#i think she is an heir of light?? if i remember correctly

[lady-morrigen]

Why do they keep infantilizing Helaena because she is autistic coded and also the magical element of being a dreamer? It's like she's stupid and has no agency because of the mystical and autism stuff. Helaena is a dreamer etc in the book but she knows what's going on and is not this helpless female who is not present mentally. I can't phrase this correctly but like that's how I feel. It's like it's bad and less to be different and people have to be gentle and patient and infantalize her. In the book b and c Helaena offered up her life etc she fought back in her way. Phia did a great job with the shit scenes they gave her but it's a huge insult to Helaena to think she refers to her children as the boy or offering a necklace. Book Helaena knew people were going to die in that room that night and she tried to prevent it with her own life as she is queen and high value, not a fucking necklace as if they would care about that. She did it to make the b and c pause because it would be the equivalent but it came back to a son for a son and she was forced to make terrible decisions that she tried to think strategically. Also Alicent was there and their staff were killed including a guard I think. Suddenly there's no guards in the TV version when tensions of assassination are at an all time high especially around Aegon's heirs. They're all gone or fucking Alicent all of a sudden. Also Aegon suddenly showing interest in his kids... Unless it's because he's king he sees the kids in a new light as his responsibility and heirs. That was badly handled. Helaena is intelligent and has agency etc but Condal totally dumbed her down

i let this sit for a bit, because i wasn't sure that i was the person to give an opinion on it. i am not really a Helaena-focused blogger and i, admittedly, haven't read the book. but i do agree.

as someone who only knows her from what Condal has shown us, i do tend to feel that sense of "must protect the sweet baby" because that's how she's portrayed. like you said, phia has done a phenomenal job with the material she was given.

as a show-only viewer (for now), i have to say that i was still very tense during b&c, and i did cry a lot after the episode was over. (i still blame @vampire-exgirlfriend for this because she made me feel endeared to Jaehaerys more than the show could have.)

in terms of Aegon, i think it's beautiful to see him show interest in his children. his father was a shitty king and an even shittier father who never showed more than a surface-level interest in his children, especially Aegon. i don't blame him for wanting to be better and do better for his children than his parents did for him. please remember, he was forced to marry his own sister and have children with her. he's already set up to fail.

anyway, i feel like i've lost the plot here... one thing i want to point out is that referring to Helaena as "dumb" is a bit of a stretch and lowkey pretty offensive, ngl. i can see both sides of the argument in terms of how she responded to being held at knife point. however, disassociation is a thing and a lot of neurodivergent people revert to similar behavior in moments of high stress.

tldr; the way b&c was handled by Condal et al. has been insanely polarizing and, as someone willfully ignorant of how it's handled in the text, i am not sure i can offer much insight. all in all, i enjoyed the episode and wasn't watching it to find little details to nit pick until i hated it. idk.

[shadowscrybe]

Rayven's Revenge- Chapter 1

Man I haven't made one of these posts in so long. Bear with me as I try to remember how to format this shit.

Summary: Rayven is the younger sister of Rhysand in the Night Court. She was banished 64 years ago for the murder of her sister. This is the story of Rayven earning her place in Prythian and finding out what it means to be family. We all know how her story ends...but how did she get there? I don't want to forget the demon princess with bat wings. Do you?

Word Count: 1.2k

Warnings: none-typical canon content

A/N: Uhhhhh. I have annoyed my friends talking about this fic for weeks and I think its time to start annoying all of you. I worked very hard on this, put my whole writussy into this, but feedback is always appreciated. This was mine for so long. Now its yours. Enjoy.

Morning light had begun to crest over the horizon when Rayven met with her returning shadow. Streams of warmth slipped in through the thin curtains of the small cottage, melting the coolness of the night off her wings. The long hours of the night had to be beautiful in the Night Court, but Rayven had found something special in witnessing its beauty while the rest of the court slept. The cottage she shared with her mother just outside of the Windhaven camp of Illyria was an inferior copy of the home her brother and his friends shared across the mountains decades ago in their youth, but it was the only home she knew. The Highlord had said it was more than the banished princess deserved. 

Rayven had the misfortune of being born a few decades after everything important, it seemed. She was a few decades short of her first hundred years, but that didn't matter to the boys- and especially not the Highlord- who would always see her as a young fae. The boys were completing their first full cycle the coming moon, and the bastards were getting their siphons later that week, something the Night Court heirs could covet together. 

The coming celebrations loosened her restraints with the Highlord and her presence in Velaris would be necessary for the next few weeks. Rayven was only to make appearances when it was appropriate for the court. The Highlord could only stomach the demon long enough for the required court affairs. When she wasn't galavanting at parties or silently simmering in council meetings, she was to remain in Illyria. 

Following the poorly executed coup Kallon’s lord and father organized, Rayven took Ironcrest as her own. If the Highlord wanted it back he was welcomed to try. She considered appealing to the Highlord to move closer to her camp, but her luck had been pushed and she enjoyed the flight across the other camps anyway. It kept her on top of the movements of the other camps, especially Windhaven. 

Her mother lived in Velaris by all official accounts, but after the boys finished their fifth decade, she found more and more reasons to be in Illyria. She didn't have daemati powers like Rhysand and Rayven, but she wouldn't have needed them to know the day would be hard for Rayven. It’d be hard for her mother too. 

Rayven focused her breathing as she straightened her leathers, hoping to the stars she strapped them correctly. She navigated the path up to her upper level balcony and stretched her wings in the open space. She loosely braided her dark hair down her back to give her nervous hands something to do. 

Her singular shadow, Rahne, returned from her morning scan of the camps, whispering about sentry positions, some kitchen gossip, but nothing out of the ordinary. 

She needed reports of her normal flight patterns to reach the boys in order to accomplish what she needed to do. Rahne had warned her a second too late when she had ascended her rail to plunge off the side of her nest when he appeared. 

“Going somewhere?” The shadowsinger said.

Rhane was quicker than his shadows, but his were silent. She raced the wing length between them to meet with his many shadows. 

Rayven groaned and fell off the side. He turned to level out as she caught a drift back up to him. His laugh carried over the wind. 

“Aren't we pleading our case to Devlon today, or did I get my dates mixed up again?” 

The rising sun kissed their wings in greeting. He’d at least let her fly to the Windhaven border. 

He allowed her a few strides before he said, “The Highlord asked that you stay here. It will be hard enough for us to convince him as is.”

‘Asked’ was a very nice way of putting it. 

The boys had lived a full human lifetime that lunar cycle, so they were certain they knew everything there was to learn and she was a naive first cycle fae. They were meeting with Devlon to discuss their participation in the Rite that spring. She’d been training alongside them nonstop for months. Rhys told her it was important for her to have the training regardless of her participation in the Rite. 

Of course, Devlon would never allow a female to participate. While Rhys had previously been denied for being a half-breed, as Devlon put it, he could still persuade the Lord of Windhaven. Rayven, on the other hand, had the misfortune of being a half-breed and a female. The worst crime to the Illyrian brutes with ways as archaic as the mountains surrounding them.

The drifted over the path to the camp only used by the clipped females. Rayven shuddered at the thought of losing her wings to these males. 

“Hey,” the shadowsinger said, as if he could hear her thoughts. “We’ll find another way.” The tip of his wing barely brushed against hers. She stopped the shiver in her shoulders. 

The males were always fighting over wingspan. They had more surface area, stronger for single thrust flight and carrying cargo, but the females were faster. Their wings were made for speed and agility. What took the males three muscle groups to turn on a pin, the females could do it with one. Sure, they were able to carry full grown males for miles, but the females were able to fly that same distance twice in the time it’d take them.

“Am I allowed to say it?” he asked. 

“No.”

He tried to brush her wings again, so she folded hers in and dropped, parachuting her wings out in the final descent to land her feet on the stony path. They were within a few minutes of Devlon’s council tent. 

“Why can't I go and beat some respect into that bastard?” she asked. 

“You know why,” he sighed into his landing. 

“The Highlord can make them submit and listen.” Her frustration began to manifest in her movements. Rahne started whispering calm over and over to her. “Hel, I could easily change their minds.” She wiggled her fingers at him. 

He rolled his eyes at the violence she suggested. “We’d lose every Illyrian allegiant we have,” he said. He was trying. Really trying. 

Tears welled in the demon’s eyes. “This is so stupid.” Her gaze was set in the direction of the tent she’d never be inside, knowing this was where he’d leave her. 

“We’ll find another way,” he repeated. The hand by his thigh tensed, and then he was stepping back to take off. 

“I’ll fill you in when I get back?” He spread his wings to depart. 

She took in the mass of the shadowsinger before her. Even without the siphon, he was truly something to be feared. 

She mumbled a fine and met his eyes. He jumped into flight, sending one shadow back to lick at her wet cheek.

“Gross,” she swatted it away and could almost hear its giggle as it returned to Azriel. 

She watched as he grew smaller in the distance, until finally, he winked out of eyesight. 

She wiped her eyes free of the crocodile tears and turned to her real destination. 

Dumbass, Rahne snickered, expanding for their departure. 

Rayven smiled at her little shadow, stepping through her dark threshold onto the crisp lawns of the Autumn Court. 

[and-claudia]

His Heir pt. 34 (Darth Maul x pregnant! reader)

warnings: a wee bit of NSFW at the end

Wordcount: 1879

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gif not mine

Just as quickly as Maul’s shocked face appeared, it was gone as the huge double doors opened. The lights were off and then a spotlight appeared just at the threshold of the doors.

“And there’s the lovely parents to be!” Dasar announced as we stepped in, “Let’s congratulate them and celebrate their son!” 

Claps and cheers erupted from all the guests. I stole a glance up at Maul and found him already looking at me, wearing the faintest of smiles, making a huge one appear on my face. Maul didn’t smile in public, it just wasn’t his thing, especially not in front of all of these people. So knowing that it was me and our son that made him smile meant the world to me. 

Maul walked us closer to the top of the stairs, “Don’t let me fall.” I whispered. 

“Never.” 

We walked down to where everyone was waiting for us. When we got there we were met with a chorus of congratulations. All too soon though, I was approached by the other advisors. 

“We’re going to steal her for a bit.” One of them said to Maul. 

I gave him an apologetic look as they whisked me away. Once we were a little away from the crowd [NAME] began talking to me. 

“So first of all, congratulations. Are you excited?” 

“Thank you, and yes I am. Maul and I both are.” 

“So… I know this celebration was a no gifts thing, but we all still really want to do something for you. How do you feel about a baby shower? Just a small one with all of us?” Finnis asked. 

I smiled at her, “I would love that, but you guys don’t have to do anything for me.” 

“We want to though. Also clearly, we were all wrong… we really thought it was a girl.” [NAME] said. 

“So did Dasar. I don’t know why though…” I joked. 

“It’s a good thing it’s not a girl.” I heard a voice say from behind me. 

My face fell for a split second before turning stern and everyone knew to take a step back as I turned to speak with whoever had just said that. 

“Mr.Arkik,” I greeted with a fake smile, “How are you doing? Your wife just had your first baby if I remember correctly. How is she doing?” 

“She had a girl.” He said simply. 

“Oh, congratulations on your daughter.” 

“Hardly anything to congratulate.” He huffed. 

“Why is that?” I asked though I already knew the answer. 

“I wanted an heir. A son to take over for me once I am gone… I got a daughter. Which is why I wanted to speak with you… I was secretly hoping that you were carrying Maul’s son. I have a proposal for him… do you know where he is?” 

I sighed, “No, I do not. But whatever you have to say you can propose it to me, I am my baby’s mother after all.” I said. 

“I want to propose a marriage between my daughter and your son.” 

“No.” 

“Excuse me?” 

“I said, no. We will not be arranging a marriage for our son. He will choose if, when and who he wants to marry when the time comes. Who’s to say he will even want to marry a girl, I will not be forcing anything upon him.” I said firmly. 

“Well, how would he ever get an heir himself?” He shot back. 

I was really starting to get angry with him, “What do you mean?” 

“You have to be married, to produce an heir.” 

“Lord Maul and I aren’t married.” 

“I am aware.” His tone was extremely judgmental. 

“What the hell does that mean?” I snapped. 

Right about the same time Maul walked up. 

“Is there an issue here?” Maul asked, stepping up behind me and placing his hand on my back.

“There you are Lord Maul, we were just talking about you. I was hoping to get to speak to you tonight.” He said, his tone completely different now. 

“Who are you again?” Maul said, making me smirk slightly. 

“Lalri Arkik…” 

“Yes, Maul, don’t you remember the Arkiks? His wife, Soli, just had their first baby, a baby girl.” I cut him off. 

“Oh, congratulations.” Maul said, getting the hint. 

“Thanks. That’s actually why I wanted to speak with you. I have a daughter, you will soon have a son… I think a marriage should be arranged between the two of them.” 

“Absolutely not.” Maul said immediately. 

“Now, Lord Maul hear me out.” 

“I will not. I am insulted that you would even propose this to me, tonight of all nights… I think it’s time for you to leave.” 

“As you wish.” Lalri said, voice shaking. 

Two guards came up and escorted him out as I turned to Maul. 

“Well, that was lovely.” I said with a sigh. 

“Unfortunately he isn’t the only one with an arranged marriage on their minds.” Maul said with a slight frown. 

I won’t lie, hearing that upset me a little. Tonight was supposed to be about celebrating our son, the heir to both Crimson Dawn and the next Mand'alor. He wasn’t even here yet, and people already wanted me to make huge, life decisions for him. 

“Let’s just hope that he was last for the evening.” I said though I didn’t sound too hopeful. 

Maul offered me his arm and I allowed him to lead me away as we went and greeted more guests. It wasn’t even ten minutes later that we were approached by a Togruta man. I tried to rack my brain, but for the life of me, I couldn’t place him. I wasn’t sure if I even knew who he was. 

“Ah, there is the mother-to-be!” The way he said it made me squirm uncomfortable, gripping Maul’s arm a little tighter. 

Maul must have sensed my discomfort because he brought his other hand to rest on top of mine where they were holding onto the bend of his elbow. 

“Thank you for coming tonight.” I said, forcing a smile. 

“Well, it’s not like I had a choice.” He tried to joke, but neither Maul nor I laughed. 

“Tough crowd I can see,” the man spoke again before Maul cut him off. 

“Forgive me, but I cannot seem to place you… what is your name?” He asked. 

“Oh, I am Osta Bil! A little hurt you don’t remember me, I’ve worked for Crimson Dawn for many years now.” He said, clearly offended. 

“Crimson Dawn has many members, it is impossible for us to know every member by name.” I interjected. 

“Seems a little unsafe if you ask me. I mean for all you know I could be lying. I could be some assistor sent to kill you and the heir to Crimson Dawn.” 

Maul stiffened beside me as he spoke and slowly pulled my hands away from his arm then guided me to stand behind him as guards approached from every direction. Once the man noticed the guards, he put his hands up in surrender. 

“Hey! It was just a joke!” He said defensively. 

“Not a very funny one. You just threatened my son and his mother. What kind of sick, twisted man does that?” Maul seethed. 

“I am sorry, for the lapse of judgment on my end… I am a father too…” He said as if it would win him any favor at this point. 

“I don’t care.” Maul said. 

“You might though. I have a two-year-old daughter-” 

“She will not marry my son.” 

“How’d you-” Before he could finish his words two guards were grabbing his arms and hauling him out. 

In the mix of everything, Dasar had found me to make sure I was okay. When Maul turned around and saw that I was fine, his harsh gaze softened. 

“Are you alright?” 

I nodded. 

“Good… Dasar, we would like to make an announcement.” Maul said. 

“Of course sir, right this way.” He said, leading us back to the stairs. 

We didn’t go all the way back up them but high enough so everyone could see us. Once we were there, Dasar brought us the mic. When it turned on and everyone heard the slight feedback, everyone turned to us. 

“It appears that the purpose of tonight's celebration was not fully understood by some.” Maul began. You could tell by his tone he was pissed. 

“Not to be blunt but tonight was meant to be about Lord Maul and I’s child, our son. Who, need I remind you all is not only the heir of Crimson Dawn but he will also become Mand'alor when the time comes. He is to be respected by everyone here, and he has not been. A number of you have been disrespectful to him and I will not have it.” 

The plan was for Maul to deliver the message, but he had taken a step back and was allowing me to take over. 

“As selfish as it may sound, Maul and I are here to celebrate our child, not yours. It is wonderful that you have children to carry on your legacy, but that’s the point it is your legacy, not mine and lord Maul’s that you should be concerned about. If one more person tries to suggest that we choose to marry our unborn son to their daughter, you will be dealt with as we see fit for being disrespectful to our heir. He’s not even here yet and you want me to send it off? Shame on you.” I didn’t really realize how upset I was about it until I began talking about it. 

Once I was finished Maul stepped a little closer and placed his hand on the small back. The small gesture helped rein in my anger and I was grateful for it. 

“To elaborate, on what Lady Yn has said. I will deal with you personally if you try suggesting anything to us about our son.” Maul added. 

We descended the stairs and went back to mingling with the guests. Some people apologized for the others’ behavior which was a nice gesture. Luckily no one else tried suggesting we arrange a marriage with their children. 

As the night went on, I continued to thank our guests for coming. It felt like the night began to drag on as people finally began leaving. 

“It’s about time.” I mumbled to Maul as we sat up at the head table. 

“I agree.” He said with a small laugh. 

When the last guess finally left Dasar came up to bid us goodnight as well. I went to stand up to leave as well but Maul stopped me. 

“Wait.” He said. 

We sat silently as Dasar left then Maul leaned in really close. His hand came to my thigh. He carefully pulled the dress up until he got the hem high enough to slip his hand under it. He traced my thigh up until he gave me a pointed look. I knew what he was asking for without him even voicing it to me. I shifted a little to open my legs for him. His fingers ran through my folds gently before he retracted his hand completely. 

“You know you’re about to pay for this little stunt, you know that right?” 

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[inposterumcumgaudio]

now it's your turn to talk about Haworth and Verloc >:)

The relationship in my fic that I get the most specific and vehement feedback about!

The foundation of information you're going to need… I'm gonna try and stick to just canon and not my extrapolations so this isn't insurmountably long, all the same, it's gonna get real tl;dr in here.

Let's start with Haworth's patient notes.

From this, we can see Haworth has regular intervals of incidents every four days. We can tell too from Harry Plantagenet's and Gemma Olsen's notes that incidents result in increased dosage of Coconut, but that Haworth (who has been there the longest, four years) has a notably lower dosage than either of them. He still gets this increased dosage after an incident, but given the length of his time there and the regularity of his incidents, it should be much higher than it is. His dose increases are also smaller than theirs.

So based on those notes alone (and that he gets the privilege of the extra tea biscuit) we can see that Haworth is being treated more carefully than any of Verloc's other test subjects. And also that something is happening on a regular enough schedule that causes him to act out every four days.

Still, all that says really is that Verloc has a prized pet in his menagerie. That is how I write Haworth's interpretation this situation. He believes Verloc has imprisoned him in order to commandeer his laboratories and now keeps him well-fed so he can come down and gloat about it. Thus he remains "very aggro, especially in the presence of Dr. Verloc."

But let's go back to what the environment tells us.

You know what there's a notable absence of at Haworth Labs? Self-aggrandizing Verloc bullshit. Compare to Wellington Health, where Verloc has apparently donated multiple large statues of himself. Indeed, the only statue at Haworth Labs is of Haworth (and an unknown female coworker). The only thing telling you Verloc is in charge there is his photo hanging outside his office… next to Haworth's (although Verloc's is a smidge bigger). Typically after a transition of power, you'd replace a photo like that, maybe doodle a mustache and glasses on it if the guy didn't already have both. You wouldn't leave it there and hang your own next to it. That same hallway also contains Haworth's phrenological memorabilia. Verloc is said to have spoken disparagingly of Haworth's phrenological study in a note from Sally to him, so we can assume Verloc didn't put stock in it, but he hasn't taken that stuff down either.

And bear in mind, all of this is what Arthur remembers about Haworth Labs. I think there is some room to assume that things that are not important to the player character may be overlooked in memory, so what they do remember is all the more apparent.

There is also a cut diary entry from Madame Wanda about Verloc that I always thought was interesting in this context.

That she notes that people keep misremembering Verloc as Joy's inventor but that the Labs are named for Haworth is how she remembers correctly… If Verloc only wanted the fame and glory of being in charge of Joy production, it would be so easy to rename the labs and get rid of any mention of Harry Haworth. But instead, Arthur can't help but note the very concerted effort to remind anyone who comes to Haworth Labs who they have to thank for their wonderful Wellie lifestyle… even if that man is currently thought to be on holiday.

So maybe the idea that Verloc put Haworth in the glass cell in a spiteful heir-to-the-throne gambit is not the full shape of it. And with that acknowledgement, you can now read the note "Dr. Haworth" in a more charitable light than the game led you to interpret it at first glance.

Who did we get the idea that Verloc ousted Haworth from exactly?

Gemma.

Let's look at Gemma's notes about Verloc.

Most of the stuff about his personality I think is true. Or true enough. What's more interesting here is Verloc's history. He was born in 1926, making him 14 when he was sent to Wellington Wells in 1940 to escape the Blitz. He lived with an uncle until said uncle dies at age 48 in 1954. Verloc would have been 28. He would have been 21 in 1947, when the children leave on the train. He's unmarried, childless, living with his uncle (who is similarly childless if Verloc inherits his house).

And Verloc doesn't take Joy. That's the important thing. He does not participate in the most important civic activity of Wellington Wells. He's also one of the few people who will not wear a Happy Face mask. He behaves apart of the townspeople. He is not one of them.

And frankly, if you kept your head throughout the town's recent history, you'd probably judge these people very harshly. They let their children be taken, they killed the only people who tried to fight back, attacked anyone who might have had a child after, and they medicate themselves stupid to forget they behaved as cowards and savages. Again, it's easy for Verloc to think that of them. He has no stake in the game and he's not invested in his neighbors.

But he's not wrong either.

And if that's how he feels about them, it only makes sense that he's vain, thinks he's better than everyone else, and doesn't care about anyone unless they can do something for him.

If that's true though, what would make him so invested in Harry Haworth, the very man who enables these awful people to pretend they are not?

You know what there's a noted lack of at Wellington Health? Reverence for the savior of Wellington Wells and inventor of Joy, Harry Haworth. Not even a sculptural fountain piece donated by Haworth himself. He provided the town with its biggest medical breakthrough in living memory and yet there's no acknowledgement of that at Wellington Health.

Likely because Haworth is not an alumnus of Wellington Health's medical school. Which means he likely isn't from Wellington Wells itself. Perhaps he's an outsider, like Verloc is. And he's educated and doctorated. Mainland educated and doctorated. I think the evidence leans more to Haworth being a psychologist rather than a chemist, but he must know enough chemistry to have led his team to Joy. Combine all that with Haworth also being roughly the same age as that dead uncle (he and Haworth are only six years apart in age)? Compelling circumstances. A guy could become inappropriately obsessed.

But it's Gemma's notes on Haworth that suggest Verloc double-crossed him.

"Sense of duty."

"Became unsound."

"Gone a bit fuzzy."

"Not daft at all! Verloc backstabbed him."

"Objected to Verloc's methods."

Note that these statements are in quotes whereas Phrenology???? is not. Which means these are things that were said to Gemma. By whom though?

Going to guess that Victoria might be the first one as a sense of duty is a thing she's known to value in a person and she speaks fondly of Haworth in her quest notes. It's separate of the other statements, which makes sense. She'd certainly not be saying anything like the rest of these quotes, even if she thought them.

"Gone a bit fuzzy," is from Verloc in the O' Courant article about Haworth's disappearance. It's the most downplayed statement about Haworth's mental health, but it's also in the O' Courant so it's hard to say how much of that is Verloc playing it off and how much is spin to keep people from worrying.

As to the others, there's no way to tell who said any of them. Sally might have reason to imply Verloc to be two-faced like that, but she also never mentions Haworth in her own act so I find that unlikely. (I do, however, think she's lying to Gemma about Verloc inventing Sunshine). Beatrice Reeve of the Executive Committee has also been known to talk shit about my boy, but to do so to the press? Nnnn.

I do have one Hail Mary theory about this.

Gemma had to get her top secret internal Haworth Lab memos from someone within the company. And there is unrest in the labor pool as comes to a head in We All Fall Down. In the labor strike speech, a guy named Ronnie interrupts to make a snide comment.

Worker: Now listen! This labour action is important! We ain't striking for a nice hot lunch! Ronnie: -- like last time -- Worker: Shut up, Ronnie! No! We are trying to do our job, and we can't, as those who are in charge have gone completely off their trolley. Doctor V's failure to ensure the Joy supply strikes at the very heart of our civilization! These are the times that try men's souls, they are - yes, Edith, also women's souls too, I know - and we have all got to hang together! And if any Doctors are listening in, this is no time for partisan bickering! There's only one person who ever made the trains run on time here at Haworth, and that's Sally Boyle. We want Sally back! We need Sally back! Worker: We want Sally Boyle! We want Sally Boyle! (x2)

And as it so happens, a Ronald Norrish is also the guy who complained about the results of the A-329 formula on Vanessa Tinker-Bell. If the goal is to get Verloc ousted from his position and you're off the record? Well, it doesn't really matter if it's true or not, does it? If you've been in the basement and saw how mad Haworth was about it (which Norrish would have if he's attending to Vanessa), you'd certainly think it was true. Haworth also probably doesn't seem so crazy at the moment either, if he's fooling the staff enough to merit a note about it.

As to the other statements about Haworth's mental state, they similarly cannot be confirmed or denied by these unattributed quotes alone. However, we do have Victoria's secondhand account in her quest notes for "Ill Omens".

Trust him? Ha. We needed someone to get things done. Harry was falling apart... the way Father describes it, it was really quite sad, the way Haworth got. Verloc was just there. He was available. Willing to take on the burden. Eager, even. He gave the impression of a man who could get things done. So we let him.

Victoria's not an entirely informed narrator and she is relaying something General Byng stated, not something she witnessed herself, but given that Haworth did seem quite proud of his invention that rendered five of his assistants mute... I think it tracks that even if he seems sane enough to Ronald Norrish now, he may not have to General Byng back in 1960.

Haworth's patient notes say he was admitted November 10th, 1960, exactly one month after he sends Verloc a copy of a paper he wants to submit to the Executive Committee. And they seem to be on quite friendly terms to judge by the forward:

Dear Anton,

Am enclosing the latest draft of the paper I was telling you about Friday last. Have made much progress, and | greatly anticipate showing it to the Committee. Any input would be most welcome. I really think I am on to something here — really appreciate all your encouragement!

Harry

This would have been six months after Haworth supposedly disappeared if he disappears on April 6th, 1960.

You will note that this article is dated 1964. But that cannot be, if Harry's been in his glass cell since 1960... unless Arthur is assuming its from the current year. We only get to read this article as Arthur and he'd have no reason to assume it was older. He doesn't get any contradicting info until he gets to Haworth Labs and sees Haworth's patient notes. Do note too that this article is also accompanied on Gemma's conspiracy board by a piece about Johnny Bolton before he went insane. How long ago might that have been? She's been digging through the archives, is the point.

To recap, Haworth disappears on his way to a meeting with General Byng on April 6th, Verloc is interviewed for an article asking for his whereabouts on the 9th, but Haworth appears to be on good terms and quite friendly with him six months later in October. A month after that, Verloc imprisons Haworth in the glass cell, but at the same time keeps Haworth's name and contributions to society prominent in the public mind. And Haworth has a very strange and regular experiment schedule compared to his much more erratic cellmates'. Very curious!

Well, those circumstances have to make sense somehow. I know what I think happened here, but this post is already soooo long with just the facts as is.

[sweetestpopcorn]

What do you think made Viserys III marry his two eldest children together? Was he projecting his feelings about Larra leaving (if I had to suffer, so shall you") or was it just typical Westeros misogyny?

Hi there!

When Viserys II married his kids to each other he was simply following the Targaryen tradition to marry brother and sister. It makes sense for him to want his heir to marry and produce pure-blood Targaryens for his line.

Aegon IV was the eldest of his sons, so he should be married first, and Viserys only had one daughter - Naerys - it made sense for him to marry her to Aegon IV instead of Aemon (who she liked best). Moreover, if I am remembering correctly, Naerys opposed marrying Aegon because she wanted to become a septa. I don't believe she ever mentioned to Viserys II that she liked Aemon more for instance.

For someone like Viserys II and most fathers in Westeros, his family name was more important than the "whims" of his daughter. Likely he looked at Naerys and saw a young girl who didn't know better and didn't understand the importance of carrying on their family name. It's not a stretch in my opinion that this would be particularly important for him having seen what happened to his own family during the Dance, knowing firsthand how a family with many members can become a family with very little members -> post Dance we only had four Targaryens left, Baela, Rhaena, Aegon III, and Viserys II, and of the four only two would pass the name Targaryen to their kids. Besides, at this time his son Aegon IV was handsome and charming, very popular at court. He had many friends and many ladies liked him. It would not surprise me that Viserys II would struggle to understand what about him Naerys didn't like. Even because, busy and detached as he was, likely he only knew his son at a surface level and chose to ignore much (like so many fathers do even in our world).

This was not some plot on his part to make his kids suffer because he suffered or some master plan of misogyny. Let's please look at characters and judge their actions based on the world they lived, not ours. Almost everyone in Westeros arranged marriages for their kids. Alysanne and Jaehaerys were forcing Viserra to marry someone she didn't love - and old enough to be her grandfather besides widow and not very attractive - and George clearly wrote them in a very favourable light (though I would argue there are many problematic aspects to them turtle man doesn't appear to see). Viserys Targaryen himself was enough of a "feminist" to make a woman his heir, to marry for love and not duty when he took Alicent as his wife, and still he forced a marriage on Rhaenyra she was absolutely against. Why? Because he saw Laenor as the best choice. Like Viserys II likely saw Aegon IV as the best choice for Naerys.

Of course that what Viserys went through and the fact that he became stern after Larra left him would mean he was less willing to be empathetic and listen to his daughter. Likely less prone to reconsider his decisions and to prioritise her wishes. But this is not the same as wanting Naerys to be miserable and suffer because if he does so should everyone.

There are layers to this it's not -> so Viserys II married Naerys to Aegon IV was he:

A- cruel, or

B- misogynistic

Things are not that simple, and neither are people. The beauty of George's books is the study we can do on characters. It's not villains and heroes. It's not good vs. bad.

All the best to you!

[1007xf]

Pink smiche. Shes a huge nerd. Gamer girl heiress. Shes irrelevant in my fanstory but shes rather a fun piece of worldbuilding.

[txemrn]

Book: The Royal Romance/ The Royal Heir (and beyond)

Pairing: Liam Rys x Riley Rys

Word Count: ~4500 (+/-)

Warning: Fairly fluffy; a few sexual references

Song: "Kiss the Girl" - Brent Morgan (okay, so it didn't really "inspire" but you'll know why I wanted to post it along with this fic)

A/N: Happy (belated) birthday, @sfb123! Here is a goofy little fic with some of your favorite people! I hope you enjoy it! There are literally no words--NO WORDS--to describe how I treasure you and our friendship! From some deep, dark moments to ridiculous, TMI, hilarious moments, you've been my partner-in-crime... and gosh, how richly I am blessed to call you my friend! I hope you had an incredible birthday, and I look forward to celebrating with you soon! Love you, sweet friend!

A/N2: HUGE thank you to my brain-stormers and to @kat-tia801 for pre-reading and encouraging me to NOT TO KILL ANYONE (@sfb123, girl, the topic of killing Liam and/or Riley came up more than enough times... but I figured I can't kill either of them on your birthday)

A/N3: I gave our sweet 5-year-old heir rhoticism (speech impediment where someone has a difficult time pronouncing Rs correctly), so some of her dialogue is spelled in a peculiar way; this was added to add more to her character; it was not intended to harass or bully

-----------

The late morning sunshine pours sweet warmth over Riley's exposed skin. Buried under a sea of her tousled raven waves, she lets out a guttural groan before smacking her dry lips together. Not ready to face the bright light of the morning, she reaches her arm across the bed in hopes of finding him, the one who was charmingly insistent that they start celebrating her birthday early with a bottle of champagne last night. But, as she tiptoes her hungry fingers for more of her husband, she discovers one big problem: he's missing.

Instantly sitting up in a panic, Riley surveys her bedroom, her tired eyes adjusting to the light as she rubs her aching head. She finger-combs her tangles out of her face while wrapping a sheet around her naked body.

"Liam?" Her voice gravelly croaks. Clearing her throat, she calls out louder. "Liam?" She hastily shifts to the side of the bed, but as she stands up, a sudden soreness throbs between her thighs. Catching her off guard, her clumsy feet catch on her bedding, tripping her to the ground with a loud thud.

What the hell did we do last night? Whimpering in defeat to herself, she slumps her head back into the heap of sheets around her. Taking a moment to collect herself, she suddenly smells a heavenly waft of chocolate followed by two distinct laughs that warm her heart instantly.

Pulling herself from the ground, Riley grabs her purple silk robe, and carefully waddles her sore body through the royal quarters. Having to stop every few limps, she finally sneaks up onto a handsome sight: her husband wearing an apron while baking in the kitchen.

Riley finally cinches her robe close, crossing her arms as she leans against the entryway. A flirty smirk crawls onto her face; her eyes attend to Liam's plump, rounded rear in his well-tailored slacks. With the sleeves of his maroon sweater rolled up to his elbows, she admires the flexion of the muscles in his forearms as he begins to stir baking goods in a bowl.

Feeling her heart ferally racing, her hunger is interrupted by the precious pitter-patter of a certain five-year-old's bare feet against the wooden floor.

"I did it! I did it, Daddy!" Eleanor beams, holding out her palms for Liam. "I washed my hands!"

"That's my princess," chuckles Liam as he helps her slip her apron back over her head. "Do you remember what's next in our recipe?"

"Hmmm," she taps a finger to her lips, the spitting image of her mother. "Choc’wate?" She softly suggests with a mischievous grin.

"Chocolate?" Liam feigns disgust, placing his hands on his hips and playfully lowering his scowled face into her innocent, chubby face. "You think it needs more chocolate?" He whines.

Eleanor giggles brightly, a toothy grin spreading across her lips. "Uh-huh!" She nods enthusiastically.

Liam tauntingly leans closer into his daughter's face as her giggles grow louder, more uncontrollable. "More chocolate? More chocolate?" He playfully shrieks, enveloping her securely in his arm, bringing her close to his chest as he tickles her belly. Liam finally sits her on the counter, placing a loving kiss along her hairline.

Liam measures out another cup of chocolate chips, and hands the filled measuring utensil to his daughter. "Will you do the honors--?" His words melt into silence as he catches her sneaking a morsel into her mouth. "Hey! I saw that, you little chocolate thief!"

Eleanor quickly grabs another chocolate chip and holds it out in her palm. "Fo’ you, Daddy," she smiles sweetly. Liam shakes his head, hiding his smile. He knew he was whipped, perfectly wrapped around Eleanor's finger since the moment Riley announced they were expecting.

"Oh, my little princess, Cordonia is in some big trouble," he exhales deeply, bending over to match his crystal blue eyes with her gold-flecked chestnut browns. "You are just like your mother," he chuckles. He combs several dark wisps out of her eyes, reclipping them with a Bobby pin. "Let's put the chocolate in the pancake batter this time. Deal?"

Eleanor holds out a thumbs-up. "You got it, dude." Liam smirks at the expression as he reaches for a whisk. Eleanor often tags along with her mom when she wants to enjoy various American past-times, such as old 90s sitcoms like Full House and Family Matters. Liam still doesn't fully understand the reference, but after last year's fiasco of Eleanor giving Xinghai Lee a thumbs up, Liam and Riley agreed that the gesture was for Americans only.

Eleanor dumps the mound of chocolate chips into the bowl while Liam begins to stir the concoction together. Liam checks on his griddle, noting that it's the perfect temperature.

"Daddy?"

"What is it, princess?" He continues to stir as she watches him intently.

"Can you sing the song again?"

Liam snickers. "Aren't you tired of that song--?"

"Uh-uh," she shakes her head. She folds her hands together. "Pwease?" She singsongs.

Liam takes the bowl in one hand while still whisking the batter with his other hand. His voice starts low, almost timid. "Yes, you want her. Look at her, you know you do. Possible she wants you, too. There is one way to ask her."

Liam quietly puts the bowl down, tapping off the excess pancake batter on his utensil. Turning his attention back to Eleanor, he smiles lovingly at her. He begins to sway his hips to the beat of the Disney song in his head, his singing voice becoming louder as he approaches his daughter.

"It don't take a word, not a single word. Go on and--" Liam surprises his daughter with a chaste peck on her cheek, sending her in a tizzy of giggles.

Liam lifts Eleanor into his arms, holding her in the crook of his elbow. He grabs a spatula, handing it to her. He then impersonates his best Caribbean accent as he uses his whisk as a makeshift microphone. "Sing with me now."

Without missing a beat, Eleanor holds her spoon with both hands, squeezing her eyes tight and begins to belt out the tune. "Sha-wa-wa-wa-wa-wa-wa-my, oh, my--!" Her words fade into indiscernible words, Liam picking up where she left off.

"Look like the boy's too shy. Ain't gonna kiss the girl." Keeping Eleanor safe in his embrace, Liam takes her hand with his free hand and pretends to waltz with her as they finish the chorus together. "Sha-la-la-la-la-la-la, ain't that sad? Ain't it a shame? Too bad."

Liam stops dancing, bringing his daughter into a tight hug, resting his lips in her hair. Cherishing the moment, he whispers, "He gonna miss the girl."

“Bravo! Bravo!” Riley saunters into the kitchen, clapping her hands as she interrupts the secret serenade.

Eleanor prompts her father to set her on the ground as she runs to her mother, her arms wrapping around her legs. “Mommy!” She nuzzles her head into Riley’s hip, her mom tenderly rubbing her daughter’s back. “Happy buwf'day! Daddy said, ‘Co'donia is in twouble because of you and me--”

“Oh, did he,” Riley raises an eyebrow at her husband, pursing her lips.

Liam bashfully chuckles, a flash of pink painting across his cheeks. He quickly wraps a comforting arm around her shoulders, tucking her petite frame against his body. “Happy birthday, my love,” he tenderly whispers, brushing a sweet peck on her grimaced cheek. Unable to keep up the façade, she catches his lips again with hers, their mouths savoring the tender moment together.

“Ewww!” Eleanor slaps her hands across her eyes, the royal couple tumbling into laughter.

“Now wait a minute,” Riley jokingly protests, “you don’t say ‘ewww’ when Ariel and Prince Eric kiss--”

The young princess turns her nose in the air, her eyes fluttering shut. “That’s because it’s Awie'lle and Pwince Ewic.”

“You’re daddy was a prince--”

“Nuh-uh,” she sasses with her hands on her hips. “He’s Daddy, and he's a king. Like the white beaw'ded me'maid!”

“Did our five-year-old just compare me to King Tritan?” Liam whispers in Riley’s ear.

"Count your blessings," she giggles back, "she watched me put on my lipstick last weekend, and said that I "wooked just wike U'suwa'."

"Oh, you poor unfortunate soul," jokes Liam, gently guiding Riley's lips to his own for one last quick peck.

"Alright, princess," Liam squats down, grabbing his daughter's attention, “let’s get Mommy ready for her special breakfast.”

With an eager, shining smile, Eleanor gives a knowing look to her father before grabbing her mother's hand, dragging her to the kitchen table. Using both hands and all of her might, she pulls out Riley's chair for her to sit down. The little girl then quickly crawls on to Liam's chair to lean over the table to point out the various items on display, including fresh fruit, bacon, sausage and scrambled eggs.

"Wook, Mommy!" She lifts up a tiny bowl filled with marshmallows. "For you' hot choc'wate." Riley smiles sweetly, noticing her favorite mug is filled with the decadent cocoa. "Aunt Hana taught me ove' the phij."

"Mmmmm, it tastes just like Aunt Hana's," Riley boops Eleanor on the nose. "Good job, baby girl."

Liam calls Eleanor over to the griddle, plating up the chocolate chip pancakes. "Hold the plate with both of your hands, princess. Walk it to Mommy." Liam follows behind her with his own plate along with the young heir's plate.

"Here, Mommy! Pancakes!" Eleanor beams proudly, coyly twirling on her toes.

"Eleanor!" Riley wraps an arm around her daughter's body, tucking Eleanor's head under her chin. "These look delicious! Did you make all of this for me?"

"Well," she starts, "Daddy cooked, too."

"It's all wonderful." Riley smiles appreciatively, tightening her arms around her little girl, planting kisses in her hair. "Thank you." With a sparkle of joy in her eyes, she reaches to her husband. Taking his hand in hers, she intimately squeezes it, tracing soft circle across his knuckles.

"Now Uncle Dwake can come ove'!" Eleanor abruptly announces.

Riley looks inquisitively at absurprsLiam. "And why is Uncle Drake coming over?"

"Fo' you' but shhh!" She holds her finger to her lips, innocently batting her eyes. "It's a su'pwise!"

Liam hangs his head in defeat, his fingers rubbing his eyes before pinching the bridge of his nose. "Princess, remember? Surprises are secrets--"

Eleanor instantly cups her hand over her mouth as her eyes grow big. "I'm sorry, Daddy," she mumbles under her palm.

Liam reaches across the table, to take her hand. "It's okay. Let's just keep the rest of Mommy's surprises in our heads, okay?"

She holds up her thumb. "You got it, dude."

After the royal family shared their special meal together, there was a strong knock at the door. Just as little Eleanor said, Drake is waiting on the outside of their quarters with Bastien in tow.

"Go ahead get ready, my love," Liam kisses Riley's temple before bounding towards their front door. "Oh, and dress comfortably--"

"Whoa, whoa, whoa--" Riley inquisitively inspects her husband's face. "Comfortably, as in we're going to the zoo? We're going on a picnic? We're going on a boat ride?"

He rests his hands on her shoulders, gently stroking down her arms. He presses a kiss to her forehead. "Something you can sleep in, but you won't mind being photographed in." With a doting smile, he turns back to answer the door.

What the hell, Liam? Riley carefully stands up from her chair, the soreness from the previous night's escapades hitting her like a ton of bricks. "Want to help Mommy get ready?" Eleanor excitedly nods, offering her chubby hand to her mother as they slowly retreat to the bedroom.

With the help of a very opinionated five-year-old, Riley settles on a simple navy blue floral maxi dress with gladiator sandals. As the young mom sits down at her vanity to fix her hair and make-up, Liam bounds through the door.

"Ready, love?"

"Well, I still look like a wet rat," she chuckles as she teases her damp waves with her fingers.

Her husband gingerly sneaks up behind her. He encases her in his arms as he leans against the vanity table. He brushes his pout across the shell of her ear, nuzzling into her hairline. "You are exquisite."

Riley raises an eyebrow, turning around on her tufted stool. She rests a hand on Liam's lightly stumbled cheek. "Although I appreciate your limitless adoration of me, I'm not exactly ready for the possibility of having my picture taken."

"Don't worry," Liam looks forward into the mirror, his eyes sparkling at his bride. She turns her head to meet his dreamy gaze. "Just trust me," he mischievously grins, pressing a kiss against her temple. "C'mon," he grabs her hand, "we're going to be late."

Riley pulls back on her hand, digging her heels. "Now wait a minute," she crosses her arms. "I'm seriously not ready yet--"

"Wil’w the pwane take off without us if we’re wate?" Eleanor asks her father with grave concern in her voice.

"Plane?" Riley slowly shifts her gaze from her daughter to her husband. Liam shares a toothy grin as he snickers. "We're flying somewhere?" Riley anxiously fumbles through her hair products to start an emergency blow-out.

Liam walks over to the vanity, leaning against it as he looks down at her. He gently places his finger under Riley’s chin, guiding her bright eyes to his attention. "Please, love–"

“I can’t go out like this. I–I just can’t–”

"Please." He takes her hand, pressing an endearing kiss on her knuckles. "Trust me," he winks.

Sporting a damp, messy bun and oversized Chanel tortoise-shell sunglasses, Riley avoids any and all reporters while boarding the royal jet. But, once entering the plane, her jaw drops at the sight before her.

"SURPRISE! Happy birthday, Riley!"

"You guys!" Riley squeals as she motions for a group hug around her good friends Hana, her new girlfriend, the Beaumont brothers with their wives, and Drake with his wife Alaina. "I can't believe you all are here, too!" As Riley glances around the jet, taking in all the familiar, beautiful faces, she is relieved to see the other children for Eleanor's sake.

Another jolt of excitement hits Riley when she recognizes Paul and Marco, her make-up and hair duo for whenever she has to make a television appearance. But, normally for public appearances, Riley's got the conservative-beauty-look down on her own; why would they be needed for this trip?

After a few titters and more hugs, a hush falls over the Cordonian travelers as champagne is served. Riley snakes her arm around her husband's waist. "Well, chief, what's next?"

"Well, actually, I'm going to let our good friend Drake explain." Liam guides Riley into a seat. "He's the one that pulled this trip together."

Drake? Riley raises an inquisitive eyebrow to her long-time best friend as he grabs a bright purple gift bag.

"Eleanor?" He joyfully calls out, "come help your moma open this gift." The little princess dutifully jumps up from playing with Bartie and Jackson, swiping the present before crawling into her mom's lap.

Together, they begin pulling out tissue paper until a big, fluffy stuffed animal flops out of the bag. "Can you tell everyone what it is?" Riley whispers, pressing gentle kisses into her daughter's toasted chestnut locks.

"It's a teddy bea'hr."

"That's right, baby," she takes the stuffed animal into her arms, giving it a questioning look before raising an eyebrow to Drake. "It's a teddy bear."

"Keep looking," Drake chuckles, rubbing the back of his neck.

Riley gently toggles the toy in her hands, noticing that the teddy bear is holding a masquerade mask in one hand and a microphone in the other. And suddenly, it hits her. Riley looks back up at Drake, her eyes wide. "No. Way."

Drake ruffles his own hair, stifling a big smile as soon as he sees the understanding on his friend's face. "I talked with some of the producers for Cordonia's the Masked Singer, told them what a big fan you were… yeah, well, one thing led to another and--well, um, the producers in America loved the idea of having the Queen of Cordonia as a guest judge--"

"Oh. My. God!" Riley shifts her gaze to Liam before shifting it back to Drake. "You're kidding me--" her breath hitches in her chest. "I'm going to be a judge? On the Masked Singer?"

"On the Masked Singer," reiterates Maxwell, swiping his hands in the air, imagining the title of the show in bright lights.

"Like--like with Nicole Scherzinger and-and-and Jenny McCarthy-Wahlberg?" Her voice trembles.

"That's right, my love," Liam comfortingly strokes her back, sitting on her armrest.

Riley begins to tear up, covering her face immediately from the overwhelming feelings of joy.

"Don't be sad, Mommy!" Eleanor gingerly pats her mom's cheeks.

Riley quickly wraps her arms in a tight embrace around her daughter. "I'm not sad, baby girl!" She presses her lips into Eleanor's chubby cheek. "I am so happy." Riley looks around the room at all of her doting friends. "Thank you all so much. This," she stifles a sob, " this is a dream come true."

"Ordinary girl from New York is whisked away to compete for a prince's hand in marriage, becomes queen and then lives happily ever after," sardonically recounts Drake, "but yes, being on the Masked Singer is a dream come true." The entire cabin falls into a tizzy of laughter as Riley sticks out her tongue.

As the giggles die down, Liam explains that he hired Paul and Marco to come along, and that Maxwell had already pulled a few party dresses for her to wear. But, for now, she was to rest. Next stop: Hollywood.

As soon as the royal jet touched down in Los Angeles, Riley was immediately taken to hair and makeup, escorted by Liam, Maxwell, Marco, and Paul as well as Bastien and a small security team. They styled Riley with a slicked-back high pony-tail. They placed some extensions in her hair to show an ombre effect of platinum blonde on the ends of her dark revenge tresses. At first the queen was unsure of the look, but after being mistaken as Ariana Grande four times, she loved it.

Maxwell styled her in a Givenchy white single strap bodycon dress with iridescent sequins that elegantly shifted from the faintest of purples and greens. And to tie it all together, she rocked a pair of purple stiletto heels.

As the finishing stroke of her deep, oxblood red lip is painted on by Marco, non-crew members were called away from the backstage area. Giving Liam and Eleanor a quick hug, Riley said her 'goodbyes' until after the recording. But even as she watched them walk away, a sudden rush of anxiety floods her veins.

Looking down at her dainty wrist tattoo, she is reminded of her family back in New York. Gosh, she misses them, especially her sister Danielle. She was always good at making Riley relax and calm down.

Suddenly, a mischievous glint twinkled in the young queen's eyes. Riley looks around, noting that no one was even close to her area. She stands up from her director's chair and closes her eyes. She gently shakes her arms and legs, finishing with a delicate head roll.

Standing back up, she begins to make peculiar sounds with her mouth. First, she starts by blowing raspberries with her lips, throwing her voice quickly from a high decibel to the lowest octave she can reach.

"Brrrr! Brrrr! Brrrr!"

While she makes this sound, her hands mimic the pitch of her voice, starting off slightly above her head, and with the flutter of her fingers, her hands float down until they are in front of her chest.

After a few of those, she opens her eyes to stare at herself in the mirror, only to continue the noises. She opens her mouth wide.

"Mah! Mah! Mah!"

With each of these surprising sounds, she bundles her hands into a fist, but then abruptly throws her fingers open into a jazz hand.

"Looks like someone's breaking free."

Riley's cheeks burn red with embarrassment and she twirls around to see her sudden audience. And is once again stunned. "You! Your-your--"

"Nick Cannon," the tall host of the show cheerfully greets her. He reaches to shake her hand, but stops himself. "Oh, I'm sorry, Riley, I mean,, um, your Majesty. I'm unsure of how this works--"

"Please," Riley laughs, reaching out with her hand to shake his hand. "I'm just a girl from New York that wears a new piece of jewelry. And, yeah, well, rules a country," she shrugs as they both fall into titters.

"Well, it is an honor to meet you. Have they already walked you through on what to do?" She nods nervously. "Remember: this isn't live. We get to edit things and make ourselves really sound good. Wait for the signal, and you'll be part of the family in no time."

Just as he said, Riley was signaled to a special holding area where she was given a mask on an ornate stick that matched her outfit. After a final makeup touch up, she was ready.

"... all the way from Cordonia, give up for her majesty, Queen Riley Rys."

Showtime. Riley glides flawlessly across the stage, waving at the audience, and taking in the fact that the judges are standing up--and shocked-- because she's there. Riley quickly finds her seat on the judges panel, and comments about what an honor it is to be there and how much she loves this show.

But, right off the bat, Riley notices something is amiss. There's an empty chair next to her. Is there another secret guest judge? Could it be Liam?

"Now, your Majesty, we were given the opportunity to talk with your husband." A picture flashes up on the big screen of the two of them at Disney World, wearing Mickey Mouse ears. Multiple whistles and awes come from the audience, making Riley blush and smile adoringly. "He caught us up to speed with some of your favorite pop culture icons." Riley playfully covers the embarrassed look on her face before looking back at Nick. "When we heard you loved this 90s band, no doubt we were going to have to have her guest judge with you."

Riley's face falls as her eyes shift anxiously around her.

"Please give it up G-loc, Ms. Harajuku girl herself, Gwen Stefani!"

For Riley, time seemed to stop, moving at a snail's pace as her ultimate idol walked onto the stage. She instantly remembers where she was the moment she first saw No Doubt, the moment she first heard No Doubt. She remembers the late night serenade with her sister and cousins, singing along to Tragic Kingdom.

And now, Gwen Stefani is walking towards her. As she begins to curtsy, the inner eight-year-old Riley threw her arms around the pop icon as she began to cry heavily. Luckily, Paul and Marco are nearby and quickly repair the tearful damages; they were fully aware this would happen.

After the initial shock wore down, it was on with the show. Riley's incredible knowledge of pop culture as well as her voice recognition really shined as a judge. The costumes were stunningly intricate, and the voices were beautiful. Riley's guesses ranged from Coolio to Natalie Imbruglia. But the one guess she would put money on was the contestant in the juicy riblet costume; that had to be Armie Hammer.

In person, she found Ken Jeong to be quite hilarious and Robin Thicke even more handsome. Gwen Stefani is proving to be Riley's long-lost big sister, and has already invited her and Blake Shelton over for dinner at the palace. The other women on the panel were just as the queen expected. What you see on TV is exactly what you get in person: personable, funny with a slight twinge of air-head. Riley was impressed with how open they were about their plastic surgeries, even recommending a few doctors for when the queen is older and ready.

As the filming was coming to an end for this episode, Nick Cannon calls for everyone's attention. "We have a special announcement from our producers. Since this has been a night of surprises, we decided to have just one. More. Surprise." The judges and the audience members begin to murmur amongst each other. "Please welcome the duck!"

Out waddles a tall, yellow duck. A video clip rolls, giving the clue package. The hints include the following: he's performed in front of thousands; he first picked up a guitar at the age of twelve; there was a huge scandal surrounding the start of his relationship with his now wife

Gwen leans over to Riley to whisper. "He's as tall as Blake--!"

"Do you think--?" Riley's eyes light up, excited to possibly be meeting Gwen's husband.

Gwen shrugs her shoulders, but the excitement reads all over her face. Riley sits up in her seat, eager to see the performance. She wasn't the biggest fan of country music, but she was totally thrilled for the experience.

The video stops and the house lights dramatically turn down as the duck waddles to the center of the stage. Tiny twinkling lights appear, mimicking lightning bugs. A single note thrums on the piano until a melodious baritone voice pierces through the darkness.

"There you see her, sitting there across the way."

Riley freezes, slowly bringing her hand to her mouth. Her eyes begin to well with tears as her heart skips a beat. She knows that voice.

"She don't got a lot to say but there's something about her."

Riley stands up, quickly making her way to the stage locking eyes on the duck.

"And you don't know why, but you're dying to try, you wanna kiss the girl."

Riley can't help herself, sliding her fingers under the gigantic duck costume head, ripping it off, prompting Nick Cannon back to the stage.

"Never a dull moment here at the Masked Singer. Please welcome his Majesty, King Liam Rys of Cordonia."

Riley throws her arms around her husband as his lips meet hers. As their kiss deepens, everyone around them continues with the song. Standing front and center holding one another, Liam pulls his wife close to his chest as she plays with the costume feathers.

She finally looks up at him. "The duck?" Liam begins to blush as everyone continues to sing loudly. "Why the duck?"

"I know how much you like them." Riley gives him a suspicious look as he licks his lips seductively.

"I thought maybe the waddle would make you think of me," his voice darkens, "since I seem to have that effect on you."

"William Rys!" She jokingly swats at his chest before he envelopes her tightly to his body. He leans down, placing a kiss on her cheek before his lips find her ear.

"Happy birthday, my love."

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If you have not already read her fic, check out @sfb123 's fic about the Masked Singer right here -> Unmasked

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PERMA

@ao719 @charlotteg234 @chemist-ana @foreverethereal123 @issabees @jerzwriter @kat-tia801@khoicesbyk @lovelyladyk88 @lucy-268 @mainstreetreader @mom2000aggie @neotericthemis @peonierose @schnitzelbutterfingers @sfb123 @shannonwrote @socalwriterbee @tessa-liam

ALL TRR/TRH

@angelascribbles @burnsoslow @gkittylove99 @iaminlovewithtrr @lovingchoices14 @motorcitymademadame @princessleac1 @rubiwalker

ANYTHING LIAM

@amandablink @bbrandy2002

[sailorshadzter]

a random one shot in which i twist the entire plot of game of thrones just because i can.

inspired by the prompt: a kiss to your lover's knuckle before a dance.

dont ask me how THIS came from that, it just did LOL

He finds her among the others, dressed in a silk gown of sapphire, made from a bolt of fabric he'd left in her rooms several weeks before. She's laughing, rosy lips curving as she pivots ever so slight, just enough that their eyes find each other's. Her laugh does not fade, but her eyes darken, pink tongue escaping to moisten those lips that only the night before had agonized him in the best of ways. "Your grace," Robb Stark says as he approaches, bowing low before Jon as he falls into place before them. She on the other hand does not move, not at first, smiling as if she holds onto a secret before she sinks into a curtsy, though she never once pulls her eyes from his face.

The Stark siblings have been South for nearly six months now, having arrived at the start of the new year. It was mostly out of peace between their kingdoms- once, their fathers had been at war- now, the sons have taken over and such a war had not been theirs to fight. Cousins by blood, neither Jon nor Robb had wished to shed another drop of family blood. And truth be told, neither had their fragile, broken nations. And so it was peace that was brokered, easily at that, and both Robb, the King in the North, and his sister and heir, Sansa, had come to King's Landing as Jon's honored guests.

"I thought I might dance with the lady," Jon says, beckoning towards Sansa who at least has the grace to blush. Robb casts a glance towards her and then grins as he turns back to Jon. Nodding with approval, he bows again before he makes his way through the crowd, only stopping when he catches sight of the lovely Margaery Tyrell who shines in pale gold damask, a single red rose tucked into the high coils of her hair. Reaching for her hand, he brings it close to his lips, brushing a soft kiss to her knuckles. Such a gesture sends shivers down her spine. "You look beautiful," he says as the music begins again, a slower tune that brings them closer together. They're both aware of the eyes that watch them, the King and the heir to the North, though they pay little mind of any of them watching. Her hand is small and warm in his, while her other hand dares to brush across the nape of his neck. That is what matters, that feeling her touch gives him. "That dress is most becoming."

She laughs, soft and twinkling, and once again those lips curve with a smile. "It is only because of this fine silk," she insists, though even she has been unable to do little else but admire the gown she's crafted for this night. Though quite unlike the styles of the North, she has retained some of her roots, for her red hair remains woven into braids, although it shimmers with a gem covered netting gifted to her by Margaery. That and the pendant she wears around her neck was stamped with her House sigil, worn once by her own father.

He twirls her out and then back in, closer than ever before, though she's uncertain as to how they could ever be closer. But then she snickers, recalling in fact, they could be much closer. As if Jon senses what she's thinking, it's his turn to chuckle, dipping his head down low, so close that his breath tickles her ear as he whispers what he's thought many times that evening. "I do wonder what it looks like upon the floor of my chamber, though." She blushes deep to the core of her hair, but she's breathless all the same. She likes it and he knows it. He loves that she likes it, truthfully.

Sansa Stark had come to King's Landing after a dark, somber period in her life. Once the spoiled, pampered princess of the North, she had been left alone in Winterfell with her youngest siblings, protected by the bitter cold and a small armed force. While her father had been in King's Landing, plotting against Jon's father, Rhaegar Targaryen, her mother had been with Robb on their way to join Ned in the South. What could not protect Sansa nor her siblings was the traitor Bolton House, that swept in upon hearing of Ned's death in battle and took Winterfell for themselves. Sansa was locked away in chambers and never again saw her siblings- Arya lost to the Northern wilderness, the boys certainly smothered in their chambers while they slept.

When Jon's father and Robert Baratheon was found dead after the last fight in what would now be called Robert's Rebellion- he and Robb met on the battlefield. It was Jon who spoke of peace and Robb who asked for nothing but to have help saving his sister from the unspeakable suffering she endured while held prisoner by Ramsay, the bastard born son of Roose Bolton. And save Sansa they had. Riding in at the head of an army, Robb and Jon swooped in and took Winterfell back in the name of House Stark.

Back then, she had worn her black gowns as armor, keeping to herself for the first few weeks of their arrival. Jon had assigned to her a few handmaidens and one in particular, Shae, certainly had found her place as Sansa's confidante. And then there was Margaery Tyrell, the beautiful and wealthy heiress to the Tyrell family. She had been the first to bring Sansa from her shell, the first person Jon had seen make her smile in the first six weeks of her stay. And then... One day... One day she had found him, all alone, in the quietest corner of the massive gardens. She had blushed, stammering an apology, turning to go before Jon could stop her. Two weeks later, they met again in similar fashion, though this time it had been Jon who happened upon her. They met here among the flowers nearly every day after that, hidden from prying eyes by rose bushes and fauna of the brightest green, side by side on the small stone bench.

That simple stone bench had been the place of their first kiss, a soft kiss that left him tingling long after she'd gone. Jon can't really remember when he'd begun to realize the depth of his feelings, but it was sometime between her falling in love with Ghost and Ghost with her, he really never could figure out which came first. But in truth, seeing her sink to the floor in his chambers to hug his neck, or to find the wolf asleep in her bed was all he'd needed to know the truth of how he felt. He loved her. He loved her beyond anything else in his entire life.

"The song is over..." It's her whispering and he jolts back to reality, realizing that indeed the song has ended and they still yet stand together. Springing apart, Jon offers her a most regal bow, his hand reaching for hers as he had done at the beginning. "Jon..." She calls him by name as the music strikes up another tune, this one quicker, though neither of them are thinking of dancing now.

"Meet me, in our usual spot," he murmurs over her knuckles before he drops her hand and disappears into the crowd. Sansa remains where she stands for several long moments more, her hand still yet warm where his lips had touched.

[ x x x ]

He hears her footsteps as she approaches.

There on the stone bench, he waits in silence for her, knowing without a doubt that she would come. She does not hesitate as she once might have, rather she sinks into her place at his side, silk skirts rustling with her movements. From above, the clouds shift, exposing her to the moon's pale light- though he cannot believe it, she's even far more beautiful with moonlight woven into her hair. He swallows, reaching out, hesitantly, to trace the length of her jaw with trembling fingers. "Jon..." Once again she calls him by his name and her hand reaches up, taking hold of his. This alone is enough to comfort him, to give him a sense of courage he's not even felt in battle before.

"Marry me," he says these words simply, without the hesitation from moment's before. She blinks, staring at him as if she's not heard him correctly. Before she can say a word, he's falling down to a knee before her, there on the stone bench, still yet clutching her hand. "Marry me, Sansa," he goes on, smiling up at her, those blue eyes wide in her ivory features. "It is the one thing in this life I have ever wanted-" to be a prince and then a king? It was not his first choice in life, but if he was going to do it... He wanted it to be with a woman he truly loved at his side. And despite the short time he's known her, he knows there can be no other. That there would never be another. This was not a king asking a princess, a noble, it was a man asking a woman. Nothing more, nothing less.

She cannot believe him when he speaks and yet... His dark eyed stare is so poignant, his words so very heartfelt. And truth be told, her her skips a beat at the realization of what he's asked of her. To marry him... To be his wife... Was it not what she dreamed of, if only in the privacy of her own mind? There is a warmth spreading through her and she finds herself to be nodding, over and over again nodding as she smiles brighter than she's ever smiled in all of her life. And then finally... She says what he's been waiting for.

"Yes."

When he rises up, she rises along with him, her heart singing as his hands slide into place against her cheeks. He could have spent forever right there in those gardens with her, if only time would allow. But he knows soon they must return to the ball and then to a new life they would build for themselves.

A happy world, a perfect world.

[elvish-sky]

All You Had Ever Dreamed {Fili x Reader}

A.N: So this could have gone in several directions but my brain went this way, so I hope that’s alright! Also, I think I got all the pregnancy stuff right but I’m 15 so I’m sorry if it’s inaccurate. And yes, this was supposed to be short. My bad. But I actually honestly love this fic it may be one of my favorite things I’ve ever written, thank you so much for requesting it!

Requested by @lonikje on Tumblr as part of my 450 Sleepover:

Word Count: 2,019

Pairings: Fili x Reader, mentioned Bilbo x Thorin

Summary: You faint during a training session with Kili and Dwalin.

Warnings: Fluff, mention of Menstruation, Pregnancy

**** All You Had Ever Dreamed

Whirling around, you ducked Kíli’s sword and jumped out of the way of Dwalin’s ax. You struck at Kili, feeling the block he delivered reverberate down your arm, and with one of your daggers locked together with Kili’s sword used the other to deflect another blow from Dwalin. Struggling with both of them, you disengaged and backed up, watching them regroup as you did the same. It was one of the rare days where instead of going too easy on you, Dwalin had decided that you were up for a challenge. 

Eight months after the Battle of the Five Armies, Erebor was thriving. Thorin had been gravely wounded but pulled through, and although Fíli and Kíli’s injuries were less gruesome they were still worrying, but now everyone was back on their feet and healthier than ever. Bilbo had stayed in Erebor, much to the delight of both the company and the men and elves who thought, correctly, that the hobbit would be much easier to negotiate with than the dwarves. You had also noticed some romantic tension between the hobbit and the king but had decided not to bring it up. You stuck to speculating with your husband and his brother. 

That was right. Fíli was your husband, having done a spectacularly over-the-top proposal the second he was back on his feet. You had laughed your head off to see the throne room covered in flowers when you walked in and then started sobbing with joy when you saw your dwarf bent on one knee. And then you were laughing through the tears as, after you accepted, the company appeared from the shadows to give you congratulations and Thorin had had a fancy flower crown entwined in his hair. You suspected Bilbo, and his wink confirmed it. 

You had gotten married three months later, at a ceremony attended by not only almost every dwarf in Erebor but also Kings Bard and Thranduil. It wasn’t every day that the Heir of Erebor got married, after all, and Thorin had spared no expense to make it the best celebration possible. And after the disaster that was Thorin and Bilbo’s wedding, at which Fili and Kili had gotten drunk to liven things up and almost destroyed the cake Bilbo had spent hours working on for his husband, Thorin had taken every precaution to ensure your day went off without a hitch. And somehow it had, the ceremony had taken place outside, in one of Erebor’s few outdoor courtyards. The sun had shone down on the whole gathering, the moon coming out in the night, and you thought there had never been, or ever could be such a perfect day. 

Anyway, you were currently trying not to get eviscerated by the two dwarven warriors (which wasn’t technically possible, given the fact that you were using blunt weapons, but you wouldn’t put it past Dwalin. That dwarf was strong). Twin daggers clutched, you slashed at Kíli before running up the wall and flipping over his head, unsteadily landing behind him with a dagger at his throat.

You let out a breath of satisfaction, but your dagger was suddenly knocked from your hand, Dwalin barreling towards you with his hand still extended from the throw. Leaping out of the way, your breathing grew heavier as you were driven back by the two dwarves, their efforts renewed. Your head started to feel light, sort of fuzzy, and you kept backing up, blocks growing weaker. As everything faded to black and you collapsed, the last thing you heard was Kíli.

“Fíli’s going to kill me.”

You opened your eyes, everything hazy until you blinked it into focus. You were in a large room, sunlight streaming in through the windows to highlight- was that Kíli standing above you?

“Y/N!” Kíli brushed your hair back from your forehead, looking concerned. “You fainted, are you alright?”

“What are you doing here?”

He pouted. “That’s not exactly the wake-up greeting I was expecting. And didn’t you hear what I said? You fainted in the middle of training. I carried you up to Oin, you’re in the healers’ rooms right now.”

Ahh. Well, that explained why the room was so much bigger than yours, and why there were chairs arranged around the bed you were in. 

“Thank you, Kíli. Do you know where Fíli is?”

“I think they sent for him a few minutes ago, you’ve only been out for about ten. He should be here-”

Kíli was cut off by Fíli shoving him away from your bed.

“Y/N!” The golden-haired dwarf exclaimed. “What happened? Are you alright? Why is Kíli here, and why is he touching your face?”

The dark-haired dwarf stood with a smirk. “I’ll just leave you two alone now,” he said and slipped out the door with a smirk.

“Fíli! Don’t be rude! Kíli was taking care of me!” Then realization dawned.

“Is somebody jealous?” You asked with a teasing smile. 

Fíli blushed. 

“Fíli! You shouldn’t be jealous of Kíli! First of all, it’s Kíli. If I fall in love with him, please make sure I haven’t hit my head, he’s basically my little brother. And secondly, I’ll never love anyone but you, you don’t have to worry about that.”

He smiled at you sheepishly. “I know. I was just worried, and-”

“I know,” you cut him off, grinning.

“Ah, look! It’s Oin!” You waved to the healer as he bustled in, arms full of herbs and vials. 

“Ah, Oin. What is wrong with Y/N?” Your husband inquired, the worried look on his face almost comical. 

“Well, it could be several things. Have you been eating enough?” The healer inquired about this while mixing up a tincture.

“Yes.”

“Sleeping regularly?”

Fíli nodded to answer this question. 

“How about water? Have you been drinking enough?”

“Weelllll…” you trailed off sheepishly. “I’m not the best at remembering to drink water.”

“When did you last have a glass today?” The healer was now looking a little worried.

You cast around in your memory. “I had a glass at breakfast, but I haven’t had any more today.”

“WHAT?! YOU HAVEN’T HAD ANYTHING TO DRINK SINCE BREAKFAST?!!! IT’S THE MIDDLE OF THE AFTERNOON!” Fili was furious. Oin was nodding in agreement as well.

“I’m sorry!” You exclaimed. “I’ve just been so busy lately, and I’ve been aching so it’s more trouble than it’s worth to go all the way down to the kitchens.”

“Aching, you say?”

When you nodded, Oin came to your bedside. 

“When was your last monthly bleeding?”

Fili blushed at this, and you swatted him before counting in your head.

OH.

“It’s been almost three months. We’ve been so busy I didn’t even notice!”

“Then that’s it. You fainted not only because of dehydration, which you’ll need to be much better at but also because you’re pregnant.”

“Wait. What?” Fili looked shocked. 

Oin smiled at you, leaving the room.

Fili gazed down at you. “Are you really pregnant?”

You nodded. “I am. I hadn’t noticed the signs before but now that I know it’s blindingly obvious. We’re going to have a baby.” 

He lifted you from the bed, spinning you around in joy before suddenly stopping. 

“That can’t be good for the baby.”

You laughed. “It’s fine, Fili! I’m fine. And we’re going to be parents.”

He smiled, kissing you.

Later that day, you sat with the Company and Thorin’s sister, Dis, now your mother-in-law, in the rooms of the royal family where you all often ate. Sitting at the table, which had been built specifically for the group of sixteen, Fili kept refilling your water glass every thirty seconds. You made sure to drink enough, now that your body was supporting two. Fili glanced at you, and you realized the table had hushed, you hadn’t noticed the sound of Fili’s spoon against his glass gathering everyone’s attention.

He stood, taking your hand and pulling you up to stand next to him. “We have an announcement.”

Everyone was staring at you both expectantly, and Fili nodded at you to continue.

Smiling, you spoke. “I’m pregnant.”

“We’re going to have a baby!” Fili exclaimed. 

The table erupted in cheers and well-wishes. 

“So that’s why you fainted earlier!” 

You silently cursed Kili, knowing that now the overprotective side of the dwarves would emerge full force. And it did, Thorin started listing everything he needed to be done for you before Dis shushed him. The king then walked up to you, arms open, and hugged you.

“Congratulations, Y/N.” 

He then moved on, slapping Fili on the back before stepping back to allow the rest of the company to give their congratulations as well. 

Oin winked at you as he hugged you, and said, “I would never spoil your surprise.” The rest of the group gave out hugs and congratulations to you and Fili, and you glowed with happiness, knowing there were few people better than these for your child to grow up with. Finally, Kili stepped forward. 

“I’m going to have a niece or a nephew! Congratulations, Y/N, you’re going to be a great mother.” He then mock-whispered, “but I’d watch out around Fili. I’m not sure he’ll do as well.” 

Fili punched his brother before grabbing him in another hug, their words whispered too softly for anyone else to hear.

Lastly, Dis came forward, wrapping you in a warm, motherly embrace. “My son is right, Y/N. You will be a wonderful mother. And, if you need any help, don’t hesitate to come to me. Mahal knows I have the experience.”

You thanked her, smiling before she ushered you and Fili out the door. “Now go to bed. It’s late, and you need your rest.” She closed the door behind you, your last glimpse a room of smiling faces.

Back in the rooms that you shared with your husband, you crawled into bed, hair loose, in your favorite nightgown. Fili motioned for you to move closer, so you did, resting your head on his chest as his arm snaked around your shoulders, hand coming to rest on top of yours, where you were unconsciously cradling your belly. He began to sing, a tune that you recognized from the beginning of your quest, so long ago.

“Far over, the Misty Mountains cold,

To dungeons deep, and caverns old.” Fili’s voice wove the song masterfully, and you were taken back to the first time you had met him, almost two years before.

You had stepped into a hobbit-hole of calm, and hearing the sound of voices walked through, careful not to hit your head until you came upon a room of singing dwarves. 

You paused in the doorway, letting their song wash over you. 

“The fire was red, it flaming spread.

The trees like torches blazed with light.”

They finished, and you stepped into the room. All the heads immediately turned towards you. 

“Who are you?” A golden-haired dwarf looked suspicious.

You drew breath to answer, but before you could Gandalf stepped into the room.

“This is Y/N. She will be joining us on our quest.”

The dark-haired dwarf by the fire that looked rather grumpy made as if to protest, but a glare from Gandalf stopped him. The other dwarves quickly introduced themselves, and the golden-haired one stepped up last.

“Y/N, huh?”

You nodded.

“I’m Fili.”

Now, almost two years later, you were in the reclaimed mountain they had sung of, lying in bed with the golden-haired dwarf who had originally been so suspicious of you.

“We’re going to have a baby,” Fili said with a look of wonder, and you smiled at the tears of joy starting to roll down his face. 

“We are.”

You kissed him, so alight with the happiness you thought you could burst, before breaking away and laying your head back on his chest. Laying there, you could hear his heartbeat, beating almost in time with your own. You couldn’t wait until the third would join them. With your husband next to you, and a baby growing inside, you finally had all you had ever dreamed of. And it was perfect.

Everything tag 💞: @entishramblings @itgetsatadhazy @boyruins @anjhope1 @wellofeternalthirst @kumqu4t @katbby16

[vibratingbones]

I am at your side

Words: 4k

Tags: Angst(?), argument, fluff

FemaleReader x Galadriel 

As her maid, it is your duty to report informations to Lady Galadriel, even if they might break her...

First Age

It was such a beautiful morning. Autumn offered its shimmering colors, red and golden leaves contrasted with the whiteness of the early frost on the grass.

You were standing at a window on the Menegroth’s Palace, taking some moments to appreciate the beautiful landscape of Beleriand before going back to your work.

You were Lady Galadriel's maid, the one who organised everything around her so she wouldn’t be interrupted in her duties by something trivial. You were at her service to anticipate every need she might have and to provide a solution to any problem she might encounter in her everyday life.

Needless to say you were constantly by her side and a great trust had built between the two of you over time, so much that you were introduced to the other members of the court as not a mere servant, but her lady companion. You take great pride in this and in your abilities in your work.

Your gaze was fixed at the sunrise, progressively illuminating all the realm of their Royal Highnesses Thingol and Melian.

With your eyes closed and your arms opened, you take a deep breath of the early fresh air and let the mist caress the skin on your face as it fades away before the sun.

You were glad to be able to move here with your Lady. Due to your trade you didn't really have the occasion to travel around the world. You were delighted to hear Lady Galadriel required your presence during her residency in Menegroth, and you were determined to make this stay the most refined experience for the both of you. After all, not everyone got the chance to learn from Queen Melian in her own city.

It had been almost a year since you both moved to Menegroth, and though at first, Lady Galadriel dedicated all her soul to her duty, you could say that her beautiful enthusiasm had slightly... faded. 

She still assumed her charges with great rigor, but you could see that her heart was not there anymore.

It wasn’t your place nor your right to ask her about it ; if she wanted you to know she would have already told you. You knew the best way to help her out was to do your job properly and you were determined to do it impeccably.

Luck was on your side as the royal couple had to gone to inspect the Girdle of Melian, the work schedule of your Lady is reduced. She could take a day off to enjoy all Doriath had to offer and relieve some stress.

When you opened your eyes again, Arien’s ship illuminated the realm before you and her light slowly reached the Palace. It was now time to get to your work. As you walked away from the stone arches to the stairs, you started thinking about the morning of Lady Galadriel. A hot cup of tea in a cold and relaxing bath would be perfect to start her day.

You walked down the stairs and corridors, your feet following the rhythm of an old melody the King Finrod once taught you. 

He was always nice to you when you were young, and even as a king he seemed so approachable and open minded. But still, he was an odd character. He always seemed pleased, whenever the circumstances were and you find his...interest for mankind misplaced. You didn't hate humans, far from that, but the less they interfered with the Elves, the better the both species lived. Everything was fine in the royal family before Princess Lúthien met that man... Berin? Beran? It didn’t matter. King Finrod also seemed to have him in sympathy and it worried your Lady, but there was nothing to do about it. You just hoped her older brother was alright, with his oath to accomplish.

You finally reached the kitchens. Everyone has already started their work and you had to prepare the light meal while trying to avoid all the agitation. You almost got hit by a plate on your head, but a quite fair waiter flew to your rescue and you avoided a catastrophe... But not a sideslip on the floor... With some condiments... With the waiter.

“Dear Lord! I am sorry Miss, this platter is truly heavy and I couldn’t concentrate on obstacles on my way, I should have paid more at—”

You stopped him with a gesture of the hand. Obviously he was new on the job. It was pointless to start a scene in front of his colleagues. Even if his clumsiness had just ruined your dress. 

“It's alright, boy. Just remember to watch where you’re going and always distribute the weight correctly,” you said, rearranging what was left of the items on the silver surface to illustrate your words. He watched how your experienced hands moved to learn from them. 

“Here! Just like that,” you added with a comforting smile. He smiled back at you with embarrassment and gratitude before his boss called him back to hearth with vehemence and he flew away to his task. You watched with amusement until his superior glared at you, clearly inviting you to get back on track.

While you were gathering some fresh fruits in a cup, you couldn’t help but to observe her methods to lead the brigade of servers, and Valar... You thought you were hard with your subordinates, but you have room for improvement! Maybe you should borrow some of her methods... No, your subordinates would hate you for sure.

The poor boy, thanks to this little misadventure, had caught her attention and she was ready to scold him at every minute mistakes he could make, barking at him in front of all their teammates, who had the decency to mind their own business. You guessed that perfection and adamancy are prices to pay to be able to serve the greatest people in the world. It reminded you of your own debut as a maid—how many times had you had to keep your jaws crushed closed in front of your superiors? Too many for your taste, to be honest, but you were the boss now, thanks to the discipline and the abnegation they taught you. It was hard, but it was worth enduring. 

Before you left, you glanced back at the servant and the barking butler. She was still harsh but demonstrated more efficient ways to navigate through a crowd with weight. You smiled to yourself. He would be alright. He just needed time to gain some experience. And you, you missed time to change your clothes. Bad luck ; it would have to wait. You had already run out of time, and picked up the pace. 

On your way, an ellon between some columns caught your eye. The Lord Celeborn. You had already noticed Lady Galadriel’s interest in him, and his in her. Or rather, you had "unintentionally" overheard a conversation where he admitted it to one of his friends. And you were maybe, or maybe not, the reason behind some of their encounters in some strangely convenient, quiet, intimate places. 

He surely didn't suspect a thing from you ; you know how to make yourself transparent next to your Lady. But you were almost certain that she knew. 

She just let you plot. Surely it amused her : she once told you that your sneaky side reminds her of her cousins, some redheaded twins. She went quiet when you implied you didn't have the pleasure to know them. You didn't try to know more. 

You would have loved to learn one or two other things about Celeborn, but you were already late and in a messy state. How unlike you! 

While you traveled through an unreasonably huge room near the entrance, you heard the sound of a massive wood door slamming against a wall and a bunch of rushed footsteps. You overheard some hushed and stressed voices among the clatters of armor. Had something happened to their Highnesses? If so, your duty would be to inform your Lady, so she can advise for the future.

As you got closer to the entrance, some other attendants and companions of the nobility were already gathered with some guards, undeniably those who have just returned. The moment you reached out to them, the leader of the patrollers was silencing the little crowd, a broad smile on his face. 

"Peace! Peace, please. The divine providence has given us back our Princess!" 

Murmurs and prayers of relief browsed the assembly. At last, the Princess was finally home. You also felt relieved. The eight of months of worries and sorrow will finally be removed from the shoulders of their Royals Highness! 

The captain hushed the group again, with a more concerned expression. 

"You! Go find the healers and conduct them to the Heir and her human consort. They have been injured during their journey. You! Take a horse and gallop to the King and Queen, hurry!" 

The Princess was injured? Assuredly it's not a pleasant thing, but she was alive and with her loved one. The House of Thingol was now safe… So why did you feel a pressure in your throat? When you looked at the captain, you felt a deep unease, as if he would add something terrible. You waited, holding your breath. 

He seemed to seek someone in the crowd with a concerned gaze.

“Is someone here under the order of the Lady Galadriel?” he asked.

Valar… Here we go. You cleared your throat and responded with a confident voice.

“I am!”

He spotted you in the multitude and started approaching you while the others followed his orders. You straightened your back, to give an assurance. He guided you away from the other and you asked under your breath.

“What’s the matter?”

He looked at you dead in the eye and replied.

“Miss, it is about her brother. Something happened to King Finrod…”

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

You felt sick, your feet guided you through some corridors to Lady Galadriel's apartments but your vision was blurred. You couldn't stop thinking, so much information swirled in every direction in your head… 

The Princess, the silmaril, the tea, your dress, your Lady, the oath... King Finrod… You felt the nausea rising in your throat. 

How?

Why?

Your head spun so much you had to take support on the wall, the heart right behind your lips. How were you going to announce this to Lady Galadriel ? Her dear brother. They didn't deserve this fate. 

The rest of the court has been warned the Princess was back, but the truth about King Finrod was confidential, at least for now. You distinguished yourself from the opulent cheerfulness and felicity with your pale face. All the songs of gladness couldn't reach your heart, closed by the truth.

Now, stay focused! You had to inform your Lady. What kind of aid faints while giving news to their master, as bad and terrible as the news could be?

As you get back some senses, a light tune reached your ears. The crowd in the Palace was singing in joy and among every melody in existence, they have chosen the one Finrod taught you. What were the odds…

You finally reached Lady Galadriel’s door, heavy hearted. As your hand was about to knock, all the past few weeks with her instantly flashed in your mind. Her odd affliction who grew up so suddenly, tainted her fëa. And now this…

You took several seconds and a deep breath before knocking. You waited again for several seconds before hearing a response.

“Come in.”

Her voice was firm as always, but a little muffled. You swallowed and entered the room with the most neutral face you could feign. You definitely couldn’t step in with a huge smile like nothing happened, but you couldn’t alarm her either.

You found her in a chair by her balcony. You were glad it was oriented to the waterfalls of the mountains and not to the inner garden were everyone was singing, at least you had some privacy.

“Good morning, milady. How is the view today?” you asked, walking to a table to serve the tea.

Okay, you surely had more inspired lines before. 

“It’s nothing new,” she replied.

She, also, had better comebacks. 

You observed her while you brought a cup. Seated on a low chair, she silently observed the horizon. Her complexion reflected her exhaustion, with darker tones under the eyes and waxen cheeks. She hugged herself, and you mentally traced the circuit of veins under the skin of her arms that were now visible.

The blond of her hair was now dull, you remembered from the last time you groomed her mane: the comb emerged with many wires of fallen hair, which is highly unusual for elves. You tried to inform her casually, and she then refused to be curled by someone else than herself since.

Your throat twisted more at the sight of the elleth who once was an unwavering lady. 

Even thought she was able to disguise her state under a mask of dignity and fool everyone else, inside her room, in the intimacy of her private cocoon, you could only watch the diminishment of her health. Day by day you saw her fading with a constricting feeling of helplessness. 

“Are you well?” 

Her question brought you back to reality, you realised you were standing next to her, silently staring at her while she waited for her cup. Now that her face was turned to you, you could see the fatigue in her eyes… 

"I'm sorry, my Lady. I'm fine… " you answered, "... While you savour your tea, I will prepare you a bath for you to relax."

You desperately needed time to clear your mind and prepare yourself. This was also her last peaceful morning before long, she deserved some time for herself before you broke her heart definitively…

"Wait."

You stopped dead on your tracks. 

"My Lady?"

"Stay with me, I would enjoy some company this morning."

Without a word you filled an empty teacup and took a chair beside her. 

"Thank you. My tea always tastes better when I drink it with a friend," she added with a sweet but low voice. 

You gently clattered your cups and admired the colours of the waterfalls under the morning sun. You just took a cup for the act, to please her, but felt like you could never take a sip of it. While you both remained silent, you could sometimes hear the sound of footsteps rushing towards the hall with some giggles. You played nervously with your goblet, knowing that you couldn't keep the truth from her eternally, that you should tell her now before she hears it from someone else in a far less convenient situation… 

But you couldn’t…

You were out of words.

Everytime you tried to tell her, your words got stuck in your throat or disappeared the moment they reached your mouth.

How could you possibly tell her that her beloved brother, the most gentle soul you had come across in your millennium life, was dead? His body was buried so far away, she wouldn't be able to mourn him at his sepulchre… 

You looked at her, to engrave her vision in your memory. She looked so frail at this moment, would the news finish her off? Would she lose her will and seek to join him?

And you? Would you be able to endure it? To lose her?

After the death of the brother, could you handle the loss of your Lady?

Your...

oh...

so dear...

Lady

Your sunshine.

A gentle touch on your cheek wakes you up from your trance. 

Your gaze was still fixed on Lady Galadriel, as she brushed off a single tear rolling out of your eye.

“Talk to me, my dear. What happened? You are usually so jovial, but your fëa is submerged by shadows today.”

You couldn't help but to rest your head in the warmth of her palm. 

You were deplorable, she was the one who lost her brother and she was the one comforting you. You clenched your jaws and removed all your tears with the back of your hand.

“My lady, I am sorry to present myself to you in such an inappropriate state.” 

You take a deep breath as you rose up from your seat to gather yourself.

“My Lady, I do have something to tell you!” 

Your own words seemed to strangle yourself, but you were able to keep an assured voice.

“This morning, her Highness Princess Lúthien came back with her human consort to the court, safe and sound."

You were about to continue when you saw her cower. Somehow, this information seemed to trouble her immensely. 

You watched her shudder, unsure how to continue this conversation now. 

And then… 

It just clicked in your mind. 

Your eyes widened, dead silent before your sudden realisation.

"You knew..."

———————

She looked up at you, with a silent pleading in her eyes. 

You didn't want to believe it, but it would explain everything. 

"You knew… He would never return, and you just let him go."

"I did not just let him go!" she replied with a voice filled with anger. 

She let a frustrated sigh escape but remained calm. 

"I did know what was going to happen. I foresaw it the day he described to me his first encounter with mankind."

You just sat in silence on your chair again. You didn't want to interrupt her. 

"I warned him his passion towards mortals will harm him, but he just stayed still with the most elated smile I have ever seen…"

She looked right in front of her, reviving the instant, as if King Finrod was really there with you. 

"He just said: Let it be, sister, for if it is my destiny to die at the side of men, I will take it as an honor.He was so confident, so determined. I knew I wouldn't be able to make him reconsider… I'm sure you know it is impossible to say no to him when he makes up his mind...”

Oh yes, you knew.

 “It happened such a long time ago… I even convinced myself my vision was nothing more than a projection of my fears and not a fragment of the future. I even.... managed to forget about it. Until he announced to me about his oath.”

Her voice cracked while speaking of  this... accursed oath. You started to sense the ire slowly rising in your veins. Why did she had to suffer all of this ? 

"Everything came back in my mind with such force. I tried to convince him one last time, but… I knew I wouldn’t succeed. For his destiny was already decided… his death was for a greater good that I can't see yet."

She stopped, out of breath, as if speaking required too much energy. 

You both jumped out of your skins when some younglings started to bange at all the doors of the corridors while gigglings and yelling about the return of the Princess. It looks like celebrations revealed the most silly side of the younger generation. 

Lady Galadriel stood up to regain a certain composure, her gaze at the horizon. 

A strange silence between you hung up in the air after the laughs of the younglings, deafening and stifling but it was still more comfortable than the reality of your situation. You had the childish thought that if you didn’t speak about it then it wouldn’t be real anymore, that you could open the door of her apartment and King Finrod would have been behind it the whole time, just wanting to surprise his cherished little sister.

Alas, reality has rarely resorted to such niceties. Happy endings are for old melodies.

Surely this is why we sing them…

"It pains me greatly… Never again I will wake up to his harp morning practice. He loved so much to see his city awakening under his notes. Never again he will come to me to aid him with his accounting." She chuckled a little. "He hated it!" 

"I know! I spent several sleepless nights helping you because he couldn't help falling asleep while working on it," You added while joining her side on the balcony. "I am sure we both know the economic state of his kingdom better than himself!" 

You both laughed at those memories.

It felt right, it felt… liberating. 

But she quickly became silent again.

"When we were children, he promised me he would guide me to the altar the day of my wedding if our parents couldn't… He already had his costume ready, way before I found my soulmate."

Indeed, it sounded just like him. 

"Now I would have to descend the aisle alone. It is the only promise he won't be able to accomplish."

Tears fell down silently from her exhausted face.

You were sympathetic to her but you couldn’t fully understand the depth of her pain and distress for none of your loved ones had died. You could only imagine what she was going through and offer her warmth and little comfort.

"It pains me so much it is killing me. I can feel it, deep in my flesh. It started..."

“... when your brother died,” you guessed.

“Yes. The very moment he passed away, his voice reached me. I heard his wail in my sleep and his last scream keeped me awake for the rest of the night until you came in the morning.”

You remembered. You found her sitting on her bed oddly straight and tense. Her gaze was fixed in front of her, but seemed lost to the void. Her ailment started to appear the day after. You scolded yourself for not investigating more and accepted her excuse of a "bad night," even if she wasn't properly lying.

To be awakened by a loved one's final call must be the most dreadful experience. 

"I still hear him, you know? Everytime I close my eyes, his pleading haunts me. Every night, his cries reach me." Her voice began to be more erratic and she began trembling again. "I see him in every shadow, I catch his silhouette in the corner of my eyes but he is never here when I turn my head." 

She was fully crying now. You had never seen her like that, in such distress. 

So you overstepped your position and took her in your arms. You held her in a tight embrace to support her, for she could not fall apart. 

"Please my Lady, calm down."

She did not respond at first, but you finally felt her arms around you, pulling you even closer as if you were her last grasp on reality at this instant. 

"I see him everywhere. I know he is not here, but I can not let him go…"

You stayed silent again, while wanting to say something. Anything. But words are vain in those moments. Only time is able to cure such wounds… If they could heal at all. So you just held her tighter and let her head rested on your shoulder while feeling her tears soaked through your dress. She buried her face in your neck. 

You weren’t sure how much time passed that way and you just started to cradle her gently. You were certain it was inappropriate but you feel like if you didn’t have to follow the protocol and the etiquette for once, it would be now!

You listened to her, made her sure you were attentive to her pain and offered the warmth of a presence.

However, you were not prepared for what she was saying next. 

"I am sorry…" 

Her voice was so low and hoarse, you were not sure of what you had just heard. 

"For what, my Lady?" 

"For my lack of bravery… I have to be strong for my people, particularly now, with the chaos that is to come. But… I feel so helpless! I can't clearly see the threat which rises upon us, I have not been able to prevent the death of my brothers… …”

You moved away from her, incredulous, and locked your eyes to hers.

“You are brave! Braver than most of us, many could not do your duty as well as you did under mourning. Don’t lose faith in yourself. We are all with you… I am with you.”

You took a step back and knelt before her. She watched you quietly in confusion.

“I wish to reassert my loyalty and take an oath of allegiance to my Lady.”

Head bowed and right hand closed over your heart, you started to declaim your vows with an assured voice. 

“Here, I swear on my head I shall faithfully perform my duties to the best of my abilities. I shall never embarrass or bring shame over the House of my Lady and her Blood...”

You raised your head to see her face with a sight full of determination.

“But above all, I swear to follow you everywhere, in Light as in Darkness, in Arda as in oblivion, in honour as in infamy. To be faithful to your Person and your Name, and to never leave your sight at any given time during our earthly lives and beyond death.”

Galadriel listened to you respectfully, her tears drying while she regained her composure. 

She silently gave you her hand, which you kissed and brought to your forehead almost religiously. 

“Rise up.”

You obeyed, now determined to protect and serve your Lady at all cost and your instinct told you that it will happen sooner than you could imagine. 

She observed you quietly as she was taking the measure of your words. She placed a chaste kiss on your lips to seal your vows. 

You secretly wished the kiss was more lingering, but you kept it for yourself.

“Thank you,” she responded. 

Her breath was still short, but her voice had regained her assertiveness. 

You both turned back to the waterfalls, the songs slowly reached your ears again now that the emotion started to come down. 

In fact, everything seemed more clear now. You felt lighter, as if a blindfold had been removed from your eyes as the fog dissipated under the rays of a morning sun. 

You had now faith in the future.

At the side of your Lady, together, you felt confident you could face anything destiny had prepared for you.

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

Specials thanks to @arofili​ for their help during the entire process ! ❤️

This is my first fic, constructive criticism will be much appreciated :)

[a-cupof-jo]

Love Under Firelight

Pairing: Royal Adviser!Taeyong x Queen!Fem!Reader

Genre: Fluff, Royalty AU

WC: 1.5k

Warnings: one curse word

Summary:  On the night of the princesses 20th birthday, the castle caught fire. She became queen the next morning. Palace guards gave reports of an accidental gas leak that caught a spark igniting the royal sleeping quarters of the palace. Really it was pure luck that kept the princess from dying in that fire. For the kingdom wouldn’t have survived without her.

For @ficscafe fic scenario event

Prompt: 13

“Dance with me.”

“But… there’s no music.”

“I don’t mind. Do you?

A/n: This will eventually be apart of a longer fic, but I didn’t want to rush the fic. This prompt made me get more inspiration for this fic so I wanted to put this snippet out as part of ficscafe’s scenario event!

~~

Moonlight lit the pathway through the garden as you trekked on further into the night. It has always been your escape and your lens to true beauty, for the garden at night was forever the most ethereal thing you had witnessed. Frogs croaked at the ponds and the owls kept the night from growing so still. 

Hedges hid you as you weaved from flower bed to flower bed until you reached a small entrance way that opened to a small area. A fountain sat in the center of it and you hoped that other than the palace gardeners that you were the only one who remembered this place. You had to have been as the gardener had always been the one to find you here when you would escape as a child.

A night breeze carried the light scent of moonflowers through the area and you wandered over to the large flower bed. Stepping carefully through the moonflowers you stepped up to the Datura that grew in behind it. You spent much of your childhood in studies and took up an interest in the flowers of the garden and the Datura flower had always been one of the most interesting flowers to you. The gardener had spent hours teaching you about plants and different uses and purposes they served. When she had gotten to the Datura not much was to be said. It was often confused for a moonflower and past ancestors had used it as a nearly undetectable poison. 

You took a light sniff of it and wondered if the gardener had realized that it wasn’t even a week later that 16 year old you had planted the first Datura plant in this secluded part of the castle garden. She probably had, the woman was too observant. 

You sighed as you walked back over to the short fountain that had three paths of water flowing out of it. The advisors weren’t going to give up on Dehale. They wanted you to give up your throne, your crown, and be the bride to the heir of another kingdom all under the guise that it would strengthen bonds and tie alliances. Bullshit if you asked her. The most ridiculous of excuses. Those withering old men want to put one of their cronies on the throne and run the kingdom. Like you would let that happen. You scoffed at the words of Lord Soo Man this evening. If he thinks that you will give up your throne so easily, worries of how you got the crown are no longer a concern of yours. “Should have put the Datura in his tea.”

“My queen,” your head snapped up to the figure standing in the arched hedge leading into your space. “Datura is quite the poisonous plant. I would not advise you to give it to any living creature.” You sighed as Taeyong stepped into the shining light. He was always handsome and strong. You had known that for years and just when you thought he couldn’t get any more attractive, he proved you wrong. 

You smiled as he walked closer to you, “Lord Taeyong, I think you are well aware of my knowledge on all the plants in the palace gardens.” 

He gave you a knowing smirk, “You have proved yourself a very knowledgeable botanist. I myself would love to learn more about the wonders of your gardens. For example, did you know that it took me nearly 30 minutes to track you down here?” He looked around the area in wonder. Tall vines reached up arches and pink creeping phloxes trailed around bush edges. 

“30 minutes,” you were surprised. Truly no one had found you here before. Even Johnny who had grown up in the palace with you. “You found my haven in 30 minutes?” 

Taeyong looked sheepish as he reached a hand out for you to grab, “To be fair, I may have been following you through the garden and lost you around ten yards from there.” He pointed to the entrance hedge. “I was just pushing on the hedge for 30 minutes trying to figure out where you slipped through.  

You threw your head back in a laugh as he hesitantly told you the truth to his adventure here. “And here I thought I would have to kill you. No one finds my hiding spot and lives.” 

Taeyong raised an eyebrow at you, “So how many intruders have you had that it warrants instant death?”

You knew he was joking around and you grinned as he sat next to you, “Too many. So many suitors and knights waiting to find me at my most vulnerable.” His smile dampened as the words left your lips. You reached up and cupped his jaw, “None. My haven has been seen by two, now three, sets eyes. Me, you, and the gardener. Our whereabouts are known by no one.” 

Taeyong let out a shaky breath, “Then, I guess it would be okay if I did this.” He leaned forward, capturing your lips with his. His kiss was long and deep, leaving you breathless and wanting more. “I have been waiting to do that all day.”

“You couldn't wait until tonight?” 

“If you haven’t noticed, it is well past sunset, my queen.” 

“Please, Taeyong, you know I hate when you use that title.” 

He gave you an impish grin, “I know, my queen”

You rolled your eyes and gave him a light shove, “Did you follow me just to tease me or do you have a reason for our late night rendezvous?”

 Taeyong wrapped his arms around you, “I just wanted to be with you. Lately, things have been…”

“A disaster?” You looked back at him. 

He gave you a light grin, “To put it lightly.”  You sighed leaning into him as the night drew on. He traced small patterns on your arms as you began to doze off. “Dance with me.”

“What,” you sat up. You glanced around the grounds. The glow of the moon illuminated his face, “But… there’s no music.”

“I don’t mind,” he shrugged. “Do you? Cause if I am recalling correctly, I remember rosy cheeked newly twenty year old asking me to dance in that quiet corridor during her birthday ceremony.”

“Is that what we are calling that now? Dancing?” You tried to cover the smile that pressed at your lips.

Taeyong grinned as he pulled you from the bench, “Love, it was dancing. You just thought there was more because you were so drunk.”

“Drunk on you.” You laughed as he gripped your hands leading you to the grass on the other side of the pebble stone walkway. “Okay, so there may have been dancing, but you know that night can’t just be pinned on me. Plus, I couldn’t have been that drunk.”

“Of course not,” he stepped in close to you. Swaying as a low hum rang from his throat. You sighed as he slowly began to sing soft words and lyrics to a song he had created just moments ago. He held you tight and you couldn’t help but think that this may be the last night that you would be able to do this for a long time. You closed your eyes as he kissed the top of your head, “What’s wrong, Love?” 

You tucked your head into his shoulder. His adam's apples bobbed as you stayed silent longer, “I’m scared.” You didn’t want to admit it, but the council was starting to feel like an immovable force. “What if they actually find a way to make me marry him? What if they take me away from you?” 

He gripped you tighter, “That’s not going to happen.” You looked up into his eyes. “I won’t let it happen. It’s not just me on your side. Doyoung, Johnny, Ten, Yuta, and more are here to fully support you. Those old hags aren’t going to be shipping you off to Dehale anytime soon. Besides, my queen will not bow to a man of any nation. She rules with kindness, grace, and fiery passion. A king could only hope to be half the ruler she is.” He spoke softly, his words caressing you like a mother's lullaby. 

“I love you,” you spoke into his neck. The cologne he had put on this morning barely clung to skin anymore leaving way for the scent of light musk and a midday sweat. 

He kissed the top of your head again before trailing kisses down your face. He paused for a moment leaving only a sliver of room between your lips, “Not as much as I love you.” You pressed into him. Breathing in his scent and letting his body comfort you. All worries you had disappeared as he deepened the kiss and you let out a low hum. 

The kiss broke apart as a yell pierced the night. Both of your heads snapped toward the palace as another voice rang out. You could feel dread fill your body as the voices words met your ears, “Fire in the royal quarters!”

~~

tag list: @qianinterprises @stayctday @infnteen

[the-broken-truth]

Darius Beneviento - Dinner With The Silverstreams [Part 4]

Broken Truth: Hello Everyone! If you remember from the drawing of Darius Beneviento - he is the formerly ill son of Donna Beneviento from an ask by my friend @k1ngm1nt. Last time, Darius told his mother he was interested in someone and now...it's time for the dinner between The Benevientos & The Silverstreams! Huge takes to @k1ngm1nt for helping me out with it. Now, let the words weave together!!

[House Beneviento - Kitchen]

Donna peeked around the threshold of the kitchen, watching her son as he prepared divine meals for the...interlopers...she means 'guests' that would be arriving soon. Donna groaned at the thought of other people coming to her house - but if anything bothered her more than people, it was the fact those people were coming about her son. Darius told her that he was interested in the Eldest Daughter of the Silverstream Family - Stella was her name if Donna remembered correctly - and the two of them had been talking for a while but the Father - Mr. Marcus Silverstream - and his 2 twin sons - Max and Strider - weren't too fond of their only daughter/sister talking to a boy who was - according to them - a bad seed. Darius went over to their house yesterday and asked them to come to Beneviento Manor for dinner and conversation to show that he wasn't as bad as they believed; he even asked their preferred meals so they could be prepared.

"I don't get why they have to come." Donna heard Angie said Darius as he placed the finishing touches on Mrs. Silverstreams Tomato Soup.

"I've explained it before, Ang, we're having them over for dinner so they could see I'm not a bad person and hopefully give their blessing for me to date Stella." Darius explained again as he carried to soup to its tray and placed the cover over it.

"I still don't see why you want to get some stupid human girl's attention. You have Donna and I, aren't we enough to keep you happy?" Angie asked as she jumped on Darius's shoulder, only for him to place her on her feet.

"Family-wise, you and Mom are the only ones I really need but I eventually want a family of my own. I want to fall in love, Angie." Darius said as he removed the apron and smoothed out any possible wrinkles in his suit. Angie was about to say something else when Darius's silver eyes widened when he realized he forgot his grandfather's brooch on the cushion on the pillow on the nightstand in his room. He excused himself and began to power walk, then jog up the stairs.

"I don't like this." Angie said as she walked closer to Donna's side.

"I don't like it either, Angie, but I couldn't deny him this; he's been through a lot and as his mother I want him to be happy. Maybe it will be over and we won't have to deal with those...people, then Darius can continue to be happy at home with us, where he belongs." Donna said as she looked at the set table - too many plates for Donna's liking.

It would be a few moments before a knock came at the door of House Beneviento and the Blood Heir came marching down the stairs with the brooch polished over his heart as he marched over to the door and pulled it open with a smile - meeting 3 collective glares, a nervous smile, and an embarrassed face.

"Mr. Silverstream and Family, Welcome to House Beneviento. Please, come in and takes your seats." Darius said as he gave a light bow and moved aside so the family could enter.

"Hmph, what a glorified doorman." Marcus huffed as he walked in, looking around the house with uninterested eyes. His sons followed behind him with the same scowls on their face, followed by their mother who gave the boy a 'Thank you, dear' before following her husband, and finally, Stella - the one who was stealing her son from her - walked and looked at Darius; Angie and Donna glared at her.

"Sorry about my dad and brothers, Darius; they still don't want to accept that I want my own life." Stella said as Darius lifted himself to smile at her - that smile made Donna's blood boil.

"It's not your fault, Starlight. Let's just hope the dinner will go well and we won't have to...ya know." Darius looked nervous as 'ya know'. What was 'ya know'? Did he mean to break up? Oh, the very thought made Donna and the Doll smile.

"Boy! Where are food and drinks?!" The roaring voice of Marcus Silverstream called from his seat.

"Yeah, we were promised food! Where is it?!" Max barked after his father.

"One moment, please." Darius said as he and Stella began walking over to the table. The Young Heir pulled out his girlfriend's chair before standing straight. "I have a collection of wines 0r acholic drinks for you to try or even ciders if you aren't the kind for acholic beverages." Darius said with a smile.

"What do you have so much booze? Are you a drunkard?" Strider asked with a smirk.

"I don't really drink but my aunt has a wine business while my uncle tends to come into whiskey, beers, and cigars a lot; he gives them to me think that I would like them so I act them to be polite but I don't use them." Darius explained.

"Tch, yeah right." Marcus said as he rolled his eyes.

"Dear, you know the boy doesn't drink - you can tell that just by looking at his skin. And judging by the pure white of his eyes, he doesn't smoke either." Mrs. Silverstream said.

"Shelia, you don't know that. He could be doing some kind of trick to make us think he doesn't smoke and drink, he could very well be an abuser." Marcus said.

"Excuse me, Mr. Silverstream, but my son is not an abuser. I would be grateful if you watched your mouth about my son." Donna said as she narrowed her eye at Marcus.

Broken Truth: Quick Note - Darius made Donna a special eye patch that covers her Cadou Scar so she doesn't always have to wear her veil.

"It's fine, Mother. I'll be back with the food and drinks." Darius said as he excused himself with a slight bow and walked into the kitchen.

"You guys are horrible, you told me that you would be kind to him. He's done nothing to you." Stella glared at her father and brothers.

"Dear, we're just trying to keep you safe." Marcus said.

"Bullcrap, you just don't wanna accept that I want my own life that doesn't involve you or the shop." Stella retorted.

After a while, Darius came with the rolling tray holding the food and gave each person the food they ordered. He once again asked for what everyone wanted to drink and retrieved it once he was given the answers. The table was silent for a while as everyone ate their food and consumed their drinks.

"This soup is perfect, Darius." Shelia said as she looked at the silver-eyed heir, "Tell me, did you make this yourself?" She asked.

"Yes, ma'am. I got my grandmother's recipe book and I thought it would be good to see if I had the Beneviento Touch when it came to food." Darius said.

"I have to say you do, dear. This is very delicious." Shelia said.

"Yeah, it's good enough." Marcus said as he wiped his mouth with the napkin, giving Darius hope...until he said, "Good enough to be a cook but not my daughter's boyfriend." He threw the napkin down on the empty plate.

"Yeah, and this booze tastes expensive as hell. Just where the fuck did you get this?" Strider asked.

"As I've said before, my aunt owns a wine business and she gives me bottles from time to time." Darius said.

"Just who is your aunt?" Max asked.

"Lady Alcina Dimitrescu." Darius answered, making everyone look at him wide-eyed.

"That big bitch is your aunt? I guess Lord Heisenberg is your uncle and Mother Miranda is your Grandmother?" Marcus said.

"You would be right but don't call my aunt a bitch, please, it's not polite." Darius said as he tried to keep himself calm.

"Must be nice, being related to the 4 Lords - all the money you could want and get anything without having to work hard for it." Max snarled at him.

"I'm not a spoiled rich kid and none of their money is my own, I don't go around with my hand out and ask my mother, aunt, uncles, or grandmother for anything. If I want something, I work for it and I won't do anything dishonorable; that's not who I am." Darius said.

"What do you do for a job, kid? How do you get your money?" Marcus asked.

"I do freelance work around the village, if people need something do that others don't want to do, I take care of it. When no one asks, I do runs for the Duke and he gives me 45% of whatever he makes at the end of the day." Darius answered without fail.

"What do you even like my sister? We don't have money and we have an antique and book shop." Max said.

"Stella is an amazing person, she's nice to talk to and she always has something wise to say. She listens to me and doesn't hound for my money like every other girl in this village does. She has a calm aura that draws me to her and it makes me happy just being around her; I don't even need to talk, just hearing her voice is enough." Darius said - Stella blushing behind her hand.

"Tell me something - you have the village lords and the high priestess as your family, what's that like?" Strider asked.

"I love my family, more than anything in this world; but there are even things your family can't give you. I want to fall in love and maybe have a family of my own, not now but somewhere in the future." Darius explained. There was a moment of silence before Marcus spoke again.

"Where is your father?" He asked.

Darius looked confused.

Donna looked horrified.

"Excuse me?" Darius asked.

"You heard me. Where is your father? Does he work aboard? Did he and your mother divorce, is that why he's not here? Was he an abusive piece of crap?" Marcus asked with force.

"I...I...I don't know." Darius whispered.

"What the hell you mean you don't know? How don't you know about your own father?!" Max yelled.

"Max, stop!" Shelia warned him.

"Are you just like him? Is that why you don't wanna tell us about him?!" Strider yelled in his brother's place.

"Strider!" Stella yelled to him.

"Why aren't you saying anything, kid?! Tell me about your father!" Marcus demanded.

"I...I can't tell you. I don't know anything about him." Darius stuttered.

"And why don't you?!" Marcus yelled. Donna had enough.

"He doesn't know his father because his father died when he was young! My son has been sick most of his life and came out of it a few years ago!" Donna yelled at the man.

"He never knew this father?! What makes this punk think he's worthy of my daughter when he ever had any parental guidance in his life?!" Marcus yelled at Donna.

"My son doesn't need parental guidance! I've been there for him since the day he was born and he came out fine!" She yelled back.

"Like hell he did! How can he call himself a man when he never had a male role model?! Your son is fucked up and I won't let him taint my daughter!" Marcus yelled.

"What makes you think that little homewrecker is good enough for my son! He is of noble blood and she would water down his gene pool!" Donna yelled.

"ENOUGH!!!" Darius and Stella yelled as they stood to their feet, their hands balled and shaking at their sides.

"We tried so hard to get you all to see that it doesn't matter what you think about us. Darius and I love each other and we care for what each other has to go through but if this is how you're going to act...we're breaking up..." Everyone smiled until "With all of you."

"What?" Marcus said.

"What do you mean 'break up with us'?" Max said.

"If you all can't get along and at least be tolerant of each other - Stella and I won't be a part of these toxic families anymore." Darius said as he took the Beneviento Brooch from his chest and Stella removed her family ring, both of them placed the objects on the table.

"What...Darling, you can't be serious..." Shelia began.

"Yeah, where will you even go?" Max asked.

"Darius built us a house away from here - where the 4 Lords territories meet but don't touch so the Lords have no say over us." Stella said as she walked over to Darius, who placed his hand around her waist and pulled her close.

"Until you all can at least get along on a proper level, don't excuse us to be the heirs of the Beneviento or Silverstreams. We're leaving and we won't be coming back for clothes, we went shopping for them last time." Darius said as he and Stella began walking to the door. Marcus shot up from his seat and tried to grab his daughter but Darius gave him a sharp uppercut and sent him to the ground. Donna and Angie followed behind them, begging, crying, for him to stay but their words were hollow as Darius and Stella left the house and mounted Darius's Horse, riding into the darkness.

Donna's heart felt colder than the Romanian Winter as she looked at the brooch in her hand...Her son had left her and she didn't know what to do.

[End]

[johaerys-writes]

Dorian Pavus/Trevelyan

A World With You, Chapter 38: Resonance

A training gone wrong and a judgement gone wrong- in short, Tristan is having a very bad day, but at least Dorian is there to help. Because we all need a hug sometimes, amirite

Only part of the chapter here because of length, the rest on AO3! Or read from the beginning

The sharpened edge of his dagger flashed in the grey light of dawn. It hissed as it cut through the air, as Tristan flowed through the practiced motions. Wide arcs, precise stabs, like weaving a needle through light fabric.

Tristan took in a deep breath when he returned to his starting position, then let it out slowly. There were no other thoughts in his mind, just this: the calm of wielding his weapon, the controlled movements of its blade, the soft, barely audible hiss as it cut through the air. His consciousness shifted, sharpened, focused on that simple, lifeless object.

You are the weapon, Heir had told him the very first time he’d trained with her, and had made sure to drill the notion into him. You are the dagger.

“Again.”

He obeyed, without a word. There was no one else in the small, lower yard at that time, other than him and Heir. She was perched on the edge of the old well like a raven, her dark clothes blending with the shadows. It seemed almost unnatural, how perfectly still she sometimes sat, tricking the eye, going entirely unnoticed. She was watching him carefully as he flowed through the increasingly complex drills. A dodge and a slash for Knife in the Shadows, then a flurry of quick stabs for Hidden Blades. Once, twice, three times- he lost track of time as he practiced the same motions, again and again.

The sun was just rising over the jagged peaks of the Eastern Frostbacks when he finally stopped. Drops of sweat were running slowly down his brow, his back, his neck, but he paid them no mind as he stood before his trainer.

The elf regarded him thoughtfully, the fabric of her hood that fluttered with the wind the only moving things about her. There was no contempt in her gaze, like there usually was. She actually seemed… pleased.

“You have improved,” she said. “I am impressed.”

Tristan inclined his head in respect. “Thank you.”

A blade hissed, and he ducked only a blink of an eye before it darted past his ear. It landed on the wooden beam of the barn behind him with a thud.

“What-” He spun around to face her. “What was that for?” he demanded in surprise.

Heir uncoiled languidly from the edge of the well, landing on soundless feet. “Your body acts before your mind. That is good. Quick reflexes are what will keep you alive. But simply staying alive is not your goal.” She came to stand before him. When she lifted her eyes to his he saw genuine curiosity in them for the first time, as if she had detected something in him that she never had before. “Right now, you are the weapon. A weapon is useful. It can make the difference between life and death. But a weapon lacks intent.” She tilted her head to the side. “As do you.”

Tristan blinked at her, struggling to understand her words. “But you— you told me I was a weapon. That I have to view myself as one. That I have to be the weapon, be the dagger, in order to be an assassin.”

A small, barely perceptible smile curled her lips. “Ah, but do you always do as you are told, Inquisitor?” Before he could answer, she turned around, walking back to her seat. “I am here because you wished to train as an assassin. Yet one does not wish to be an assassin, any more than one wishes to be a sword or a cudgel. You must be your own assassin. Your own weapon. There is a difference.” She sat on the edge of the well, gathered on the smooth stone like a crow awaiting to take flight. “You still have much to learn.”

Tristan glared at her. “Months on end you teach me something, and now you change it, ask me to unlearn it and learn something else? What am I supposed to do with that?”

“Adapt.” Her eyes flashed in the morning light. “Improvise. Overcome. That is the way of the assassin.”

“This is ridiculous,” Tristan spat, flinging his dagger on the ground. Heir was watching him calmly, not an inkling of emotion in her gaze. Maker, but she was infuriating. He had had trainers for most of his life, yet none as vexing as she was. She had bid him wake up well before daybreak on the day before he was due to travel, and now all she did was mock and order him about, and throw knives at him. He straightened as he gave her his most icy glare. “I refuse to be treated thus. We need to sit down and have a talk, you and I, about what exactly it is you’ll be teaching me from now on. You have one job, and one job only: to teach me how to wield these blighted daggers as best I can. I suggest you start doing that, instead of—”

Another blade hissed past him, this time grazing the skin of his bare arm. “The way of the assassin,” Heir said with deadly calm, “is the sudden strike that overwhelms.”

Tristan ducked, then rolled out of the way of the next few knives that Heir threw his way. They all landed on the ground behind him, or the wooden beam, always just a hair away from where he was.

“An assassin does not just 'wield' a blade. An assassin does not stomp their feet in exasperation, does not barter with their target.” She sat up proudly, fixing him with a piercing look. “The assassin is the leap from the shadows and back. We hit where and when it hurts the most. In so doing, we send a message. What is the message you wish to send?”

“I’m not here to send any bloody messages!” he snapped at her as he pushed to his feet. He was panting with the exertion, but worse than that was his anger. She was winding him up on purpose, trying to make him lose his composure. “I am here to learn.”

“And learn you will. Once you open your mind.” She balanced a blade on the tip of her finger, her eyes still trained on him. “Perhaps you wish to merely walk in shadow when it suits. To prove yourself, to flaunt your skill. To save life through inflicting death.” She scoffed and shook her head. “Childish notions. The profession of assassin has no time for them.”

“Has it ever occurred to you that I am not interested in becoming a professional assassin, but merely learning how to fight like one?” Tristan grumbled, wincing when he touched the razor thin cut that one of the blades had left on his shoulder.

Heir cocked her head to the side as she studied him, like a curious bird. “You are emotional. Emotions do not serve the assassin. To walk this path, you must empty yourself of everything that holds you back."

"I am not 'emotional'," Tristan huffed, rolling his eyes. "I am simply in no mood to talk nonsense. Now, can we please stop philosophising and get back to business?"

Heir only smiled at him, a small smile that never reached her eyes. She had this way of looking at him that made him feel as if he were a spoilt and unruly child. Without a word, she stood up and walked away.

“Where are you going?”

“Our training for today is over, Inquisitor,” she told him over her shoulder. “We will resume when you get back from the Dales. I suggest you think about what we talked about today while you’re away.”

Tristan gritted his teeth as he watched Heir’s retreating form. He pushed his damp hair out of his face as he strode to the well, the old and rusted pulley whining softly as he hauled a bucket of water. It was ice cold when he splashed some on his face and neck, making his skin prickle.

His pulse was still thumping in his temples, the annoyance that had sparked within him still sizzling. He couldn’t understand how it was possible for someone to infuriate him so, with nothing but a few words. She was impossible, maddening; she made his blood boil, and he yet again wondered what Leliana had been thinking when he called her to Skyhold. He was starting to think it was all some elaborate ruse to make him start his days always on the wrong foot. Heir had a way of doing that, most days, and by the Maker, she did it well.

“‘Emotional’,” he echoed with disdain, before gulping down several mouthfuls of water. He was not emotional. He was fine— no, he was more than fine. Perfectly composed. Perhaps a little bit more… on edge than usual, snapping at people left and right, but that was to be expected. He was the Inquisitor, he had a lot on his mind, and while most people around him seemed to understand this well and give him some leeway, no one truly grasped the pressure he was under, what he was up against. And after what had happened the other night...

Maker, but he was tired. He couldn’t remember the last time he had had a decent night’s sleep. The previous night he had only been able to close his eyes and doze off for a few moments before the whispers had started, just at the edges of his hearing, and strange images flickered behind his eyelids. He had spent the rest of the night drifting in and out of consciousness, or staring at the ceiling, listening to Dorian’s rhythmic breathing beside him. That, at least, was his only comfort.  

~

Tristan’s mood hadn't improved much by the time he walked back to the keep. It was a good thing, at least, that the throne room was still empty at that hour. No one wanted to be the first to arrive and wait for the others, and the nobles were not known to be early risers anyway. Right at that moment, Tristan envied them something fierce.

He sighed quietly when he finally reached the door to his quarters. Maighdin and Nhudem took their positions at either side of his door, beside the two guards that were constantly stationed outside it. The elf, Mathras, was an archer and skilled with his daggers. The other one, a tall and dark-haired Orlesian —Jean-Claude was his name, if Tristan remembered correctly— seemed to be there more so to gawk at the pretty noble women who batted their eyelashes at him, than to actually guard him. Even though Cullen had assured him they’d been the best in their groups, and thoroughly vetted by Leliana, Tristan still eyed them warily. They were strangers to him, and he did not like strangers. Besides, he still didn’t know what to think about the fact that Cullen seemed bent on increasing his guard every few days, as if Tristan were made of gold and walking through Ostwick's dock market district after sundown.

“Harrit has made some new armour for me,” he turned to Nhudem after he’d greeted them all as formally as was permitted. Him, at least Tristan knew he could trust. He’d known him since Haven, and had saved his life. If anyone was there to truly guard him, it was him. In truth, Tristan was quite fond of him, despite his peculiar insistence on asking for his blessing every so often. This, Tristan could well do without. “One of his apprentices should be stopping by to leave it later, see him up as soon as he arrives.”

“As you wish, Your Worship.” Nhudem inclined his head respectfully, then stood straight once more. The Rivaini had not been his usual cheerful self ever since Tristan had returned from Crestwood. Perhaps it was the fact that Tristan had walked in on his midnight tryst with a washerwoman two nights before that had the man averting his eyes now. Tristan had thought about telling Leliana about it, yet now, as he ascended the stairs to his quarters, he found himself second-guessing that decision. His guards were people, too, regardless of the fact that Tristan little cherished their company. They had a job to do, as did he.

His job and all its complications faded away when he reached the stair landing, and gazed upon his bed, at the figure that lay amidst the rumpled sheets. Dorian had not woken up yet; he was sleeping as soundly as ever Tristan had seen him, clutching Tristan’s pillow close to his chest. The skin of his bare arm was warm, smooth like silk under Tristan’s lips when he placed a light kiss on it, then another, and another, following the curve of his shoulder, burying his face in the crook of his neck. He inhaled deeply, letting Dorian’s scent suffuse him, fill him to the brim: oakmoss, sandalwood, toasted cardamom, him.

“Sweaty,” Dorian hummed as he petted Tristan’s head, still half asleep.

“I was training.”

“With whom?”

“The elf that has apparently made it her life’s purpose to torment me.”  

Dorian chuckled warmly, turning to catch Tristan’s lips in a kiss. “Dramatic, as always.” He hummed as he kissed him, stretching his arms languidly over his head. The arms then linked behind Tristan’s neck to pull him close.

Tristan sighed, leaning into that embrace. He had things to do, he had places to be, yet nothing was more important than this. This: being with him, kissing him, gazing upon him when he first opened his eyes each morning. Nothing was better than this. Tristan never thought he’d see the day, but he actually looked forward to leaving Skyhold and his many and varied duties behind. On the road, things were simpler, and there was usually nothing calling him out of bed each morning before Dorian had even awoken. They slept together and woke up together, had their meals together, fought together. That last part he could well do without, but everything had its purpose. At least, that was what he chose to tell himself.

“I should get up, too,” Dorian said softly, pulling back. His eyes were still heavy with sleep, several strands of wavy hair falling across his brow, the lines from the pillow marking his cheek. Tristan was sure he had never seen anything more beautiful.

“Stay,” he whispered, leaning forward to kiss him again. “We have time.”

“We do, albeit very little, and I still have to go back to my room to gather the last of my things for our trip before I work on as much of my research as I can.”

“Just toss some clothes in a bag and you’re done. I’ve taken care of the rest.” Tristan’s hand slithered underneath the blankets to smooth down Dorian’s sides, but it was promptly caught and brought back up amidst laughing protests.

“Are you mad? Have you any idea how long it takes to properly fold clothes for traveling? And no, I can’t just ‘toss some clothes in a bag’ and call it a day. The gall.” He shook his head and rolled his eyes. “You might have servants to prepare your bags and your travelling gear, my dear, but I do not. Some of us still need to do those things ourselves, and I will not— I repeat, I will not spend the duration of our trip in wrinkled robes.”

“What if they are? You’ll look dashing, wrinkled robes or no. Come.” Tristan flashed him his most winning smile. “Stay.”

Dorian gazed at him for a moment, evidently contemplating Tristan’s offer, when he shook his head abruptly. “No. No, no. Enough with your distractions.” Dorian swatted him away, rolling out of his embrace. “It’s enough that I have to do the walk of shame from your quarters to my room each day in wrinkled clothes, I won’t be doing it during our mission too. I have a certain reputation to keep, after all.”

Tristan leaned back on his elbows with a sigh, watching Dorian as he gathered his clothes from the floor, his smooth skin prickling in the chill air. Layer after layer was put on; his linen trews, his undershirt, the silk shirt, his soft leather trousers that hugged his form so elegantly, the swaths of cream coloured fabric that he arranged over it all with belts and straps. Each piece more intricate than the last, yet all part of a carefully arranged whole.

“Why don’t you bring them here?” he asked.

“Bring what here?”

“Your things.”

Dorian froze in the act of securing a bright golden pin on his shoulder. “I beg pardon?”

“Your things.” At Dorian’s reticent stare, Tristan continued. “Your clothes, your shoes, your gear… your books. Your scrolls. You know. Things.”

Dorian tilted his head to the side, his eyes narrowing ever so slightly just as a small, curious smile widened his lips. “And why would I do that?”

“If you brought your clothes here, they would be ready to wear in the morning. No wrinkles. No walk of shame to your room. You could just… wear them and go about your business. We would have more time together in the mornings, too. And in the evenings. There wouldn’t be half a keep separating us. We could…” Tristan let his words trail off when he noticed Dorian’s incredulous expression. “What? What did I say?”

“I… I don’t know. What are you saying?” His silver gaze had never left him; it was on him, piercing him to the bone. “Are you saying what I think you're saying? Are you... suggesting we venture into mutual domesticity?”

Tristan paused, considering his words for a moment. “I never thought of it like this, but now that you said it, I think so, yes.”

Dorian’s eyes widened, then he shook his head slowly. “Mad,” he said under his breath as he turned to face the mirror once more, fastening the pin on his shoulder. “I had my doubts before, but now I am certain: you are out of your mind.” He gasped when Tristan grabbed his hand and drew him back to the bed.

“That is a serious accusation, serah,” he said teasingly. He pinned him down on the mattress and leaned down until their noses touched. “One that needs to be spoken in one’s face.”

“Very well, then.” Dorian quirked a brow at him, utterly unfazed. “You are insane.”

“How so?”

“Are you seriously suggesting I move in here? With you?”

“Why not? You’re here most of the time.”

“Yes, but I don’t live here, I just sleep here. And wake up here. And have some of my meals here, occasionally. It is not the same as living here. It is not!” he insisted when Tristan laughed.

“So? You’ll be doing those same things, only you’ll be more comfortable doing them. I don’t see the issue.”

“You don’t see the issue? You don’t —” Dorian huffed and fixed him with a pointed look. “What will your advisors say?”

“What’s it to them?” Tristan frowned down at him. “What’s it to anyone?”

“You are a public figure, amatus.” Dorian’s expression was stern, though his voice was softer now. “All eyes in Thedas are on you. What will people say if they see me moving in and out of your quarters this freely, if they see me bringing my belongings here?”

“I don’t care what people say. All I care about is you. If anyone says anything about it, I’ll fight them.” He widened his eyes dramatically. “You know I will. I’ll snap them like twigs. I’m strong, you know, even Heir admitted it.”

Dorian let out a quiet laugh, the rich and mellow sound warming Tristan to his core. His gaze was soft as it glided over his features now. “You mean it?” he asked quietly. “Do you really mean it?”

“I do.” Tristan leaned down to capture his lips in a slow, gentle kiss. “I like it when you’re here,” he whispered. “I want to be with you, Dorian. As much as I can. There’s nothing I want more.”

Dorian sighed into their kiss, his fingers slipping through Tristan’s and twining with them. “I want that, too.” Those silver eyes that Tristan would gladly drown in looked up at him through his long eyelashes. “Alright. I may bring some of my things here… for a start. Just a few, mind you,” he added hastily when a wide grin broke over Tristan’s face. “I certainly won’t be hauling all my belongings here overnight. Just a few changes of clothes. And some pomade. Perhaps some of my books, too. And that’s it! I mean it. That will be all.”

“Anything you like,” Tristan hummed, deepening the kiss. “Anything at all.”

They kissed for a long while; just this, just lips gliding gently against each other, their breaths mingling until he couldn’t tell them apart. A strange sort of warmth had spread over him, one that he had never felt before. Never before had he felt more comfortable, more connected with anyone. It was a strange sort of feeling, one that left him breathless, as much as it tethered him to a part of him that he had thought lost long before. The part of him that trusted unconditionally, that fought for what he wanted, held it close to his heart.

He would hold Dorian as close as he could. For as long as he could. As long as he would let him.

~

Soon after Dorian had left to gather the last of his clothes and travelling gear, Tristan’s own armour arrived. He had just stepped out of the bath that two servants had drawn for him, water pooling around his feet and his towel wrapped around his hips when Harrit’s apprentice brought it. For a set of armour that Tristan had requested at a day’s notice, it was not only sturdy and well-made, but pleasing to the eye as well, made to measure and form fitting to allow for ease of movement.

He set it carefully on his bed, admiring the elegant stitching and the hidden compartments for blades, daggers and potions he had requested for a brief moment before putting on his regular clothes. A crisp white shirt -thankfully with untangled laces-, his leather breeches, a dark blue coat with fine thread of silver embroidery along the sleeves and the lapels. Simple, clean, understated, yet still imposing. Looking his best was of the essence, especially for what he was about to do.

He had just finished pulling on his tall black boots when he heard Maighdin’s heavy bootsteps ascending the stairs.

“Ready, Your Worship?”

Tristan glanced at himself in the mirror one last time, taking in a deep breath. A light crease of worry was set between his eyebrows; he smoothed it out before turning around. Maighdin gave him a small nod, which was vaguely encouraging.

He was ready.

Read the rest on Ao3!

[of-elves-and-mad-hatters]

“The Azure Sky” - Chapter 2 - Lego Elves

Shadows to the Brightest Flame: Series

- The legacy of Lumia’s influence is scarred eternally into the lands of Elvendale. Burdened by a prophecy foretelling her demise and need for a successor, she watches for one capable of such power. Yet her enemies are working steadily to undo all she’s labored so long for, and it is millenia too late to make peace. 

Emily Jones, heir to Eimileen, is a bold girl dedicated to protecting Elvendale, but the world she has grown so fond of is not so black and white as it seems, and the titles of Guardian of Portal and Guardian of Light may hold darker legacies some ancient elves have worked tirelessly to hide. 

In conjunction with the extended version of the Guardian of Light prophecy I wrote previously

Basically a rewrite of all of the Lego Elves & Secrets of Elvendale storylines with an additional arc beyond the Season 4: Into the Shadows. There will be a varying degree of deviation from canon.

Technically a crossover with Lord of the Rings/Hobbit/Silmarillion in terms of worldbuidling, as I set Elvendale as being north of Middle-Earth, cause this is fanfic and I can. So there will be mentions of the Noldor, Sindar, Silvan, and some Tolkien characters, but they will be mostly background. Definitely not an issue if you aren’t familiar with the Middle-Earth fandom; everything will still be easy to understand. 

Book 1: The Azure Sky

Grieving over the unexpected death of her grandmother, Emily Jones is accidentally trapped in another world. Befriending a few young elves in an attempt to find her way home, Emily discovers many secrets about her grandmother’s past, but for every truth she learns two more questions take its place, leaving her vulnerable to darker force inhabiting this realm. 

A rewrite of Unite the Magic

_______________________________________________________________________

Chapter 1 

_______________________________________________________________________

Chapter 2

Shaking, Emily pushes herself up to her knees, viewing the scenary around her with shock and confusion. Trees extend in every direction, leaves mottled with unusual tones of pinks and violet. The silky soft grass glistens in the light, though as she runs her hands of the blades, she finds them dry of dew. Despite the density of the foliage, the sun illuminates the area to the brightness of midday during the summer. Birds chorus grandly behind the anonimity of the branches. 

“Who are you?”

Emily jumps, turning to find a girl looming curiously behind her, though perhaps that would not be the most accurate term. She looks odd, dressed in a bright magenta dress cut and sewn to mimic flames and embroidered with some sort of baroque designs, though it’s hard to tell since most are faded and stained. Her tan skin is marked by bright tattoos on one shoulder and her face, emboldening her warm brown eyes and burgundy and marigold hair, the long, chaotic curls draped like a canopy from her narrow head. Two sharp, pointed ears complete the bizarre ensemble.

“Well, aren’t you going to introduce yourself after falling through a portal?” The corners of the girl’s lips curve impishly upwards.

“Portal?” Emily stutters out, staring at the being before her with the same wariness one would watch a racoon.

“Yeah, the one you just came through?” the girl rasps. She leans closer, hands on her hips. She cocks her head. “How did you open one anyways? That kind of magic is super hard to learn, kept locked away by a bunch of grouchy ancients who jump at their own shadows.”

“Um, I don’t…know really…”

“What do you mean you don’t…” the girl stops short as Emily tucks a strand of hair behind her ear. “You’re not an elf.”

“No…I’m human” Emily answers. Her voice drops hesitantly. “What’s an elf?”

“Well, I am,” the girls begins, but she seems distracted. She studies Emily’s clothes, “You must be from that other realm, the one the Great Sisters made a portal to a century and a half ago, with all those humans.”

“I guess so.” Emily chuckles slowly. Portals, elves, much more likely she’s lying on the ground in her grandmother’s garden in a coma and dreaming. Consequences of being a clutz.

“You don’t know how you got here, do you?” Emily shakes her head. The girls smiles fondly and extends her hand, “Well I guess we’re just gonna have to figure that out aren’t we?” She pulls Emily to her feet. “I’m Azari, fire elf, and I have a feeling this is going to be quite an adventure.” A rogue-ish smile breaks onto her face, and she looks overall like a fanciful devil. 

Emily swallows her nerves and forces a smile. “I’m Emily, and I sincerely hope not.”

Azari laughs, the sound rolling through the air with the intensity of a wildire.

__________________________________________

Fire elf in the lead, the pair hustle down the grassy hill. This vantage point, to which Emily had been facing away from when she landed in this place, looks down upon a vibrant blue lagoon, framed on either side by jagged mountains. Azari turns onto a path to the right, leading to a sloping outcropping ornamented with unusual apple trees.

“Where are we going?” 

“To Farran Leafshade, earth elf, and general buzzkill. His idea of fun is studying different kinds of dirt.” Azari wrinkles her nose. “Who does that? Of all the elves I know, earth and not, even those in agriculture think that’s the most boring part of the job. What kind of person do you have to be in order to want to do that in your free time?”

“A little weird, I guess, but I’m sure he’s a great guy…elf..person..thing…”

Azari shrugs. “He could do with a little spontenaity every now and then. Live a little, you know? Anyways he’s pretty in tune with all the goings of the forest, plus his home is where we all get together for anything important.”

Emily looks quizically at her. “You all?”

“Me, Farran, Aira and Naida. We’ve all been friends since forever.”

Emily nods. “And do you think they might know how I got here, and maybe how to get home?”

“Maybe, Aira and Naida know the legend of the Great Sisters better than I do, I get bored with history. Besides, Naida’s mother’s mother was one of the Sisters who created the portal in the first place. We might be able to go to her for help.”

“Who are the Great Sisters?”

“Well they’re,” Azari stops short and shakes her head. “No, I better let one of the others explain. I always get the details mixed up.”

As they near the pinacle of the slope, a sophistcated treehouse becomes visible through some of the towering branches. Seated on a set of roughly hewn steps is a male elf. He has a fairly light complexion, muted lime green eyes, and a wavy mess of short, dark brown hair that almost conceals the tips of his ears. He holds a pad of paper and a pencil in his hand, conversing with an elven girl standing to his right. She’s slim, but not overly tall, pale face accented with lavender eyes and hair, the latter pulled into a rather elaborate ponytail, though quite a number of strands have loosened. She wears a strange winged contraption, to which her fingers are busy adjusting the straps.

“Remember to time it correctly this time,” she chides the boy, her voice light and airy.

“I know,” he grumbles, leaning forward to rest his head tiredly on his hand. “After forty-five test flights, one can have the tendency to make a mistake.”

“Nonsense, that only means it should be perfectly engrained into your muscle memory.” She tightens one last strap. “There. Now in five, four, three…”

“Aira! Farran!” Azari calls. 

The purple-haired girl turns, her face erupting into a beaming smile. “Azari! So good to see you! Who’s your friend? She looks odd, why are her ears so round?” The words flit from her mouth with the speed of a hummingbird. 

Emily, overwhelmed, only stares dumbly in response.

“Aira, that’s not polite,” the boy gently rebukes, striding over to join them. “I’m Farran Folasion. This is Aira Arlaynaiel. It’s a blessing to meet you.”

“You don’t have to be so formal, Farran,” Azari responds. “This is Emily, and she’s a human.”

“A human? This far north? How?” The boy asks incredulously.

“I don’t know,” Emily starts shyly. “I guess I came through some sort of portal. There aren’t any elves where I come from, least that anyone knows about.”

Aira’s eyes widen. “The gates of Great Sisters!”

Azari nods. “That’s what I was thinking.”

“We have to find Naida!” Aira exclaims.

The fire elf smirks. “Also what I was thinking.”

Gushing, Aira and her sweep Emily off in a new direction down the hill. The air elf buzzes with excitement, chattering with such speed that Emily can’t make sense of half of what comes out of her mouth, but it seems to be spurts of curious questions about her human-ness alternating with speculations of the significance of her appearance in Elvendale. It seems whatever these gates or portals were, they were supposed to be permanently sealed decades ago.

Farran trails just behind the group, and unlike his companions, his face is devoid of anything cheerful. He casts skeptical glances towards Emily, concern creasing his brow. He runs one hand anxiously through his hair. He sighs.

At least they’re going to see Naida, the wisest of their little group. She would be the voice of caution Azari and Aira desperately need to hear.

[simping-on-the-daily]

I have to yet to fully develop them but boom boom bitches did you think I would stop making Dream SMP OCs? Hell nah

They both be a combination of Tales of the Dream SMP characters and actual Dream SMP characters

They're all canon and they will eventually have their own bios, but this is just a place to hold my notes basically

Toastie

Slime hybrid

They/she

Full name is Toastie Rickroll (based off the last names generally being memes)

I listened to Hamilton while making her so that helps

Fought for L'Manburg during the Independence Arc

Eventually joined Schlatt's cabinet for Manburg, but later resigned and helped join Pogtopia

Also became part of the Butcher Army

Currently apart of no faction

Respects tradition very well

Their family has fought and died for their respective countries for years

And Toastie carried on the tradition

Without something or someone to fight for Toastie kinda feels useless

They're so used to fighting that peace is basically a foreign concept to her

It doesn't help with all the wars

Toastie does what they do best: protect

And with L'Manburg gone, they now have someone (or a few someone's to care for)

Very fond of their old cabinet and her Butcher Army friends

Despises Techno and Dream for destroying L'Manburg on numerous occasions

Phil is very close to also getting on their negative list

Their most precious item is their enchanted Netherite axe, the Mindbreaker

Toastie confirms it's a family heirloom you get when you learn how to hold scissors correctly

It basically has the blood of people who fought against the country Toastie's family decided to fight for and were either killed or tortured with it

Toastie wants to try and guide it and herself on a more peaceful path, but they always end up going to violence

It's kinda engraved in her

Since she trusts Quackity due to experience, they give him their axe daily as long as he brings it back

They're unaware that Quackity's using it to torture Dream

Very protective and dedicated to fighting for those they care about

Tends to learn towards fighting as her first option and runs her mouth a lot

ThEy'Re BoUncY-

They can jump really high

Really likes swamps

If they ever get injured, the injured part can turn into miniature versions of themselves similar to tiny slimes and they'll attack their opponent

Absolutely despies Magma Cubes and will attack them whenever she can get the chance

Whisp

Wolf hybrid

But they're also a ghost!

Their real name is Whisper, and their full name is Quiet Whispers

She/Her

Large grey ears on their head

Long tail that can fade sometimes due to ya know, death

Really fun to chew on bones despite the fact that she doesn't need to eat them and she can't even digest them

She can bond with other people and she can track the people she's bonded with

Can bite really hard, has enhanced speed and strength, and they also have a pretty pogchamp smell and eyesight

Despite the fact that's she pretty powerful, Whisp is a strict pacifist who only hung around L'Manburg due to having numerous friends there

Somehow the only ghost to have a decent fucking memory of her life

Remembers good and bad, though she sometimes wishes she doesn't

Red sweaters boiiisssss

Very forgiving and kind

But a really giant people pleaser and self-sacrificial

Her self worth is based on what people think of her

Tries her best to get on everyone's good side

It breaks her if someone dislikes her

Grew up in a really shitty household where Whisp was basically ignored

So she grew up trying to gain the affection that her family never gave her

Really fucking touch-starved

Just pretty bad self esteem, even when she's dead

Please just tell her that she means something outside of other people's opinions and that she's an amazing human being

Absolutely adores animals!

Has numerous pet cafes

Like, so many gosh dang cafes

There's one for cats, one for dogs, and then there's a giant miscellaneous one

They're all part of the same building and that's also another part of it which is basically her house

BFFs with Ghostbur

Please protect her and tell her that she's amazing she really needs it

Sunny

Full name is Sunny Wholesun

Last name is a pun off 'wholesome' and 'sun'

Very proud of it

She's an angel boissss

She/her

Very simliar to Bad in terms of personality

They're both very sweet and will help anyone

Isn't a part of any countries

She just pops in when she wants to,,,,,

Conflict freaks her out

Optimsitc pal that just chooses to look on the bright side of things,,,,

However-

She wants to desperately try and be her own person outside of 'Bad but angelic' but she keeps getting compared to him

She feels like she keeps being in people's shadows despite being a literal creature of purity and light

Feels like a side character honestly

Good friends with Phil, but disapproves of his title, most notably due to it having death in it

Said to know Dream XD and the other gods of the server

Absolutely understand very dirty stuff, but chooses to ignore it

Also can understand war and sadness

Sunny just kinds chooses to keep holding her head up high

In her own words "If you always keep thinking of sad things, you'll always be sad"

And now the TOTDS ones

Lady Venus

From the Masquerade timeline

Ghast hybrid royalty

Berothed to Sir Billiam the III since birth

Very much married and in love

She's pretty kind for a royal

Or at the very least more nicer

Treats her servants well and gives them pay as well as vacation days

However, she lacks empathy and is somewhat insensitive

Doesn't understand that some people don't have the same social privilege's as her

So she can piss some people off

Her main butler was Ryan and he was basically her best friend outside of Billiam and Ranbutler

However, Ryan got angry and ended up assassinating her

Spear in the chest

Felt incredibly betrayed since Ryan was one of her few friends and died feeling fear and shock

Billiam ended up executing Ryan

With the death of his lover, Billiam aligned with the Egg due it promising to bring Venus back if he swore alliance to it

She remains a ghost, but neither Ranbutler, Billiam or anyone else can't see her

Venus absolutely despises the Egg for corrupting her family, but at the same time, truly believes it can bring her back to life, so she needs it

Her spear ridden body is in the same room as the Egg, therefore corrupting her body, and therefore her ghost, which is connected to it

Whenever Billiam or Ranbutler go down there, it ended up motivating the two further in order to bring Venus back

She clings to the hope that when the Egg brings her back to life, she can reunite with her husband and adoptive son once more and forget the Egg

She know it won't happen but hope is kinda the only thing she has

At the Masquerade, she was only able to be seen and talk to Karl due to him being from another time

Truly felt bad about his death, but didn't stop it since she wanted to live again

Without her being able to produce a heir, the Ghast royal family basically went in shambles and they all eventually died, making the Ghasts a free place with no government or hierarchy

I really love Venus as she's a very fun character to do and also very sad

Supports Ranbutler rights

Meanings

From the Village That Went Mad

Morals' ancestor

My friend compared her to that Chris girl from Carrie and I love it

She's a complete and utter asshole

Like, a full on fucking dick

Horrible person to be around

She's a villager, but absolutely everyone wanted her dead due to being a full on bitch

Jimmy theorizes that this is because of her mother also being the Enderdragon and either feeling like she's on top of everyone because of it, or that she feels inferior because Meanings isn't her mum so she acts like a dick to cover it up

It's either one of those two options

Just a full on fucking dick

I also love playing her because she's a really fun character

Horrible person, yes

But absolutely hilarious to play as

Maggie/Michael

From the Lost City of Mizu

I don't consider Mizu to be the official future, but rather an alternate reality, so bear with me in mind for that

I feel really smart with her name

It means Pearl, and you know

Mizu being an underwater city and all that?

Michael means 'who is like God', which refers to her best friend's......love for a past figure

They're genderfluid! Mostly goes by she/her, though on some days, they go with he/him

Her relationship with Ranbob is very similar to the one between Morals' and Dream

Since I don't see the story as a possible canon future but instead another alternate reality, she's not a descendant of anyone

And you know what? You wanna know what?

She's a cow hybrid now

Why? Because I said so

Remove Ranbob's very yandere personality and their friendship is friendship goals

Heck, even with it, it's still friendship goals

I will defo have more but those are the only Tales of the Dream SMP episodes I've watched, so-

[avatarstories]

izumi’s birthday part three:  sources of wisdom

The next morning, breakfast with the family is awkward. Izumi was a few moments late, having had to stop by the royal seamstress to have the last adjustments fitted for party outfit finished. By the time she arrived at breakfast, everyone was seated, and the only empty chair was between her father and Bumi. Bumi’s stony expression made her want to just be swallowed up by the floor. Maybe she could go find Druk and convince him to eat her. She gives Bumi a sad smile, and he rolls his eyes with a noticeable exhale. Izumi takes her seat quietly trying her hardest to give him as much space as possible. 

“Are we going to talk about how Izumi and Bumi are making the air in the room extremely uncomfortable?” Kya says. “Lover’s quarrel?” she jokes. 

“Fuck off, Kya” Bumi mutters, looking down at the table in front of him. Kya is across from him and leans in trying to get his attention. 

“Excuse me?” she says with a joking lilt in her voice. 

Bumi doesn’t say anything. Instead, he throws his tea at Kya and storms out of the dining room. Everyone is silent but all eyes are on Izumi. Having managed to stop the tea from hitting her, Kya bends it back into a cup. 

“Well, Happy Birthday, Izumi! What an exciting way to start the day,” Kya deadpans. Zuko looks at Izumi with a concerned expression. Azula looks ready to go to murder. Toph and Lin have their eyebrows raised and are taking a big sips of their mango juices. Tenzin hangs his head and focuses intently at his rice. Izumi notices Katara giving Aang a look that says go after him and when he doesn’t move she shakes her head. 

“This looks like a job for a wise old man like me,” Iroh says, pushing his chair back so that he can stand up. 

“General Iroh, it’s really ok, Aang can take care of it,” Katara says. 

“Uh, I kinda agree with General Iroh,” Aang replies sheepishly. 

If looks could kill, the ice in Katara’s eyes would have Aang pinned to the wall. “You are unbelievable,” she says quietly, though the anger and disappointment in her tone are unmistakable. She follows Bumi out the door 

“Looks like Twinkletoes is in the polar bear doghouse,” Toph says. Aang groans and then goes after Katara and Bumi.

“Care to enlighten us, Izumi?” Azula asks. 

“Not really,” she mutters. “I’m going to the training yard,” she announces quietly, and she walks out the door. 

Azula looks between Zuko and Iroh “I would go after her, but I was planning to go boss some staff around to make sure her party is perfect, which I think now needs to be even more perfect,” she says. 

“I will see what is bothering our dear Izumi,” Iroh says pushing out his chair once again. He and Azula leave the room. 

“Man,” Lin says “I thought mom and I would be the ones to start drama.” At that, Sokka laughs so hard he snorts, and Suki punches him in the side for it. ————————————————————————————————— 

Izumi is moving through advanced katas when Iroh finds her.

“I have told you before, forms practiced in anger are like tea steeped in unclean water, dear Izumi.” 

She finishes the form sending an arc of a flame towards the stone wall with an audibly annoyed exhale. 

“Now, are you going to tell me what is wrong or should I guess? Kya suggested a -” 

“IM NOT DATING BUMI! CAN EVERYONE STOP THINKING THAT!” 

Iroh chuckles. “Everyone used to think the same of your father and Katara when they were yours and Bumi’s ages. When people share a special bond others cannot help but wonder. But of course I did not come here to talk about your father’s youthful affections. It appears you and Bumi are experiencing a strain. Care to inform your old grandfather so he can help you?” 

“We had a misunderstanding.” 

“I know that I am old, Izumi, but I am not blind.” 

“Bumi was telling me about some issues in their family between him and his dad, and I basically told him that he should be lucky not to have the weight of a legacy on his shoulders.” 

“So your problem stems from your fear of your future,” Iroh affirms. “Rightfully so on an occasion as momentous as your 17th birthday, but Izumi, you are a kind, gentle, and fair minded young woman, and your father is a picture of health, what has brought about this anxiety?” 

Izumi crosses her arms and says nothing. 

“Izumi?” 

“I overheard some of the noblewomen talking about a curse on the Fire Ladies.” 

“And what is this curse?” 

“That Fire Ladies who die in childbirth give rise to evil Fire Lords. The spirits make them pay the ultimate price for what they bring into the world.”

Iroh takes in her words. “And so you have applied this to your own birth?” Izumi nods.

“You’re young yet Izumi, but I think you will find that destiny is what you make of it,” he says. “You and your father are the descendants of Sozin and Azulon, but you’re also the descendants of Avatar Roku on your grandmother’s side. There’s light and dark in you, and you will have to chose what nature you will allow to flourish. But knowing you, I would largely place my bets on the light side. And,” he takes a pause, “you can always seek to redeem yourself for your faults. I tried to break through the walls of Ba Sing Se, and then I took it back from the Fire Nation. Your father chased Aang halfway across the world, and now they are best friends. Azula was one of the most terrifying people in existence -” 

“She still is.” 

He chuckles. “Yes, she still is. But the original fire bending masters deemed her worthy of regaining her power when she lost it and repented, and they even gifted her a dragon egg as they did to your father,” he explains. 

“Your father’s legacy was to end a war. Yours will be the equally important one of maintaining peace,” Iroh says. “Now, maybe you should go practice that and make your amends with Master Bumi. I am off to make some tea.” 

“What if he won’t speak to me,” she asks. 

“Well then your partner dance in front of the court later on at your party will be terribly uncomfortable!” he says walking back inside. ——————————————————————————————————— Bumi does not really know where he is walking to, and he just follows the direction that instinct takes him. He can hear his parents behind him, but he does not stop. 

“Bumi please,” Katara calls. 

He groans and walks faster. In this instance, he was incredibly pleased with himself because he still remembers some of the secret passageways in the palace that Izumi had showed him as children when they would play hide and explode with Izumi’s Aunt Kiyi and Aunt Azula, so he ducked into one that he knew was coming and hears his parents run right passed. It was slightly dark inside, which made perfect sense considering that usually only firebenders used these hallways and had no need for any other light. 

Bumi went off memory and kept his right hand on the wall. If he had to figure this out like a maze in order to get out, that’s what he would do. After about ten minutes in the dark, he feels a variation in the stone that tells him he’s found a door. If he remembers correctly, this one will let him out by the portrait gallery. However, when he opens the door, he’s stopped by a piece of furniture. 

“Huh?” he hears someone ask, and soon the furniture is being shoved out of the way and the door opens and bright light blinds him, and Azula is standing in front of him.

She stares him up and down. “I would offer to help you but I will warn you first that if you ruin Izumi’s birthday, not even the fact that your father is the Avatar will save you from me.” 

Bumi remains frozen, unsure what to do. 

“Well don’t just sit there,” she says, raising a brow. He stumbles into what he realizes to be Azula’s office. 

“If you are avoiding your parents who ran after you when you caused quite the commotion at breakfast, then my office would definitely be the best place to hide. Push that back into place,” she commands gesturing to the small table she had just moved. 

Bumi has not spent much time alone with Azula. Whenever he would visit the Fire Nation, he and Izumi were attached at the hip. Every summer when Kya would go to the Southern Water Tribe and his dad and Tenzin would go to an Air Temple, Bumi would get dropped off in the Fire Nation for a few months of sword training with Master Piandao. After Piandao passed away, Zuko offered to continue training him since Sokka was busy trying to get Republic City up and running. In all that time, he’d never really gotten to know Azula. From what Izumi had told him, Azula was Zuko’s right hand. She lead his small council and sat in on meetings when he was away on diplomatic trips, which made her an extremely powerful person. 

He looks around her office. It’s clean and tidy. There is a small ink portrait of Izumi on the wall to the right of Azula's desk, and vases of Fire Lilies around the room. 

Azula studies him while he looks around the room. “Should I ask what’s bothering you or should we pretend this exchange never happened?”

“Whatever you prefer,” he replies. 

“I prefer to be well informed.” 

“Izumi and I had a fight.” 

“I gleaned that,” she says flatly. There’s a pause. “Izumi hates celebrating her birthday. She tells us every year it makes her feel guilty, but the 17th birthday of the Heir Apparent is a rite of passage in the Fire Nation.” 

“Why’s that?” 

“Traditionally, it’s when the Crown Prince, or in Izumi’s case, Princess, starts sitting on the small council and has to take up a stronger political role than just kissing babies and doing well in school… it’s seen as the last day of childhood.”  

Oh Bumi thinks. “That’s why she’s so stressed.” 

“Most likely a factor.” 

“She never mentioned it.” 

“Well, you know Izumi. Unless it’s Zuko, getting her to tell you what’s wrong is like pulling teeth. She is like you in that regard.” Bumi looks puzzled. “I read people very well,” she says in reply to his reaction. There’s a pause as she regards him. “I do not imagine it is easy to be a non-bender in a family like yours.” 

“Man, you really don’t hold back.” 

She offers him a half smile. “I understand the fear of being a disappointment too. When I was 12 I was so scared of failure and what would happen if I disappointed my father. It was not even two years by the time I self destructed.” 

“I’m not going to self destruct,” he mutters. 

“Then you might need some help carrying that weight on your shoulders around.” 

He is quiet for a minute. “What if there’s no one to help me?” 

 She glances down at a small ink drawing of her mother, Zuko, and herself  that sits on her desk. “From my experience,  you can often find help in very unexpected places, but you have to be open to being helped.” 

AN: you cannot convince me Azula didn’t get a redemption arc and a lot of healing and become a strange source of wisdom. you just can’t. azula redemptions are a peak of feminist literature. 

I imagine redeemed Azula serves Zuko in a position similar to the hand of the king from GoT.