off of it, though you couldn’t make out what it was. It was pleasant.

“Aside from your silly dream, I think we should move away from here.” He said. “I noticed before you woke that there was a giant they moved into the castle. How wretched.” His gaze was off in the distance outside of the room.

“Yes, we should move now then.” You began to get up.

“We must be quiet, though. I wouldn’t enjoy bumping into any guards.” He sighed looking outside again, and then back to you.

You both stood as you steadied your armor back on you. 

“That armor makes you look quite scary, with your face generally being quite the opposite.” Rogier had a nervous look on his face when you picked up the bloodhound’s fang.

You gave him a menacing look.

“I did not mean you any ill, though. You still look quite a lady with it as well.” He said with a tinge of red on his cheeks.

You said nothing, slightly flustered. You moved out of the small church slowly, quietly. You passed the exiled guards. There were at least 10 of them. That along with the wretched dogs and an omen. You and Rogier slipped past them. You slipped into a room. There stood a woman. She looked like she was a tarnished. The woman wore hero’s clothes, and stood over a body. She was mumbling grievances to a dead guard.

You spoke to her, “Excuse me?”

“Oh.. greetings. I am Nepheli Loux. Tarnished and warrior, like you. I'm here by decree of my father. How utterly repellant this is... This "grafting" of Godrick's ill befits a Lord. He's tainted the very winds."

"If you intend to challenge Godrick, I ask you call upon me. The winds run could with his deeds. I'm certain father would permit me aid the fight." She said.

“I am Wulfwyn. This is my friend here, Rogier.” You smiled at her and Rogier popped his head out from behind you.

“I am also on my way to slay Godrick. This grafting nonsense is ludicrous. I will be sure to summon you when the time comes.” You said.

“Very well.. be careful, Wulfwyn. Stay vigilant.” Nepheli replied.

You and Rogier crept past the giant Rogier said he had seen earlier. No way you could defeat it. You both stepped into a hallway, and saw the mist. Godrick was here. You got to a site of grace in the side room in the hallway. Rogier said he couldn’t see it. You began to take off your armor again, as you felt uncomfortable wearing it. You could tell he was watching you undo the bits of metal.

“You must be a tarnished, then.” He said with a slight blush.

“Yes. I am.” You looked at him, his features only gazing back at you with the purest interest.

“And.. you can see grace? Yes?” He looked at you.

“Yes, I can.” You said.

“I.. I lost the guidance of Grace long ago.” Rogier smiled at you, lightly.

��I see.” You studied his expression, the same somber smile he held when you first saw him. Unchanging.

“Rogier.. that tune.. what was it? It was so lovely, yet.. so sad.” Your eyes felt cloudy. 

“Ah.. yes. You’ve probably heard it from the wandering merchants of this land. I find the melody to be beautiful and sad. Through my travels, I’ve heard many songs.” He looked up at the brick ceiling as if there were a sky above you both.

“I really do enjoy that melody.” You said.

“Wyn, I want to know something about you.” Rogier said.

“Like what?” You looked at him.

“Anything.” He replied.

“..well.. I’m tarnished, you know that, though. I can remember parts of my youngest years. I am draconian. Or at least part. I have ties to the dragon communion in my past. My eyes are like a dragon’s. That’s all I can recall.” You said.

“Interesting.” Rogier said.

“..Rogier?” You said coyly.

“Wyn?” He replied.

“May you.. hold me? And.. sing the tune again? I find myself fearing what’s to come. I don’t know if I can keep straining myself like this.” You looked down.

“…I am.. slightly taken aback by your request, but not in a bad way. I’m just.. surprised, is all. But I will fulfill your wish.” He said.

You scooted nearer to him, and he took you in his arms. You rest your head on his lap, as he began to hum the tune of the wandering traders. You felt as though you were back in your mother’s arms, holding you to her chest, humming to you her tunes. Before you knew it, you were asleep again.

Ch 3

You awoke to a sleeping Rogier who had taken off his hat and the head wrap. This was the first time you saw him without his hat on. He had  short, wavy auburn hair. It looked nice. You brought your arm up to touch his hair, and it was silky. You trailed your hand gently along his face. His eyes fluttered open, but you did not move your hand. He looked at you, silent and sleepy. You trailed your hand further down to his chin, and back to yourself.

“You looked so peaceful.” You sighed.

“Why did you wake me then?” Rogier smirked.

“I.. I don’t know.” You said.

Rogier breathed out a small laugh. He grabbed your hand gently and put it back to his face. He slowly bent over you, and placed a kiss on your lips. You closed your eyes as the kiss deepened. Rogier slowly pulled away. You stared into his eyes.

“Ah.. I got.. carried away there. Apologies.” You said.

“It’s no matter.” He replied with a blush. He touched his cheeks with his gloved hands.

You both looked outside. It was still dark. You nestled up next to him.

“I’m still very tired..” you yawned.

“As am I.” Rogier said.

You both fell back to sleep. You dreamt of Melina holding your hand and speaking to you, asking for your thoughts, ambitions, etc. She looked you in the eyes. “Slay him. Godrick must die.” She said to you. And suddenly, the world shifted around you both, as you saw her becoming more dark looking. Her hair was an untamed mess, she opened her closed eye to reveal the purple-tinted iris. The world stopped. She spoke to you.

“The path such as yours, does not follow the frenzy flame.” The world spun.

“The path such as yours, does not follow the death prince, the moon or the stars, the golden order, or the curse.” She said.

“What am I to do?” You said.

“Find purpose.”

Your eyes fluttered.

You opened them.

A terrifying scene was around you. Blood. Everywhere. You looked at yourself, though. No blood. You felt relieved, until you realized Rogier wasn’t there. Your breathing became heavy as you looked frantically for a body. Irrationality had taken over your mind, and you were far beyond saneness. You dropped to the floor and sobbed, thinking that something might’ve killed him. 

“..Wyn?” Said a voice to you.

You looked up quickly through tears.

“R-rogier! I-i thought s-something happened to you and-“ you were breathing hard.

“No. I took care of one of those knights. He found us and was about to attack, so I slashed him.” He said.

You crawled to him, feeling weak and frail from the shock. You held onto his legs. Tears slowly ran down your face.

“Why did you go mad when I wasn’t there?” He said looking down at you.

“I..” you let go of him. 

“I have a very hard time with attachment..” You said.

“Why do you feel ashamed of that?” He said.

“Before this happened, before the exiling of the tarnished.. my life was one of sadness, simply put. I was a girl living alone. With dragons. Greyoll was like my mother. She was not really my mother, but only served as one. A girl with nappy brown hair was I. Unbathed, illiterate, and feral- simply put. I knew of one thing. Dragon magic. At the time I felt afraid. Not expression for I couldn’t speak. I was able to roar like Greyoll. Until a noble came along. He stole me away from my family. I cried as they took me away on their horse. Greyoll tried to go after me, but couldn’t leave her area as the dragon mother. They stuck me with the rest of their nobles, forcefully teaching me to read and write. I practiced the art of fencing at what I assume was age 15. I grew tired of the nobles. Sick of all the treatment. So I killed them. Using my rapier. Blood stained the furnishings. It was a truly horrifying sight. I ran away as fast as I could, running as far as I could. I wanted to see Greyoll again. My true mother. My only mother. I remember running. The next 9 years of my life are blank. I just know that somehow, I ended up in prison. And then it went black.” You finished the story with a cold, dead look on your face.

“I.. I see.” Rogier was speechless.

You only looked at him through your long bangs. In shame, and in uncertainty. You’ve never told anyone before. Your life surrounded by death, and killing. A sweet girl that you are, but as equally deadly. Ripped from the one you loved. Taken away. Shoved into a new environment in which you were expected to cope. You felt ashamed of that. Extremely. You hung your head low. 

Rogier sat down on the floor next to you. 

“That has happened a while ago, has it not?” He said softly.

You could only nod.

“Then let us not dwell there. You are new, think of yourself as a baby. Fresh to the world. What’s happened before does not matter now. I am here with you, and you have not killed me. Your skills are quite useful here in the lands between.” His words, reassuring and kind. 

You still would not look at him. 

“Wyn, please look at me.” He said.

“I cannot..” You kept your head down.

Suddenly, Rogier wrapped his arms around you. You tried to struggle free, but he would not let go. 

“R-Rogier-! L-let me go!” You said.

“Not until you will look at me.” He said sternly.

“F-fine- I’ll look at you!” You said.

He let go of you, and watched as you put your head up to look at him. Your eyes were puffy and red from tears, and you looked tired. Your braid was coming undone as well. He could only smile with you looking at him so shyly. It was very cute.

“What?” You said.

“You look so pretty like that.” He said.

“You aren’t making me feel better.” You furrowed your brow.

“Let me hold you.” Rogier said.

“Why? Are you trying to become Fia or something?” You had a slight smirk.

“Maybe I am.. Great champion.. let me hold you..” He mocked the way Fia talked. You laughed a little.

“See? You’re okay.” He said.

“…I would… like to be held.. though.” You hesitated.

“Then rest yourself on me.” Rogier pulled you to him like the last few nights. 

It was different from the other nights though, as you held onto him more tightly than usual. You laid your head on his chest, listening to his heartbeat. You can’t remember when you felt the warmth and kindness of someone like this before, if ever. You felt your eyes tear up, as the same tears began to fall down your face as you cried. Rogier held you close to himself as he rubbed your back with his hands to give you some sort of comfort. 

“There there.. all will be fine. If you would like we can leave to somewhere safer tomorrow morning. I just need you to sleep.” He said.

You nodded, and looked up at him as you wiped your tears. You looked at him, studied him, almost. You pulled your arms out from around him, and moved them to his face. You took your left hand and ran your fingers through his hair, it was soft. You put your hands on his cheeks. You planted a kiss on his lips. Rogier looked at you with a blush.

“Don’t worry, I will.” You said.

As you drifted off to sleep, you couldn’t shake the bad feeling you were having. Then, a dream. The lands between fading, turning to ash before your eyes. The world burned with a flame unlike any other. Flame of frenzy. Screams of those dying ached throughout the land. Rogier was standing in front of you, and he turned to you. There was a terrible, horrified look on his face, as you saw tears stream down his face as he ran toward you. “Wyn? Is- is that you?” He said.

“Yes? What’s the matter?” You asked.

“Please, whatever you do, do not let us leave. You began to go insane after.. after I nearly died.” He looked at you.

You could only feel tears stream down your face as well. He came forward, and touched your face with his hands. He suddenly embraced you. 

“Promise me you won’t let us leave.” His voice was strained.

You awoke suddenly the next morning slumped up against Rogier who was reading.

“Ah, you’re up.” He said with a smile as he turned a page of his book.

“..yes.” You said.

“Well.. I think we should probably pack our stuff so we can be off soon.” Rogier said.

“Rogier.. let’s.. not leave.” You said with a look of anguish.

“Did something happen?” He asked.

“I.. I had a dream. The whole world was in flames. Frenzied flame. You were there, and you told me I went mad and that I became the frenzied flame lord. You asked me to promise you we wouldn’t leave.” You said as you felt your eyes well up with tears.

“Ah.. I.. um.. we’ll stay then.” He said with a worried look on his face.

“It was horrible.. the world was burning around me.. everything. Screams and moans of the living could be heard throughout the entirety of the lands between.. I..” You felt yourself beginning to cry.

“It was just a dream, let’s just stay put.” Rogier said in an attempt to calm you down. 

You sat still for a moment, thinking.

“..I think I’m ready to fight Godrick.” You said.

“Go for it. Best of luck to you. I’ll be here waiting.” Rogier said getting back to his book.

You put your armor on with a newly determined glint in your eyes. You stepped out of the room and used the summon sign for Nepheli. The time was now. You coated your sword with blood grease, and stepped into the mist. You rang your spirit calling bell, and summoned your wolves. Here he was, Godrick. Disgusting as he was, his entrance was flashy. He swung his giant sword and axe with his repulsive hands. Nepheli readied herself, and the fight was on. You rolled away as much as you could from his efforts to hit you, he was strangely focused on Nepheli. She was doing well, and then you got hit, hard. You quickly downed one of your flasks. You ran, swung your sword, and stunned him. As fast as you could, you hit him hard. Suddenly, you stepped back as he began to scream, and cut off his arm. He took the dragon head, and horrifyingly put it on the arm that was long gone. The dragon began to stir, and was alive. It began to spew fire as Godrick screamed:

“Bear witness!” 

You quickly tried to dodge the dragon fire, but your efforts were for nothing, as you felt yourself fade into ashes. 

You woke up around the site of Grace where Rogier made a squeal noise when he saw you lying there. 

“Ugh…” you said.

“How in the world did you get there??” He said.

“I died..” you said rubbing your head.

“..I see.. does that.. always happen?” He asked.

“Yes.” You said plainly.

“um.. okay..” he said.

“I’m gonna go back in.” You said.

“Good luck! Do be careful.” He said.

Try as you may and try as you might, you died a couple of more times. Your 4th try, you finally were successful. You laughed in pure joy with Nepheli smiling by your side as she returned to her world. You ran into the room Rogier was in with the site of grace.

“Rogier!” You beamed.

“Oh Wyn, you’re back.” He smiled.

“I did it!” You huffed.

“Are you serious?” He said.

“Yes! Godrick is dead!” You said.

“Wyn! You’re amazing!” He laughed as he hugged you tightly.

You could only blush and smile. You felt ecstatic. Rogier then let go. He looked at you nervously with a blush.

“Wyn.. I would like to court you. You may decline, of course, but this is merely my declaration of love to you.” He said.

“Are you.. serious?” You said.

“Yes, I am.” He smiled.

“Rogier- of course!” You returned a smile to him.

You took off your helmet and ran at Rogier and planted a kiss on his lips. You nearly knocked him over, the two of you smiling and laughing. A moment of bliss like this wasn’t common there anymore, so you both wanted to relish in the feelings as long as possible.

~^~^~^~^~^~^~^~

hiiii this isn’t my first fic but I’m definitely working on it, so cut me some slack if it’s not in your interest. This was like read over twice, but there’s some errors in there. I hope you did like it though. I think I may do a part 2 involving you and Rogier getting married at the turtle church :3 so stay tuned… maybe..

[brandyllyn]

The Scoundrel’s Reward

Summary: You have been captured by a terrible monster! Is your rescuer the dashing pilot he claims to be - or is he a scoundrel in disguise? Alternatively: Poe Dameron and you goof around and have some fun one night in his quarters.

Part of the "Goofballs in Love" Series of One-Shots: The Scoundrel’s Reward, Ghosts of Girlfriends Past, Flexibility (noun), Give me my sin again, Writing on the Wall

My Masterlist

Words: 3K (Read it on AO3.) [complete] Rated: Explicit Warnings: established relationship. roleplay. consensual dubious consent. bondage. mild violence against droids. oral (f receiving). PiV sex. two people being dorks in bed.

-Privacy Locks Engaged-

Poe tilted his head as he looked at the small screen outside his quarters, trying to think of a reason the locks might be enabled. He had the codes, of course. They were his quarters after all. Had he done it before he left? He was pretty sure he hadn’t.

Had something happened inside there? Someone might have set the privacy locks in order to keep people out. A leak maybe? Or a repair? But that didn’t make sense, if that had happened someone would have contacted him. And he was pretty sure there was a special code for that sort of thing anyway. The privacy locks were for situations when you didn’t want people walking in on you. Hell, if you didn’t have the door code you just got an error message. But if you had the door code…

-Privacy Locks Engaged.-

He rarely used them. Once or twice when he’d come back after a mission and needed double digit hours of uninterrupted sleep. Once when he’d been deep into studying some new X-Wing configurations and didn’t want distractions. But usually he used them when he had you over.

You.

The only other person who had access to the room’s security system was you. He raised an eyebrow. Did this mean you wanted privacy? But if that was true, you had your own quarters you could be in - rather than his. He mulled the problem over more.

Generally he used the privacy locks when you and he wanted alone time. When he didn’t want to risk some friendly pilot or whoever beeping in to halt whatever fun things the two of you were doing in bed together. He considered the possibility. Maybe you were in his room doing something fun in bed. You had intended to see each other that night - maybe you had gotten a head start waiting for him.

-Privacy Locks Disengaged.-

When the doors slid open he stepped inside quickly, reengaging the lock behind him. The room was dark, shadows dancing along the wall from a single lamp with a sheer yellow scarf tossed across it. His eyes were drawn immediately to the bed, and the form lying across it.

You were wearing a sheer white robe, one he’d never seen before. Even in the low light he thought he could make out the darker shade of your nipples peeking through. Somehow more interestingly, you were tied up. Hands bound above your head. When he entered the room your eyes met his and then you winked before your face dropped into over-the-top fear.

"Oh thank the gods, someone is here to rescue me," you called out in a comically desperate voice. He felt his lips twitch. "Please, handsome stranger, save me from this foul beast."

"Oh?" Poe asked, leaning against the door with a smirk. "And who has captured you fair maiden?"

He heard a whirring noise and saw BB-8 roll to place itself between its owner and you, one port opening and the droid’s taser snapping in the still air. The droid beeped questioningly and he heard you whisper, "Yes now."

A series of low angry whistles came from the droid. Threats of violence as BB-8 rolled toward him, taser crackling menacingly. Poe took a step back, putting a chair between himself and the 'beast'. "Ah, I see," he nodded, "a most fearsome foe indeed."

BB-8 gave a pleased little spin at that and he heard you urging the droid back into character. Taking advantage of the distraction Poe turned to the wall, finding a discarded broom and brandishing it.

"Unhand her foul beast!"

BB-8 rolled backwards in alarm and Poe tapped the droid gently with the broom. "Take that!" Another gentle tap. "And that!"

BB-8 spun in place in confusion before rolling towards Poe. Thinking fast, he jumped on top of the nearby table, crouching low and continuing to tap at the droid as it circled around him. Poe threw his boots at the droid one by one, taunting it for being unable to reach him on the table. BB-8 called out increasingly silly threats until Poe finally leapt down and pinned it with a downward thrust of the broom. He squatted quickly whispering "Thanks buddy, go back to your dock now."

BB-8 trilled happily, returning to its charging station and powering down. Poe tossed his 'sword' aside and made his way to the bed, strutting and puffing his chest out in victory.

"Oh brave man, thank you for saving me," you called out, lips parted and eyes wide in adoration.

"It was nothing," he shrugged one shoulder, brushing the arms of his flight suit off. "All in a day’s work for a Resistance pilot."

A small gasp. "A hero of the Resistance? To save me? I am so fortunate." Okay, maybe you were being a little over the top now.

He sat on the edge of the bed, leaning forward and slipping his arms under you to help you sit upright. His fingers toyed with your bound wrists as they fell between the two of you. "It is I who am fortunate," his voice lowered an octave, "to have the chance to meet such a beautiful… princess?" He raised an eyebrow in question and saw you nod before committing to the line. "A princess far beyond the reach of a scoundrel like myself."

He heard you snort and thought for a second you rolled your eyes before he saw them widen into doe-eyed innocence. "Does this scoundrel have a name?"

"You can call me Commander," he said with a smirk. Oh you definitely rolled your eyes at that.

"What can I possibly do to reward you?" you ask, lips parted and eyelashes fluttering. Your bound hands shifted, resting high on his thigh.

"Oh I’m sure we can think of something," he tilted your chin up with one hand, thumb stroking along your lip. His hand trailed down, feeling the heat of your skin through the flimsy robe until he ran one finger around your taut nipple.

"You would take advantage of me?" Your breathy question makes his lips twitch. "Please sir I am at your mercy."

"Mmm," he hummed contentedly to himself, "I see that." He rolled your nipple between his thumb and forefinger, listening to the soft inhale of air and feeling the clench of your fingers on his thighs.

"Oh I have escaped from one monster only to fall into the clutches of another!"

Poe buried his face in your neck to stop the laughter from spilling out of him, reaching down and clasping the bindings around your wrists with one hand. Using them to pull you forward until you fell into his chest. "In my clutches," he grinned to himself, "I like that."

Your head is tilted to the side, offering your neck to his mouth and he took the opportunity without further prompting. His tongue seeking the places that he knew made you groan and squirm. "Please," the breathy moan from you made blood rush down to his cock. "Please don’t…"

"Don’t?" He whispered against your skin. "Don’t what? Do this?" Teeth sank into your shoulder and he heard you whine, felt your body arch into him. He pressed one hand behind you to delve into your hair, pulling slightly and exposing more of you to him. "What is it princess? Don’t what?"

You moaned again, the sound settling into his body. "You say you don’t want this," he murmured, tongue sliding along your jaw, "but I think if I slipped my fingers between those pretty thighs of yours I’d find a different story. Should I find out?" He glided one hand down to your thigh, flipping the flimsy robe to the side to expose you. "Hmm? Are you wet for me princess?"

He didn’t wait for your response, fingers forcing between your clenched thighs and just barely tickling into the slick heat he found. "Oh yes," his teeth nipped your ear, "that’s what I thought. You want this scoundrel to touch you."

"No," your breathy denial stirred the air between the two of you and he felt himself get harder. "I don’t want this. Not with you."

"Your body says otherwise," he countered, tongue tracing your ear. Quickly, he shifted his weight, laying you back down across the bed and stretching your bound hands high over your head. You struggled, body writhing beneath his. He grunted and straddled your waist, using both hands to secure your wrists to the head of the bed. From his vantage above you he gave you a considering look, biting his lower lip.

"Please," you pleaded, eyes wide on his. He leaned forward and pressed two fingers to your lips. Your mouth parted immediately, sucking them into the wet warmth. He groaned when he felt you lick softly at the pads of his fingers.

"You must be the Force’s gift to me for being the best pilot in the galaxy," he grinned and heard you snort. Giving you a disappointed look for breaking character, he used his free hand to flick your side and felt you squirm. He bit his bottom lip when you glared at him in return, nipping at his fingers. "Maybe I’ll use this sweet mouth of yours," he mused and the teasing look in your eyes was replaced by something more feral. More hungry.

He had said it as a joke, as a threat in the spirit of the rogue he was playing. But seeing the change on your face, the way you sucked on his fingers… He groaned, leaning forward to thrust his tongue into your mouth, using his fingers to hold your jaw open.

When he pulled away he saw your eyes were hazy, your tongue lazily circling his fingers. He smirked down at you, "Mmm princess, seems like maybe you do want this."

Your eyes snap up to his, jerking your face away from his hand. "Never."

"Oh really," he raised an eyebrow, shifting his body until he was straddling your thighs, running his hands lightly down your neck. With deliberate slowness he parted the robe, exposing your body to the air and his eyes. He swallowed, the sight of you never failed to cause his heart to skip a beat, his blood to pump faster. He ran a finger under your breast, hiding a smile when you arched slightly up to him.

His fingers tweaked your nipple, "Princess, I could have you begging for me."

"I would never beg for ahh," your protestations were cut off when he leaned forward, wrapping his lips around the sensitive nub and sucking it hard into his mouth.

"What was that?" He asked conversationally, laving it with his tongue before gently setting his teeth to it. "That almost sounded like begging."

He glanced up when you didn’t respond, saw your eyes squeezed shut, your mouth open in a silent gasp. He nibbled at your nipple, heard the keening noise you made and turning his attention to the other. Giving it the same ministrations, flicking the one not in his mouth with his thumb. His body shifted, his knee forcing your legs apart and he reached down to glide his fingers through the heart of you.

"Oh, at least one part of you is honest," he whispered into your skin. Slick heat coated his fingertips and he muffled a groan, moving so both his legs were between yours, holding you wide open to the exploration of his fingers. When they glided across your clit you moaned and he echoed it. "Mmm, that was closer, but not quite."

He shifted down your body, pressing kisses to your skin until he settled between your legs, situating your thighs over his shoulders. His hands clasped at your hips as he pulled you slightly, into his waiting mouth. The breathy little sigh you made was music - just the touch of his lips enough to pull that pleased little noise from you. He nuzzled you for a moment, his nose slipping between your wet folds and over your clit. Another noise, sharper this time.

Looking up he could see you spread out before him, the arms pinned above your head pulling your breasts up high. Your stomach was quivering and he ran a soothing hand over it at the same moment he gently licked against you.

"Poe!" you shouted and he nipped you.

"Nuh uh, tonight I’m just Commander." He thought for a moment, "Or 'Sir' if you want."

Your toes pushed against his hips and he had a feeling that 'Sir' was off the table. Ah well, it was worth a shot. Instead, he dipped his tongue into you, thrusting slowly into your tight channel.

"Oh… Commander," you panted and Poe rewarded you with a long lick up to your clit, flicking against the bundle of nerves and then moving down again. Taking his time, ignoring your breathy moans and the clench of your thighs around his head. Occasionally he turned his mouth to your inner thigh, running his tongue along the soft skin and gently biting. But he always returned to your heat, your soaking core.

"Sir…"

He closed his lips on your clit, massaging it with his lips before letting it go. "Oh that sounds lovely. Beg for me princess. Tell me how much you want me."

"I want…" you started but he was tonguing your clit again and all thought seemed to fly from your head. One of his fingers slowly slid inside of you, filling an aching need. "Please," you finally gasp and he thrust his hand up hard into you, flicking your clit with his tongue.

He gentled immediately, listening to your breathy whine. "Much better," he muttered against your clit. "If I give you what you want - what will you give me?"

"Anything," you promised recklessly.

"Oh I like the sound of that," he hummed in pleasure. "Will you let me put my cock right here?" He stroked inside of you for emphasis and you nod.

"Yes, yes, please."

"Alright then, since you ask so nicely." He didn’t tease anymore, just buried his face against you and drove you relentlessly into your peak. Holding you steady with one hand while he fucked you with the other. He relished your cries, the way your body rocked beneath his hand, even the curl of your toes into his shirt. He would never get tired of making you come. Never.

As you slowly drifted along the highs of your pleasure he sat up, pulling his shirt over his head and quickly shoving his pants off. By the time you were somewhat coherent his body was laying over yours, his mouth seeking yours out.

"Taste how much you want me," he murmured, urging your tongue to tangle with his. You moaned, arms straining against the bindings, wanting to wrap him in your embrace.

"Poe," you gasped and he nips your lower lip. "Commander," you correct quickly, "please, I want you inside me."

"All you had to do was ask princess," he whispered back, lifting one of your knees with his hand and sliding inside of you in one smooth stroke. You groaned together and he pulled away from you just as slowly, starting a smooth steady rhythm.

"Commander," you breathed and fuck but that shouldn’t be as sexy as it was. He was going to have a hard time ever concentrating during shift again with the memory of your sweet voice moaning his rank into his ear.

"Commander please, I need more."

"More?" He shifted slightly and fucked in to you hard. "Like this?"

"Yes," your reply was instant, your mouth gaping open and he quickly took advantage. Capturing your lips in a desperate kiss. His forearms were under your shoulders, hands cupping each side of your head. Holding you still while his tongue ravished you, hips snapping into yours. He relished the hot pant of your breath into his mouth, the moans he could capture. When your legs rose to wrap around his waist he lowered one of his hands to cup beneath your ass, urging you to meet his heavy thrusts.

"Are you going to come for me again princess?" He whispered the words directly against your tongue, shifting his weight so he could slip his hand between your bodies. When his fingers gently circled your clit you cried out - thighs clenching against his waist.

"That’s it baby," he pulled his head away so he could watch your face. "That’s it, come for me."

He could see your fists clenching, your arms stretched above your head, your back arching. Every movement was taut, beautiful, straining for release. He moved his fingers faster, picking the pace of his hips up.

You screamed when you came, a wordless cry that shot straight into his heart. He moved his hand away quickly, back to holding your head as he ground his hips down into yours. "Oh fuck princess," he moaned, your muscles tightening and releasing as your orgasm washed over you. "Just like that. Fuck you feel-"

Whatever he was going to say was cut off by your lips. Neck arching up to capture his mouth and he followed you back down. Lips pressed to yours as he lost his rhythm. Lost his senses. Lost his mind in the pleasure of your body.

When his brain began to function again he could feel your legs still wrapped around his waist, the hot puffs of your breath stirring his hair. He grunted when he pushed himself up, nuzzling your nose with his before placing a light kiss on your lips.

"I think that was a suitable reward for slaying a dragon," he said with a grin and saw your nose crinkle when you giggled.

"Wicked man," you sighed and he kissed you again, pulling slightly on your hair. You arched your neck into the touch, gasping softly.

"Very wicked," he assured you and trailed kisses down your neck. He felt himself slip out of you, heard the small noise you made when he did. He lightly ghosted his lips across your collarbone. "Now," he said, slowly sitting up and spreading his knees wide, your thighs thrown over his. "What inducement might you have for me to set you free?"

Your lips pursed for a moment, hiding a smile, and then you licked your lips. "You’ve already ravished me scoundrel. What more could I possibly give you?"

He raised an eyebrow and you winked at him. "Oh my dear princess," he cooed, running his hands up your thighs until his thumbs pressed to your center. "I can think of a few more things."

[shewhospeakswiththunder]

Perhaps you’re feeling bored at home or, if considered an “essential” worker like me, you need a little fun and stress relief. Here is my masterpost of fic recs from my two years of reading so far. Maybe you’ll find something new, or reconnect with an old favorite. Either way--

Enjoy! 😷💕

Reylo Fics that Deserve All the Love

Near Kinsman by englishable

Englishable is just one of the best writers I’ve encountered in fandom. This historical western mail order bride AU is top notch quality.

The Masochism of Self-Defence by greyorchids

The Reylo dynamic in this Boston PD AU is steamy, but also heartfelt. 

So Much Thin Glass by walkingsaladshooter

Never knew I loved modern day Gothic AUs until I ran across this one.

Heaven Forbid by DarkKnightDarkSide

I was stunned by the author’s creativity in this Priestlo fic. So smutty. So... inventive 😉🔥

Sonder by deathbyhumidity

Two strangers passing each other by on the train. Soft, dreamlike, somber, poignant. Modern AU.

And Still I Would Remember by Inmyownidiom

A Victorian era AU of two souls that parted and come crashing back together.

So, You've Decided to Glamour a Human Girl. by selunchen

Faeries AU! Ben, a fae, and Rey, a human. Shenanigans ensue.

Live Long, and Prosper by SaintHeretical

For the Reylo Trekkies. Hell, even if you don't do Star Trek, read this. PHENOMENAL.

Mr. Solo & Miss Wellfound by LinearA

“Regency/Victorian AU, Ben sees Rey's stockinged ankle by accident.”

Diyari by Nervoustouch

Modern archeologists AU. Snarky banter with dashes of Indiana Jones, The Mummy, and Sahara vibes.

Drawn to the light of your burning sorrows by Kyriadamorte

The Mothlo AU you didn’t know you needed. Both gritty and soft.

Crown Glass by RebelRebel

Fantasy AU, with lots of beautiful imagery and engaging character dynamics.

Kohelet 3:16 (Call Me A Cab) by LinearA

NYC Jewish Leia and Ben. Skillfully layered plot, nuanced characterization. Smut is HOT.

By the Shores of Varykino Lake by hipgrab (merrymegtargaryen)

Unhealthy dynamics, definitely read the tags. “There’s a lot of fucked-up-ness”, in the author’s own words. But it’s good writing. Fair warning.

Let Me Put My Darkness In You by ArdeaJestin

Canonverse. Hux is an insufferable, pompous ass and Kylo Ren writes terrible, melodramatic poetry.

Wintertide by Zabeta

Whimsical and primitive in turn, this lives up to the style of a true fairytale AU.

The Forty Thieves by PoetHrotsvitha

Peaky Blinders/Gangsters AU. Rey starts as Ben’s bartender and ends up as so much more.

I Said to My Soul, Be Still by LinearA

Dark!Rey takes her man. 🥵🔥💕

Hux's Rousing Pep Talks by Riels_shorts

This fic is hysterical. It’s not Reylo, and I don’t care. My list, my rules.

It's All I Can Do To Leave You Alone by TazWren

Office AU. Silly, spunky, with a bashful Ben. 

Sip the Honey Sweet by dietplainlite

Anne of Green Gables-esque/Edwardian era AU, the title really says it all.

The Pull to the Light by HarpiaHarpyja

Entrancingly macabre. This modern/fantasy/monsters AU catches your attention from the get-go, and never lets you off the hook.

lay then the axe to the root by sciosophia

All the Bronte goodness, plus smut.

The Golden Age by TourmalineGreen

Golden Age of Hollywood AU in which Ben is a jaded actor in serious need of an image fix, in the form of fresh-faced actress Rey.

Never Be Your Curse by Kate_Reid 

Kylo Ren is a go-go dancer in this AU. That was enough to get my attention 😘

Gallows God by Killtheselights

Bursting with deliciously grim imagery, an intelligent take on Norse mythology.

Thunderstorms, Clouds, Snow, and a Slight Drizzle by aNerdObsessed

Who doesn’t love an ugly sweater Christmas party? Ben Solo, that’s who. All the nostalgic wintertime feels in this modern AU.

Though My Soul Has Set in Darkness by englishable

It’s not long, but it’s good. A lyrical dive into the mindspace of child Ben Solo. A true gem. Also not technically Reylo. Still don’t care.

I Dare You by tinylittlebrain

Daredevil Kylo has pissed off ER doc Rey Kenobi for the last time. Spicy!

stuck in colder weather by redbelles

Professor Ren stops grad student Rey from biking home in a snow storm. And takes her to his home. You can guess where this goes 😉

Between Sky and Sea by nessalk

Serious Indiana Jones vibes with a Caribbean flair. Painstakingly researched, and moments of true beauty and joy.

But Before Tomorrow by Kate_Reid

Such good writing. Canonverse.

The Sword of Prince Hector by englishable

Exploration of what redemption might feel like for Ben, canonverse. 

if compassion be the breath of life, breathe on me by Victoryindeath2

All the angst and unknowns that we were left with in the wake of TLJ are soothed in this canonverse piece.

build a ladder to the stars by redbelles

An exploration of events post-Crait. Fantastic, beautifully written.

nor are we forgiven (which brings us back) by TolkienGirl

Both Kylo and Rey get to see what life would have been like if they both got exactly what they thought they wanted after TLJ. Fascinating read. 

Forsworn by Erulisse17

This Mando/ST crossover has everything you could want--action, witty banter, space romance! So much fun!

Reylo Favorites & Classics

One Shots

59 Minutes by delia-pavorum (literaryminded)

For Science by KyloTrashForever, ohwise1ne

He Made It Through the Wilderness (somehow he made it through) by LovesBitca8

light carries on endlessly by lachesisgrimm (olga_theodora)

Grey by ocjones

The Idiot's Guide to Flirting by Violetwilson

High School/College AU

I Caught Fire by KyloTrashForever

Mountain Springs High School by animal

Epithumia by pontmercy44

Soul Searching by OptimisticBeth

Office/Workplace AU

Sensual Storytime by andabatae

The Food of Love by LovesBitca8

Historical/Dystopia AU

Hiraeth by Ferasha

a manner of virtue by neonheartbeat

The lamb's thirst by animal

Wanted by Inmyownidiom

She Who Would be Queen by sasstasticmad

go i know not whither and fetch i know not what by voicedimplosives

ABO

Knot My First Time by KyloTrashForever

Canonverse/Canon-divergent

variations on a theme of you by diasterisms (Reydar)

i will be the wolf by diasterisms

Sky Marked Souls by AnonymousMink

The Death of Kylo Ren by nymja

World In My Eyes by sasstasticmad

i'm always in this twilight (in the shadow of your heart) by diasterisms

Catch Me I’m Falling by violethoure666

Sword of the Jedi by diasterisms

You'll Be the One to Turn by postedbygaslight

Dark Crown by Violetwilson

Harry Potter AU

Nocturnal Studies And Other Peculiar Magic by WaterlilyRose

Otherwise Modern AU

Pretense by Celia_and

Insta-heart by slipgoingunder

Serotonin and Dopamine by pontmercy44

The Elusive Mating Dance of the Porgus Adorabilis by andabatae

Hanging by a Moment by crossingwinter

WAR DOGS by fulcrumstardust

miles from where you are by Mooncactus

Charcoal by luvkurai

Stay by jeeno2

coarse and rough and irritating by frak-all (or_ryn)

Blades Crossed by the-reylo-void (Anysia)

Embers by sciosophia

Mitan, Midi by animal

Janus by englishable

Say My Name by Graendoll

Thank You for The Music by hipgrab (merrymegtargaryen)

darling, so it goes by akosmia

This is the Sign You've Been Looking For by RebelRebel

Broken Things by midnightbluefox

One-Night Stand by delia-pavorum (literaryminded)

The Rebel Side of Heaven by jeeno2

On The Bumpy Road (To Love) by violethoure666

we could plant a house, we could build a tree by Like_A_Dove

I’d Like My Obituary to Hint at a Sequel by Violetwilson

Only If You Want To by Violetwilson

Not Reylo, Still Awesome

Gingerflower/Gingerrose, Armitage Hux/Rose Tico 

Between Sand and Sea by Brit Hux-Tico (birchwoods01)

If Ever I Would Leave You by Weddersins

Her Yellow Rainboots by Weddersins

Merrical, Cal Kestis/Merrin (Jedi: Fallen Order)

The Stars Alight by FlyingMachine

Heavy Ice by FlyingMachine

Caltrilla, Cal Kestis/Trilla Suduri (Jedi: Fallen Order)

No One Else by xanderwilde

call it what you want by xanderwilde

tear you to pieces by xanderwilde

Dramione, Hermione Granger/Draco Malfoy (Harry Potter Universe)

Now Is A Gift by SenLinYu

Sex and Occlumency by Graendoll

Zutara, Katara/Zuko (Avatar: the Last Airbender)

oracle bones by an orphaned account

Fics by Me

Virtue Ethics

Reylo College AU (completed)

Dr. Ben Solo, adjunct philosophy professor and part-time martial arts instructor, discovers a young woman in his Intro to Philosophy course whom he thinks may not actually be enrolled at the University.

Chiasmus

Reylo Role-reversal canonverse AU (WIP)

Scourge of the galaxy, Kira Ren, is tasked by the First Order to eliminate the last of the Jedi. When she captures hotshot podracer Ben Solo to extract Luke Skywalker’s location from him, things do not go according to plan. 

This Dance of Light, This Sacred Blessing

Snapshots of a modern Reylo AU. Smutty, prosey one-shot.

Listen Up, Kid

Canonverse Reylo Post TLJ one-shot

The ghosts of Supreme Leader Kylo Ren's past are back to haunt him with a vengeance. A well-meaning, familial kind of vengeance. Or, A Star Wars Carol.

Ben’s Body

Reylo Modern AU (completed)

Rey is an up and coming sculptor specialising in human shape and form. Her new next door neighbour has a body to die for and she's determined to preserve it in marble forever. Now she just has to convince dashing and reclusive Ben to model for her. Preferably naked.

Growin’ Up

Reylo High School AU (completed)

Ben Solo was supposed to only be ruining his own life with his bad decisions. Rey Niima was just trying to pay attention in class. Both get stuck in detention.

Seven Texts, 2 AM

Reylo Modern AU, smutty one-shot

Ben has good reasons not to have sex with his neighbor, Rey. She has other ideas.

Song of the Forest

Reylo Fantasy/BatB/Fairytale AU (completed)

Once upon a time, a girl with an unknown past appeared on the doorsteps of a lord’s manor, and now the forest at the edge of the lord’s property is calling to her.

A Season of Frost & Warmth

Modern Reylo P&P AU (completed)

When Ben shows up to a Halloween party with no costume, it only confirms Rey’s certainty that he is the world’s biggest jerk. Until it comes to light that maybe... he isn’t. 

Follow Me Home

Modern Werewolf Reylo AU (completed)

Rey gets stone drunk and brings home a big cute husky she found in an alley. The next morning, she finds a naked man built like a fridge sleeping on her living room floor, and no dog in sight.

The Gentleness That Comes

Reylo Modern AU one-shot

Underground boxer!Ben is resigned to his life of violence, until he meets a pretty new bartender one night.

Unlikely, Unbidden, Unbound

Gingerflower canonverse AU (WIP)

General Hux is imprisoned by the Resistance when the First Order falls. He had known his death was coming, it was simply a matter of course. He’s disappointed to learn the Resistance has other plans, and an unwavering policy of giving people second chances.

@thereylowritingden @reylofic @nancylovesreylo @grlie-girl @lilia-ula @greyforceuser @tazwren @mhcalamas

[sheron-c]

XiSang Fic Recs

I haven’t seen any rec lists floating about, so for the XiSang Week 2020 challenge - Day 7 - Free choice, I wanted to create a rec list of my personal favourites for Nie Huaisang/Lan Xichen ship. There’s actually a lot of stories that are great and I don’t want to duplicate the entire ship tag, so these are just the top 10 that I found super enjoyable: 1.  My Heart is a Saber by peskyjellyfish (~11k)

Summary: Huaisang is on his way to Xinglu Ridge when he gets sidetracked. Rec: This is the fic that gave me everything I wanted to read about them post-canon. Nie Huaisang is angry and damaged, Lan Xichen is hurt and curious, and they find the kind of hope in despair that can only be found together. 2.  come and find me (lying in the bed i made) by ImaginationCake  @demonic-cultivar​ (~22k)

Summary: After Jin Guangyao dies, Nie Huaisang is ready to enjoy his life free from the burden of revenge plots and subterfuge. But his decisions have resulted in a deep guilt that he can't shake, and he struggles to stay afloat with no one left to support him. To top it off, he finds himself tangled up in politics that he really couldn't care less about.What he does care about is Lan Xichen's opinion of him, but Lan Xichen won't even look at him anymore. Nie Huaisang can only hope that his life doesn't get any worse. Rec: The fic that got me into this ship! ♡ I did of course come to AO3 looking for more NHS & LXC content immediately after watching the Untamed. After seeing that ending scene with their conversation on the Temple’s steps I wanted more, but I wasn’t sure it was a romantic ship for me until I read this story. It’s got everything, a kidnapping, a rescue and a bad case of feelings :D 3.  A Skilled Tactician is the Jewel of a Kingdom by Hypatia3 (~50k, WIP) Summary: During the Sunshot Campaign, Nie Huaisang wants to help despite his terrible sword skills. But there are other things he's good at, and nobody can say his mind is weak. But nobody has to know.After all, he wants to go back to his life of general uselessness after the war is over, and Nie Mingjue would never allow it if he saw a single sign of competence from him.But this has consequences that he didn't expect. Rec: One of the absolute best stories in this fandom when it comes to Nie Huaisang’s characterization -- he’s clever and yet so very Huaisang, in such a believable way that *hands* I can’t explain how much satisfaction I get out of reading and rereading this story. Honourable mention:  A Decisive Victory by Hypatia3 (~24k, WIP) Summary: When Jin Guangyao acts against the Nie Sect a little earlier, Nie Huaisang ends up in over his head as acting sect leader. But he has a responsibility and a duty to his sect. His brother is counting on him until he recovers.Or Nie Huaisang loses his temper, starts a war, and impresses a lot of people along the way. Rec: This is not marked XiSang, and is a divergence from the earlier Tactician story (around chapter 7) but it’s such fun to read and Huaisang’s interactions with Lan Xichen are top notch, so I can’t help mentioning it here.

4.  from tomb to tomb by @the-pretzel​  (~16k)

Summary: It's a lot easier to get truth out of someone, even one with a very good reason to lie, when they're drunk. Or, five times Nie Huaisang was drunk and once it was Lan Xichen's turn instead. Rec: Written to capture moments over the years during the course of the show, as Lan Xichen and Nie Huaisang dance around each other, this story is absolutely beautiful and vivid. I can still see the scenes of the story pop up in my head like drawings, of Lan Xichen walking in on semi-hungover Nie Huaisang and the sheer tension between them enough to keep you breathlessly reading.

Honourable mention:  when i'm reborn by @the-pretzel (~1.1k)

Summary:  Nie Huaisang's daemon settles the day he finds out what Jin Guangyao has done. (His Dark Materials fusion) Rec: A very short, very lovely daemon AU, which I’m definitely reading as XiSang :)

5.  What I had to do by @ibijau​ (~20k) Summary:  After three years in seclusion, Lan Xichen gets an unexpected guest he would rather have avoided. Yet when he learns that Nie Huaisang is dying from a curse, he is forced to confront his guilt toward Jin Guangyao's fate and the people his sworn brother hurt. Rec: I’d say this is a fandom classic, so you’ve probably read it already :D But, one of my favourite things about this story is the way it captures Nie Huaisang running away from emotions, and Lan Xichen being selfless when it comes to those he cares about. 6.  gather jewels from graveyards by LuckyDiceKirby (~15k) Summary: Nie Huaisang stole happiness from Lan Xichen. He stole peace. If he could just see him, and see for himself exactly what he’s done, and know—that will be enough. Then he’ll be able to paint again, and his hands won’t shake as he does it, and he’ll remember why he ever in his life bothered to put brush to ink to paper. After all, a man should have to live with his mistakes. There is no other way to learn from them. His brother believed that. Rec: One of the first stories I read for this ship and so well done! This is one where Nie Huaisang feels very guilty, and who doesn’t enjoy reading that? Nie Huaisang comes to the Hanshi to make amends, and doesn’t go away when Lan Xichen won’t see him.

7.  When the world is cold (I will feel a glow) by @marsdiogenes (~3k)

Summary: Xichen is trying very hard to get his crush to notice him, but gallery curator Nie Huaisang has a job to do and would appreciate it if Lan Xichen's beautiful face would stop for a moment so he can focus. Mingjue just wants to have a nice, quiet family dinner and for everyone to respect his efforts.

Rec: I don’t normally go for Modern AUs for this ship, but this was so fun and sexy! Also Nie Mingjue’s knowing reaction is :3 8.  to embrace doubt by fensandmarshes, Fleetling, idendreams, medievalfantasyqueen, space_enjolras, sxnshot (blasphemyincarnate)

Summary: Five times people thought they understood Nie Huaisang + one time someone admitted they didn’t - a collaborative, semi-chronological character study of Nie Huaisang through other characters’ eyes. Rec: Okay, it’s technically not marked shippy, but you tell me that someone who thinks about Nie Huaisang the way Lan Xichen does in this story, in the chapter that’s from his pov can possibly not love him, and I won’t believe it. The lyrical prose is the best description in a paragraph I’ve ever read of Nie Huaisang.

9.  Love of my life, I hate you by Ibijau (~126k) Summary:  With Qishan Wen growing ever more powerful and menacing, QInghe Nie and Gusu Lan decide to cement a firm alliance between their sects through a marriage between their children. Lan Xichen and Nie Huaisang are less than thrilled to learn this, but nobody is asking for their opinion anyway Rec: At first, I wasn’t sold on Lan Xichen being so thoughtless in his treatment of Nie Huaisang as a child and mostly wanted to smack him, but damn if the later events don’t make up for it, make him grow up, and turn the tables around. :D This story is utterly satisfying to read, like one of those novels that give your Id everything you want, eventually. I love slow burn and this is that in spades! So much fun, I’ve re-read parts of it multiple times already.

Honourable mention: Ibijau has so many interesting XiSang stories, like the one where Jin Rusong survives and Nie Huaisang ends up raising him (Second Chances For First Time Villains), and the one where Lan Wangji and Nie Huaisang, both in love with someone else, make a marriage match and solve crimes together ( We can light a match and burn it down), the god!LXC AU, and many others. Check them out! And finally,

10.  Chapter 95: LXC finds out about JGY and tells NHS,  from MDZS short fics by nirejseki ( @robininthelabyrinth) (~1k) Summary:  In that AU where LXC pretends to be LWJ and discovers NMJ's head, what if he went on a quest to put the body of his old friend together and along the way accidentally ran into NHS who's on the same mission. And they realize the other knows! Rec: Nirejseki writes a lot of great Nie brothers content, and this is one short story that can arguably turn into XiSang in the future. The possibilities of this AU make it so exciting, I had to include it on the list even though NHS and LXC only talk and nothing else happens.  ...Okay, that was more than ten fics here, but can you blame me? 😍 I love these two together. And with the XiSang week running we have so much new stuff!

[the-river-person]

Any interesting world-building tidbit that wasn't included in your tales? This is a very interesting world you've got

I have three major bits that I desperately wanted to include in the story but never could find the right moment for. 1. (This hilarious dialogue snippet from Gaster and Alphys that never made it into the story but I decided was too funny to not save.) Alphys: (laying on floor) I’m nothing. Not a scientist. Useless. I’m just garbage. Gaster: (glances down at her briefly, looking thoughtful).... you’re recyclable. Alphys: !?!?!?!?!?? 2. I wanted to better explore the area below Waterfall, the deep pits that all the falls plunge down into, where once Alphys stood and considered throwing herself down into. The concept of it was a sort of transformation for Alphys and Undyne. They return to this place that might have been a place of tragedy, and they make it the start of something amazing. The cliffs below were riddled with caves and openings, an entire city carved straight into the rock, with grand staircases that lead down, and elevators that see a lot of use for those who don't want to walk (or can't). Can you imagine the place? Beautiful caves where every window opens up to the underside of the cascading, thundering waterfalls. And because they had hundreds of years to develop it all, the Lower City had gardens and fascinating landmarks to visit, a gallery devoted entirely to the art of Alphys' favorite animes (and oh boy were there some truly gorgeous works there. For some reason there was also a portrait of Mettaton as God and Alphys as Adam in a lovely oil painting that is a sort of imitative transformation piece of Michelangelo's very famous "The Creation of Adam". Nobody really knows who painted it, nor why, but the gallery director informed the public that it was donated anonymously as a gift to commemorate the gallery's Grand Opening.) Because Undyne had a huge part in the City's inception, there ended up being several small schools for various physical activities such as: Wrestling, Ballet, Clogging, Modern Dance, Taekwondo, Spear fighting, Sword fighting, and Water Aerobics. Also one very tiny school for Piano that consisted of Undyne herself and whoever she was teaching to play at their lessons three times a week. Down below are the Depths, the deepest and darkest part of the Underground's caverns. A massive lake that the falls plunge into. Most of its life has been spent without light of any kind, and even now it's still very shadowy. The Lower City of the cliffs sort of spills out between waterfalls to drift around the shore of the lake. But even 300 hundred years later it hasn't all been explored and the Lower City hasn't expanded much more (even with the Underground populous trying their best to spread out, they can't possibly fill every space. I'm working with an upper limit of 1,400-2,000 monsters total in the Underground, with a lower limit of 322 for the souls visible coming from Asriel in the game when he breaks the barrier. Due to the fact that Ghost Monsters were excluded from the soul snatching event, and the fact that there is literally no way to estimate how many spiders are in the Underground, both have been excluded from this counting.) At the far end of the dark lake a lonely outpost sits, home to a very very few monsters who either prefer the total solitude and darkness, or have come there for reasons of science. To study the pools of super-heated water and geysers, or the aquatic life somehow managing to thrive in the pitch black lake that is swimming with garbage from humans and monsters alike, or even geological strata that possesses very interesting formations this far down. There are numerous guidelines in place that prevent Monsters from staying at the Outpost for more than two months at a time for Mental Health concerns. Both Royal Scientists tried (separately) to use their position to override this rule. Undyne was sent to retrieve Alphys and bodily carried her back despite protests, and Queen Toriel herself came to order Gaster back to the Upper Underground (there were fireballs thrown before he finally gave up). 3. And finally, I actually fully intended to have a scene in the story where Sans demanded that Gaster tell him exactly how long they spent trapped down there, after all, he's the only one who kept track of it if you recall. But I completely spaced it when it came to writing those last few scenes. So I'll tell you my final calculations here. We know that Determination had a strange effect on the magic of the Barrier. Whenever a Reset happened, time in the Underground would move a tiny bit slower than time outside. The time spent inside the Barrier, counting both the truly ridiculous amount of time wasted in resets by both the Human and by Flowey, as well as the 300 years afterward that this story covers, comes somewhere around the area of 51,967,952,715 years. Or Fifty One Billion, Nine Hundred and Sixty Seven Million, Nine Hundred and Fifty Two Thousand, Seven Hundred and Fifteen. An insane amount of time. What’s my explanation for how the minds of various characters remained intact? Well, Gaster spent long long periods of time sleeping. He wasn’t fully himself yet as his assistants hadn’t managed to collect enough pieces of him. So unstable and having a warped perception of time kept him from actually going insane, instead letting him sleep for centuries at a time. Sans actually didn’t start to become fully aware until quite a long ways into the resets, and then spent a while trying to figure out what was going on, fought with everything he could for a while in endless genocide routes, and then eventually lost hope entirely and sort of... went on automatic for a long time before he woke up enough to change something (a single question was all it took). And Flowey stayed in a similar state for thousands of years, quietly repeating the exact same conversations, the same actions, the same patterns. The only times he was even aware enough to notice the passage of time was when something new happened. These are not in any way realistic ways of reacting to such a vast period of time. From what science we understand about the brain, it would barely last more than a couple hundred years at the very most, but probably less than that. And that’s if you can keep it in perfect condition without any decay. Memories would begin to go long before that, only fragments remaining and the brain keeping only what is relevant to you now. But lots and lots of old stories depict supernatural and magical beings as sleeping for centuries in forgotten temples, under castles, in sealed magical caverns, in caves on beds of treasure, and a thousand other variances. So I wanted to explore that in the way of a part of the Monster Soul that would act as a self defense mechanism to the Mind of the Monster who was somehow living and living and living without possibility of dying and needed to be able to stay sane throughout that. So it either makes them sleep, or in severe circumstances it can put them on a sort of automatic mode where they repeat a sequence ad infinitum. Both have their roots in folklore, but the way it works is my own interpretation of the idea. Outside the barrier, however, is a different story. The full total of time that has  passed out there is 10,​000,​000,​000,​000,​000,​000,​000,​000,​000,​000,​000,​000,​000,​000,​000,​000,​000,​000,​000,​000,​000,​000,​000,​000,​000,​000,​000,​000,​000,​000,​000,​000,​000. Known as Duotrigintillion, or also as one Googol. While the Underground got slower and slower and slower, the rest of the Universe continued on at its usual pace. The planet earth was destroyed by the Sun going into its Red Giant Phase, and then it became a White Dwarf. Then a Black Dwarf. Galaxies and super-galaxies went slowly dark, matter was dissolved or eaten by black holes, even black holes eventually began to decay due to Hawking Radiation. And because the light, garbage, and air being let into the Underground were the exact same stuff that was being let in at the beginning and was just on repeat forever, the Monsters never noticed. It was only when a run went on a little longer than usual, when the Barrier started trying to correct itself by syncing up time again, when you could see the darkness beyond. A darkness without stars and without life. Only cold and shadow, forever. The absolute and inexorable Heat Death of the Universe. Is it the only Universe in the Multiverse that has lived its full possible lifetime from beginning to end? Possibly. Ink would know. Whatever the case, its certainly a very very old Universe indeed (It probably is one of several branches off the original Universe, a stray timeline become a Universe in its own right).

[trollnobu]

Kendo AU: Characterisation Notes

So I found some notes on how I wanted to characterise characters that weren't shown all that much in canon because they're, well, dead. We're barely given any info about them or their personalities, so this is just something to keep myself on track when I write them.

They're also all part of a friend circle of their own. I call them Posthumous Pals.

Sabito

▪18, first year university student, studying criminology

▪Hot-tempered, but doesn't hold grudges and forgives and forgets easily. His anger usually comes from a place of concern. Always nagging at Giyū and Makomo for being flighty, irresponsible or forgetful.

▪"Makomo, did you forget to pay your phone bills again" "Oi, Giyū, how many hours did you sleep last night? You look like shit" "Am I your alarm clock? Get up already!" "DON'T TELL ME YOU BOTH FORGOT THERE WAS A TEST TODAY OH MY GOD"

▪Actual Mum Friend. He's a little mad about it, but he cannot stop himself. Considering how often he has to remind them to eat or force them to study...his childhood friends really are useless without him.

▪TSUNDERE

▪Ultimately a nice guy, but his people skills could use work. He can get a bit standoffish and even scary. Still has a better rep than Giyū, though

▪Passionate but overzealous. He can be very overwhelming sometimes and unwittingly intimidates juniors. He used to tutor Tanjirō and his siblings as a side job and ended up scaring them...

▪Very hardworking and driven! He's the kind of guy who has a clear aim in life and probably a 10 year plan on how to get to where he wants to be. It makes him clash with Giyū and Makomo a bit, since they're either too unsure or carefree, but he's just worried for their future.

▪Unwilling straight man of his childhood friend group. Often the sole voice of reason and common sense.

▪Has feelings for Makomo for ages but stubbornly refuses to say anything to keep the status quo (Giyū's tired, send help)

Makomo

▪18, first year university student, studying arts

▪Between fiery, disciplined Sabito and melancholic, disgruntled Giyū, Makomo is the nice middle ground with a serene, gentle temperament.

▪She's probably too calm, if you ask Sabito. It comes with the downside of not taking anything seriously. Makomo has a tendency to brush off her friends' worries. Sometimes it helps temper Sabito and Giyū's anxiety; sometimes it infuriates them. A double-edged sword.

▪Has a hidden impish side. She likes to make fun of both Sabito and Giyū. Giyū gets disproportionately dramatic over it and accuses her of "emotionally profiting off of [his] distress."

▪Despite seeming the least obsessed with kendo compared to her friends, Makomo was actually the one to drag them into it...

▪Can come across as lazy because she doesn't have the same sense of purpose or drive as Sabito. She's also a bit spoiled and likes being pampered. Some might pin the blame on her godfather and mentor Urokodaki

▪Acts like the friendly, reliable onee-chan to her juniors and is the only senior Obanai actually likes but will shamelessly behave childishly in front of Giyū and Sabito. They don't like admitting that they also get childish in retaliation.

▪Of the three, Makomo is the best with people and their assigned PR manager though she can act distant without realising it. Has the kind of face where she always looks like she has something on her mind. People sometimes feel that she's a bit unapproachable because it's almost like they're interrupting something...

▪Gets bright-eyed and very chatty if someone brings up anything relating to arts, sculptures or dancing.

Kochō Kanae

▪18, first year university student, studying medical science

▪Poster child of the Genki Girl trope and child prodigy who makes you question your life's accomplishments

▪Kanae is one of those people who masters everything with little effort. She's not even the respectable hard worker type like Sabito or Shinobu; she just doesn't need to work too hard and still makes it anyway. Has never seriously struggled with anything.

▪Also filthy, disgustingly rich. She's a born heiress to a large pharmaceutical conglomerate and was spoiled by loving parents. Truly born with a silver spoon in her mouth.

▪Very cheerful and kind! She's the sort of person who likes to make children laugh, helps the elderly cross the street and makes sure no one feels left out. Probably visits orphanages and campaigns for environmental awareness or something.

▪Beautiful! Intelligent! Accomplished! Compassionate! How can someone be this perfect?

▪Unfortunately, she's also BIG CHAOTIC DUMB, has no financial sense, naive, incredibly unreliable, can be an obnoxious do-gooder and is notoriously lacking in common sensibilities. Absolutely cannot function in the real world without Shinobu. Even her boyfriend's very first impression of her was "rich idiot without a day job."

▪Everyone thinks "how on earth did Sanemi trick her into a relationship with him?" But no one thinks "how on earth did Kanae trick him into a relationship with her?"

▪Ironically, despite being rather dysfunctional individuals by their own, Kanae and Sanemi seem to have a fairly stable, calm relationship. It wasn't so in the beginning, though

▪More wise than you'd expect, but too bad you'd hardly see that side of her. She's too busy being a disaster.

Rengoku Kyōjurō

Not posthumous, in the sense that he doesn't die before the series but during it, but he's here anyway because he kicked it so quick smh rip ren

▪17, third year high school student, captain of his kendo club and also the star pupil of the Fire Branch

▪Gender-bent version of Kanae in that he's explosively cheerful and full of endless optimism and energy. Everyone fears them when they're together. The genki is too powerful...

▪Big Brother Energy™

▪He's your go-to guy if you have any troubles and need a listening ear, or a helping hand, or honest criticism, or just some advice. Anything you need, he is here!

▪Despite appearing well-adjusted, however, he's not as untouchable as he looks. Like everyone his age, he has some anxiety and fears over the future and impending adulthood. He has a hard time confiding in anyone, though, because he's so used to being the one relied on.

▪Big case of Mama's Boy Syndrome. He'll drop everything for her. Due to her weak health, he really worries about his mother.

▪Because the Fire Branch has close ties with the Water Branch, he sees the others fairly often. He's at his most chatty with Kanae, Shinobu and Sabito (though even Sabito gets worn out after a while) and is one of the few who genuinely likes Giyū, despite his social missteps and bumbling. Makomo and Obanai try to escape at first sight of him; they seldom succeed.

▪"He's like cough medicine. Good for you if you're feeling bad, but best taken in small doses."

▪Between him and Mitsuri, the Fire Branch easily has the most welcoming and encouraging atmosphere of all the dojos.

Kumeno Masachika

▪20, third year university student, studying psychology and sociology

▪Step aside, Kyōjurō, the real big brother is here.

▪He's old and experienced enough to actually have some of his shit together by now. Or maybe university has worn him out.

▪He has all of Makomo's unflappability, but without her flippancy. All of Sabito's responsibility, without his anxiety. Friendly as Kyōjurō without being overwhelming, realistic as Giyū without giving into pessimism and charismatic as Kanae without being unreachable. In short: the most down-to-earth, well-balanced, and least dysfunctional person within a 20 mile radius.

▪It makes him a bit of an odd sight in the Wind Branch, in between Sanemi's hair-trigger temper and Inosuke's obscene screaming. Legends say his calm is to overcompensate for the level of unbridled feral energy in the Wind Branch...

▪In truth, he's the scariest one amongst them if he does get angry. His juniors actually write apology notes to him if this happens, like young children who've just disappointed their favourite teacher.

▪Otherwise, he wins the award of Most Chill. He gets frequently deployed if they need someone to defuse tension. An important duty, when one considers that the Wind Branch is the most competitive, aggressive of the dojos.

▪Speaks a bit dryly, though it feels personable rather than snarky.

▪The dojo master of the Wind Branch is apparently trying to harangue him into being the next, though he's resisting because he wants to "go teach kids or something."

▪Maybe it's only fitting, since the rest of the Wind Branch already gave him plenty of experience at shepherding unruly children.

[just-a-neoclassical-painting]

Basically the events leading up to last chapter.

Logan's never held a cat before and it is a t r a v e s t y.

Warnings: Referenced minor character death, angst, Roman gets drunk, mainly fluff though, minor character deaths (hanging).

The palace was filled with the rich aroma of roses, and when the light summer breeze stirred amidst the trees the heavy scent of pink dahlias, or the more delicate fragrance of the purple and yellow hyacinths came through the doors as well. Roman thought they were beautiful - just as beautiful as the man who'd had them planted. Janus.

The sun was high, beating down on everyone who had gone outside for fresh air that day. The chatter and laughter was infectious, and it rippled through the grounds. Roman's cousin, Logan could be seen attempting to shoo Patton and another taller man Roman didn't recognise a little further away, keeping an eye on Roman so the plan went successfully.

The aviary was always the place the king and Janus chose to spend their days. Roman was well aware that he tanned spectacularly anywhere, but he insisted that laying in Janus's lap, listening the birds singing from their homes in the trees and to Janus's voice as he muttered sweet nothings to Roman improved the ultimate result.

Janus lavished the long hot months, and spent as much time as he could outside. Sure, sitting in the dark, shadows dancing across him did wonders for his aesthetic, but it did not do wonders for his snake-like scars. Roman knew how much Janus hated them - they held memories of the disease that had infected his home country. Janus had survived by pure spite, and was on the first boat out when his people abandoned the land.

But somehow, the heat soothed the constant aching he felt on the left side of his face. Roman adored the sound Janus made when Roman pressed his hand up against the scars, warming them with his touch.

"You look absolutely ravishing in that suit, my prince ." Janus purred, twirling Roman's curly hair around his finger and smiling fondly down at the man in his lap.

"Please, you act like that dress doesn't do you wonders~" Roman grinned, hooking a hand around the back of the taller man's neck to help pull himself up so they were facing each other. Janus's hand was still in Roman's hair and he ran it through the auburn waves, his gaze fixed on Roman's small plump lips.

Roman barely registered this, his own eyes tracing the shadows that played across Janus's lips - before letting out a laugh and pressing their lips together.

Janus's lips brushed his, gingerly, tenderly, like butterfly wings, just long enough that Roman could inhale his soft breathe, feel that familiar warmth of his skin, and the taste of his signature golden lipstick lingered long after Janus had pulled away, smiling.

Roman tucked a loose bit of hair behind Janus's ear, laughing in glee as he pressed another small kiss to the snake-like side of the man's face and was rewarded with a small blep.

"I love you so much, you know?"

"No." Janus laughed, his eyes softening, "Of course I do, Princey. You can't seem to go three seconds without telling me. You know I love you."

Roman got up off the bench, his heart swelling up. Him and Janus had this thing, ever since they'd got together. Janus said the opposite of how he really felt. It confused Roman at first, but, as one of Logan's professor friends said, "Thank god for friends who learn to speak to you in your own language, instead of forcing you to learn theirs."

So Roman had learnt Janus's language, because he knew how Janus struggled to be understood by so many when he was studying as a mage in the kingdom - it was the least Roman could do for the person he loved.

Roman adjusted his sash before reaching a hand out to help lift Janus up from the bench, twirling him around before sinking into a dip position and kissing Janus.

Janus smiled as they rose up again, cupping Roman's cheek with his hand before saying, "I'll head inside - It'll be fun watching the court try to survive in the heat."

"Thank you- I'll only be a second-"

Janus was already slinking back inside, weaving through the flower patches and letting Kaa, his familiar - a long and beautiful python - slither off a branch of one of the trees Roman's grandmother had planted and onto Janus's shoulders.

Roman turned back to the bench they'd been sitting on. It was painted white, and had a small message engraved into it. Roman recognised the swirly handwriting as his own,

                                                                              King Thomas

A loving father and servant to all.

Roman was only 18 when it had happened. His father had succumbed to the disease that had infected Janus when he visited the island with Logan, hoping to use their skills in the sciences to help the people work on a cure. Being a historically magical land, they had desperately needed people like Thomas and Logan who were trained in the science after all their attempts to magically cure the disease failed. Roman hadn't travelled with them, Thomas believing Roman would be better equipped to keep the country in order if need be.

Roman had just finished a show, taking his final bows with a bouquet of fresh red roses in his arms when 3 women from the court ran onstage to tell him. King Thomas had died, using the last of his energy to help Logan engineer a cure. Roman was king. Roman had lost the only parent who'd ever cared about him.

Roman was crushed. He entered one of the darkest parts of his life, realising he wasn't a hero. Logan and the King were the people who'd saved the island from the disease, not him. And his dad was gone. Roman hadn't saved him. He was a useless excuse for an heir, not just a heroic knight.

Roman wasn't of royal blood, not truly. He was adopted, but when King Thomas had gone through the land looking for an heir, apparently Roman - an abandoned 4 year old who ran around 'saving' people in the market using a stick as a sword - was the one he believed could take the helm of the country.

But Roman had never expected to become king so soon. Even so, Roman had done his best - to be something the kingdom could be proud of, someone Roman himself could be proud of. Someone his father could be proud of. And maybe he failed at that a lot, but he was trying. If he couldn't save his father, Roman could save the kingdom his father had always been so proud of.

Roman went down on his knees, taking the crown off his head. It was covered with lots of miniscule, intricate designs, each representing one of the many stories Roman had begged his father to tell him each night again and again, imagining himself as the dashing hero until he just had to go to bed. Those were the kingdom's stories, and sat on the head of the monarch as a fierce memento of the kingdom's heritage. The gold was forged thousands of years ago by the first mages to ever settle on their land. Hundreds of diamonds were set into this gold, each one formed of the ashes of a monarch the crown had once been worn by. Even though he wasn't truly a part of the family, Thomas had promised when Roman was very young that when Roman died, he would become one of these diamonds. Roman would be immortalised in a beautiful diamond, among the family that had loved and accepted him, guiding his own child through their reign.

Roman smiled fondly as he set the crown down onto the bench. Roman often spent whole nights talking at the crown, desperately trying to keep his voice down so Janus wouldn't wake up and think Roman was a lunatic, but he'd never been this ceremonious during his one-sided rants to the piece of headwear.

 "Greetings everyone." Roman started, awkwardly. He really hoped no one, especially Logan, could see him, "I, uh, just want to talk to Papá today. I've got some big news - I really think you're going to be proud."

Pause.

"Dad!" Roman directed his vision towards an orange stone near the front. which he instantly recognised as his father, " I know you can't really hear me but- It's just- I'm really excited! I have this whole dinner planned out for later. We're gonna dance for ages, Me and Janus, that is. And then I'm going to do it, for real. I'm actually going to ask him to marry me! I truly think we're ready - we've been discussing it for a while and I just- I just love him so much. I want to spend the rest of my life with Janus."

Roman jumped back as King Thomas's diamond and lots of the others that surrounded it blared red. Had he imagined it? Was that a normal crown thing to do? No one else in the Mind Union had crowns anything like Roman's crown, so it wasn't like he could stumble into the next meeting and ask if anyone just happened to know why exactly the dead relatives he kept in his crown were changing colours and if they were available could they possibly sit down and explain it to him.

Roman just shook it off, there was nothing he could do - and he had a boyfriend to propose to.

------------------------------------------------------- --------

"Darling? I assumed we were meeting in the great hall for dinner-" Janus questioned Roman, who was currently trying to sneak up to their rooms

"Oh! Well, I was just wondering...do we have to? It's just- I'm not feeling it today. Being around other people, that is. Couldn't we just spend the night alone - if you want, of course."

Janus raised an eyebrow, moving up the stairs so he could inspect Roman. They'd been together for 3 years, and whilst Janus was glad to be spending time alone with Roman, this wasn't exactly like his extroverted prince, who he knew so well.

"Of course, dearest. It's good you'll be getting some rest - we can't have you getting overworked. I'll go alert Logan and Patton, shall I? Send all staff home early for the night?" Janus worried, squeezing Roman's hand, "Go up, I'll be back soon."

Roman could barely speak, before he was pushed up the stairs. Well, at least now he'd have more time to prepare the dinner.

Over the next 30 minutes, Roman had rushed around the majority of the castle before landing himself in the gardens surrounding the castle - a picnic set out around him, full of both his and Janus's favourites. Now, he just had to hope it would all be enough. And that Janus had followed the very extensive list of clues. That was important.

A few minutes later, Janus turned round the corner of a bush of blooming red dahlias, struggling to hide the goofy smirk that was playing on his lips. Janus had changed into a black velvet evening suit with golden buttons and a short black cloak that finished around his elbows.

"You're grossly cute, you know that? What's all this even for?" Janus said laughing, nestling himself in the grass next to Roman. Pushing a plate and some wine towards Janus, Roman shuffled awkwardly - attempting to think of an excuse.

"Ah- I don't really know? You deserve it. You've been working so hard recently." Janus smirked coldly, swinging back his glass to let the wine wash down his throat.

"Seems you're the only person who thinks that round here. Thank you."

"Pat had his reasons for picking that Angore kid over you. They're not for us to question - just know that I would much prefer working with you. Conversation would be far more interesting. I haven't seen the guy Patton chose talk once."

"He never was one for talking, even in school. And you meant what you said - you'd prefer me?" Janus's smile softened as he turned around to the man who was attempting - and failing miserably - to eat grapes in the manner of an actual Roman. Dork.

The grapes were suddenly dropped to the side as Roman jumped up and cupped Janus's face, "Of course I would." Roman kissed his nose, "Idiot."

"Sap. You've gone soft since we got together, you know?" Janus laughed, plucking a grape from the discarded bunch.

"Haven't I? Oh, and do tell me, where'd you get that suit? You look beautiful, really." Roman asked before snatching something else from the blanket, "It's nothing on par with some of my outfits."

"Thank you, Darling." The sincerity of the compliment made Janus's ears go pink, making him think himself lucky that sun had long gone down, the only light source coming from the insects that flew in and around the pool of water at the centre of the gardens and the taverns that stayed open all night, "I think it was some dressmaker in the outer kingdoms. He reminded me of you. A more disgusting version of you, that is. With a moustache. Don't ever do that. That would not be a look."

"Oh god no. I'm imagining it - I look like a rat." Roman cringed, picking up his own glass to take a swig. The conversation continued, kisses and flirtatious remarks being exchanged at regular intervals, all the while Roman was slowly working his confidence up.

He had to do this. They'd been dating for so long and Janus had to know how much he meant to Roman. Roman wanted to marry Janus and spend the rest of his life with the person who he loved more than any other - the person who'd made him fuller and happier than he'd ever been before they had met. Roman wanted to feel that exhilarating rush of pure love and joy that he got every time he woke up to find Janus next to him, safe and warm, every single day. Roman wanted hear that distinct laugh, see that easily recognisable smile, touch those beautiful scars every day for the rest of his life. He wanted a family - and he wanted it with Janus.

"I love you Janus. So much." Roman said, having fully built up the courage he needed, "More than you'll ever be able to understand. You make me so happy and all of your differences and things that make you unique just fill me with so much joy. Like when you scrunch your nose when your enjoying something? That's so beautiful and-"

"Roman-"

Roman pulled a ring out of his pocket and slipped it onto Janus's hand. Janus gulped. The ring was beautiful, it looked absolutely perfect on him. It was shaped like a teardrop and looked like these two colours of red and gold were swimming around and in each other - but never ruining or affecting the respective colour.

"I want to spend every sunset and sunrise with you. So...Will you make me the happiest man in the world, and marry me?"

This wasn't supposed to have happened. Roman was supposed to have died before he could develop these kinds of feelings for Janus. It was Janus's fault. He should've ended the game a long time ago - but he'd enjoyed it too much. Being cared about. Caring for someone else. This would have had been prevented if Janus had just pushed Roman down that flight of stairs months ago. Petty, but effective.

But he hadn't. Janus had been weak, thinking it wouldn't hurt if he just continued it for a little while longer. And now Roman had gone and ruined everything by proposing. Now Janus had no choice but to put his plan into action. He would not be a prince next to a king by saying yes. No, he would say no - no matter what the little voice in his head was saying, common sense would beat it. Janus would be king. Janus would never be seen as weak again. People like Patton and Roman and his stupid nosy advisor were the weak ones. Janus would make a change. For the greater good.

And so he answered Roman, pulling his hand away with the ring still on it,

"No."

"I'm so sorry I-"

"Get out. Please. Before you ruin this even more."

Roman hesitated for a second, before turning away and heading back through the bushes. Janus cast a simple location spell to check where Roman was headed. He was slightly taken aback to find the king was heading out of his own castle? Not that it wasn't a pleasant surprise, he just hadn't thought this would all be so easy. At least, for now, the death of King Roman could be avoided.

Janus easily recollected the form of the young king and slowly felt the familiar scars on his face disappear. There were slight imperfections, whatever form he took. It was impossible to completely master such a difficult spell - he was the first mage ever documented to even be able to control the spell to this level.

Janus flicked his wrist sharply, making the rest of the food suddenly disappear before stepping through the grass and bushes towards the castle - a mantra repeating in his head,

"For the greater good."

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Logan had found Roman roughly an hour beforehand - flirting passionately with the scarecrow Logan had placed in his garden a few months ago, and threatening to duel the crows for the scarecrow's hand.

And that was whilst Roman was still sober.

Logan was currently dealing with an egotistically and emotionally unstable Roman on alcohol and Patton, who was clearly very much enjoying and egging Roman on whilst sitting in the corner - giggling every time Roman did something either lacking shame and/or dignity - or more often than not.

Considering everything that had happened, the night was going relatively well (even if they'd all just had to endure a good 20 minutes of Roman crying in Patton's lap before jumping up and singing Brave New Girl) until they all heard the familiar sounds announcement bells. No one could ring that bell except the reigning monarch, who in this case was Roman - it required his fingerprints. If anyone else did, they were immediately magically transported out of the castle and wouldn't be allowed back in by the magical boundaries that protected the castle.

But Roman was right here.

Silence dawned upon everyone in the small two roomed house, leaving only the sounds of shuffling people from other houses, all trying to gather round their windows like Roman, Logan and Patton were. All was quiet until...

Roman came out of one highest castle doors, out onto the announcement balcony. Roman, the real one - since whoever was up there had to be an imposter, had only ever used this balcony once. It was to announce Thomas's death to the people. He hated that balcony. It made everything real.

The fake Roman began speaking and Roman suddenly felt as though he was looking into a mirror. This imposter sounded exactly like him, parroting Roman's signature...everything.

"No-" Patton gasped, almost walking back into Logan, "It can't be-"

"Padre? What do you mean?" Logan looked down, confused. Did Patton know what was going on?

Patton shook his head quickly, laughing nervously, "I got confused, kiddo. Don't worry-"

Patton could barely continue as the fake Roman began speaking, louder than before,

"People of the land, I am your king. We are a great country, one that can become greater. But changes are required. Sacrifices are necessities. Weeds must be cut, pruned, so that the flowers may bloom to their fullest. The first weeds to be cut shall be the secret criminals that hide among us."

The three men gasped quietly. All of them had heard those words before. During private lunches, arguments, meetings, And they'd heard them from Janus.

"Patton? That's- That's Janus right?" Logan said, his usual monotone and formal voice stumbling over his words. "How has he taken the guise of Roman?"

Patton nodded but didn't answer, his mouth agape at the balcony as Janus continued,

"First to the stand, Lilibet Nicos. Her crimes against the crown can not go unpunished for any longer."

Roman snapped out of the almost trance he'd been in for the last minute when he heard the women's name. Lilibet Nicos...He'd heard it before. She was a young woman who had visited Roman, asking him to work on making a law that would defend the rights of their non-human neighbours of the mountains throughout the Union. Roman and Logan had been working on it and were nearly ready to present the law to the court so that they could vote it in. What was Janus going to do to her?

A group of knights surrounded a women in the crowd that gathered around the palace who struggled violently to get out of their grasp, but they held tightly to her arms as she cried to out and was hauled onto the stand. Roman squinted to take a closer look at what they were doing and nearly cried out when he saw them take a piece of rope and wrap it around her neck, but Logan's gloved palm covered his mouth. He could hear a little boy scream somewhere in the crowd and Roman recognized him as Lilibet's youngest son, Julio, being held in the arms of his older sister. Roman had carried them both on his shoulders and played with them in the palace gardens during Nicos's visits. He wanted to run out into the crowd and take them both onto his shoulders, tell them that he would keep them safe from everything, before saving their mother.

But he couldn't. Patton was holding him back by the arms. Why was Patton holding him back? Roman could save her if he could just get out of Patton's grasp.

"Padre- Pat- Please let me go! I can save her! I promise-"

"Roman, no. It is far more probable that you would fail and die along with her." Logan interrupted, resting his hand on Roman's shoulder and tightening his grip just in case Roman broke out of Patton's hold.

Janus remained unfazed, even as Lilibet fell limp. An uproar suddenly infiltrated the previously silent crowd as Lilibet was dragged off the stand like nothing had happened. With a flick of his wrist, Janus conjured the crowd silent again so he could continue. Janus called upon more and more people, each of whom Roman could recognize - even if he'd only met them once or twice. Roman couldn't help but turn around and sob into Patton's shoulder as each person met the same fate as Nicos. It was Roman who was sentencing them all - in every way.

A little while later, Janus had left the balcony and the crying and angry crowd had dissipated. Roman's tears stopped falling abruptly Virgil's letter came through the window, tied to the leg of a sleek black cat. It wasn't a long, eloquent letter. Virgil's handwriting was sharp, small and scruffy and there were only four words scribbled at the top of the parchment.

The people are revolting.

Roman couldn't help but feel a blossoming of pride in his chest. His people wouldn't live on in silence after their families had been killed. They would fight back. And he would be among them, every step of the way. You couldn't do that to Roman's people and expect to get away with it. He wouldn't let it happen.

And then he realised, they were revolting against him. Janus had looked exactly like Roman whilst he shouted out the sentences. This would make everything a lot more difficult.

Patton turned round to Logan and Roman, smiling sadly.

"I've got to go - me and Virgil are going to do everything we can to help, then meet you two up in the castle."

"The castle? You do remember that the entire kingdom is revolting against me?" Roman almost shouted in his panic. What was Patton thinking?

"Ah- Well, Janus has been spotted by some of my animal friends heading through Mendax Street. Me and Virgil are going to try and cut him off. And the castle should be empty - you sent everyone home."

The panic and stress built up and Roman shouted, throwing his arms up in exasperation, "Of course! Because that's totally going to work! God - Can you not think of anything useful Padre?"

Watching as Patton's face fell, Roman's eyes widened and he moved forward, taking Patton's hand into his own, "I-I'm sorry Pat I-"

"No, no- It's fine, please don't worry, kiddo!"

"No- No it's not. I shouldn't taken it out on you... I should've stopped doing that years ago. Neither of you deserve it, not after everything. Everything's just...a lot right now."

There were a few moments of silence until Logan, who had been leaning against a chair at the back of the room and stoking the fire at regular intervals, cleared his throat and walked forward, "He does have a point though. The castle is indeed empty, but the entire kingdom is currently revolting against Roman - a face the entire kingdom knows better than their own."

Patton looked down, biting on his lip for a few seconds before looking suddenly back up again, an idea lighting up his freckled face, "Roman, kiddo, come stand in front of me."

Roman instinctively did as he was told, and with a wave of Patton's hands he felt a wave of cool air flow over him. Roman looked down to see a pair of far more feminine hands instead of his own and grabbed his mirror from his pocket to take a look at himself.

He was a lot shorter now, and very distinctively a woman. Roman's hair was longer, reaching just below his shoulders and a slightly darker brown - like his eyes. He looked great.

"Wait- I've read the statute of mages. What Janus, and now you, are doing- isn't it illegal?" Logan questioned. He was fine with breaking laws, just as long as he knew how, and which.

"Well, yes. But no. Janus took the form of an actual human being. That's not allowed. Roman is only taking the form of a fictional women. She doesn't exist. That, Logie, is allowed - as long as you register with an Elder Mage. We couldn't have fictional people running around constantly, could we?"

Logan cringed at the nickname. He hadn't heard that one in years. "And we have actually registered then?"

"I am an Elder Mage so...yes. Yes we have. I've got to go now - Virgil will be waiting. We'll recalibrate and plan at the castle." Patton rushed out the door, picking up his discarded staff from behind the seats.

"She's cute, isn't she?" Roman smiled to the right of Logan's head.

"Are you- I'll never understand your immense self esteem, Roman. Never."

"I mean, I do look dashing, but I was talking about the kitty." Logan looked at his shoulder, where Roman was pointing. Virgil's cat was sleeping, wrapped around Logan's neck. Logan hadn't noticed her before, but now he distinctly could hear the small mews and feel her cold nose rubbing against his skin.

Logan caught Roman smirking and shot him a glare before picking the cat up off his shoulders and making sure she stayed asleep as he held her in his arms.

"How do you do this- is it like a baby?" Logan asked. He had never held a cat before, but he had held a baby. Lots. Lots of babies. It had to be similar, hadn't it?

"I'll wait outside...Logie." Logan could hear Roman laughing even as the door shut behind him, but his attention remained on the small ball of fluff in his arms. She was so cute and peaceful...

Until she bit down on his bare arm, hard, and then continued to act as though nothing had happened, curling further into him. It stung a little, but Logan couldn't blame the little thing - she was too precious. He left her sleeping in his bed with a little bit of catnip, since apparently cats liked that, and he had lots of it stocked up in his cupboards.

Outside, Roman was resting against the scarecrow he vaguely remembered flirting with earlier. The sun was setting, and the sky was a myriad of purples and oranges. It was a beautiful sight, watching the sun slip down beneath the horizon, ready to arise again tomorrow. The sun would always keep setting and rising, and that soothed Roman. Everything would keep going, even when it seemed like it wouldn't.

Logan came running up behind him soon after, and they looked up at the castle, before making their way to it in silence.

[moveslikebuckywrites]

Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: Good Omens (TV) Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Beelzebub & Satan | Lucifer (Good Omens) Characters: Beelzebub (Good Omens), Satan | Lucifer (Good Omens) Additional Tags: Angst, The Fall (Good Omens), Gabriel and Raphael are also there slightly, implied Crowley was Raphael but not necessarily, They/Them Pronouns for Beelzebub (Good Omens), I didn't want to come up with an angel name so their angel name is [Redacted]

Part two of the gift fics!  This time for @tieflingbeelzebub (I'll tag that since that’s their Good Omens specific blog)!  They wanted some Beelzebub set to Disquiet by Unreqvited, which is a really cool instrumental!  So here’s my attempt at a character study on Beelzebub before and directly after the fall!

---

Buzzing.

Such a pleasant sound.  The sound of their children.

[Redacted] loved her creations.  From the smallest ant to the birdwing moths.

For some, it would be their job to help the plants, to spread the pollen that would let flora multiply and cover the new planet.  To sustain the almighty’s new creation with things called ‘fruit’ and ‘vegetables’ and ‘grains’.  And it would all be thanks to her children.

Others would be that sustenance, for other beings created by other angels.  This made [Redacted] sad, but it was only the circle of life.  Their purpose was to feed the smaller beings, which would feed larger beings, who would feed even larger beings, and so on.  In this way, things would become balanced.  And there at the start, their children.

[Redacted]’s favorite children shone like precious jewels, in all the colors of the universe.  They spread bright shimmery wings and sparkled in the sunlight on the new world.  They loved them so much, they shed their white feathers in favor of the brilliant oranges and deep blacks of the monarch butterfly.  Six translucent amber wings catching the rays of sunlight and casting patterns around them.  A tribute to their beautiful children to carry with them always.

Gabriel didn’t like them, but that was Gabriel’s problem.  He also didn’t like any of the foods some of the others were creating.  Said things were ‘gross’.  That never stopped him from hanging around, though [Redacted] wasn’t quite sure why.

As with most days, [Redacted] was tending to the insects in the garden.  Their beauties and their children.  The sun was setting, and the fading light glimmered in their monarch wings, casting faint orange shadows on the grass around them.  

They were singing.  To the houseflies and the honeybees, to the hornets and wasps.  To the butterflies, moths, and even the tiniest carpenter ants.  [Redacted] loved nothing more than to sing to their children, to inspire them to motion, to work, to thrive.

As they were watching the bees learn to dance, marveling at their spins and turns and how the transformed that into a language only bees could speak, they sensed a presence sneaking up on them was not that of the nosy archangel.

“My dear brother, Lucifer,” [Redacted] stood and smiled at the newcomer, “You don’t often visit me in the garden, to what do I owe the pleasure?”

“Dear [Redacted] my most favorite of siblings,” Lucifer said, holding his arms out wide and welcoming, “Is it not enough to visit you?  So rarely seen are you in Heaven anymore.”

“Well, there is much work to be done,” [Redacted] lifted their hand to a low hanging branch allowing a shimmery purple stag beetle to crawl onto their finger, “The Almighty says that my creations will outnumber even the stars in the sky.  There will be more of them on Earth than anything else, and they will play one of, if not the most, pivotal roles in how the Earth works.”

“More insects than stars?” Lucifer chuckled, “Don’t let Raphael find out, he might get upset.”

“Oh, I doubt it, his heart is far too kind,” [Redacted] cooed at the little beetle before depositing it back where it came from, “And you are deflecting, what brings you to the garden today?”

Lucifer shifted nervously from foot to foot, “It’s happening tonight, I need to know where you stand.”

[Redacted] froze and turned to face their brother.  The butterflies for which they modeled their wings flitted between them as a heavy silence fell in the air.

“Lucifer-“

“You know what I’ve told you, you know it’s true.” Lucifer stared them down, resolution evident in his eyes.

“We have to trust-“

“There is no more trust!” Lucifer exclaimed, grabbing [Redacted] by the shoulders.

“You don’t know that!” they replied, still steadfast.  The flight of the butterflies changed, and they flocked to [Redacted], landing on their shoulders, arms, and hair, “You don’t know that.”

“[Redacted] I am begging you, I cannot bear to see you hurt,” he reached out and gingerly ran a finger along one of the butterfly’s wings, “These creations, these humans, the Almighty will favor them, and we will all be cast aside.”

“That is not for us to understand, brother!  You know that as well as any!”

“She will not speak to us, won’t give us real answers!” He said, letting go of their shoulders and stalking a few feet away, “Just these continual tasks, one after the other, all for these…for these…creatures!”

“And then that is our purpose!”  This path was a dangerous road, [Redacted] was sure.  The Almighty had always had reasons, even if those reasons had not always been clear.

“It does not have to be!” Lucifer shouted before taking a few deep breaths and calming back down, “We only want answers, will you stand with us?”

[Redacted] considered this for a moment, noting the trembling in the butterflies perched upon them.

“And what says Raphael?” [Redacted] asked with trepidation.  

“He is with me, as you should know,” Lucifer turned back to them, “All our lives it’s been the three of us.  I cannot do this without you, [Redacted].”

[Redacted] took a deep breath, “And we are just seeking an audience?  To have our questions answered?”

“That is all, my dear sibling,” Lucifer said, extending a hand warmly.  Invitingly.

“I see,” [Redacted] said, turning to gaze out to the garden.  The bees flitted from flower to flower, the butterflies floated in the air, a mosquito hummed pleasantly in their ear.  They were filled with so much love for their children.  So much that they thought this must be the way the Almighty felt for Her creations.  Their questions would be answered, because God is love and thus loved them in turn, “well then, let us go speak to Her.”

[Redacted] took in the sight of the garden; the sounds and the smells.  The sun dipped fully below the horizon, and their beautiful fireflies danced in the air.  Tiny starlight flickers, fading in and out.  Despite their trust in both Lucifer and Raphael, they could not shake a feeling of foreboding.

They did not know this would be their last day in the garden.

---

The next events happened so quickly, [Redacted] had barely been able to process.

Lucifer, Raphael, and themselves had approached the throne room of the Almighty, seeking audience.  Gabriel, Uriel, and Michael had barred them from entry.  Raphael had shouted something about just needing to ask questions, and Lucifer had drawn his sword.

The last thing that [Redacted] could remember before plummeting through the clouds was thinking they saw tears in an archangel’s purple eyes.

They had crashed into a pool, blinding heat searing through to their bones.  They could feel their face bubble and blister with the burning heat.  They could hear one of their brothers screaming nearby, but could not tell which.  With a special kind of horror, they realized the creeping burning was working its way down their wings.  They screamed in pain, in anguish, and in hatred.

Their Grace was pulled out, tossed aside by the archangels.  On the Almighty’s own order, they had said.

[Redacted] fought through the pain and dragged themselves out of the scalding liquid, gasping for breath.  They thrashed and spread their wings, screaming again.  Their beautiful wings were no longer a brilliant and shimmering orange, but translucent.  Almost opalescent, catching the light of the fire in muted purples and blues.  

A familiar buzzing followed them.  Opening their eyes, they saw the humble houseflies.  Lowest of their children, but beloved all the same.  It gave them some comfort.  They grieved for the loss.  The loss of their grace, the loss of their wings, the loss of the garden and their beautiful children.

[Redacted] did not know how long they stayed there, crying and burning, before they sensed another approaching.

“Rise, my dear sibling,” Lucifer, skin burning red like volcanic rock, stood beside them, “we have much work to do.”

“Why,” [Redacted] cried out, “why would She do thizzz!”  They shook their head at the buzzing sound that left their throat, words catching on it and dragging it out unprompted, “And why can’t I remember my name?”

“I told you, we are replaceable,” Lucifer said, “We are the fallen now, we have been cast aside, for the simple want of being loved.  Our grace is burned out, and our names have been ripped away as well.”

[Redacted] gave up all pretense, burying their face in their hands and crying.

“Shh, my dear sibling,” Lucifer said, “there will be time for grief later, for now, we must plan.”

“Plan for what?” [Redacted] asked, trying to wipe the tears from their eyes

“For our revenge,” Lucifer smiled, his teeth now yellowed and sharp.  He extended a hand once again, “Rise, Lord Beelzebub, and take your rightful place by my side.”

As Beelzebub looked around, they saw other angels falling through the heavens.  Those who undoubtably took Lucifer’s side after the initial casting.  Anger welled inside of them at a God who could profess to love but be this vengeful.

Lord Beelzebub made their decision and took their brother’s hand and with it their place as Prince of Hell.

[worldcakecakecake]

The Red Mask

In 18th century Valencia, Spain, thrives the legend of the Red Mask, a character with stories of bravery and heroism that have enchanted Lovino Valenti since he was a young child. On a new business deal, his family moves from Naples and Lovino finds himself wishing for adventure and action away from his duties in this new Spanish city. He is given that chance when he joins a group of masked heroes that fall under the command of the famed Red Mask. He grows a close and fiery relationship with the masked man of his tales and dreams, and without knowing his identity, he lets himself be swayed by his seduction, trust and daringness, to passions surely forbidden when he doesn’t even know his actual name or who he really is.

And the prologues are done! Let us begin!

                                                               Chapter 1

Such stories were the root of Renata Valenti’s current predicament. Hurrying her way down the streets, searching through every small crevice her eldest son could fit through. Some who knew her, giggled between their groups, knowing well what was happening.

 “Lovino is at it again?” One elder woman imagined.

 “As always,” Renata rolled her eyes.

 “Last time he was at the guard station.”

 “Another at the smiths.”

 “At the bar with those soldiers.”

 “Already checked and still no sign of him.” Her worry was peaking.

 “Think about the stories!”

 “What happens in the last one he heard?”

 “Something about some…barracks!” And that was the spark that gave her the next direction.

 “Then off you go!”

 “Thanks!” She hurried off.

 Lovino Valenti was well off her reach, already nearing his goal for the day, trusty toy sword on his waist and the determined glow ready for a fight…even when he was only seven years old, a little thing scurrying like an alley cat all across the actions of the city, making many smile dearly.

 “Buon giorno, Lovino!” One woman called.

 “Buon giorno, Signora Giosetta!” He greeted, breaking from that serious expression to one of kindness and gentleness, waving to her as excited a child should be.

 “Giving your mother a scare already so early in the morning?”

 “No! I’m only going to practice!”

 “Practice what?”

 “My sword skills to use for the war!” And he hurried off, only aiding to cause more giggles in the area.

 Soon he entered tunnels and streets that led him away from the routine of the common people, to another area of the city that now soldiers moved about, wondering why such a young child was sneaking his way between them. He scurried until he found a good spot, a good high altitude, trees covering his presence from those that could walk in his area. He only wished he could partake in the sparring he saw, in wearing those dirtied uniforms, in screaming along in shouts of pain or victory, swinging a majestic steeled weapon, moving about in grace as any dancer should. Lovino kept his eyes on one of them, the one he found had everything, speed, strength, defense, art, even the emotion well painted on his face. He stared, studying, copying, remembering well every trick, teaching, even his shouts of correct as he instructed others. Confident, sure, he stood, ready to try them, telling himself to begin once he started with a new figure to begin his new teaching. He really didn’t think about what he was doing, but of the pure beauty and interest of it, more like a show, a dance, a moment to think himself the hero of his mind. In that loss of his imagination, he did not notice the loud noises he made, the war cries, the utter performance he made himself from the heights he had thought was secretive and private. None of the soldiers could ignore this, stopping their usual routine to look above to this rather adorable child. Lovino went on uncaring, not seeming to notice the silence that settled as everyone laid their eyes on him. Renata had entered the area, easily spotting Lovino even between bushes, his moves and shouts too large to remain hidden even between their small covering.

 “Lovino Valenti!” She shouted, not being able to hold her anger.

 Lovino instantly stopped in his cowering, crunching down hoping to be unseen, but it was in that moment that he noticed all the eyes that were staring at him from the camp, some chuckling, others pointing, smiling, even waving. Lovino curled himself more, his childishness thinking he could disappear if he did so more tightly. It didn’t work, for soon enough he felt his mother intimidating shadow covering him completely, especially in this small stance he brought himself into. He only peeked, instantly fearing the way his mother’s eyes burned with fire.

 “You’re coming home, right now!” She instantly took his wrist, hauling him up and dragging him out, back to the busy streets. Some of the soldier men waved goodbye and to some Lovino managed his own.

  “See, Nonno, See!” Little Feliciano, showing his drawing of a little bird proudly, practically shoving it in Augusto’s face.

  “Lovely, angelo mio, lovely!” He excited, rubbing his hair, the little boy smiling and going back to his coloring.

 It was in that moment that Renata had finally made her return, exhausted, still grasping to Lovino, fearing that he would escape again at any opportunity that she wasn’t giving the slightest gaze.

 “There you are!” Augusto instantly stood, heading over to his other grandson, kneeling to make sure he was doing fine. When he did so, he then hit the boy at the back of his head harshly, Lovino groaning out and rubbing the area. He tried hard to not shed the slightest tear.

 “Lovino, stop doing this! It’s dangerous! You can easily get lost, kidnapped and you wouldn’t see any of us again. Do you understand that?”

 “I’m just learning to be a good fighter,” he tried to excuse.

 “Why on earth would you want to be a fighter? You are only risking yourself and assuring yourself a horrible death. I would never let that be the faith to any Valenti.” The proudness to which he called the name, a decree that was like a god implementing it. Lovino had gotten used to rolling his eyes whenever he got this paranoid.

 “That’s the point of practicing, Nonno. So I can get really good and then nothing bad will ever happen to me,” such a child seemed sure.

 “No matter the kind of practices you do, there will always be a weakness your enemy will take advantage of. Before that, I prefer you chose something safer that doesn’t involve making your mother chase you across all of Naples to find you because you’re trying to keep it hidden from us.” He got much closer, grabbing him by the shoulders, hoping that the words would truly pass through his intense gaze.

 “But I don’t…I don’t want to do something else…” Lovino was honest, tears even coating his eyes, an expression that hurt Augusto, that soothed his grip, until he let go, sighing.

 “Lovino, there are many things for you to try!”

 “He’s right, angelino. You might not like our business, but I’m sure there are other things that won’t have to make you fight so violently,” Renata came in, going down to his little level, joining her father. “You can become a banker, a smith.”

 “A cook, a carriage driver, farmer.”

 “Or a painter!” Feliciano himself added, raising his finished drawing high.

 “Even a writer! You do write the most gorgeous things,” Renata reminded with a beautiful sway, truly proud of both her sons’ talents.

 “It’s not as exciting…or cool…I want to be…like the stories, like the heroes in Spain who do so much for the people around them.”

 “You can do just as equally without adorning a disguise and learning to use a sword.”

 “Lovino…these stories are just that, stories to excite your mind and keep you hopeful. We all need this sort of escape from our dull, but they should remain as that. Let them do their job to protect, they know well the consequences and have prepared themselves for them, but you should focus on being safe…I’m sure is what the great…Red Mask would want,” Renata excited, twirling her son in a famous flamenco move to excite him and bring him back to their usual family joy. It was just enough to get Lovino laughing, that angry pout away and forgotten.

 He missed that.

 He missed how his mom could excite him, his little brother and grandfather so well after any little discomfort. Laugh, dance and play like no wrongs plagued the world. Why did these very plagues had to take her away? Why was the last he reminded of her sunshine being one tainted in blood, lifeless, greyed, continuing tears coating his eyes, his little brother joining along in bigger cries, in a desperate hold that begged her back despite the slashes and the long gone beat of her heart.

 These dreams had been so commonplace to Lovino that he had learned to awake in calm, not the shouts, screams and tears of the past. He had learned to quickly put them on the back of his head, focused then on the movement of the sceneries outside the coach window, a shinning sun that glowed strongly on his face, alighting his eyes quite beautifully, Feliciano had to admit from his side of the coach. Lovino glared at his giggle, but Feliciano smiled on, probably the only one in the coach who was truly excited.

 “I didn’t think you would take a siesta on such a short trip,” Augusto laughed himself.

 “That boat trip over here was annoying, I couldn’t get much sleep,” he groaned, rubbing out the last tiredness from his face. “Still can’t actually. I just want to have a proper stable bed to sleep on.” He looked on to the window, hoping that they would soon reach the house that had that promise.

 “I assure that you will for tonight,” his grandfather excited, for he was joyous to see this new house, alongside Feliciano.

 “Please tell me more about it, Nonno. I still can’t get over how beautiful it sounds,” Feliciano dreamed, practically making himself jump more than the coach was actually doing as they rode on.

 “Well, it has four floors if you count the attic and basement. It used to belong to a Spanish count who married a Marroquin princess, so he adorned it as much as he could to please her, yet she continued to insist that it was still too Spanish,” he laughed.

 “Please don’t tell me their ghosts haunt it,” Feliciano feared, already cowering and wanting to hide, making Lovino roll his eyes.

 “Nooo,” Augusto made sure, placing a comforting hand on Feliciano’s shoulder. “They left to Morocco many years ago where they died peacefully, so hopefully there are no evil spirits in this house. Of course, you’ll each have your own room,” he grinned, just as Feliciano jumped and clapped, Lovino sharing a smirk, trying not to show just how as excited he was as his brother for this.

 Not that he minded Feliciano, but after sharing a room all these years, it was a breath to finally have their own privacy and area for each.

 “We’ll have many servants, designated places to have our breakfast, lunch and dinner. They’ll be a lot of space to read, relax, paint, work. We’ll have a beautiful garden and…” Augusto halted, snapping and trying to remember anything else of importance that could be missing. “Oh! Of course! Antonio!” He finally realized.

 “Antonio?” Lovino questioned.

 “He’s a cleric to the main church of Valencia who will be staying with us,” he tried to excite.

 “A cleric? What for? Do you seriously want somebody constantly giving us liturgies,” Lovino was annoyed.

 “No, but I thought having a spiritual guide in our home could serve as an anchor in times of hardship, someone to go to when we feel hopeless and ourselves is not enough. He is much closer to God and can help immensely with our salvation. He is also training in his vocation and his friar suggested our home as a place to complete his testing.”

 Lovino was not swayed, despite how his younger brother smiled and was expectant, surely excited to meet this Antonio.

 “Are we paying him?”

 “Only housing and food. It’s mostly volunteering.”

 Good, because Lovino did not want them using the family expenses for such a thing.

 He continued to show an obvious annoyance about this though, one Augusto spotted. “Why are you not pleased?”

 “I don’t like having someone else in the house, it makes me think you just did it to replace Mamma. I think the three of us is just enough, we don’t need somebody else getting into our business.”

 Sure, it was a reminder nobody liked to think about, always a straining silence that made Lovino momentarily worry that Feliciano would start crying as he usually did, but he liked to make himself clear and avoid anything that could be unnecessary for their small family.

 “It was mostly to help a fellow man of the church, someone who has lived here long enough to help us with adjusting. I also really like the extra company. His room will be at the other side of the house, so if you don’t want to come into contact with him, I believe it shall be easy.”

 That did enough to remove layers of frustration on Lovino’s face, losing interest in the conversation and keeping his eyes locked on the passing outside.

 Finally, the large house was spotted, surrounded by a beautiful garden that was reminiscent of the ones in Italy, probably made in that specific style with them in mind. They entered through a gorgeous gate, then upwards to the heights of the house, shinning splendidly now in a style more of the region, Spanish, harsh reminder of where they went to, how far they left home behind and how there was no turning back.

 They continued upwards until the coach stood right in front of the grandeur entrance, servants lined and welcoming with bows, ready to start their business as soon as possible. Lovino did not expect such devotion so suddenly, such compliance, some coming even to begin picking their bags from the coach to bring inside. Feliciano was as well startled, after all, the two brothers had never been used to servants doing all the little chores they had grown to do themselves back in Italy.

 “Come along now,” Augusto instead smiled, used to this of course, for this was his life before he left to Naples, moving pass it all to begin the touring of the house.

 Lovino and Feliciano moved hesitantly behind him, slow as they took whatever small intricacy that decorated the entrance splendidly, from painted designs, sculptures, vases, desks, even flowers. So distracted they were they didn’t even notice as their grandfather stopped to talk to someone.

 “Lovino! Feliciano!” He called to them, then noticing the young man that was before them.

 He was about their grandfather’s height, waved and messed dark brown hair, gorgeous green shinning eyes, with a youthful but strong and piercing facial structure that had Feliciano awing and wanting to sketch immediately, while Lovino tried hard to hide a blush at how absolutely charming he found him.

 “These are my grandsons! Feliciano,” he introduced first, Feliciano happily going for a hug, jumpy and annoying to Lovino.

 “Awww! So lovable! I already like you,” this handsome stranger smiled in earnest, which only made Feliciano more excited.

 Lovino tried to move his thoughts away from his serene and full voice, giving him yet another shiver of delight.

 Augusto smiled, then moving the other forward. “And my eldest, my heir and the possible future owner of my business, Lovino Valenti.”

 Lovino in turn presented as that very business he was taught to show, only offering a handshake, quite a difference to a younger brother who had gone in and taken him in arms. The stranger had still smiled, taking Lovino’s hand in when Feliciano gave him the space. His hand was large, warm, Lovino couldn’t utter a single word.

 “A pleasure to meet you both. Antonio Fernandez, at your service,” he introduced, gazing into Lovino’s eyes strongly, hypnotized and swayed so much he had dropped the handshake before it could intensify.

 “He is the cleric I was speaking to you both about on the ride.”

 What? No! That could not be possible! Lovino was thinking a mere cook or even a gardener, not a man of religion who would stay in their home simply as guidance.

 “Nonno said you’ll be living with us.” Feliciano didn’t let his excitement dwindle for a second.

 “Yes, I will, at least until I have proven my vocation. I hope to be a proper guest and to always teach about the holy readings in the most respectful manner that enlightens and always help us to choose the right path.” He bowed that moment, a single golden cross hanging from his neck, the only proof of his profession on his wear. “I was going to suggest Sunday Bible readings after mass and then discussion with your grandsons, if you wish,” he commented, which got a roll of Lovino’s eyes, ready to decline.

 “That’s a wonderful idea! I’ll make sure my grandsons will attend.”

 Leave it to his grandfather to decide things for him as usual.

 To be respectful, he tried to hide a groan, while Feliciano jumped and clapped his hands.

 “Will you like to join us? I’ll be giving them a tour of the mansion now.”

 “Sure, I’m still trying to get to know this place myself.”

 “Wonderful! Then come along! Come along all!” Augusto led them, eager to show them the kitchen first of all. Antonio let the brothers move first and so they took to their grandfather’s leading.

 “He seems very nice,” Feliciano took Lovino’s arm lovingly, whispering, yet continuously looking back, making himself too obvious about what he was talking about. To prove it so, Antonio waved and Feliciano did so back.

 “I don’t know if to agree with you. I feel like I’ll be annoyed by him at some point,” Lovino made sure to say softer.

 “I really don’t think that’ll be the case. I’m sure we’ll have lots of fun and he can even be a new friend to us. I’m actually excited for the lessons he suggested.”

 As Augusto started talking and introducing the continuing rooms, Lovino didn’t find the chance to reply to Feliciano’s optimism about the new guest. He kept glancing to him, sticking with his skepticism, even as the other smiled and continued to shine as friendly.

  It was silent, one that Lovino would have found ideal, but now it was…empty and…weird.

 He thought he would be excited about having his own room, his own bed, his own desk to write and focus, with an amazing view of the garden and the shinning city in the distance to add. But it was just that, silent, practically empty if even his own presence and the flickering candles. He kept looking back, as if expecting his brother to say whatever silly nonsense just occurred to him, or wanting him to talk about his writing or newest reading. He would sigh, having to accept this new loneliness and the true dull of the night.

 Footsteps, suddenly interrupting the somber air, coming near, to his door and it was open, and there was the familiarity of his little brother he had actually missed.

 “Hi, Lovi!” He greeted as every night, jumping upon his bed as custom.

 “What are you doing here?”

 “I couldn’t sleep.”

 “And how is coming here the answer to that?”

 “I can’t sleep alone,” he shyly admitted, such a bright innocence in his eyes that was like looking back to a small child.

 Lovino sighed, closing the book he was writing on and putting it aside. He stood and took his usual position to sleep, getting covers and everything, Feliciano doing the same pull to get underneath the blankets as well. They settled as they usually did, as they were back in Naples.

 “We really should start changing this,” Lovino commented silent, to go along the stillness of the night.

 “My room is too lonely!”

 “Your room is right next to mine.”

 “It’s still not enough. I missed having someone to talk to.” Feliciano got even nearer.

 “We can always talk during the day, Feliciano. It’s not like we’re living in different parts of the city or I’m dead.” Even mentioning the word so loosely like this, was still like an echo that brought the wrong reminders, the images they hated having repeated in their heads, Lovino knowing he had to do something to drive themselves away from it before they were succumbed.

 “You can sleep here for tonight but promise me you’ll soon start staying in your own room. Nonno paid a lot of money for this house, you should really start using it and learn to be by yourself…you know we won’t always be with you.” Lovino had learned it the hard way and Feliciano hand long been due to do so as well.

 “I…I’ll try.” There was doubt in his voice, but Lovino focused on trying to sleep. “Even if…” Feliciano wanted to continue to talk as always, “I do know that I won’t always be with you, I still…want to spend anytime I can with you both. When…mamma left, I learned to understand and really use my time. We…never know what could occur that could bring us apart, so to be sure, I…try to get whatever chance I get.” He came much closer, and Lovino couldn’t deny the comfort his younger brother was asking. He wrapped an arm around him, bringing them both close, as they had been used to for several years.

 “Fine…just go to sleep.”

 Feliciano hummed in agreement, eyes shut and settling easy in his arms. “Story…” he chuckled, Lovino groaning.

 “We’re too old for that!”

 “We never are! Come on, were in Valencia! You can’t hide that you’re excited that we’re in the city of the Red Mask!” And Feliciano widened his eyes as if the sun was in all its splendor outside.

 Lovino stuttered, looking away and blushing, all the shields he had raised to keep himself from going on about exactly that crumbling. “I am not going to!”

 “You should tell me the one with the mountain heist in the alps! I think it’s my favorite!” Feliciano was expectant, as if his mere words could already get him to start.

 Lovino’s mouth trembled, wanting to continue to deny him, but another part of him was so anxious for the adventure, for the travel to bring them away from this dull room.

 “Maybe he’ll be able to hear you!”

 “Who?”

 “The Red Mask!”

 Lovino huffed, “it’s not like he goes jumping about our garden normally.”

 “In many of the stories, he does so all around the city! This is still part of the city! He could be right in this house!”

 Lovino rolled his eyes…yet looking out the window for the longest while…as if the breeze could truly be his passing, with the legendary red cape flowing and greeting the night. He gave up, sighing, and beginning. “There was once a mine with so many treasures, with jewels galore that attracted several workers to come, hoping to take their piece. Among those many was the fiendish Prince Louie, who had a dark plan to take it all at the cost of putting all the workers at risk. Word had reached Valencia and the Red Mask decided that he would not let it happen…”

 Feliciano smiled, hummed, and cuddled closer to his brother, eyes closed as he imagined the tale well in his head…as did Lovino.

  Antonio had had warmer nights, the breeze today chilling, but the heaviness of his cape and attire did well to shield whatever shiver that could escape. Out of the main activity of the city, his thread was more difficult, especially in the gardens and small trees of what was now the Valenti villa. At least the darkness worked better to keep himself hidden as he swung, skipped, ran, flew and held high across the forest, passing by small villages, raising the height of a hill until he reached a familiar unkept building. It seemed desolated as he intended it to be, over the past years using entrance with a hidden door at the top to make it difficult for any passerby to get in unless they were taught by himself. He fell well without warning, without strain or difficulty, and yet, although all who were there waited for him, they showed no surprise, simply turning to him waiting on his new words. With them just having accepted a new member in their mist, a mysterious, young, blue eyed addition they called to as ‘Hierro’ or the Iron mask, Antonio had lately decree to not let their masks fall until they got to know him better. Although it would be a release to remove it that instant, he kept it, walking forward, accounting all to be there.

 “Good evening and our warmest welcome, mon cher,” Alas would introduce, with a dramatic flare and plentiful pure white feathers to decorate his movement like a flag as he bowed.

 “Did you find anything out?” Hierro instantly asked, in a solemn tone, not wasting time in knowing.

 Of all the people to ask so quickly.

 Antonio sighed, “it’s only been a day, I really wasn’t able to speak to them that much.”

 “Oh, but did you see the house? Was it lovely? I’ve heard it has many beautiful flowers,” Flores excited, clapping her hands and jumping, the flowers in her suit making only clearer her curiosity.

 “He is not there to garden, Flores. We shouldn’t distract him from what we’re really supposed to be talking about,” Inca imposed, wanting instant information as Hierro awaited it still.

 “Did you at least meet the Valenti?” Alas knew was their biggest concern.

 “Yes. Augusto, Feliciano and Lovino Valenti.”

 “That’s it?” Joya was impressed at how little. With their importance, they were expecting a larger family.

 “Yes, it’s only Augusto with his two grandsons.”

 “And you didn’t find anything else?” Oscuro hoped.

 “It was only the first day. We only did a viewing of the villa. I could barely even talk to his grandsons.”

 Sol could notice a small disappointment, but not because of their current mission…there was something else in that tone that was fleeting but she managed to catch. “Do you think they have suspected you?” She wondered aloud.

 “Highly doubt so. They don’t know the city, what’s going on or the people. Even if they did, it wouldn’t be enough to arise suspicion.”

 “You are just An-” Neblina was about to mention, but one look at Hierro reminded that they had to keep their names hidden for now, “-just a boring old clergy man for now.”

 “For as long as I can keep it.”

 “What’s left to do then?” Alas questioned for all.

 “What we have always done. Keep your heads up, protect the city, all those you can and I’ll let you know when the time comes to take the next course of action.”

 They all nodded, beginning to settle off in their own directions, whatever would work best to keep themselves in the dark of the night. Antonio usually waited for all to leave before he took his own, but this time, Sol, Laura, remained by his side, a sign that she wanted to continue to speak of other matters just the two of them.

 “What is it?” Antonio knew well this sign.

 “Just curious,” she smirked.

 “About what?” At least he could relax and smile himself knowing now it wouldn’t be anything serious.

 “One of the brothers has taken your fancy…or I’m mistaken and it has been taking by old man Valenti.”

 Antonio laughed, confident to be able to take off his mask and let the cool air soothe his now free skin. “What made you believe that? I really didn’t speak much about them.”

 “I’ve learned to tell when you want to be friendly.”

 “I’m always friendly.”

 “More than usual.” She was inching closer to something.

 “What? His grandsons were cute. One seemed sweet, the other like he could best me in a fight. It will be exciting to get to know them better.”

 “Could best you in a fight huh?” She teased, ridding of her own mask by now.

 “Yes. He seemed powerful…there was something in the way he shook my hand,” and he smiled in a way Laura knew well.

 “Was he handsome?”

 “Very much so.”

 “Mhm…” she knew, she didn’t have to hear another word…but she did have to warn. “Antonio…remember the mission though…and be cautious.”

 “You know I’ve always been.”

 “Not when attractive Italians are involved,” she laughed, taking her own leave that instant.

 It didn’t give him a chance to respond, standing behind to relax and wonder about her words still.

 He knew well his mission, his goal, and Laura should know well herself how it was hard to break his resolves, especially when it involved a Montaje.

< prolouge IV

 chapter 2 >

[dorkyungsoowrites]

Exo in "Game of Thrones" AU

Part of my crackhead saga in where I imagine the Exo members as characters in different universes they don't belong in for no reason other than fun.

Inspired by this post and this picture.

Minor spoiler warning if you haven't seen the show (obviously).

| Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 |

Minseok:

Training to be a maester. From Lys. Doesn't understand why the other acolytes are so fascinated with his stories of home. Was going to be a concubine but got sponsored by a noble to study instead. "It would be a crime against the gods to waste such a sharp, discerning mind on the pleasure houses." Is not ashamed of his beauty, but always fighting to prove he's more than only an object. Sometimes finds himself longing for the gorgeous twilight hours of home; holding his palm behind the candle on his work desk beside a tome. Imagining the flickering flame receding is the setting sun across the isle.

Junmyeon:

A knight of Tarth. Trained with Brienne. Got his ass kicked whenever he sparred with her. Loved every second of it. The Lord of Tarth likes having him stand next to him during hearings to intimidate the defendants. Can often be found "patrolling" the gardens. Will compose his loved one horrible poetry as a way to get them to laugh.

Yixing:

Fled from Yi Ti after accidentally assassinating a merchant prince. It wasn't his fault the guy fell and broke his neck getting out of a carriage, but no one else would accept his word on it. So he took all his wealth with him and now lives in hiding as a gardener in Sunspear. It's a dry heat as opposed to the humidity of the jungles, but otherwise much the same. Finds joy and solace in his well-tended landscape. The Prince of Dorne complimented his calla lily and anemone arrangement one time for it's likeness to the country's flag. Was devastated when Marcella died. She used to always say her favorite place was the gardens. He planted marigolds in her honor.

Baekhyun:

Born in the North. The real North. Clanmates joke about how it's a miracle he's managed to stay alive with such little meat on his bones. "You couldn't even pick your teeth with 'im." One of their best archers. Somehow always finds ways to keep their spirits up, even in the most dire situations. Hot springs are his favorite thing in the world. He would spend every night sleeping in one if he wouldn't drown. When all the clans join forces a few find it strange that he doesn't have his own tent, but instead shares with a different person almost every night, until they find out it's because he cuddles them for warmth. He just has such a strong bond with everyone in his clan that it's a normal thing. When they go South of The Wall they're amazed at how many women fawn over him. Struggles with the decision to return with his clan or stay South after The Great War.

Chanyeol:

The oldest squire in Westeros. Idolizes knights. Often pretending to sword fight with the back half of a broken jousting staff in between rounds. Had a few chances to prove himself, but could never actually win a fight. Always ended up with major injuries, one of which was self-inflicted. Would've died years ago, but his knights protect him out of compassion and brotherly bond. Much like Podrick without the swordsmanship skills. Gets treated like a brother-in-arms at tourneys by almost all the knights because he's just that well liked. Makes a mean rabbit stew.

Jongdae:

A noble in Essos. Known for his singing and harp playing at parties. Can't even drink a mouse under the table, but will try; resulting in exuberant dancing and laughter. Doesn't really understand the difference in times to be ridiculous versus serious, to the chagrin of his council. Once went undercover at a tourney in Westeros to test his musical skills against the finest minstrels. He lost, but losing to the Targaryean with the famed angelic voice wasn't so terrible. He's still yet to discover another voice so lovely that it moved him to tears. Loves lounging while eating peeled grapes on the balcony of his family's castle overlooking the grass plains that bleed into desert, and horseback riding. On quiet days he sits under the large tree in the garden that his childhood swing was tied to and composes songs about finding love one day.

Kyungsoo:

Grew up on an unremarkable farm in the North part of Westeros. Went out at a young age to travel. Has made it as far East as Volantis, as South as The Summer Isles, and as North as Braavos. Would have gone to The Port of Ibben and Asshai if it weren't for the Dothraki, and the fear of becoming a slave. His Northern blood eventually brought him back home where hard work, honesty and loyalty are paramount in character. Settled down between Winterfell and Moat Cailin. Works as a cook for a tavern there. Using all his knowledge he gained from other places, turning it into the only place travelers will stop on their journeys up and down the Kingsroad there. Famed for his cuisine. After word of his food spread whispers of him using magic grew. Saying he learned some sort of spellcasting while in the East. The secret is his friends in The Reach and Braavos. He travels to White Harbor to trade the best ingredients no others in the North can claim naturally. His biggest import is the fruit from Highgarden that's impossible to farm in the North, and spices the Braavosi have traded from just about everywhere else.

Jongin:

A dancer that travels in a troupe with other performers. Wears veils to cover his hair, nose and mouth. Says he learned in the Summer Isles so he can be an "exotic" dancer. Actually never traveled outside Dorne before joining the troupe. Doesn't speak much, but is known for the dance with seven skirts where-in by the end of the song all the skirts are laying on the floor. Has performed it at many nobles' parties at the behest of their wives, or where the husband said as much, anyway. Can always find him after performances laughing with the rest of the troupe at the local tavern. Enjoying the merriment and freedom of life.

Sehun:

Probably pissed off someone who hired mercenaries. Was gone before he could even fully gasp.

[cinema-tv-etc]

‘Game Of Thrones’ Built Up Its Female Characters Just To Watch Them Fall

The women we championed for nearly a decade suffered confusing character shifts in the final season.

By Leigh Blickley   05/14/2019

Bells continuously chime as Daenerys Targaryen (Emilia Clarke), sitting atop her fire-breathing dragon Drogon, stares out at King’s Landing. She’s enraged, having recently watched Queen Cersei Lannister (Lena Headey) order the execution of her best friend, Missandei (Nathalie Emmanuel), shortly after her dragon-child Rhaegal was speared to death.

Before facing those losses, Dany fought the army of the dead, held her adviser Jorah Mormont (Iain Glen) as he took his last breath and discovered that her new love, Jon Snow (Kit Harington), was actually her nephew, the true heir to the Iron Throne. At this particular moment, she’s unhinged. And bells are ringing.  And ringing, and ringing.

With the Red Keep in sight, Dany snarls as she decides to forgo everything she’s become in favor of an old Targaryen tactic: “Burn them all.” She goes full villain in the penultimate episode of “Game of Thrones,” scorching enemies and innocents alike as she surrenders to madness.

Yet many viewers saw little forewarning that a character twist of this magnitude was coming, and her erratic change of heart was a punch to the gut. Instead of the satisfying conclusion of a long descent to depravity, Dany suddenly shifts modes, from a woman who graciously earned loyalty over seven seasons to a power-hungry monster who murders thousands of men, women and children.

Sure, she wasn’t always perfect, but the Daenerys Targaryen we knew was the fearless Mother of Dragons. She was Khaleesi, who united the Dothraki after the death of Khal Drogo (Jason Momoa), later rallying them to fight for her claim to the Seven Kingdoms. She was Mhysa, who freed the Unsullied and was lifted up by the slaves of Mereen. Dany rose from the ashes to break chains and then risked everything to protect Jon and the North from the Night King’s army.

To see a woman so fully represented over 70 hours of television, especially in a fantasy epic, was groundbreaking. But, with a final season of just six episodes, showrunners David Benioff and Dan Weiss decided that a couple of scenes were enough to turn the unburnt beauty bad ― and essentially muddied her yearslong journey.

The “Game of Thrones” audience had devoted so much time to Dany, and other characters, only to now watch Benioff and Weiss hurry along the ending (and move on to their “Star Wars” trilogy). Why couldn’t they, after spending nearly two years crafting the final season, show us Dany’s slow decline into madness? Why do we have to watch “Inside the Episode” to figure it all out?

Surely George R.R. Martin, who wrote the unfinished “Song of Ice and Fire” book series on which the HBO show is based, told Benioff and Weiss where he wanted the storyline to go: “Mad Queen” Dany destroys King’s Landing, demonstrating that humanity, not necessarily the dead, is the true enemy. The thing is, the showrunners decided to shorten the final two seasons of “Game of Thrones,” to seven and six episodes respectively, and rush through key plot points to reach Martin’s goal. And it’s turned into a bit of a nonsensical mess.

Sure, make Dany evil ― women can be monsters, too. We’ve certainly seen glimpses of her “madness” in the past, whether it be callously watching as her brother Viserys (Harry Lloyd) is killed by Khal Drogo in Season 1 or perhaps prematurely burning alive the father and brother of Samwell Tarly (John Bradley) in Season 7.

But whereas, lately, the show tells us what to think, the books present Dany’s inner monologue. Readers can see how she fights to shake her violent family history as not only her actions but her wide-ranging relationships with siblings, friends and lovers are described.

From “A Storm of Swords”:

“I was alone for a long time, Jorah. All alone but for my brother. I was such a small scared thing. Viserys should have protected me, but instead he hurt me and scared me worse. He shouldn’t have done that. He wasn’t just my brother, he was my king. Why do the gods make kings and queens, if not to protect the ones who can’t protect themselves?”

“Some kings make themselves. Robert did.”

“He was no true king,” Dany said scornfully. “He did no justice. Justice ... that’s what kings are for.”

Ser Jorah had no answer. He only smiled, and touched her hair, so lightly. It was enough.

Although “Game of Thrones” used to give us more context around characters and their decision-making, once it passed the books’ timeline in Season 6, the series faltered a bit in terms of depth. It didn’t show us the intricacies of Dany’s small council, her romance with Jon or her friendship with Missandei, who is only a young girl in Martin’s novels. Perhaps if we saw the show’s version of Dany and Missandei have a meaningful conversation about fear or loneliness ― versus men and sex ― we would have understood Dany’s underlying fragility and why Missandei’s murder triggered a rage within her. Instead, we saw the one woman of color become a plot device to turn Dany, as well as her own lover Grey Worm (Jacob Anderson), to the dark side.

That’s all to say that the recent rushed storylines have prevented us from getting that nuance we previously used to connect the dots.

The same flaw also hurts other women on “Game of Thrones,” including Cersei, Brienne of Tarth (Gwendoline Christie) and Arya Stark (Maisie Williams).

Brienne is one of the strongest warriors in Westeros. She killed Stannis Baratheon (Stephen Dillane) and took down the 6-foot-6 Hound (Rory McCann) ― with a few solid punches, might we add. Yet she turned into a puddle of mush when Jaime Lannister (Nikolaj Coster-Waldau) left her for Cersei ― something she would’ve never done three seasons ago. In one sense, it’s wonderful to see a vulnerable woman on screen. But Brienne ― who is rarely shown out of armor ― sobbing in a nightgown came out of left field. (Love makes us do crazy things?)

And Cersei was so shocked and afraid to meet her rubbly end during Episode 5, Season 8, that it’s easy to forget she once told Ned Stark (Sean Bean): “In the game of thrones, you win or you die.” The ruthless Cersei we’ve studied over eight seasons, the most cunning of the cunning, would’ve known to flee the city when she saw dragon fire (especially if she wanted to protect her unborn child). Or she would’ve at least had another plan in case those scorpion artillery weapons didn’t work out.

We’re not watching the most adventurous show in the world for uninventive writing. Yet here we are.

During the most recent episode, The Hound easily convinces Arya to go home and forget about killing Cersei. She hugs him goodbye, gives up on Cersei and tries to make it safely out of King’s Landing.

Eh, what? We’ve watched Arya train for years to become an assassin. She just destroyed the Night King with a stab of a dagger! She doesn’t fear death! She just traveled weeks to get to the capital for one sole purpose: to murder the woman who betrayed her family.

Too-fast, terribly thought-out writing has reduced “Game of Thrones” to a soap opera. We miss the scenes where Dany argues the advice of Ser Barristan Selmy (Ian McElhinney). Or when Arya secretly soaks up intel from Tywin Lannister (Charles Dance). Or how about when Sansa Stark feeds her abusive husband Ramsay (Iwan Rheon) to his own hounds?

Now we see a half-baked “Mad Queen” and a woman like Sansa crediting sexual violence, not her own strength, for making her a power player in Westeros.

THE HOUND: None of it would’ve happened if you left King’s Landing with me. No Littlefinger. No Ramsay. None of it.

SANSA: Without Littlefinger and Ramsay, and the rest, I would’ve stayed a little bird all my life.

It’s that bad.

Riddle me this: Why does a show featuring four leading ladies have barely any female writers? (Bonus: Michelle MacLaren was the only female director brought on to helm episodes, the last of which aired in 2014.) Although Gursimran Sandhu is credited as a staff writer for Season 8 on IMDb, only two other women, Jane Espenson and Vanessa Taylor, wrote for the series, with both of their runs ending by 2013. That, my little birds, is the root of a very big, now unfixable problem.

Espenson helped craft scenes like the aforementioned death of Viserys, and Taylor had a say in that memorable lunch between Sansa, Margaery (Natalie Dormer) and Olenna (Diana Rigg) as well as Arya and The Hound’s Brotherhood Without Banners meetup. Those back-and-forths soar in comparison to Season 8’s Sansa-Dany stares or Cersei’s unexplained cowardice.

Clearly, Sandhu couldn’t have singlehandedly saved the final season, but other women’s voices in the writers’ room might have provided more perspective into these characters’ closing motivations.

Still, Martin created these women, and Benioff and Weiss have shown they can write strong dialogue for them on this show. It just feels like the latter two’s desire to be in a galaxy far, far away perhaps trumped their desire to give these ladies what they deserve: earned arcs.

RELATED COVERAGE

‘Game Of Thrones’ Fans Had A Lot Of Feelings About Daenerys’ Fiery Choice

The ‘Game Of Thrones’ Season 8 Premiere Was Good. But Why Wasn’t It Great?

Why That Daenerys Twist On ‘Game Of Thrones’ Burns So Badly

https://www.huffpost.com/entry/game-of-thrones-women-daenerys-cersei-arya-sansa_n_5cd98811e4b0796a95dfd968

[daywillcomeagain]

fëanor

i’ve started a series in which i do retellings of the events of a tolkien character’s life, from their perspective, framed to make them sympathetic and help the reader understand their choices. you can read the others here.

3.7K words under the cut!

i want you to imagine.

you are ten years old when your mom dies. (it is because of you. everyone is careful not to say it like that where you can hear them, but you can tell just as well by the way that they carefully talk around it. you wish they would just come out and say it and end the pointless game of careful implication.) nobody has ever died before, nobody, not in the long history of the universe. and now they have. because of you. she was kind and gentle, soft and sad, always kissing your imaginary injuries and rocking you to sleep. you were too much for her. fëanáro, she names you, soul of fire, because you have stolen all her fire, because she has given all her soul to you and kept none for herself.

you keep vigil by her grave for a time. then, you throw yourself into your work. you loudly correct everyone who says her name wrong.

when you are nineteen--still a very small child; later, they will say that elves in their twenties are comparable in appearance to human children of seven years old, though more skilled with words and tools, and they do not say how they compare in emotional maturity--your father falls in love again. she is nothing like your mother. she laughs often and loudly, and sings brash and joyful songs that make all who listen to them want to dance. you are still grieving, still working. he's never around anymore. it would be easier if you could hate her, but you don't fully, not really. or maybe you do. you hate something. you are not sure what you hate. (you would hate the world, for being so unfair, for tearing her from you, but that can only mean two things. either you could hate her, for choosing to die, and you never could do that--or you could hate the gods, for lying to you, lying to everyone, when they called this place the Undying Lands, and you are pretty sure that's blasphemy. it's easier to hate her, for taking your father away from you.)

the debate happens when you are twenty-nine. you hear the whole thing. it is a debate on whether your father should be allowed to remarry. in truth, it is a debate on whether you are evil or whether your mom is. they declare that your birth was a portent of evil, that it proves that you yourself are evil--they declare that your mom is at fault, for having no strength left, in those last days, exhausted and miserable--

--and you don't hate them. not yet.

they declare that your father may get married again.

(but. if.)

they declare that it is unnatural, for anyone to have more than one living spouse. (indeed, they have said repeatedly that it is unnatural for anyone to fall in love more than once, ever. they are compromising on this only because they cannot control it.)

your father can get married, so long as your mother stays dead forever.

she was always so insistent that she would never wish to return, but--you had dreamed, so often, that she would. that she would get her energy back. that she would recover. that she would change her mind. if she marries your father, they are issuing a sentence: that she will stay dead forever, no matter what, no matter if she begs and pleads to see you again.

they get married five years later. a short betrothal, as the elves reckon it. she makes your father happier than you had ever seen him. she pronounces your mother's name wrong, every time.

you think maybe you hate her a little, now. you don't tell anyone. you wonder if this is proof that the valar were right when they said you were evil.

you take on an apprenticeship to the only vala who had said, no, the death of míriel þerindë cannot have been a sin, because fëanáro is untainted and so is she.  you learn the forge. you hammer your hatred into metal, you make the rock beneath you do what you tell it to do.

they have another child, and another, and another. a daughter, a son, a daughter, a son. you don't hate them, but nor are you friends--you are not famed for your cool head, and you have not stopped grieving. all of them, all of them, say your mother's name exactly the way she hated it.

you have not stopped working. you hammer metal and study linguistics and cut gems and experiment with chemicals. you learn the language of the gods, the language that nobody else can quite pronounce. you invent writing--phonetically perfect, each letter conveying voicing and place of articulation, spelled exactly how it's pronounced. (you make sure her name is spelled the way she wants it pronounced, and you didn't invent sound but you invented writing, if you teach them this is how you spell her name they can't disagree with you.) you invent long-distance communication.

the playing with chemicals goes well. you invent artificial light. it is your city now, bathed in the light of your lamps, their glory written in your letters.

you keep working and working and working, trying so hard to bring beauty to this world, because somewhere in the back of your mind you are not quite sure that you can ever make up for your crime of having been born. (you killed your mother, and perhaps in a different world, writing and light and long-distance communication could have saved lives, but this is paradise, and so they are trinkets, curiosities, and your mother is dead and your half-family still does not pronounce her name right no matter how many papers you write railing against the linguistic evolution of quenya that made the thorn obsolete, and you have changed nothing.)

melkor is released. he promises he is penitent. you do not trust him. almost everyone else does. perhaps it is because you are the one of only two people in the whole world who understand the stakes. it is after a debate, of course, and you wonder at these gods, who are so willing to pardon torturers and so willing to decry children. of course, that isn't quite fair--you were never sentenced to three thousand years chained in the Void--but you think it anyway.

when you were still a child, you had passed a girl on the street, who was arguing passionately that you can't just REPLACE his mother, mothers aren't INTERCHANGEABLE, even rocks are different and mothers are certainly even more so. you hadn't seen her again until now. you are wandering aimless, hiking in the great wilderness, because at dinner your father had called her your mother and even that ever-present balm of overwork is not enough to calm your stuttering heart. and you run into her.

her hair is shockingly red, curls of frizz trying to escape the knot she has it in. freckles dot her skin. her lips are thin, her nose crooked.

as soon as you see her again, you know you are going to marry her.

you do. you learn that she is named nerdanel and that she is a sculptor and that she apprenticed under the same vala as you and you fall in love all over again when you see her statues, looking as though they are about ready to jump into life. people gossip on the streets about how the crown prince's bride is not beautiful, and you forge two rings and cut two jewels and you do not care what people on the street think. you have seven sons. your father's name is finwë. you are curufinwë--skilled finwë. your half-brothers: ñolofinwë, wise finwë; arafinwë, noble finwë.

you name your first child nelyafinwë. third finwë.

you have seven sons, all in all. every time, you are terrified that your wife is going to break, that this one, this one, she will run out of soul. they say that that is why women do not work as craftsmen or composers (--or broidresses--), staying instead to mathematics and astronomy, theoretical work, observational. they say that is why women do not have many children, only three or four. every time a woman creates, she gives away a little bit of herself. (they say that is why your mom died. they say that is why you are a genius at creation. she was already putting energy and soul into her weaving, and then she created you, and she had no more to give.)

she gives birth to your sixth and seventh children--twins--and kisses you on the forehead and goes back to work chiseling at a statue and tells you that it is nonsense.

you work. somewhere deep, where even you do not fully know it, you are terrified that they will realize who you are, and you hope that your inventions will buy you time, will buy you love, because you know that they will never ever be enough to buy penance, to buy redemption, to buy your mother life and joy again. you demand unconditional loyalty from your family because you are certain that, if it is conditional, you will lose it. you are terrified that, one day, you will go too far and discover the conditions.

gems and artificial light shine in your workshop. finally there is a breakthrough.

you work non-stop for almost a decade, day and night. nerdanel brings you food and water when you don't get enough on your own. you observe the trees, that light-which-is-more-than-light, more than lamp or fire, that light that finwë gave up the stars for, that caused elwë to grow so much taller than anyone had ever before imagined was possible.

finally, you have your breakthrough.

the silmarilli shine more beautifully than you had thought possible.

gradually, things change.

you hear whispers, in the forge, of how to make armor and weapons from steel. in the street you hear that your half-brother means to put himself above you in succession for the throne.

you go back to the forge. you invent the first sword.

it has not been a week before your half-brother is wearing one.

it goes on like this for twenty years, the slow escalation. you know your work isn’t enough, anymore. you clutch to the allegiance of your wife and sons like a drowning man would to a rope. you are not sure you can trust anyone else. you have decided that maybe you hate all of them, your half-brothers and your stepmother, all those who play-acted family while pronouncing your mom's name wrong. you hold the silmaril light close to your chest and wonder what stars look like.

finwë calls a council. ñolofinwë (not fingolfin, not yet) comes early, of course. he begs finwë to restrain "the spirit of fire". he says that you mean to leave valinor, which is true enough, and to drive him out of the city, which is not, yet. he says that, if finwë disowns you now, then at least he will still have two loyal sons.

you come in with your sword drawn. its tip hovers barely a hair's width from ñolofinwë's chest as you speak.

a trial is called, a council, a debate. the valar mean to judge you, of course. it would be more interesting if they had not judged you guilty the moment your mother died.

it comes out in the trial that the past twenty years have been melkor's lies. that he whispered of weapons and plots of overthrow to the people at both of your forges, that he used every escalation on either side as proof. you still do not love each other, but you forgive each other. ñolofinwë says: "I will release my brother."

the valar sentence you to exile for twelve years. they do not find melkor, and they cannot sentence someone they cannot find. you leave the city without speaking a word. your sons come with you, as does your father. your half-family remains.

they invite you to a festival. you go in forge-clothes, hair tied up loosely, a sword hanging at your belt half out of spite and half out of unfounded paranoia. your silmarils you leave at home. they do not deserve to brighten the halls of the valar. you have to go--it is only an invitation out of politeness, it could so easily turn to command, or at the very least turn to more proof of your inherent evil--so you go, but your family remains in exile. in protest.

ñolofinwë is there. he turns to you and says, i forgive you, unconditionally, and i would still like to be your brother, if you would have me. his hand is out, his eyes trusting. he is wearing no sword.

so be it, you say, and shake his hand.

it is that moment when everything goes dark.

at first, the dark is terrible, oppressive. it is not the absence of light; it is a presence, almost tangible, of void. it is a claustrophobic sort of darkness, a thick thing through which nothing could pass.

the winds clear it away, eventually, and then it is just a regular sort of darkness, a vast emptiness. you can see the stars; they're as beautiful as you had imagined. maybe more.

finally, someone speaks, and then everyone speaks at once, as though a spell had been broken. you all gather together, in the square, to see the dead and withered forms of the two trees that had once lit up all of valinor.

you realize then that you are no longer afraid to hate paradise, to hate the gods themselves, so you do.

they call a silence, after not too long. they beg you to break your silmarils, to destroy your jewels, to light up the world again.

you want to sob. you have lost everything, and this--this--

you, of all people, know that elves can die of grief, that elves can die because they have poured too much of their own soul into their creation and there is none left over for themselves. you know that breaking your jewels would be signing your own execution. and here they are, asking you to kill yourself so that their city might be brighter, because the stars are not enough for them to show off the lovely paradise they have built.

you tell them this. the worst part of it is that you know that they will take this as the proof they have always longed for, that you are evil and selfish and prideful and corrupted. you say that if they force you to do otherwise, you will regard that as the first murder.

"not the first," námo says, and for a moment you wonder if he has finally admitted what he did to your mother when he allowed your father to remarry.

i say it is only for a moment because, a moment later, your oldest son arrives.

"your father is dead."

and with that--

you give melkor a new name. moringoþo, you call him, black foe of the world.

and then--

you scream. and you run. you run and run, into the darkness, into the wildness.

everyone searches for you. they are terrified you have killed yourself. you are not entirely sure that they are wrong to be afraid of that.

but eventually, you are found. there is more news: the silmarilli are gone, stolen by moringoþo. and, well--

"you're king now," someone tells you, softly, and it is then that you begin to break.

only two people have died since the universe began, and you are an orphan.

you hear that moringoþo, who took your light and your father, who stole from you all that you loved, is in middle-earth now. well, you had always wanted to go there.

you are still exiled, technically. you don't really care anymore. you don't care much about anything other than making him pay. you arrive in the streets of the capital and call on all to come, to listen to you. your speech is wild with grief and anger, all the hatred you have held in for three thousand years spilling out in the cracking voice and perfect words of a linguist and writer. (the valar name it pride, rebellion. they say it is the wicked lies of moringotto that come from your lips.)

you swear a terrible oath, anguish on your voice, that you will pursue anyone who takes your silmarils, whether they be a monster or the brightest of valar. you swear that you will pursue morgoth to the ends of the earth and past it. whatever it takes. you say that you will be damned worse than death if you fail. your voice rings stronger than the most sacred of vows.

you are so, so comforted, when your sons leap up without hesitation to take the same vow beside you. that you are not alone, that not all that you love has left you. that, with dead parents and a wife who refuses to follow you, that the loyalty and the people you have clung to has not entirely failed.

you are king now. you tell your people to follow you back to middle-earth.

the valar say they do not intend to trap you. at first you are almost grateful.

you discover soon enough that you cannot cross the Grinding Ice. you must go by sea.

you have no boats.

you beg for boats. you are told: no, we will not give you boats, they are our heart's love, as dear to us as your silmarils are to you. you beg to be taught to make boats of your own. you are told: no, we will not teach you to make boats, not without the blessing of the valar. (and of course you will not get the blessing of the valar. you remember when they told you that you were free to leave, and almost curse yourself for still wanting to believe them.)

and with every minute of delay, moringoþo is out there, having killed your father, the silmarilli shining proudly from his brow, having faced no consequences. and you are in paradise, doing nothing.

eventually, you tell your people to get in the boats, draw up the anchors, man the oars.

the teleri throw your people into the water.

it is only then, hoping with all your heart that they knew how to swim, that you draw your sword.

the valar doom you, of course. the valar declare you as evil. the valar are proven right in everything they have ever said about a small, grieving boy. the valar name you kinslayer. the valar promise to forgive you--not if you help the survivors, not if you send aid and food and let them keep all their ships but one, but if you repent of your rebellion and stay in valinor.

you do not particularly care if you are doomed. you cannot live with this in your heart without leaving and fighting. you have made an oath, and you are not about to break it. you would rather die a million painful deaths, fight a thousand hopeless wars, than spend another day in paradise. and so you speak your own doom, as true as theirs. you say you will never be a coward. you say you will never be forgotten.

námo has no answer, to that.

there are boats, now, but not enough. the trust so tenuously built between you and ñolofinwë has come crashing down again. arafinwë has forsaken the march altogether, leaving his children to go to middle-earth alone.

that night, everyone is asleep but you. you cannot sleep here. you are not sure if you can ever sleep again.

you wake your sons and the most trustworthy of your people. you take the boats.

safely on the other side, surrounded only by people you trust, you burn the boats. you do not want ñolofinwë camping in the dark, in the cold, waiting for a return trip that never comes. sometimes destroying all hope is its own sort of mercy.

your sons help you set them ablaze. all except one. finally you have gone too far, discovered the conditions for the loyalty of your oldest son. your arm throws torches with as much violence as it can. you laugh, but your laughter is not lighthearted. the fire glitters on your cheeks.

in truth, you are grateful when the battle comes. finally your hatred can be unleashed upon a worthy enemy; at last your sword can break the ribs of people who are to blame instead of merely in the way. in so many ways, this has all you have ever wanted. with every orc dead, you are making a difference, a real one, not just giving trivial trinkets to people who already have everything they need. you are too much, too marred, destructive and short-tempered and evil and finally you are only hurting and killing people who deserve it. it requires focus, precision, as much as the most detailed smithing, and for a moment you can almost forget the grief in this whirlwind of death.

you keep going, and going, and going. you lose everything in the haze of sight and sound, the black blood of orcs and the great fire of balrogs-- --so many balrogs-- --too many balrogs-- --but you're too far in now and you knew this was going to happen and you don't care, exactly, when you fall to the ground with a sickening thump.

your sons carry you away when the battle ends. you gasp out your dying wish: you want them to keep their oath. you want to die comfortable in the knowledge that the person who did this, to you, to your father before you--you want to know that he will pay for it. (you never said you weren't selfish.)

they promise. you dissolve, then, into the fire that always burned inside your soul.

in the years to come, your grandson will denounce his family and then carve your symbol into the stone wall of a door. your sons will come to hate your oath, though they will never break it. thousands and thousands of years later, they will call you a monster with the letters you invented, by the light of fëanorian lamps, and the weapon at their belt will be a sword. and one day, a hobbit will ask who you are, not knowing the answer, and he will be told by an old wizard that you were fair beyond imagining.

[faeoflight]

Why was he born so beautiful, Why was he born at all?

(ALEX SAXON. CISMALE. HE/HIM) — ✧ that looks like RIORDAN GALLAGHER! they’re the TWENTY-SIX YEAR OLD SON OF THOR [ they are also a DANCER at KARMA KLUB ] i hear they’re PLEASANT and OBSERVANT, but tend to be GOSSIPY and ALOOF. His file says that his ability is LIGHT MANIPULATION. 

Name: Riordan Gallagher Age: 26 Gender: Cismale (He/Him) Sexuality: Pansexual Occupation: Dancer at Karma Klub 

-Born and raised in the grassy hills of Ireland, Riordan had a happy childhood, raised by a strong independent woman who didn't take any shit from any man. 

-Naturally, as a child, Riordan often asked about his father and his whereabouts. His mother always told him he was the son of the God of Thunder, Thor. It was a fun story to hear and retell, nevermind how the other kids laughed at him or how his teachers seemed to treat him as though he were telling some sort of fairy-tale

-As he grew though, he realized that it was all some sort of grand tale weaved by his mother to make him feel better about himself and his absent father. Whenever she would bring it up he would simply roll his eyes. 

-The lack of a father figure never really bothered him though. His mother did a good job of teaching him how to handle both of the generalities of the roles a father and mother should play. Looking back, he thinks things were better this way. 

-His mother had a big interest in various mythological lore, and always told him stories of Elves and Fae-folk. Unicorns and Dragons and of course, the gods. All of the various pantheons, but of course, Thor was always a topic of interest. 

-Riordan's teen years came and went without incident up until he turned 15. On his fifteenth birthday, as if out of some sci-fi comedy a random sneeze caused a bolt of bright white light to go shooting into the wall of his bedroom. 

-It was in that exact moment that he suddenly believed his mother. 

-From that point onward, he noticed he could conjure beams of light to his hands if he thought about it. They always varied in colour, but seemed to settle on a pinkish hue, as that is his favourite.

-Around the age of 20, his mother fell deathly ill outta fucking nowhere, literally poor kid still doesn't know what happened. 

-Anyway, on her deathbed, she encouraged him to seek out his father in hopes that he could help him with his power usage. She died shortly after the conversation. 

-On his mothers wishes he looked into sightings of the God, which pointed him to America. Though reluctant to leave the place he had called home all these years, he packed up what he could carry, sold what he couldn't and moved to america. 

-He's spent a decent amount of time travelling around the country, spending a few months in each spot before moving to follow his next lead. 

-Which is ultimately how he ended up in Paragon. 

and now we're here

Fun Things

-Frequently plays WOW and DND in his free time. 

- Due to his mother’s strange interests, he is a fairly decent sword-fighter. Has managed to have a good dual wielding proficiency with his powers

- Definitely uses his powers for added flair during his dancing performances

-Will talk shit about anyone who tips bad. Or are just shitty in general

-He loves birds? And Horses. He’s that kid that says ‘horses!!!’ whenever he sees them

Loves his hair a lot. Loves compliments on it even more. 

Don’t pronounce his name wrong. His tolerance for slip ups goes down the longer he knows you

Uhh Is VERY submissive to the point it's almost a flaw. 

Has done most of his general studies through online courses as he’s moved about the country. Thinking about going back to school but still hasn’t decided what for. 

Possible connections 

General Karma Klub Patrons: If your character goes to the club, they probably see him. Tell him he’s cute and his hair looks nice. And give him a good tip (or else you’ll be a topic of discussion later) 

The Favourite: Frequents the Club just to see Riordan perform. This could be a platonic thing or a more romantic thing, either way Riordan always appreciated anyone who is a fan of what he does. 

The Nuisance: Someone who also frequent’s the club to see Riordan, but is a complete asshole toward him. Whether they just tip poorly or talk to him in an especially rude manner. He’s used to most derogatory things said about him but this person takes it that step further. 

The Other Dancers: Being in this line of work, things can be tense and a bit catty at times, but at the end of the day, Riordan is fiercely protective of his fellow dancers and would go out of his way for them.

[thornstocutyouwith]

Basics:

Character’s Name: Setirasuri

Character’s Nickname(s):  Seti, Suri, Little Prince, Brat

Name pronunciation: It’s not that hard to say.

Origin of name: I love the Egyptian god Set, so I looked up the closest Egyptian name to it, and combined it with Ra, I don’t know where the Suri came from. I think it’s just something I tacked on at the end because it sounded nice with the other two names, not that it is a name all on it’s own. lol

Age: 19

Ethnicity: Egyptian

Sex/Gender: Male

Sexual orientation: Primarily Bisexual(Male Preference) 

Hair color: A light brown, with a reddish brown tent (Another homage to the god Set~)

Eye color: Green

Height: No taller than 5′10″

Weight: 105

Scars: Several on his neck, his chest, his arms, his hands, his back, and his legs. 

Tattoos: None so far.

Birthmarks: A few here and there

Piercings: Several on his ears

Right/left handed/ambidextrous: Right handed

Glasses/contacts: Neither

Apparel:

Clothing preferences: Seti in his Main Verse will usually wear next to nothing, or thin, airy soft fabrics. In a verse set in Modern times he would wear all sorts of colors, t-shirts, hoodies, jeans, he would be adventurous.

Accessories: Seti likes to wear stuff, jewelry can pretty much be found on most of his body parts, in his main verse. In a modern verse he wouldn’t wear too much like he would in his main, he would wear all sorts of bracelets, necklaces and some rings though. They wouldn’t be as flashy as in main, more earthy or Hippie like.

Style: In his main verse he could be viewed as extremely flashy at time, mostly pointing out his princely, royal, status. Though he is more so treated like an object and a lot of things are also just given to him.  In a modern verse it’s all more down played, casual clothing.

Trinkets: Probably a few magical items he’s come across. Some of them look like normal jewels, and such. 

Favorite possession: A lot of the things he wears, the artifact, The ring Sean gave him.

Equipment: Seti carries around a bag that he has his trinkets in and extra jewelry. Some scrolls, some with spells, or just for reading. A lot of things with text. 

Grooming habits: Usually oils, which he massages himself with often. He bathes a lot as well, mostly for enjoyment, and not so much for grooming.

Family and Relationships:

Parents: Seti and his mother and father got along very well. Seti was more of a momma’s boy, though. 

Siblings: Seti has several siblings. Husani, the eldest, but not first born of his siblings, is the current pharaoh and treats Seti like a pet or personal object to do with as he pleases. Which causes a lot of tension between them. Despite Husani’s abusive tendency’s toward Seti, Seti still tries to care about his brother. Seti’s elder sister, Isis, is a lot nicer than Husani, but is still a very cunning and powerful woman. She took on parenting Seti after their mother died when he was still very young. Making Seti’s relationship with her a good and strong one.

Grandparents: N/A

Marital Status: Married to Sean

Significant Other: Sean O’Hare

Children: 4 [Julian, Phoebe, Pfieffer, Phoenix]

Pets: A ton of cats at the abandoned temple to keep him company, especially when Husani chains Seti there.

Friends: Seti has some friends here and there who help him when he travels to the kingdoms.

Enemies: He has a lot lol

Close relatives: Quite a lot

Non-close relatives: Unknown

Ancestors: Mekh, Narmar, Akhenaten, Seti I and Tutankhamen bloodlines

Religion:

The religion they follow (if any): Egyptian polytheistic

Beliefs: In Egyptian gods, ritualistic things. 

Superstitions: A lot.

Virtues: Unknown

Location:

Country of Birth: Egypt

Place of Birth (State, city, etc): Memphis, Ta-Mehu (Land of papyrus, Lower Egypt)

First Language: Egyptian(Coptic form)

Cultures: Unknown

Traditions: Unknown

Schooling:

Highest Education: Minimal

Degrees: None

Home-schooled/public school/private school: Home schooled

Favorite subject: Anything to do with reading

Favorite teacher: Science Teacher

Least favorite subject: Math

Least favorite teacher: Math Teacher

Average grade: B- 

Study habits: None

Special education: Unknown

Graduating year: Never

Work:

Occupation: Nothing

Salary: A lot of monies

Employment history: None

Work space: No where

Mode of Transportation: Walking

Total income: Lots of monies

Boss: Husani

Hours: Life

Experience: Life

Co-worker relationships: Threatening

Rank: Scapegoat

Work ethic: None

Home:

Rent or Own: I guess he own’s it, he’s made it his own ahah

House, apartment, etc: Apartment in the Palace, Home under the Temple

Mode of transportation: Walking

Living space: Quite spacious 

Address: In the middle of no where mostly, At the palace

Hometown: Memphis, Ancient Egypt, Lower Egypt

Inner Workings Of Your Character:

Secrets: He was framed for the murder of his father. He has been abused by several people, mainly his brother Husani. Husani’s wife has in the passed forced Seti to have sex with her, in order to make her husband happy when she ends up pregnant with a child, that thankfully have almost all have been Husani’s, the living ones anyway. Can be easily manipulated into having sex with someone when drunk. Has, in the past more so then presently, sold his body merely to spice things up in his sex life. Has also had sex forced on him, whether drunk or not. 

Fears: Being crowded, or put in traumatic situations

Worries: Things getting bloody, hurting someone, having a panic attack and losing control over his powers.

Eating Habits: Seti eats in a polite way, usually. Keeping his mouth shut, not trying to talk, if possible as he is chewing. But sometimes he will toy with his food a bit.

Food preferences: Seti prefers sweets and meats. But he is okay with veggies and fruits too. He’s not very picky.

Sleep preferences: Usually prefers to be as comfy and cozy as possible. Though he doesn’t like to feel suffocated, so if he’s sleeping with others it could be a little problematic.

Work preferences: He has none, he doesn’t work.

Book preferences: Anything stimulating for him in the fiction section is pretty good. 

Music preferences: Stuff that makes him feel independent or just speaks to him. Other than that he would probably have no other preferences.

Introverted/extroverted: Probably an ambrivert

Optimist/pessimist: He’s more on the optimistic side

Hobbies: Exploring, Table games, Dancing, 

Pet peeves: Being stuck in awkward situations. Giving up easily. Referring to any government agency as "the Fed". Characters that have just met each other in movies arrange dates without exchanging any contact or meet information. When you're invited to a party (or any event) with people you have never met, and the host doesn't introduce you to anyone. People who blame anything but themselves for THEIR failure.  

Skilled at: Lockpicking, Monster Handler, Cartography, Swords, Bow and Arrows/other ranged weapons, Fire Building, Riding, Hunting, Desert Survival, Deduction, Persuasion, Botany, Hiding, Parry, 

Unskilled at: Hand to Hand, Playing Brass Instruments, Tailoring, Survival Arctic,  Firearms, Aura Perception, 

Attitude: Positive

Obsessions: Snacks, Sleeping in, Sex, Partying, 

Stresses: Being in tight spaces, Blood, Being put into situations out of his control,

Addictions: Fruit, Sex, Staying up late, 

Handicaps (physical): None

Handicaps (emotional/psychological): Emotionally scarred due to his brothers actions, and recent events. 

Allergies: Unknown, so far.

Medical history: Suffers random bouts of sickness, due to weakened immune system and rough life conditions.

IQ: 104

Temperament: Phlegmatic

Perception and outlook on life: Positive, for the most part. 

Habits:

Verbal quirks: For the most part, Seti’s speech is clear and he will mostly speak English. Outside of that, sometimes he will carry an accent when in high stress situations. Or mix up words/ slip in some things from his native language. 

Physical quirks: Thrives in hot weather, hates cold weather, Has a noticeable scar from a weapon,  Plays with hair, Shifts from foot to foot, 

Sleeping habits: Wakes up after noon, 

Annoying/Irritating habits: Drinks alcohol excessively when around others,uses drugs recreationally,

Eating habits: Is strongly susceptible to “brain freeze”, 

Healthy habits: None

Unhealthy habits: Sometimes overeats, Sometimes sleeps too much

Objects Kept In - And Why:

Their closet: Technically he doesn’t have a closet, but wherever he keeps his clothes, they are all fairly well made, considering where he lives. And the time in which he lives in. Thin breathable fabrics that at the bare minimum would cover up from the hip to the knee. 

Their bedroom: Styled appropriately, with an abundance of pillows and blankets. 

Their purse/bag: Survival items.

Their fridge: No.

Their car: No.

Their desk: No.

Their pockets: Probably small little trinkets, rocks, pieces of jewelry.

Their junk drawer: No

Their glove compartment: No

Their backpack: No

Their locker: No

Their car trunk: No

Their wallet: No

Their suitcase: No

Favorites:

Favorite book: The Journey To The West

Favorite movie: I, Robot

Favorite hobby: Astronomy

Favorite animal: Cats/ Snapping Turtle

Favorite color:  Emerald Green

Favorite season: Doesn't matter, it’s perpetually too hot. Spring?

Favorite food:  Rice

Favorite drink: Wine

Favorite time of day: Noon

Least Favorite:

Least favorite book: Harry Potter

Least favorite movie: Black Panther

Least favorite hobby: Car Racing

Least favorite animal: Birds

Least favorite color: Grey

Least favorite season: Winter

Least favorite food: Passion Fruit

Least favorite drink: Water

Least favorite time of day: Morning

Other:

Talents:   Tanning (furrier), Play Percussion Instruments, Trade, Speak (language), Leadership, Herbalist, Closed Fist, Archery, 

Political preference: It’s not important.

Strengths: Curiosity, Judgment, Bravery, Perseverance, Fairness, Forgiveness, Self Regulation, Appreciation of Beauty and Excellence, Logical, Friendly, Open, 

Flaws: Blunt, Moody, Indifferent, Intolerant, Naive, Lazy, Strict, Bold, Fierce, Proud, Smartass, Unpredictable, 

Social class: Royalty

Blood type: AB

Posture: Bird like, elegant, sometimes hands on his sides, or at his sides. 

Speech impediments: None

Spending habits: I’m sure he has some.

[beowulfs-booty-call]

Comic Ideas:

Name: I don’t know, “Hard Times”? “Don’t be gone too long?” I’m not even in the right mindset because I’m too happy to do this y’all

It’s obviously gonna bit nsfw-ish and deals with my OC Demi and how he lives being a half demon going on full in a district where the deadly sin of Lust is his calling card.

Works as a stripper, rooms with his best friend in a rather crusty apartment funded by his “madam” pimp Persephone and her husband Hades. 

Despite being an incubus, he’s still very much a child, who sees the world in his rose colored glasses and makes friends in the most oddest of ways because that’s all he knows.

Problem? There’s multiple districts in the demon world underneath manhattan’s subway system, and each are ruled by demons and fallen gods / angels. Not all are pretty, not all are gonna want a happy go lucky demon/witch boy out there making friends with humans and demons. And some, well, some just want to rule the world and come back above ground again. Plus with God on the war path, what’s a stripper to do?

Scroll through the Blue Hell™ App named Rumblr and talk to his internet friends. Even in the weirdest of ways, it’s both the people in life that makes life worth living, as well as the people you talk to over the internet that makes you really find things beautiful. (Just wait till people realize he’s also a senshi-esque warrior in his dreams...)

There’s only so much info to go on with so, I’ll give some character info and base story stuff

Demi:

Real name is unknown, used to be human before Persephone found him and “changed” him into a demon via his opal choker

Fantasizes being a Sailor Senshi

Bi with a passion but after his ex, has been trying to find the “right” guy

Literal Disney prince and likes to lie under trees in the forest

Will go with you to Denny’s at 3 am

Likes to do “witchy” stuff which is just adding basil to food when he’s not feeling up to things

Has way too much time on his hands

Likes to tattoo himself with henna

Doesn’t know how to handle guys

Wants to learn how to handle guys without sounding like a complete utter animal

The Pollyanna

You can’t take him anywhere that has dogs or he will not come out.

Boft boy (Buff+Soft) who wants to be a full demon

Doesn’t understand he used to be human: his humanity is split from him and actively is looking for him to become “whole”

Has a pelt from a wolf that used to be his friend; when he died saving him from a demon, Parvati skinned the wolf in honor of its sacrifice. Demi keeps it clean and well preserved with much fervor and looks at it not unlike a statue of a warrior.

Parvati:

Goddess of hindu faith (Of love and the family) and Demi’s guardian

Pretended to be a pimp to fool others in the district: Doesn’t realize her outfit’s meaning

Really really is a wonderful mom

Happily married to the god of destruction and teaches Demi about healthy relationships

Easily overbearing but means well

Doesn’t understand “hip” terms

“How do you do, fellow flesh wearers? Oh, apologies, “How do you do, F*ckwads?” I heard this was the proper way to greet!”

When angry she becomes a fearsome opponent, and likes to use a trident / sword to her advantage

LOVES to dress up and dance, and actively teaches Demi how to dance before going off to return home.

Protectively arrives whenever she feels something’s amiss, and Demi calls her via word or by burning seals

Knows who Demi used to be in the past, but wont tell him to save him grief.

Persephone:

Supposed Goddess of the underworld and is married to her husband Hades

Demi’s mistress, likes to be in power and is a trans woman and leader of the District he lives in

Hades helped her long ago when she was abused by her father and was able to be who she is now, a powerful and fair leader in the eyes of demons and visitors.

She’s strict but fair in her actions due to being a “mother” to all in her jurisdiction and care.

Saved Demi and turned him into an incubus to keep him alive, as humans cannot live in the Districts lest they go mad or dwindle to nothingness

Knows that the true enemy exists somewhere in the districts and above ground

Wants to bring the Underground to above ground and rule her people in the skies above

Has not aged for a millennia 

Is touch sensitive so Hades cannot “touch” her, he wears gloves and respects her distance and trauma that she’s working to get through

Don’t fuck with her and don’t try to weasel yourself out of her promises, she’s a very elegant woman but she knows just “what” you may deserve.

Fimbulvetr:

Buff dude, holy shit my G he’s a tree

He’s literally a tree as in he was once a sacred tree that was transformed into a person due to the evil spirits that was sealed into him

UNREQUITED LOVE TO A CERTAIN DEMON BOY; Or is it?

Long hair, tattered jacket, seems to be the bara version of the Scarecrow from the Wizard of Oz

Coincidentally loves the Wizard of Oz and wishes to read it someday, if a certain boy doesn’t already read to him a bit here and there.

Lonely guardian of a forbidden forest only few know, and one of them continues to break the laws of the dimension by trespassing

Supposed “descendent and son” of Odin

Wears an eyepatch to seal the hole in which the evil spirits try to escape

Should he fall, the demons within will try to use him as a shield and a puppet, whispering dark words to coax him into giving up

Fear of abandonment 

Stubbornly sweet under the veneer of being a total walking wall

Doesn’t speak much, his talking “hat” who is the soul of a spirit who escaped his eye does the talking for him, when he’s not around a certain someone 

Carries a spear named Gungnir

“You’re bleeding, Forest Bum.” “Tis but a scratch, hat” “Scratch my ass, call your boyfriend and heal yourself up before you die.”

And this is just a little bit of it!

Join Demi in:

Dealing with boys!

Magical nonsense!

Strip nonsense!

How not to dress in public

Gay demons!

Making friends with a lesbian gang leader of the Wrath district

Learning to dance!

Dreams of utmost importance

Daily life of a demon stripper just trying to make ends meet!

Hard times that end up a bit better than it found you

How the fuck did you use dawn for the dishwasher stop don’t to--

Laundry being a bitch

“Quick I’m out of water, can I drink your nut”

“Out of every single organism I’ve studied, I’ve yet to understand the physics of your ass” “Magic.”

Lots of chai lattes and saying hi to human friends online

RUMBLR DRAMA OF THE SEASON

“OP Is a demophobe, drink holy water”

Other shit I can’t think of rn because I NEED to do this instead of just pictures dudes.

I don’t even know how I’m gonna do this and at how much time because I can’t make a schedule per say, but hey! This is what I wanna do! It’s gonna be shitty af in comparison but I’ll try my best, yeah?