#instead of war and bloodshed and battle

[frogchiro]

virgin sacrifice reader offered to war god ghost?? prepare to be his lovely wife instead of a sacrifice with at least 10 demigods running around, he wants to raise strong warriors!

Ghost would definitely be a god similiar to Ares; a god of war, brutality, bloodshed, masculinity and virility. Men go and pray by his shrine or in his dedicated temple to give them strength in both battle and bed, to be a strong and unbeatable warrior and be able to father strong, healthy children.

One such temple, the main one, is in a surprisingly remote location, surrounded not by a major city or capital but a few villages. According to myths it was this place where a brutal battle took place millenia ago where the fearsome god Ghost defeated an army all by himself, the blood of his slain enemies served to make the land fertile and for many villages to grow and prosper...until now.

Usually sacrifaces to appease the god would be made by the men of the villages; black stallions, the strongest bulls, wine, silver and pure steel, everything that has connections to masculinity and power, however some kind of horrible fatum seems to hang over your little village. The animals either die young or are sickly and weak, the wine turns out sour like vinegar, there in so money to buy anything either and it's taken as a curse by the elders. If nothing will be done and Ghost won't have his sacrifice who knows what will happen?

So they decide on the next best thing, a desperate last choice reach in hopes to appease the brutal god-a virgin sacrifice. The prettiest, unmarried and untouched young woman is to be chosen, dressed in the finest, gauzy silks and locked inside the stone temple in hopes that the god will come down and the blood of a slain virgin will calm his fury. Luck wasn't on your side it seems, you were chosen.

All you could remember were the desperate cries of your mother, the dissapointed remorseful look on your father's face and the ritual cleansing of the old crones in the village. You were cleaned in rose water, intricate patterns were drawn with a mixture of honey, mushed up berries and flowers on your breasts, around your nipples and bellybutton, and the most intricate was drawn on the place where your womb was. You were clothed in a white gauzy dress that was a symbol of your purity and then you were bound and dragged to the temple no matter how much you struggled and kicked and pleaded until you were finally locked in the dimly lit temple, only the many candles present to lighten the main chamber and to show the powerful, majestic sculpture of the god, Ghost.

Imagine crying yourself to sleep, everything hurt, you were scared and confused, all alone to die in this forsaken temple because some old men decided on it. Falling asleep out of exhaustion, the images of your crying, terrified mother haunting you even when sleeping.

Imagine waking up and instead of feeling cold and sore from sleeping on the unforgiving stone floor, and instead finding yourself laying on and under the most luxurious furs you've ever seen, the warmth of them felt like a blanket and the smell of them, pleasant warm masculine musk made a shiver run down your spine, just where were you?

Before you had the chance of looking around the room, you felt huge, strong arms clamping togehter around you and bringing you into a powerful, broad chest which rumbled with a growl like purr and a stern voice saying:

"Stay. Don't move around girl."

And the very same arms turned you gently around to face the man behind you and you couldn't help but gasp and breath out a tiny, frightened yelp-behind you was laying a man who looked like the stone sculpture of Ghost cane to life and became human. It...it was Ghost. You laid next to a god.

[rockingbytheseaside]

✦ How they dream of you at night

Pierro, Capitano, Dottore, Scaramouche, Pantalone, Tartaglia

(tw: just slightly sad)

✧ “In the hidden corners where the gods' gaze does not fall, there are those who dream of dreaming” - and one said person, Pierro, can be found within the grand Palace of Snezhnaya. He solemnly sits by the window, his icy blue eyes gazing off into the dark winter night of this snowy land.

He often does that, when the night becomes silent and the world is still. Pierro wishes he could dream, yet 500 years of cursed immortality can corrode one’s mind into feeble numbness. Thus, the Fatui Director substitutes his dreamless nights with daydreams of you. Silent fantasies of your voice, images of cupping your jawline, a tender caress to your form. The jester’s daydreams are the only thing keeping him sane, preserving the memory of your skin and love alive in his mind. 

And even if his nights are bleak and dreamless, he would rather settle for maladaptive daydreams. When the Jester gazes at the fake stars of Teyvat, hanging by the firmament as a lifeline, so does he yearn to daydream of you - living in the day just for the memory of your embrace. Alas, only the harsh nights of Snezhnaya are witness to his wistful gazes. 

✧ For Il Capitano, the world is full of battles and wars; conflicts initiated by the ignorant ones, those who care naught for the innocent. Therefore, the only moment of solace that the Captain can afford is in his dreams. Dreams in which his vision is not haunted by the bloodshed of battlefields, but instead by simple dreams of you. 

In those dreams, the world is plain and quiet. He often sees you in it, occupying his thoughts. Sometimes you’d talk and ramble nonchalantly, occasionally he’d see you collecting small chamomile flowers by the grass. Those dreams are uneventful, yet for the Captain, such peacefulness is a luxury he cannot afford. An image of you and him by a quiet valley, a gentle breeze idling by, and having all the time to relish each other’s endless conversations. No thoughts of warfare, only the unwinding sound of your voice.

The Captain is not ashamed to admit he dreamt of you. In fact, he’d candidly say it during the most random of times - “I saw you in my dreams again.”

You’d glance at him and muse - “Oooh, really? Maybe you just miss my company!”

The Harbinger's mask remains pitch black, devout of any expression that might tell whether he reciprocates your little teasing. But besides the occasional clank of chains from his helmet, a low chuckle will escape him. Therefore, The Captain would lean to sit closer to you, his body less tense whenever he is in your presence. Even your silence is a remedy to his soul.

“Perhaps I do. Perhaps I really do.” 

✧ Il Dottore hates dreaming. Sleep, in its entirety, is a redundant form of rest that the human body requires. An utter waste of time. Thus, as a scientist who modified his own body to perfection, it’s unsurprising that he can go on for days without sleep. The Doctor can be efficient with his time, although that’s not why he semi-biologically modified his body. It’s because he hates dreaming of you. 

You are always there in his dreams, along with his younger self. The nostalgic warm sunlight of Sumeru basks onto you, and in those dreams, he sees you in the familiar hallways of the Akademiya. Dottore does not consider those dreams pleasant, since they make him uneasy of the grave past. He doesn’t like seeing himself so simple and young, in his Akademiya uniform. He doesn’t enjoy seeing your tender smile as you clutch your books closer to your chest and lock your gaze with him. He doesn’t like how his dream self always yearns to come closer and embrace you tight. As if young Zandik could’ve held you one more time, and all his troubles would dissipate by the warm sun.

Yet no matter the place or outcome of the peaceful dream, every time that young Zandik tries to reach for your face or seek your lips, you’re always an arm-length away. The hallways of the Akademiya loom threateningly, pulling you further away from him, your warmth becoming unreachable. How naive. He should be better than this. Now he sits up in bed, awake and hands clenched around his hair with trepidation. He hates how his body wants to cry for the memory of you in his dreams. He really hates dreaming.

✧ The fact that Scaramouche even possesses the faculties to dream is what made him the individual he is today. Whether he curses his ability to do so or not, it doesn’t matter. He is no longer the naive Kabukimono he once was, in fact, he doesn’t even require to mimic sleep as humans do. But only you know the truth. During still nights, when the two of you doze off under the warm futons, the Balladeer’s hand would unconsciously grip yours, then followed by silent sobs.   

In his dreams, he sees many events unfold. Sometimes, he sees himself left to live in the squalor like a common critter, discarded and abandoned. Sometimes, he sees the familiar Tataratsuna huts. But more often, he sees you there in his dreams. Back in the warm plains of Yashiori Island, you let him rest his head on your lap. You are dressed in a snug kimono that the fabric's comfort etches onto Scaramouche’s memories eternally. In his dreams, he rests idly in your embrace, by your lap, while you caress his hair. 

Those dreams are delightful at first as if his memories as Kabukimono reinvoke themselves and immortalize the softness of your body and the soothing motion of your hands in his subconscious. But quickly, those dreams shift into agonies. Sometimes, in those dreams, you turn and desert him, while he is left on his dirtied knees to plead for your return. Sometimes, those nightmares show him that it is your heart that can ebb the Tatarigami within Mikage Furnace. And just before he's forced to rip your beating core and relive another memory, he awakes.

“Scara?! Scara…?” - you whispered in the dimness of the night, shaking him awake. “You were crying in your sleep. Another nightmare?”

The Puppeteer said nothing. He lay awake, startled as tears involuntarily streamed down his cheeks. With twitching eyes, he quickly clings around your waist, burying his face against you to conceal his tears. No words needed to be exchanged as his body shook, while you hushed and hugged him. This was the reason why Scaramouche avoided dozing off into sleep ever again.

Regardless of the content of his nightmares, he’d never admit you caressed his hair and soothed him the same way you did in his dreams. 

✧ Pantalone is in bed, restless. Turning from side to side, or readjusting his pillows becomes a futile endeavor to find solace when his bed is lacking you. You are out there, on an expedition, busy exploring Teyvat. Your trip might take another few days, yet Pantalone is alone in a bed that often nestled you close together. Where do your feet take you, the Harbinger ponders to himself. Hence, while you are away, the Regrator is forced to make amends with the bedroom that feels considerably empty, considerably cold, considerably foreign - all because it's missing you. 

In the late, voiceless hours of the night, his dreams blend with his yearning for you. He misses pressing your entire form against his lean body, as it often allows him to fall asleep easily. With you in his arms, chest pressed to another, he knows - you are safe. You are with him. Unfortunately, you are away, and the night feels unwelcoming. For now, Pantalone has to clutch a pillow in his sleep to substitute his feeling of holding you. Even as he sleeps with worry, he hopes somewhere out there, in a foreign land, you are dreaming of him the same way he’s dreaming of you. 

✧ When Tartaglia drifts off into dreamland, his mind is still half-busy with thoughts of you. So much so that his plans blend into his dreams. Thoughts about what he should buy you while he’s away on a mission. Ideas on where to purchase your favorite local specialties. Or perhaps how he should surprise you when he comes back home.

His brain is so enthusiastically occupied with plans to bring you souvenirs, that his dreams come up with countless scenarios of how you’d greet him upon arrival. He’d envision your joyous surprise, endearing pouts, or teasing smiles. And sometimes, if his dreams are more daring, Childe might accidentally dream of some sweet rewards that will leave him waking up in a cold sweat, panting, and body craving. 

Either way, he is rushing back to you the moment his mission is over. His dreams of you might leave him hot and bothered, but your love in real life is much more tantalizing than anything his desperate dreams could conjure up. 

[tossawary]

"Fullmetal Alchemist"'s use of fantasy elements is interesting to me because of the way it... reduces... certain horrors to these unflinchingly direct basics. (Warning for spoilers and unorganized overview discussion of canon-typical violence.)

Like, the violence and pain is depicted in hideous, nightmarish detail, and/but the pursuit of power at the expense of other people's lives is simplified at the climax into an equation so straightforward that it hurts. All previous prizes of land and resources, which are forms of power, have been stolen by the Amestris military by way of terrible, hateful bloodshed. Father's Promised Day array then throws all that aside, throws it onto the fire, and takes a step further to directly exchange human lives for godlike power.

Another example is that Roy Mustang is not permitted the false distance of a bomb, but has the effect of one using his own two hands. The result is the same, but State Alchemists are not permitted separation from their tools: they ARE the weapons of war. A gun is nothing without someone to hold it. It really underlined to me that if Roy HAD used bombs instead of alchemy, it still would have been his hands that killed an unimaginable number of people.

I don't think FMA is above criticism, but this specific aspect felt to me an incredibly effective narrative tool, especially because things like "our military was created from the beginning to do evil" are accompanied by / backed up by normal humans knowingly going along with Father's plans out of greed and fear, as well as normal humans supporting the country's crimes out of idealism and fear and hatred and selfishness and confusion. It's not just "oh, it was inhuman monsters secretly manipulating everything from the shadows all along"; it's "oh, it was inhuman monsters secretly manipulating everything, representative of humanity's most deadly sins, appealing to our most selfish desires and basic fears, and we all WENT ALONG with it".

From the very first chapters, all of the friendly adult characters were directly saying things like, "Edward, you shouldn't be a part of the military. It's corrupt. I have killed innocent people for nothing and it haunts me." In the final battle, inside the command building, the Armstrong siblings and their allies are straight-up fighting against mindless, starving, created soldiers that kill everything they come up against and stop for nothing. The fascist Amestris military, after years of violent, fabricated conquest and violent, inhumane research, is EATING ITSELF FROM THE INSIDE.

And, of course, the characters cannot use their magic system to escape reality: the Elric siblings cannot undo their mother's death. Life is so incredibly precious because some things cannot be undone. And grief and arrogance allowed to run rampant takes heavy tolls on Edward, Alphonse, and Izumi's bodies.

The only way to miss the messaging in FMA, to have the point go over your head, is to intentionally duck it, because the author is throwing it at your face like a brick. Repeatedly. There are so many bricks. It's not subtle. And I enjoyed it.

[ozzgin]

What does Daos, the Romanian werewolf boy look like? What is his personality like? What was his childhood like and what made him want to be a warrior? Did his parents do some witchcraft or offerings to the gods to have a son so big and unnaturally strong? Why was he betrayed by his own people? May we get a story of how was like in battle before he became a werewolf? Love your OC!

Yandere!Werewolf Headcanons

I’m so glad the wolf boy is liked! I genuinely didn’t expect much when I wrote the story, but he’s definitely grown on me as I researched and expanded his lore. Here’s a little doodle of how I imagined him, plus a little background. I couldn’t think of any particular war story, but I came up with a funny reasoning for it instead.

Content: gender neutral reader, monster romance, character info

Background. Daos came from a family of tarabostes, or cavalry nobles. While Dacian society was divided into priests, nobles and peasants, all of them were trained for battle. "A hand above the weapon, and another holding the plough" is how they were described. Much of their culture revolved around war. Thus, even as a child, Daos spent most of his time sparring. He'd always had a sturdy build: he was taller that most of his peers, could work for hours without breaks, and his wounds were quick to heal. He was sent to serve in the army before he even reached his teenage years.

Was there witchcraft involved? Not at all. Everyone seemed to agree, however, that such strength and tenacity were not a mere coincidence. Clearly this boy had been sent by Zalmoxis himself, perhaps as a reward for their relentless pursue for victory. Daos carried the flag of the wolf-headed dragon through countless battles.

Why was he the one to be sacrificed? Well, because he was the chosen one, naturally. What better messenger for the Heavens than the godsent gift itself? Daos absolutely despised his reputation as a blessing from above.

With you. In his human form, he is quiet and reserved. You suspect the blinding aggression of his werewolf self is reminiscent of days long gone. The fearless warrior who lived for bloodshed has fallen into slumber, only awakening under the guide of a full moon. You can only imagine what kind of battlegrounds required such boundless violence, as he speaks little of his barbaric past.

Maybe it’s too painful to remember, you assumed.

“Before I died, you mean?” he asks with a raised eyebrow, looking up from his book. “I didn’t think you’d be curious about it.”

“I didn’t want to intrude, and you never mention it”, you explain sheepishly.

“That’s…” he purses his lips, visibly uncomfortable. “I just assumed you’d find it boring. I’m an old man. I didn’t want to saddle you with embarrassing war stories.”

You watch as a deep blush spreads across his face.

“Oh my God”, you remark, baffled by the realization. “Is that why you never…you’re terrible at this.”

He gently pats his lap.

“Come here. I’ll tell you everything you want to know.”

[Main Story] | [More Monsters]

[n0tamused]

Came across House of Dragons and kinda got invested then I saw you accept Jiyan requests so now I’m kinda thinking what a mixture of the two would be like….Jiyan with his own dragon riding in Westeros…Jiyan courting you despite protests from his court…Jiyan protecting his queen from anyone that tries to hurt her or his heirs…idk I am just a causal watcher I have no clue what’s actually going on in GoT and HoD tbh

A/n: I'm uploading this from my phone because I just can't wait to post this, so if there's formatting or grammar errors - rest assured, I'll do my best to get to it once I get on my laptop. Where do I begin though? 😭 My goodness, you couldn't have sent me a better idea than this one oml. I'm smooching you on the head istg, thank you so much for this request! And I hope you enjoy this jumbled ramble <3 I'd love to do more of this little au and I most definitely will, and for some other characters as well.

Contents: Jiyan x Reader, headcanons, you/yours, written with a F! Reader in mind, dragonrider reader and Jiyan, Game of Thrones/House of The Dragon universe, pregnancy, angst, happy ending, somewhat arranged marriage lol, tell me if there's anything else to tag.

-War had taken many noble houses to an early grave, leaving behind nothing but ghosts and ruin over the vast lands. The ones that remained standing were either the rich or the cruel. All except one.

-Jiyan, originally hailing from Jinzhou, and belonging to no noble or rich lineage. His mother was a notorious healer, and his father had long been lost to travels and war himself.

-He had joined the battles as a young green boy alongside his mother, moving beside the long columns of soldiers in their tattered armor and ringmail. All he could do was stare at them in wonder and question - Why do they spill so much blood? For what?

-There was no looming threat of the Others coming to claim their lives, it was just them - the people and the common folk, yet they fought each other like animals for a few extra inches of land or a few extra coppers in their liege lord's pocket.

-As much as Jiyan didn't wish to engage in the art of war and bloodshed and only wanted to heal and save, it became apparent, all too soon, that the way to survival and peace was through battle. Healing will get him nowhere, and if a good commander was not put at the front, it wouldn't matter how well he healed if two in three soldiers died, even after receiving his aid.

-The war changed him, hardened his heart and fortified his mind, until the healer he once was became only a distant memory. Spear replaced herbs, and instead of the tattered medic tunic he now donned armor and ringmail. A companion also joined his side after he ran into a deep cavern for safety during one particular battle. A large unclaimed dragon, which nearly took his head off now stood at his side like a mountain, guardian him day and night and heralding the doom of his enemies with a thunderous roar and loud snap of it's wings. The dragon was a beautiful pale green, with bronze horns and amber eyes with darker lines of green running over its back. It was a beauty as much as it was a beast. Men quickly took to respect him, and it became evident Jiyan’s person hid many talents besides that for medical aid and spear holding.

-The previous commander perished, another life taken by the savage ways of war, and Jiyan was appointed as the new commander by the soldiers after he rose to the occasion - having led them to success in war, as well as safety when the odds did not favor them.

-It was during his reign as the lead commander that the lands saw the end of the war. Blood was shed, yes, but not for naught.

-Upon his return to the central city, the throne was found vacant, the king slain along with his entire council. The word of it was that they were taken unawares from the seaside, and had no ways of defense, as all the manpower was at the front lines

-Jiyan came into his rule as king at a young age, far too soon, and yet despite all the doubt he had flourished quickly. Proving himself as an able and just ruler, unlike the ones that came before, his foundation as a commander giving him good wind in the back

-The city wasn't in good condition after the war, but in the years following Jiyan had sent many commands that would aid in its rebuilding

-Slowly, but surely, the common folk started to feel the dawn of a new age - summer has finally come.

-The one thing Jiyan has gladly forgotten about was marriage. As a king, it was expected of him to take a bride to be his queen, to have heirs and to start a new lineage that would, hopefully, carry better blood instead of the hot blood that sought destruction. It wasn't something he often thought about as other duties preoccupied him day in and day out. But it was neither something he was against.. Deep in his heart he would admit a thought of his own family did make him feel…alive. But how would that family fare in these conditions? With his status? This was nothing like his small village he grew up in, so the image he once had in his mind was no longer so clear.

-His mother was a person he'd eventually seek advice from regarding such tender subjects, earning himself a laugh occasionally, as his cluelessness was rather amusing. Where other Kings misused their power and gave commands as they saw fit, Jiyan exercised caution, and even sympathy for the bride he didn't even have yet.

-Eventually, a match was arranged, between him and a lady of a higher birth. His mother had met you before he did and vouched for your good character - but Jiyan remained nervous, vowing to keep his judgment and thoughts to himself until he met you himself.

-Your journey to the city was a long one, yet you entered the long and towering palace halls like a breath of fresh air. Keeping your lady wits about yourself and keeping your courtesies with you, you had quickly rubbed off on Jiyan. The wedding was still a matter of question, as Jiyan had insisted on giving you and your family the due time to explore the city and to see whether this was truly something they wanted to go through with. His compassion was answered in kind by many gifts sent from the city they hailed from, consisting of foreign fruits and vegetables to cattle and coins and silks.

-It was endearing. And the courtship between Jiyan and (Y/n) soon began, as the former began to make moves. He preferred to do so in some amounts of privacy, as the many eyes that followed him as King were uncomfortable and he swore he could never get used to them.

-This seemed to please and comfort his bride-to-be as well, and both of them would show their true colors. It was a rare thing for a royal match to be founded in love rather than simple responsibilities to make heirs, but it wasn't unheard of either.

-What they both had in common was that they were dragon riders. (Y/n)’s dragon was a stark comparison to his own with red scales and two pairs of black horns and dark amber eyes, the underside of the dragon’s wings being a shade of yellow that looked like gold under the sunlight. It was a terrifying dragon, arguably even more scary than his own mount.

-When no one was looking, the two would go down to the Dragon Pit and take their dragons to the skies, racing over the cities with one another or going over the seas to breathe the salty air. It was an escape from duty as well. The moment their dragons took to air, all status and responsibilities remained on the ground, and only the sky was the limit to their freedom.

-Jiyan relished in this freedom like a luxurious drink he could never tire of, and your laughter was a sound like no other.

-The dragons took to liking one another as well, and would dance in the air while the pair were seated on their backs, spinning and falling, and right before the ground came too close they'd pull away and take to the skies once more.

-The commonfolk took this as a good omen. The dragons ruled the skies again, and a good King was on the throne, with a good queen soon to join him.

-Jiyan would find himself inviting (Y/n) to his chambers in early mornings to break their fast together or late dinners to share their day with one another. It was as if the two were already married. And even that wasn't too far from coming true.

-The wedding was a big event. Tables and tents were set all the way out and around the keep as well as in the big ballroom inside. Although Jiyan would've preferred to keep the celebrations a modest one, the council insisted that this occasion warranted the eyes of everyone, the joy had to be shared. This once he gave in to their requests.

-Flower petals were thrown on them as they passed by the rows of commonfolk standing at the sides of the rode, him and his Queen riding at the back of an open carriage dragged by four horses, white and elegant with plumes in their manes. Everything was near perfect and out of a fairy tale.

-King and Queen would share their dance in the ballroom once they returned from the High Sept where they got married before the priest, sharing their first kiss - something Jiyan made sure to cover and hide to the best of his abilities by pulling your veil over both of your faces.

-The celebration lasted all the way into the eerie hours of the night. And both Jiyan and you were exhausted, and upon retiring to your shared bed chamber you simply collapsed onto the plush mattress.

-That night, Jiyan fell asleep with his lover in his arms, watching your soft breaths make your chest rise and fall in slow successions, his fingertips tracing the lines of your face and the skin of your back, until he couldn't resist the urge to sleep.

-This wasn't a life Jiyan asked for…but it was one he was glad for.

-Children came later. A lovely little daughter being the first to be born of the love from the King and Queen, bearing the signature feature of you. Jiyan was beyond happy.

-During the birth of his daughter he was in the city, conducting business over a new architecture project when news arrived that his Queen had gone into labor. It is believed he had never dropped a matter as quickly as he did that day, racing back to the keep and searching for his wife.

-Despite the protests of the midwives, he responded only to you, racing to your side and giving you comfort and encouragement if nothing else, welcoming the fruit of your shared love together. It was the first time Jiyan ever cried in front of anyone else. He had delegated some more of his duties to the others in favor of having the time to spend with his newborn and you, helping you recover from the birth.

-It wasn't rare to see Jiyan roaming the dark halls in the middle of the night to visit the kitchens for food for you, bringing back foods and snacks, whatever you wished, even the weird food cravings. Hell, sometimes he'd indulge in them alongside you. Once, during your first pregnancy you requested a big honeycomb, and it just happened Jiyan felt like a sweettooth that evening as well. That ended with you sharing quite a candid moment, lips sticky with honey with a waxy feel between your teeth as you tried not to laugh at one another.

-The second pregnancy was a boy, following two years after the daughter was born, and he came with a little more trouble. The new prince was quite a big baby, and the birth left you even more exhausted. A fever soon settled within you, greatly worrying Jiyan and the entire council. You could barely hold the boy to feed him without shaking, and the fever lasted for days.

-It was the scariest time of Jiyan’s life. Any moment spent away from you plunged a dagger into his heart that twisted itself further in. It pained him. And he nearly got sick himself from worry.

-There were maids around you constantly, when he couldn't assist you it was them that took care of you. His mother was close by as well, bringing you great herbal teas and green tea cakes and broths. The time for you was a blur, filled with uncomfortable heat of your body and sticky feelings of sweat.. does it ever end?

-It was as if the whe world was plunged into depression once you fell ill. Dark clouds corresponded with Jiyan’s bitter and grieving mood, and the dragons themselves were restless. In this time, the others, outside of his kingdom, saw it fit to attack and plunder the neighboring villages and cities.

-You had recovered enough to talk, but your days were still mostly spent by sleeping and eating.

-You could vaguely remember seeing Jiyan entering your chamber, holding your son for a short while before putting him back in his crib. A concerned look pinched his brows together, you could remember, as his gaze went to you.

- “My love?... Are you alright?” He'd ask as he kneeled by the side of your bed, taking your hand in both of his and kissing the knuckles that felt like they were ablaze underneath his lips. He was dressed in all armor, a sword at his hip. Why was he leaving?.. Where?

-It all seemed like a dream, an illusion borne from your illness, but it was real. He had a duty over the kingdom, and over you. Yet it pained him no less to leave the place he was closest to you. He had entrusted your care to his mother and the maids, and he had already bid farewell to your daughter. She had clung to him like a moss clings to a tree, asking him when he'd return.

-You couldn't give a reply, staring somewhere through him.

-Has the reign of peace perished so quickly?

-His dragon waited at the Dragonpits, and the troops were already marching out of the city gates when he took to fly over them, leading them to the front lines once more.

-You recovered in the following days, finding yourself alone - not literally, as there were maids and servants all flocking to you, but Jiyan wasn't there. His Hand sat the throne instead of him. And your children had grown significantly, as if years had passed instead of several days.

-Responsibilities choked you until you began to move, throwing yourself back into work and and duty. Your son was always at your hip or breast, making up for the time lost. And your daughter was always pulling at your skirts unless she was at her lessons.

-It was a restless period, and a terrifying one. The first letter you sent to Jiyan was met with an ecstatic response, him being overjoyed you were healthy again, yet he encouraged you to rest more.

-His other letters brought bitter news of losses and bloodshed and treason, but he reassured they were holding strong. You could only believe him.

-Months passed. Months. And a letter from Jiyan was yet to come in. It worried you. This everlasting silence, it was of more concern than the sorrowful letters.

-During one evening as you sat on one of the tall balconies of the palace, overlooking the city as your son cooed in your arms, you heard a shriek. One coming from your dragon in the Dragonpits. The dragon was as restless as you, her calls weren't foreign to hear, but this time her shriek was returned by a call of another.

-Your husband's dragon flew down from the murky clouds. The green dragon roared, splitting the sound mid air, earning another roar from your own dragon.

-Jiyan has returned.

-You’re unsure how you raced so quickly down to meet him, with a babe in your arms and not properly dressed either. Appearances didn't matter. Your husband's return did. He mattered.

-And once you saw one another, nothing else could hold you back from running into eachother’s arms, the baby carefully tucked between the two of you in a protective embrace as Jiyan kissed both of your heads, pressing his forehead against yours soon after, laughter shaking his shoulders and chest.

-He was sure he could cry right now, and seeing you shed tears of joy almost encouraged him.

-Jiyan knew he'd split the world in half if it meant keeping you whole and with him.

Ⓒ n0tamused. Do not repost, translate, edit, and/or copy any of my works. Likes, comments, and reblogs are appreciated.

[milky-aeons]

— IN THE INTERIOR

౨ৎ  . . . in which JEAN KIRSCHTEIN finally gets that idyllic little home in the interior, reminisces on the echoes of war, and can't seem to keep his hands off of his pregnant newly-wed wife.

warnings: swearing, sexual content, pregnancy, depictions of violence, memories of war/ptsd, mdni, w.c 2.4k

𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐈𝐂𝐄 𝐊𝐄𝐄𝐏𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐇𝐈𝐒 𝐅𝐈𝐍𝐄 𝐖𝐇𝐈𝐒𝐊𝐄𝐘 𝐂𝐇𝐈𝐋𝐋𝐄𝐃 𝐒𝐏𝐋𝐈𝐓, clinking against the crystal glass that reflected the light.

It jostled Jean from his dark musings — calling him back from the battlefield within his mind.

He glanced over at it, blinking. Reaching towards the little glass, he picked it up and swirled the contents around. It was a fine whiskey — brewed and stored in Ashwood barrels to give it that intoxicating flavour. During his soldier days, Jean had only been able to dream about touching such expensive whiskey to his lips. And yet here he was, on a bright afternoon deep into autumn, drinking a glass like he had an endless supply of it on his home terrace in the Capital.

It was everything he could have ever wanted.

And yet, it did nothing to quell the screams and cries, the memories of bloodshed roaring up to wash over him.

To drown him.

From the moment he had woken up next to his snoozing wife that morning, Jean just knew today was going to be tough. There were many of them ever since the war ended — days where he could not get out of bed, where he couldn't even will himself to step into the shower without feeling like he was choking. The scars left from the war were deep and corrosive, and perhaps, they would never heal. But he owed it to each and every one of his fallen comrades to continue on. To build something beautiful out of the ashes left in their wake.

Jean winced suddenly — his fight or flight kicking in. In his ears, there was not the gentle din of shoppers from the Mitras street below or the chirping of bluebirds. There was carnage. There was the sounds of screaming orders, of ripping bodies and explosives. In one fraction of a second, he was back on that airship — he was getting ready to dive with his comrades onto the back of the Founding Titan with a slim chance that he would make it out alive—

"Morning, darling," An angel spoke to him, slicing through the clouds, and he felt something warm and comforting sliding down his taut chest. "You're quiet. Is everything alright?"

Slowly, so agonisingly slowly, the images of their last battle dissipated like departing smoke. In its remnants; the sounds of the markets below, the sweet-smelling breeze touched by autumn leaves, feminine arms reaching over his shoulders and playing with his frock.

Feminine — the scent of lilies and warmth. His wife. His beautiful, beautiful wife.

Jean inhaled, his chest expanding almost painfully, and fashioned his face into something composed. He craned his head back to meet your eyes. They were haloed in the tumbles of [h/c] hair that cascaded down to hide him from the outside world.

He flashed you a signature, cheeky grin. "All good. What are ya doin' up this early though?" He fired back at you, his eyebrows pinching with tender concern. "You should be resting."

It was true — and every time he saw the evidence of the life swelling in your belly, Jean felt the need to slap himself. Really, really hard, just to be sure. There was a bright glow that touched the tips of your cheeks, your breasts has swollen and become heavier, readying for the child who would be born within the next few months. A father, he was going to be a father. What were the fucking odds that they had made it this far, you and him, that you were bringing life into this new world. Something he originally believed would have been impossible.

You narrowed your eyes at your husband. There was a familiar look on his face, one which caused you to reach up and brush the curve of his brow.

"You have nightmares in your eyes, my love." You whispered.

He didn't contest, didn't say anything. But he didn't need to. Instead, he closed those honey-coloured eyes and sighed. Jean nudged into your touch — a silent ask — and you continued to rub soothing arcs against his skin. Smoothening out the wrinkles of his bunched expression.

"Shh, it's okay," You murmured in a calming tone. "You are safe. You are here, Jean. We made it. Nothing is going to hurt us, anymore."

Your husband took in deep breaths. First, quick and shallow, which then levelled out into a pace more even. From stroking his face, you let your deft fingertips dance along his skin and sink into his unruly hair, still unbrushed and tousled by sleep. It was past his ears now, you noticed, curling against the nape of his neck in soft sweeps.

"Your hair has gotten long again." You remarked, playing with their ends.

"Hmm," Jean responded. "Suppose so. Kinda like it." He then opened his eyes to look at you once more, and when he did, you were delighted to find they were their bright whiskey-gold, just like the bottle on your terrace table. You smiled softly down at him.

"You have come back to me."

Jean stared at you with those unyielding, clever eyes. He then reached up to catch your caressing hand and turned his face to place a kiss in the palm.

"Always." He whispered.

You would have spent that tender moment just basking in the sunlight with him there, thankful that you both had this time together. Your husband, however, seemed to have other plans. First, it was a wicked little glint that flashed across his eyes — and in the next moment, he was up, using the hand he had clasped to spin you around and hoist you up into his arms.

"J-Jean—!" You choked down a laugh. He scooped you up effortlessly into a bridal-style hold, walking through the terrace doors and into your shared little kitchen.

"Well, my wife is just lookin' extra beautiful this morning!" He chirped, and spun you around and around. Your giggles became a loud, playful scorn, calling him a silly man and demanding that he set you down before he made you and the baby dizzy.

"Our baby will come with a perpetual issue of poor balance!" You cried when he finally stopped, holding you close to him.

"If he's anything like his old man," Jean said. "He will have no problems. In fact, he'll be a damn master at all things balance. You know what they called me in the cadets, right?"

"Yes, yes. Mr. Genius at ODM Gear." Your faces were close, and you nuzzled into the strong column of his neck, breathing in his familiar scent. "I just hope he will not be as big-headed."

"Hah? What did you say?"

Jean was peppering kisses starting from the very crown of your head, following a path of heat down your forehead, your cheeks, then finishing at your neck and giving you a playful nip.

You yelped, swatting at him. It only spurned him on, his broad shoulders that you held onto for support rumbling with his deep laughter. His butterfly kisses against your neck became a frenzy, tickling all of your sensitive spots, murmuring in his low voice who are ya makin' fun of? Hm? He both made you giggle and sparked a familiar heady feeling low in the pit of your stomach.

Your chuckles deepened in time with your quickening breath. It became thready and shallow, increasing in time as your heartrate picked up. Still in his captive bridal hold, you slid your hands from his shoulders to around his neck, tugging at his hair in that way you knew drove him wild.

His kisses tripped over your skin when you did so, his breath caught. Pleasured need rippled throughout your body. The kisses he placed on your neck became messier, changing from swift and teasing to hot, open-mouthed. You craned your head back to give him better access and he wasted absolutely no time — dragging the flat of his tongue from your collarbone to your ear, humming when you arched up in his hold.

Jean hoisted you up a little so he could move swiftly through the apartment. His long legs ate up the distance, gliding through the little one-storey terrace you had both made your home in the interior. You leaned up to him while he moved, kissing him sweetly, tenderly. Speaking in words you said so many times and would continue to say again; I love you. Now and forever.

Your second kiss, however, was meaner — you clamped your teeth on his bottom lip and he growled.

When he reached the bedroom you both shared, you felt Jean kick the door shut behind him, before walking you over to the unmade bed and placing you down. So gently, so caringly. The fragility of how he held you was almost enough to shatter your heart. The mattress dipped when he kneeled over you, encouraging you to lie down flat.

"You're gonna pay for doing that." He murmured in a rough voice.

Innocently, you bat your eyelashes. "For what, my dear husband?"

He leaned down so that your foreheads connected and closed his eyes, sighing hard through his nose. "For being so fuckin' irresistible."

Every inch of you was set alight as he leaned over you, caging you down to the bed with his larger body. You tried to surge up — to feel his mouth on yours and never stop, but he rose, kneeling so he could look down at you.

He was still in that light cotton sleeping shirt he wore to bed — hanging loosely around his neck, throwing his tanned skin into sublime focus. His golden eyes shadowed into a deep whiskey followed from your face, to your aching breasts, to your belly. The little swell there made his expression soften. He placed a hand onto your warm stomach and held it still, feeling the child you will soon share and raise together, his newly polished wedding band catching the morning light.

You felt like you were going to burst with the sheer force of love you felt for this man, Jean Kirschtein, your husband, for now and always. The longer you stared at him, the stronger the low pulse between your legs became.

"Jean." You whispered, and he looked up from under his fair lashes, understanding the plea in your voice.

Jean took his time undressing you, like the wicked little thing he was, delighting at how you wriggled under his touch like a trapped and desperate butterfly. When he had stripped both of you bare, you marvelled at the strong planes of his chest and tight, defined abdominal muscles. You traced each and every little scar he wore proudly, feeling those muscles twitch underneath your touch.

He was perfect. He was yours.

"Come here." You crooned, looping your arms around his neck and pulling him over you.

"Yes ma'am."

Your arms did not fit across the large expanse of his back muscles — you sunk your nails into the curves of his shoulder bones, feeling as they shifted when he crawled on top of you. His head dipped down to catch one of your sensitive nipples in his mouth and he sucked — nibbling softly. Your head knocked back. When he lifted his hand and closed the entirety of his palm over your unattended breast, the moan you let out was long and broken.

"They've gotten big, hm?" He whispered against your chest, chasing his words with loving kisses. "So pretty."

Impatient, lust racing through your bloodstream, you grabbed his wandering hand and guided it to where you ached between your thighs. So slick and swollen, Jean's eyebrows raised, his expression becoming incredibly smug.

"Oi, you've gotten impatient, have you?"

"Oh—yes, yes." You groaned when his fingers curled against you. He knew all the right spots to push, to rub, to make you sing for him.

"Come on, sweetheart, tell me what ya need."

"I need—oh, I need you!"

"Like this?" He cooed, pushing two fingers into you with such tender slowness. It felt exquisite, it felt so filling when you were hot and aching — but not enough.

To urge him, you hooked your leg around the strong curve of his lower back and pulled him into you. He made a sound of surprise, releasing his fingers from you to catch his weight by bracing his hands on either side of your head.

His wide eyes collided with your fierce ones. The intensity you were looking at him with made this ex-soldier's cock give a painful twitch.

"I need you. Inside me. Now."

Pleasure exploded down Jean Kirschtein's spine in a thousand lightning bolts. He hung his head forward, groaning, before reaching down to push your thighs gently apart to allow for his body to slot neatly with yours.

"Well, what typ'a husband would I be if I denied you?"

His cock slid inside you in a way that always felt so mind-numbingly perfect, like he was made to be there, to be yours. Jean let out a ferocious sound and buried into your swollen breasts. You moaned, deep, relieved, bucking your hips up to grind into him.

Jean resurfaced to connect your shining foreheads, once more. He reached down to cup your hips and drew out — pushing back inside with such concentration. He was being careful with you, he was handling you like you were the most precious thing in the entire world. You had become attuned to the monstrous power Jean Kirschtein housed in his toned body, honed from years of battling for his life. You had felt it. Even now, you could feel that hum under his skin — the strength he had used to fuck you against tables and walls, the marble tiling in the shower, the balcony in the deep hours of the night.

But now — he was a gentle, caring lover. He pulsed into you in at a steady pace. Both of you gasped each other's air. You clawed at him. His mouth dropped open to pant as he thrusted into you again, again, again.

When his movements started to become messier, less co-ordinated, did he reach down between the both of you and thrum his fingers against where you were most sensitive. You barked out a cry. The bed began to rock and whine with the force of your love-making.

"Come with me, [Name]." He growled against your shoulder. "Come on, sweetheart, come with me, come with me."

In a delirious haze of ecstasy, you nodded your head, again and again until the apex of your pleasure crested and swelled. Your nails dug into his skin. Jean's breaths quickened until they became choked, gasping moans, and his release smashed into him. You fell, too, crashing through the wall of ecstasy with him until all you knew were his body and his scent and the clasping of his be-ringed hand in yours.

It was all he had ever wanted.

[bones4thecats]

Handling Their God! S/O

Type of Writing: Poll Result Characters: Jack the Ripper, Leonidas, Raiden Tameemon, and Soji Okita Name: Handling Life with their God! S/O Original Poll Link: Here

A/N: This poll was released about a couple months ago, so, sorry that this is quite a bit late to those who voted and wanted it written! Instead of being really handing their S/O, it's more like how they meet and whatnot. Enjoy, lil bubbles🫧!

✧⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋄✧⋄⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋆⋄✧⋄⋅⋆⋄✧⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋆⋄✧⋄⋅⋆⋄✧⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅

✧⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋄✧⋄⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋆⋄✧⋄⋅⋆⋄✧⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋆⋄✧⋄⋅⋆⋄✧⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅

🩸 You were the Hindu God of Sacrifices and Bloodshed, and due to your title, many presumed you were very sadistic and diabolical, basically the Hindu version of Loki

🩸 The only real person to see behind your name was your fellow pantheon members, the Greek Demi-God of Justice, Heracles, and Humanity's fourth representative, Jack the Ripper

🩸 While Ragnarok's fourth round ensued, you watched your friend, Heracles, erupt from the Gods' side and smiled lightly as he gave you a hearty thumbs up, and you just stared as the human's representative, being Jack, emerged, nodding to the God

🩸 You watched the battle with a blank expression, while your fellow pantheon members raged as Jack hit Heracles, but only your could tell what was happening

🩸 Being the embodiment of sacrifices and bloodshed meant you knew when someone was being very bloodthirsty, but you couldn't sense so much in Jack as you did in other Gods, such as Poseidon

🩸 It surprised you, and watching him smile lightly as Heracles faded away, claiming he'd always love Humanity, a tear escaped your eyes, and you watched in hidden rage as Humanity began to throw things such as rocks at one of the men who had saved them and their descendants from utter doom

🩸 So, despite the yells of your leader, Shiva, you jumped down and shielded Jack from the items with a shield of blood, nodding as he looked at you with hidden gratitude

🩸 Jack would smile at you as you sat beside him in a hammock you made of blood, sharpening the knives of his that the nurses took away, you really were a beauty despite the rumors behind you

🩸 Much like Hlökk, you knew that after what Heracles said to him before he died, Jack began to try changing from his old self in order to find someone that truly loved him and didn't use him like his mother once did

🩸 What you didn't know is that his eyes were on you, and you alone

✧⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋄✧⋄⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋆⋄✧⋄⋅⋆⋄✧⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋆⋄✧⋄⋅⋆⋄✧⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅

✧⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋄✧⋄⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋆⋄✧⋄⋅⋆⋄✧⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋆⋄✧⋄⋅⋆⋄✧⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅

🚬 You met Leonidas because of his death, mainly how he saved many of his men from sending them away once realizing their efforts were fruitless

🚬 As the Greek Goddess of Honor, Selflessness, and Defending, you would watch over the many men and women who would fight in the wars that plagued the world, though, you mainly focused on your homeland

🚬 Leonidas met you when he ascended with his 299 our of the 300 men who perished, and he was very wary of you at first, due to how he disliked anyone in relation of Apollo, blaming him for the deaths of his men and himself

🚬 Understanding where he was coming from, you proved your worth to him by giving him and his men the best treatment your role as a God could offer, and it warmed his cold heart watching you play around with the men's children with tiny swords and telling them stories of battles long since past

🚬 The King of Sparta also loved watching you sit down alongside the wild animals that spread throughout the battlefields that surrounded their homes

🚬 While it took a while, Leonidas and you began to court before your eventual marriage a few hundred years after his initial death

🚬 When Brunhilde came by to ask Leonidas of his part in Ragnarok, you offered yourself up to be a possible Völundr for him when he partook in his battle, in which Brunhilde tried turning you down, before Leonidas agreed in you helping

🚬 You stood alongside Geirölul as you both preformed the ritual with your husband, she smiled at you as you transformed into his xiphos blade, the same one that he wielded for years, showing your significance to him

🚬 Leonidas listened as you spoke through his mind, chanting the same words as him while your battle commenced, chanting as one person with your now three voices laced together

" From the day you died... " " And the day we met... " " We promised to stay together, no matter what! " " Now... " " Let's kill this fucker! "

✧⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋄✧⋄⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋆⋄✧⋄⋅⋆⋄✧⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋆⋄✧⋄⋅⋆⋄✧⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅

✧⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋄✧⋄⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋆⋄✧⋄⋅⋆⋄✧⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋆⋄✧⋄⋅⋆⋄✧⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅

🥊 He was a man with a very specific choice in his S/Os, and when he met you after he died? Woah, did you fit the bill!

🥊 Strong? Check. Not ashamed of yourself to the point of harming? Check. And let's not forget, face-burying chest.

🥊 Raiden only saw you as the Norse God of Strength, Fairness, and Battles, standing alongside your fellow deities, you were one of the strongest ever seen

🥊 He would smile whenever he saw you watching his fights from a small area with one of your fellow Gods nearby, bored out of their mind as you just admired the men's devotion to fighting and winning

🥊 You and him began to bond when, after one of his matches, you approached and introduced yourself to him without an inch of arrogance or superiority, making him smile and shake your hand

🥊 Raiden loved practicing with you, and feeling you pick him up and slam him down made him laugh at your action, since nobody could ever pin him down like you did

🥊 Much like with Leonidas, you sacrificed yourself to be Raiden's Völundr, alongside Thrud, who welcomed you with the biggest hug you both had ever experienced

🥊 Thrud, Raiden, and you all laced yourselves together and fought against your ex-ally, Shiva, and hugged as you all faded away, saying how much it was an honor to be together in your last moments

🥊 This all was what you wanted when you eventually died, to be surrounded by those you loved, and you were surrounded by your husband and new sister-figure, what else could you ever had asked for?

✧⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋄✧⋄⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋆⋄✧⋄⋅⋆⋄✧⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋆⋄✧⋄⋅⋆⋄✧⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅

✧⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋄✧⋄⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋆⋄✧⋄⋅⋆⋄✧⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋆⋄✧⋄⋅⋆⋄✧⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅

🏮 Soji Okita was a very interesting man, despite his smaller stature, he was a remarkable fighter and an excellent fighter, which you had witnessed head-on

🏮 You were the Shinto God of the Good and Bold, holding a significant hold over many different kinds of things, such as festivals and, as many said you valued, flamboyancy

🏮 Soji met you when you came looking for the Seven Lucky Gods, whom were being called out for battle soon and needed to practice their skills, just in case, you would remind them

🏮 What you did not expect was to find Odin's aura erupting as humans and Gods cowered away in fear, commenting on how strong or an aura he had, and how it must have been only a portion of it

🏮 You sighed from behind, making everyone look at you as you strode to grab Ebisu's hand, which had Buddha's lollipop stick still in it, and you began to scold to goatee-wearing God for being so dumb as to let something happen

🏮 While you strode away with Ebisu's ear in between your fingers, Soji couldn't help but wonder who you were and what you were to those Gods, those filthy and evil Gods...

🏮 Hearing about your story from Isami Kendo, listening intently as he spoke of how you basically raised the one God they once were, and when he split, you raised all of the Seven Lucky Gods until adulthood

🏮 He needed to speak to you here soon, you could answer the questions Kendo could not... and maybe he could train with you afterwards! Oh, how smart was he!

[buffysummers]

"season 2 of house of the dragon was filler. nothing happened"

Things that happened:

Daemon ordered Aemond's death in retribution for Lucerys' murder, Jaehaerys is instead beheaded

Rhaenyra is blamed for the murder, labeled "Rhaenyra the Cruel"

Rhaenyra realizes Daemon is at fault. She confronts him, tells him she isn't sure if she can trust him, calls him pathetic. He flees

Aegon fires Otto as his hand and sends him away. He then makes Cole his hand

We later find out that Otto has, in fact, been held prisoner ever since he was exiled

Rhaenyra sneaks into Kings Landing to vie for peace with Alicent and the Greens. She wants to avoid bloodshed in a needless war after inheriting years of peace from her father's reign. Alicent rejects her and says it's too late

Rhaenyra forces a blockade on Kings Landing, withholding food and resources in an attempt to make the Greens surrender

The people of Kings Landing are starving, start to turn against the Greens

Rhaenyra sends food and resources to the smallfolk in an attempt to get them to support her claim. This seems to work

Rhaenys and Meleys die in battle against Aemond

Cole parades Meleys' head through the streets of Kings Landing, calling her a "traitor dragon." This is seen as an omen by the smallfolk. It disrespects the symbol of the House Targaryen and in turn makes them look weak. Whereas before they appeared invincible and god-like because of their ability to ride and command dragons. "It's just meat."

Aemond burns Aegon, almost kills him, Sunfyre also dies

Aemond then goes to finish the job, but is interrupted by Cole

Aemond becomes Prince Regent despite Alicent advocating for herself to become Queen Regent again

Aemond fires Alicent from his council, then later threatens Aegon

Daemon almost goes insane in harrenhal after he is haunted through dreams and visions by the witch Alys

Daemon considers turning against Rhaenyra out of jealousy and anger

Daemon sees a vision of the song of ice and fire. He re-pledges his loyalty to Rhaenyra and has an army at her command

Helaena also appears in this vision and tells Daemon to kill Aemond

Rhaenyra finds three new dragonriders

Rhaenyra now has seven dragons versus Aemond's two. (Three if you count Dreamfyre)

Helaena reveals to Aemond that she knows he burned Aegon. She refuses to ride into battle after he demands her to. He threatens her, she says she saw his death and that Aegon will be king again

Aegon flees the city with Larys to ride out the war between Aemond and Rhaenyra. Aegon's dick was also burned off

Aemond burns Sharp Point out of fear and frustration after he learns of Rhaenyra's new dragonriders

Alicent realizes she misinterpreted Viserys' final words

She goes to Rhaenyra with the hope of saving herself and Helaena. She offers Rhaenyra the city, and offers her Aegon's head

Rhaenyra kisses a woman. She's a girl-kisser!

Corlys comes to terms with the damage he did to his two "bastard" sons

Rhaena potentially finds a dragon of her own

Jacaerys contronts Rhaenyra about her infidelity and about the threat he faces as her heir since it is plain for everyone to see that he is a "bastard." Rhaenyra does not understand his concerns because she has never seen him as anything but her son, she has never considered him or thought of him as a bastard. He voices his frustration with her deciding to let Targaryen bastards ride dragons because he questions his worthiness to be King. He struggles to see the difference between him and the other Targaryen bastards

Tyland makes a deal with the Triarchy and gets them to back the Greens

I know I missed some stuff but, just so you know, things did, in fact, happen this season. It was only 8 episodes.

[elmundodeflor]

And just like that, she’d fallen for him.

Spring. Summer. Autumn. The world had its cycles. There had been peace before war, and peace would come after bloodsheds and battles.

Katara looks at Zuko, at how he stares out to the width in the horizons. The curves of his nose and lips are soft, much like the colors of the leaves around them. The lines of his jaw and cheeks are sharp, in contrast.

He’s a beautiful man; she’s always thought so, even when they were enemies and he’d sworn he’d kill them. She likes it better this way, though— being friends, confidants, long-time companions. Kindness suits him more, either way. She likes how his face looks when he’s calm, — when there’s no rage to contort his scar, no scowl furrowing his brow.

She also likes that he knows her. That they can stand, silence pending between them, and it’s never too tense or uncomfortable. Zuko is just that good to her. He never puts too much pressure on her shoulders, — she’s had enough of that already. Instead, he soothes the rough edges. Lets her make her own choices and never judges her for them.

He looks back at her. An easy smile grazes his features; baffling, tortuous, beautiful. Katara has to fight the urge to freeze some water from her bottle and smash it across her searing face.

“Do you wanna…”, his voice cuts through the wind, raspy as it ever was. When he talks, it’s evident that he’s nervous. That he’s been circling around his thoughts and can’t seem to find the words. “I mean…”, he tries again. “Do you wanna stay here until you decide what to do?”

She hums, then turns her gaze back to the gardens. Aang had asked her to travel the world along with him, — to be by his side and help other people, from other nations and villages. She had yet to give him a proper answer.

It wasn’t that she didn’t want to— go on missions, hear the masses’ suffering and be present in whatever way she could. Maybe, it was that she simply had pictured something different for herself. She could be so much more than just the “Avatar’s girl”! She could go home, lend a useful hand to Sokka and her dad advocating for their tribe. She could be an ambassador.

She could be with Zuko.

She can imagine the whole thing all too well, actually, — being on the palace, with him, until she could confront Aang about what to do. They could go for an evening stroll, feed turtleducks by the lake. Zuko’d make tea way past dinner time, and she’d laugh along with Suki when he’d burn his tongue by the first sip.

“There’s nothing I’d like more.”, she tells him, then. They are in one of the many balconies, staring out at the sun. The last scraps of summer have flushed with the breeze, and now the trees look all kinds of reds, yellows, oranges. Almost like they’ve caught on fire.

Zuko smiles at her again. A shy, wonderful thing that makes his eyes glint. His hair’s shaggy and overgrown, and falls limp between the honey of his irises. His cheeks burn a bright pink that, Katara deduces, might be from the gentle light warming up their faces.

“Okay.”, he says. He likes this, as well, — having her around. That he can open up to someone he can share his scars with, both the physical and the ones that lay underneath.

Katara inches close to him, just enough so that their elbows nudge together. The world has its cycles, she believes. Blue skies bleed into the darkness of the night. Ice defrosts when heated-up. And just like that, she’d fall for Zuko— delicate, and raw, and over and over. Helpless, like the moon that carries down the tides. Hopeless, like the autumn leaves that fall, ever so slow, and now gather at their feet like sea-foam.

“Okay.”

[yuesya]

The Lord of the Vortex.

There is none who does not know the name of Osial, That Which Lies in The Deep. The most powerful god of the Hydro element. He who commands authority over the tempestuous seas, who controls the monsters of those very same waters.

The bird remembers that the– the–

Remembers that the Mistress of Dreams had treated the Lord of the Vortex with honeyed smiles and wary caution. Knows that the Lord of the Vortex is a god of war and battle, even despite the genial countenance that he dons an agreeable demeanor, complete with cold eyes that make it clear the god will not suffer any disagreement to his commands.

“Will you not say anything, little bird?” The Hydro god arches an eyebrow coolly. “Answer. Don’t make me repeat myself.”

Involuntarily, the bird’s hands twitch. Its throat tightens, and words simply –refuse to rise to its tongue. The bird does not know the reason why.

Quicksilver images flash through its mind. White hair, and blue eyes.

I don’t have orders. Just go.

… The new Master –Not-Master?– had not made any demands for obedience, nor compelled any vows of secrecy from it. And yet, the bird finds itself reluctant to speak of the young god to the Lord of the Vortex, who has already slain countless foes whom it deemed a threat, monsters and gods alike–

“Who killed Malphas?” Impatience is beginning to creep into the sea god’s voice. The faux-friendly air about the god is fading swiftly; the Lord of the Vortex’s mood is known to be as mercurial as the storms that rise over the seas that he rules. “If you will not sing for me, little bird, then clearly you do not need that useless tongue of yours.”

The threat is crude, and unsubtle. There’s a faint tremor of fear that the bird can feel fluttering inside its chest, but even so, it remains silent.

A cruel smile splits across the god’s face. Jagged teeth elongate into fangs, as the manifestation of the Lord of the Vortex’s power destabilizes the human shape that the god has chosen to take. “So be it. Die knowing that your loyalty to a dead, worthless god is what killed you.”

(Its god isn’t dead. Not dead, and not worthless)

You can wake up now.

Anemo swirls around the bird’s feet in a violent gust as it summons the last dregs of its power in defiance of the Lord of the Vortex. Truthfully, to one who’d been forced into the service of the Mistress of Dreams, death is not the frightening prospect that the Lord of the Vortex appears to believe it is–

“Osial. Cease your posturing.” An authoritative voice suddenly rings out from –above? The bird glances above, just in time to see a golden shower of Geo energy coalesce and condense into a human form. Tall, male. There is an air about this new arrival that makes them seem implacable, and immovable.

… Another god.

“If a single human who has been displaced here dies to your carelessness,” the Geo god states, amber eyes glowing, “Then know that I shall revisit this upon your seaborn kin threefold.”

The Lord of the Vortex’s form shimmers like the haze of a watery mirage, then smooths out into the image of a blue-haired human man once more. One who appears bored and unaffected, instead of ready to release its power mere moments prior.

“Ah, Morax.” The Lord of the Vortex smiles, bright and insincere. His delight upon seeing the new god who’d just arrived is genuine, but it’s the sort of delight that’s associated with bloodshed. “I’d wondered if you’d be coming to take a look at this interesting little spectacle as well. Haagentus isn’t around to keep ahold of your leash today?”

“We are allies of equal standing,” the other god does not sound amused. “Return to your waters, Osial.”

Morax, the Groundbreaker. One of the most powerful among the host of adepti in these lands, a god of Geo whose mastery over the manipulation of earth and stone was unparalleled. Another god whom the Mistress of Dreams had been rightfully wary of, especially since the Groundbreaker was in an alliance with Haagentus, the Lord of Dust. Haagentus was a gentler god of Geo, who was not known for her physical might, but rather the keenness of her mind instead.

“You and what army?” The Lord of the Vortex retorts, and sweeps out a hand around him with an exaggerated flourish. “Or do you care nothing for your precious land-bound humans, hmm?”

The Groundbreaker’s eyes narrow. The Lord of the Vortex laughs.

“Little bird,” the sea god says, not once lifting his gaze from the other god even as he addresses it. “I’d advise you to start talking. Morax isn’t nearly as patient as I am.”

The Groundbreaker’s gaze turns towards the bird. “… You know of what transpired here?”

The bird tenses.

“Knows, and refuses to utter a single word about it,” the Lord of the Vortex chuckles. “How very loyal, isn’t it?”

The Groundbreaker’s attention shifts towards the dark barrier stretching up into the sky behind the bird, assessing. “That barrier…”

“Don’t break it.” Somehow, the words blurt out from its mouth. The bird is seized with the urge to duck its head as soon as both gods immediately look towards it, but… this is something that must be said, before either one of the powerful gods decide to do something that would be deeply regrettable.

“Oh? And why not?”

“This barrier, it…” Body folding into a bow before both gods, the bird recalls what the white-haired god had explained to it. The god who’s still doing her best to combat the lingering traces of the Mistress of Dreams’ powers, even now. “The… aftereffects of the Mistress of Dreams’ death is being contained within. Please don’t break it.”

“Hm.” The Groundbreaker frowns. Then, stiffens slightly, because–

“How interesting,” the Lord of the Vortex smiles. Beneath his feet, the ground ripples, with a texture not unlike that of rippling waves. “Morax, if you and Haagentus are dealing with the results of Malphas’ unfortunate demise, do you think Chi might be grateful for the opportunity to finally feast with his darling children?”

Amber eyes widen, then narrow in fury. “You dare–”

“You should not have slain my bride-to-be’s brothers and sisters,” the Lord of the Vortex’s smile darkens. Hydro energy engulfs its body fully, a blue glow that causes the humans around the god to attempt to scurry back even further, to start running–

The bird is already moving before it fully realizes what it’s doing, forcibly swallowing bitter guilt and reproach over the words that it should not have spoken. Fierce winds whip beneath the bird’s feet, hastening its movements as it lunges forward to get the fragile humans out of the way, as many as possible–

Water erupts from the ground, amid the Lord of the Vortex’s delighted laughter–

“Osial!” The Groundbreaker roars thunderously, and the very earth trembles in response to the god’s outrage.

[bluepickle36]

War changed them all.

Polities couldn't wait to set out from Ithaca, eager for glory and fame. He bubbled with excitement, talking Odysseus and Eurylochus's ears off all the way to Troy. He understood it was war, he understood they were going to kill and be killed, but he didn't truly understand the gravity of what they were setting out to do, too wrapped up in tales of heroes and bravery.

Then he fought in the first battle. He killed. He watched others die. He was horrified. He realized there was no glory in battle, only blood and heat and death. That night he wept himself to sleep in Odysseus's tent, huddled in his friend's arms.

By the time the war was over, Polities was absolutely sick of bloodshed. He would never again pick up a weapon to attack someone else. Instead, he would greet the world with open arms, employing kindness and peace instead of hatred and swords.

Eurylochus was frightened. He kissed Ctimene goodbye and held her close as long as possible, afraid he wouldn't come back. Yet he trusted Odysseus. His friend, their king, would get them all home safely. It was with this optimism firmly fixed in his mind that he boarded the ship for Troy.

The war proceeded. Many of his friends, his comrades, died. He watched the leaders hatch plan after plan and saw them all fail, watched them make mistake after mistake. He saw how many lives were thrown away in pointless, fruitless endeavors, and he changed. Eurylochus became more cynical. He stopped putting so much blind faith in his superiors, trusting them less and less and questioning them more with every passing day.

Odysseus left Ithaca reluctantly. He was homesick from the moment he kissed Penelope and Telemachus goodbye, and he only became more miserable the longer the war dragged on. He argued against the other kings early on, refusing to participate in any actions he saw as inhumane, but the more time passed the more desperate he grew.

Finally, in a last-ditch effort, he presented the idea of the wooden horse, a trick that broke every rule of honorable warfare. He didn't like it, and he hardly slept that night, trying to ignore the little voice that sounded so much like Penelope, begging him to reconsider, to stop the slaughter before it began. It was the only way, unless they stayed here for another twenty years, slowly dying far from home. And then he dropped Hector's infant son from Troy's walls.

Because it was the only way he could go home.

[theyapper0]

FIRST PART OF "FINALE"

(There are 5 parts to this 😊)

The finale starts the day before the Extermination.

Charlie is sitting on the roof of the Hotel, all the Sinners they've recruited are all bustling about the parking lot, talking amongst themselves and setting up their reinforcements for the Examination tomorrow. 

Charlie is staring down worriedly at a family photo in her hand. The photo is old and tattered and there's a permanent cross shaped crease on it from all the folding and unfolding it's gone through. It was a photo of a framed painting that was in her old house before she left home.

(I'm NAWT writing out the whole first EP, that's way too much work LOL. Just know that in the beginning of it, instead of Charlie reading from that story of Lucifer and Lilith, she's just looking at a family photo of the 3 of them)

Charlie didn’t know what she was going to do. EVERYTHING has basically been leading up to this Extermination, the first BI-YEARLY Extermination… She has to protect the Hotel, she has to protect Vaggie, she has to protect EVERYONE, because if she doesn't…. 

Heaven will move onto all of Hell…

This wasn't just a standard Extermination anymore, this was war. 

And losing wasn't an option. 

But this wasn’t what she wanted! The whole point of getting in contact with Adam, with HEAVEN, was to STOP the killing! Now they have weapons deadly enough to kill ANGELS.

Not only are the people of Hell going to get killed, but the people of Heaven are as well…. 

Charlie doesn’t want to hurt anybody. She doesn’t want ANYONE, Heaven or Hell, to die! It wasn’t right, war only creates more bloodshed! 

When she and Vaggie went to Heaven, she thought they were FINALLY making progress- especially after befriending Emily! But…. That all crashed and burned and somehow things grew even WORSE.

Does all Charlie know how to do is make situations worse?

Vaggie comes up on the roof and they talk. 

Vaggie TOTALLY understood where Charlie was coming from, not because she relates, but because she KNOWS Charlie.

(Honestly Vaggie can't wait to SLAUGHTER some angels but Charlie would probably explode into a bajillion million pieces right now if she said that)

Vaggie has a huge vendetta against Heaven still, she has NOT made peace w that shit yet.

Charlie still gives the same(ish) speech as she does in canon. That's all basically the same :P

They still have their (basically end of the world) party and it's LIT 

While that's going on, in Heaven, Adam and Lute are talking about the Extermination that will be happening the next day. 

Adam has a bad feeling about the Cleansing, he doesn’t think they should go through with it….

Nothing has felt right to him ever since Charlie and Vaggie came to Heaven, ever since Emily took Charlie's side, ever since the Trail where he revealed the truth about…. 

Lute tells him that they must, these Cleansings are direct orders given by God

Lute: Don’t you trust him, Sir?

“Of course I do!” Adam says!! ”Of course I do…”

Adam trusts God, he trusts HEAVEN with everything he has. His feelings on this mess doesn't matter, what’s important is that he does what he's told, that he does what needs to get done.

Look at what happened when he diverted course, when he let his emotions get too out of control. Bad things happen and it makes everything worse…

Adam can't afford to mess up again... 

He needs to nip this in the bud. 

THE NEXT DAY. 

DAY OF EXTERMINATION. 

So everyone is fighting and kicking ass. 

Everything is going well and everyone’s doing what they’re supposed to ASIDE from Charlie who isn't killing the Exorcists, she’s really only disarming and knocking them out.

Every so often during the battle, Charlie will cross paths with one of her allies, who will be egging her on to KILL THE MOTHERFUCKERS!!!! 

She keeps ignoring it. 

Alastor is still going to go up against Adam. Alastor is cocky and arrogant, believing that he could best Adam without so much as a single Angelic blade, he won't be able to kill Adam no matter how powerful he believes himself to be.

Adam makes the comparison to Lucifer, “Prideful and full of uncharted wrath! And you know what happened to HIM!”

Alastor: You can't fall to Hell if you're already there! 

While Alastor and Adam fight, the Exorcist Angels that Charlie had simply been knocking out are beginning to wake back up and join the battle again! 

Her method didn’t do anything but make everyone have to work that much harder. 

Then Husk, occupied by fending off three or four Exorcists, is struck down by another swooping in. 

The Exorcist knocks him down and presses their weapon to his throat. There was nowhere to run, other Angels he was fighting had circled around him and knocked his own weapons out of his hands. 

And it happened in a moment, far too fast for regular eyes to see. 

One moment Husk was staring up at a faceless soldier, prepared to meet his end. And the next-

A clawed hand, once white but now gold with blood, was stuck straight through the Angel's chest, through their ribs and piercing out from their armor. 

Before the corpse of the Exorcist had even hit the ground the heads of the three other Angels surrounding Husk had flown off, sliced clean from their necks. 

And the Heir of Hell was standing before him.

It didn't matter that it was Husk that was in danger, it didn't need to be him, it could have been anyone. What mattered was that it was someone Charlie cared for, it was someone she was FIGHTING for.

Charlie had killed 4 Exorcists in less than a second and despite it being for a nobel reason, it was the little push she needed to give into every primal urge that was instilled into her since her creation… 

Charlie was still standing over him but Husk didn't dare move. Her energy and demeanor had done an entire shift. And being under contract with Alastor for as long as he's been, he knew when a grin held murderous intent…

But the grin plastered on Charlie's face wasn't like Alastor’s. It still felt like Charlie's just… less contained, more primal. 

Like she was operating on instinct above all else (Alastor was too calculating to ever do such) 

Charlie reached out her hand but Husk didn't dare take it. Charlie wouldn't ever hurt him, that much he knew. 

But he couldn't be 100% certain… Not when her mouth grew wider than he's ever seen it grow before, not when her crooked horns sprouted from her head, not when he was covered in the glowing, sticky blood of their enemies. 

There was a waver in her grin for just a moment. 

But it was gone in the next, the Exorcist, the one with the gaping hole in their chest, twitched. 

Charlie snapped her neck in their direction and crushed their head with her foot with so much force that it EXPLODED. 

Charlie: I….

It was just one day. It was an EXTERMINATION, it was the FIRST TIME Hell was fighting against Heaven! Charlie NEEDED to fight- to KILL (AND KILL AND KILL AND KILL AND KILL AND KILL AND-) It was normal, everyone was doing it, everyone needed HER to do it as well.

It… It’ll be fine. She will go right back to her normal self tomorrow, it’s not hard at all. 

Charlie’s eyes were blown wide and shined with a fervor. Her mouth was clenched into a tight, large girn and she laughed through her sharp jail cell of a mouth. 

She knelt down to the dead angel before her and took their clawed gauntlets 

Just one day… She thought as she put them on.

Charlie ran off. 

So basically Charlie gets lost in the killing and bloodshed, she’s going on a spree!! Killing exorcist angel after exorcist angel, doing it at speeds that the others can’t even keep up with!! She’s EASILY out numbering all of the kills they worked hard to rack up and KEEPS GOING

So while Charlie is going crazy on the battlefield (hotel parking lot), Alastor is fighting Adam. 

Alastor was just defeated by Adam.

He can hardly move but he's slowly stumbling his way away from Adam, who's following behind him at a very leisurely pace.

Aside from his comment from the beginning of their “battle”, Adam hasn't said a word. 

Alastor is grinning through the fractured ego and immense pain, he can't stop. He isn't facing Adam, he feels him trailing directly behind him, “Well it seems that you're victorious! Hm? Not even one heroic speech? Got on… you deserve it!” 

PART 1

PART 2

PART 3

PART 4

PART 5

[transbookoftheday]

🏳️‍⚧️🏴‍☠️ Trans Books To Read If You Love "Our Flag Means Death" 🏴‍☠️🏳️‍⚧️

Can't get enough of Our Flag Means Death? Read some trans pirate books!

On Mar León de la Rosa's sixteenth birthday, el Diablo comes calling. Mar is a transmasculine nonbinary teen pirate hiding a magical ability to manipulate fire and ice. But their magic isn't enough to reverse a wicked bargain made by their father, and now el Diablo has come to collect his payment: the soul of Mar's father and the entire crew of their ship. When Mar is miraculously rescued by the sole remaining pirate crew in the Caribbean, el Diablo returns to give them a choice: give up their soul to save their father by the harvest moon, or never see him again. The task is impossible - Mar refuses to make a bargain, and there's no way their magic is a match for el Diablo. Then Mar finds the most unlikely allies: Bas, an infuriatingly arrogant and handsome pirate - and the captain's son; and Dami, a gender-fluid demonio whose motives are never quite clear. For the first time in their life, Mar may have the courage to use their magic. It could be their only redemption - or it could mean certain death.

(The audiobook for "The Wicked Bargain" is narrated by Vico Ortiz!)

In a world divided by colonialism and threaded with magic, a desperate orphan turned pirate and a rebellious imperial lady find a connection on the high seas. Aboard the pirate ship Dove, Flora the girl takes on the identity of Florian the man to earn the respect and protection of the crew. For Flora, former starving urchin, the brutal life of a pirate is about survival: don’t trust, don’t stick out, and don’t feel. But on this voyage, Flora is drawn to the Lady Evelyn Hasegawa, who is headed to an arranged marriage she dreads. Flora doesn’t expect to be taken under Evelyn’s wing, and Evelyn doesn’t expect to find such a deep bond with the pirate Florian. Neither expects to fall in love. Soon the unlikely pair set in motion a wild escape that will free a captured mermaid (coveted for her blood) and involve the mysterious Pirate Supreme, an opportunistic witch, double agents, and the all-encompassing Sea herself. Deftly entwining swashbuckling action and quiet magic, Maggie Tokuda-Hall’s inventive debut novel conjures a diverse cast of characters seeking mastery over their fates while searching for answers to big questions about identity, power, and love.

The Lost Boys say that Peter Pan went back to England because of Wendy Darling, but Wendy is just an old life he left behind. Neverland is his real home. So when Peter returns to it after ten years in the real world, he's surprised to find a Neverland that no longer seems to need him. The only person who truly missed Peter is Captain James Hook, who is delighted to have his old rival back. But when a new war ignites between the Lost Boys and Hook's pirates, the ensuing bloodshed becomes all too real - and Peter's rivalry with Hook starts to blur into something far more complicated, sensual, and deadly.

In the Christian Republic, homosexual people are given two choices—a camp to "fix" them, or exile to the distant islands populated by lesbians and gay men. Sixteen-year-old Jason chooses exile and expects a hardscrabble life but instead finds a thriving, supportive community. While exploring his identity as a transgender boy he also discovers adventure: kraken attacks, naval battles, a flying island built by asexual people, and a daring escape involving glow-in-the-dark paint. He also has a desperate crush on Sky, a spirited buccaneer girl, but fear keeps him from expressing his feelings. When Jason and his companions discover the Republicans are planning a war of extermination, they rally the people of the Rainbow Islands to fight back. Shy, bookish Jason will have to find his inner courage or everything and everyone he loves will be lost forever.

Book titles:

The Wicked Bargain by Gabe Cole Novoa

The Mermaid, the Witch, and the Sea by Maggie Tokuda-Hall

Peter Darling by Austin Chant

Rainbow Islands by Devin Harnois

[ultralightpoe]

The Great War - Aemond Targaryen

The Great War - Aemond Targaryen

Authors Note: I AM SO HAPPY ABOUT SPEAK NOW! YES!

Warnings: death, cheating, a dragon is killed

Word Count: 2841

The MIDNIGHTS event! (Take a look if you love Taylor Swift) and the upcoming SOUR event (requests for that one are still open so send em in!

Enjoy!

My knuckles were bruised like violets

Sucker punching walls, cursed you as I sleep-talked

Spineless in my tomb of silence

Tore your banners down, took the battle underground

And maybe it was ego swinging

Maybe it was her

Flashes of the battle come back to me in a blur

It was funny how much one's life could change within moments. You had never thought you would be here, there had been a time where you absolutely refused the thought of hurting your family or your husband, let alone fighting in a war you had been a pawn to stop in the first place. 

And yet, here you were. 

Covered in blood, head to toe, your hair matted and greased in the braid not that anything but bloodstains really showed. Your armor was black, like your father's armor had been, and the banner you stood by was that of blood red. 

There was apart of your mind that screamed for you to stop, to find a way for peace, just as your grandfather requested. But you pushed that thought away as your sword tore across a mans stomach, slashing into his guts and tearing the green banner from his hands. 

This battlefield was yours now. 

“How lovely of you to join me, dear husband.” You laugh, moving up to where he was hidden, ready to jump out and scare you. 

“You take all my fun, wife.” 

“Not all of it, I am sure.” There is a flash of something on his face that you don’t recognize for a moment, both of you just standing there and staring at each other. You debate if he knew someone had told you, and he must be here to explain himself. 

He had to have known the Queen of Whispers sent you a raven on his whereabouts, everything about his affair with Alys Rivers, and your heart began speeding up. 

You would tell him it was fine, if he asked. You would not be mad. Your mother had made you swear to this marriage for peace in the realm, a realm she would be queen of within days. You could not lose it now. 

But he doesn’t confront you, instead he walks up smoothly and places his lips upon yours in the softest of kisses before pulling your forehead to his own and rubbing your cheeks with his thumbs. “How about a dragon ride today? Hmm?”

“I was actually wishing to sit with my grandfather- since he is sick I think it necessary to-” His lips are on yours before you can finish your sentence, allowing yourself to melt into his touch some more. The rumors about Alys couldn’t be true, not when he loved you so….. “A dragon ride sounds lovely.”

All that bloodshed, crimson clover

Uh-huh, sweet dream was over

My hand was the one you reached for

All throughout the Great War

Always remember

Uh-huh, tears on the letter

I vowed not to cry anymore

If we survived the Great War

He could sense you on the battlefield. As he always sensed when you were near before this. 

It had been an odd trait of his, always knowing where you were lurking and following. Where most people ignored you like a shadow he couldn’t help but see you. You had been his light. 

“I want that Targaryen bitches head!!” A shout behind him has him whirling with his sword until it’s pressed on the man's throat, the sharpness of the blade slicing his neck until blood leaks down his neck. 

“She. Is. Mine.” The man nods , gasping when the blade is taken away as Aemond turns back to the battlefield. 

“She’s announced she wants your head…” Another soldier murmurs, watching your army hit another barrier of his people. 

You want me so badly, wife? Come and get me.

The throne room looked dull and empty, the sunlight barely peeking through what windows were not covered as Aemond stares at the floor before him. 

The guilt was something he never expected. 

It’s not like he wanted to marry you, it had simply been for peace amongst the family, and he already had a relationship with Alys Rivers long before you swore yourself to him. So why shouldn’t he get to keep his love?

So he spent some nights with his mistress and some with you. Only the more time he spent with you the more he craved your presence. It was beginning to wear into his soul. 

And now he stood in the very same throne room he married you in, after spending a night in his mistresses sheets, talking about putting his brother on the throne and betraying the very thing your marriage stood for. The peace treaty. 

“Has it happened?” Alicent asks, a sob raking her body as she turns to the others.  Aemonds own throat tightened up before he felt it. Like a needle entering the small of his spine, hitting the nerves all the way up to his neck, you were close. 

“They killed the beast this morning…” The dragonkeeper murmurs, and Aemond feels like puking. Your dragon, your charming beast had been taken out so you would have no chance of escape, no chance to get back to your mother. 

“Aegon is being bathed right now. And Rhaenys is still deciding in her chambers, though I still think we need to-” Otto begins only for Alicent to scream. 

“WE’VE ALREADY KILLED ONE DRAGON TODAY, THERE WILL BE NO MORE DEATH!”

There is a gasp from the doors and everyone's heads whip around to them, before he can stop himself Aemond is rushing to get to them. But there is nothing there when he opens them. 

You drew up some good faith treaties

I drew curtains closed, drank my poison all alone

You said I have to trust more freely

But diesel is desire, you were playin' with fire

And maybe it's the past that's talkin'

Screamin' from the crypt

Tellin' me to punish you for things you never did

So I justified it

You think on your grandfather kissing your head the day of your wedding, the heavy veil weighing your head down as you tried not to cry when he whispered a thank you for your sacrifice. Then you thought of your first night with your husband, scared and lonely, wishing you had family when he offered to play chess. 

Oh how you had loved him throughout your marriage, and now….you were gutting anyone who got between you and him on the battlefield. You would make him regret ever crossing your family. 

They forgot Rhaenys, or maybe they didn’t forget her but they thought you would never find out until she had already sided with them. 

You were running through the halls so quickly that your slippers fell off and by the time you got to your great aunts rooms you had a thick layer of sweat covering your body as well as tears. You had sobbed to her as you broke the door down, falling into her when the wood gave out and allowing her to cradle you for a moment before she rushed you to stand again. 

You had no dragon and hers was locked up, so you had to concentrate on what to do next. 

All that bloodshed, crimson clover

Uh-huh, the bombs were close and

My hand was the one you reached for

All throughout the Great War

Always remember

Uh-huh, the burning embers

I vowed not to fight anymore

If we survived the Great War

He finally sees you from a distance, swinging his sword at a giant coming for him smoothly as he scans you for injuries. A vision covered in blood, your eyes narrowing in on him the second he smiles at you. 

His heart begins to beat through his chest as you step towards him, one step first slowly followed by another before you full blown charge at him. His breath catches as he watches, hand tightening on the sword and his feet preparing for the blow, and for the smallest moment he thinks of letting you kill him. 

Letting you get your vengeance. 

If you had killed his dragon and betrayed his family isn’t that what he would want himself?

“We need to go Aemond.” Otto Hightower snaps, following his grandson through the halls of the keep, a fuming look on his face as he does so .

But Aemond refused to listen, no, he needed to find you before anyone else did. He had to be the one to tell you of what his family had done. The only problem being that no one had seen you. 

Not your maids or your ladies in waiting, not even the castle maids. 

When he tears through your shared apartments he doesn’t see you and the anxiety rising in his chest begins to take over. You knew. You had to have known.

That’s when he sees it, the small parcel you had hidden under a vase of flowers beside your side of the bed. Just the corner had been peeking out and when he tugs on it he finds a letter written to you by the Queen of Whispers. 

There is a cracking feeling in his chest that rises up his neck and into his ears, and all he can see is red.  “Y/N!”

It turned into something bigger

Somewhere in the haze, got a sense I'd been betrayed

Your finger on my hair pin triggers

Soldier down on that icy ground

Looked up at me with honor and truth

Broken and blue, so I called off the troops

That was the night I nearly lost you

I really thought I lost you

By the time he is within arms reach you are swinging your sword as hard as you can, his own steel hitting yours with a crash before you both draw back and start again. It’s like a dance between you two, one that you haven’t done in years but feels so exhilarating all the same. 

One turn and you slice his arm, only to have him slice your thigh, so you duck and swing upwards. He dodges back and the tip of your sword hits the very tip of his nostril. 

A moment of pride fills you when he takes in a deep breath, pulling your sword in and getting into the proper stance. 

“Is that all you got?” He laughs and you find yourself smirking. 

“I was just getting started.”

“You know, I remember the first night I had you…. You had been so scared I was sure you’d sob the entire-” He knew what he was doing, that much was evident when he blocked your blow with a smirk and retaliated just as quickly. 

Your knees wobble when the force of it sends you back, but you grit your teeth and grab his wrist before he can pull away, trying to wrestle his sword free as he uses his body strength to throw you. 

“There are many people here…” You murmur, ducking behind your veil as your new husband leads you to the dance floor, your hand gripping his own so tightly you feel as though you might break the bones that lie underneath. “I might fall or-”

“Do you not trust that I would keep you upright, my dear ni-wife?”

“You haven’t given me a reason to trust-”

“Then today I shall.” He whispers in your ear before getting ready to start the dance. And you follow his lead, the nerves making you hesitate every step of the way, but soon enough you found your way with Aemond and it no longer mattered who was watching. 

He lifted you and spun you around, a smile on his face that many people gawked at. It was a well deserved smile. 

We can plant a memory garden

Say a solemn prayer, place a poppy in my hair

There's no morning glory, it was war, it wasn't fair

And we will never go back

He has you pinned to the mud below and a snarl written on his face, his back screaming at the amount of pressure he has put on it today but the feeling of satisfaction at you being stuck was far too big to give up now. 

“We can forget this, you and I, just say the words and I’ll let this fit go.” He warns, applying a bit of pressure on your neck to cut off circulation. “By morning you can be on my side and I’ll have maids wash that blood out of your pretty hair. You can be my wife again.”

Something in him is begging you to take the deal, please please please. Please don’t leave me, please don’t make me do this….

He wondered for a moment if you would, seeing the tears well up in your eyes as you struggled to free yourself from his grip. If you would just listen, let him make this right without any of your blood being spilt, he would. 

He would swear himself to you over and over if you gave him another chance. 

The first night he knows he has feelings for you is the first night he turned down Alys, stopping her fingers from touching his pants as he mumbled out an excuse, forehead resting on her shoulder as he pictured your disappointed face. 

He never wished to see that face, and by the time he leaves Alys’ hut he would be sure he never would. 

“It’s been weeks of this Aemond,” She snaps, pulling into herself as he reaches for his leather tunic. “You said you married her to make your father happy, a death wish.”

“I did.”

“Then what is this-”

“I DON’T KNOW!” He screams, whirling on her. In truth he didn’t know what was happening, all he knew was you were left there, in the halls of the red keep as he was out there betraying you. 

You had made a vow and kept to it, why couldn’t he?

“I thought you hated basta-” Alys begins her sentence with tears in her eyes before he is upon her, blue eye sparkling in the candlelight. 

“Maybe you cursed me then.” It’s a spit in the face, the nail in the coffin as she reaches to slap him. The sound echoes across the room as his head snaps to the side, his cheek stinging from the pain and it takes everything in him not to retaliate. 

He had to get to you, none of this mattered anymore. 

To that bloodshed, crimson clover

Uh-huh, the worst was over

My hand was the one you reached for

All throughout the Great War

Always remember

Uh-huh, we're burned for better

I vowed I would always be yours

'Cause we survived the Great War

If you agreed he would fly you away to a remote island, just the two of you. He would find you another dragon egg and grow you a garden. Nothing would ever harm you again. 

He sent a quick prayer up to the gods for this before a sharp feeling is sliding between his ribcage, the cold of your dagger meeting his skin like a cool kiss on a heat ragged day. 

He doesn’t really comprehend it, just grunts out in pain and loosens his hold on you to lean back, his hands flying up to see what damage had been done. 

“nO.” He gasps out, eyes flying to where you are in the mud. 

If he was scared in this moment he had no clue what you were, eyes wild as you sob, your chest rising and falling with every short breath you take. 

“KILL HER!” Someone calls, and for a second all Aemond can think to do is crawl to you. Ignoring the pain in his side as he removes his bloody hands from it, he makes his way to you, bringing one hand up to your cheek as an arrow marks through you. 

Your body shudders as it pierces from your back to your stomach, sliding right into Aemonds own stomach where he has wrapped his body around yours. If death was to greet him today then he would be sure not to be separated from you. 

Soldiers charged in at once and you let out a couple more sobs, and he found himself whispering in your ear “Just a second of pain, and we’ll be free.”

Uh-huh

Uh-huh

I would always be yours

'Cause we survived the Great War

Uh-huh

I vowed I would always be yours

Alicent buries you both together, a black veil over her head, her hands bound by rope with Cregan Stark keeping her close. 

This would be her final day outside, for the rest of her days would be in a tower, no freedom and no allies. 

She yearns for her children, and she yearns for her dear old friend, looking at the grass growing from the burnt earth surrounding your grave. 

Yes, she thinks while allowing the tears to fall, you both would be together after the war.

[spopsalt]

The way Hazbin Hotel deals with war is so immature.

It's framed as this super cool badass thing, like Alastor says "Alastor! Quite a pleasure to meet you! Quite a pleasure! I'm going to end your fucking life." and "Adam! First man, next to die!" Ahaha, how cool. Making badass one-liners during a fucking war, and literally Vox says "This is better than sex! I'm so hard right now!" while watching the war, ah yes, mishandle a serious topic for a bad joke. Super funny.

Even Sir Pentious death is treated as some haha funny death, because death during war is sooooo funny, right?

I mean there's like a few second thing showing the conquences of war where Charlie says "This bloodshed could've been avoided if I convinced Heaven to work together. I took a hotel and I destroyed it! I know I could've done better, better instead of letting you down."

But then just a little later it turns the war was actually a good thing! Lucifer literally says, "Hey little lady, why the frown?" Ah yes, why are you frowning after a fucking war? Then he says "In the first 10,000 years, you're the first one to change things in this town!" Then everyone encourages her afterwards, and she's perfectly cheered up! Not only is this insensitive, it makes no sense for Charlie's character? Isn't she supposed to be really sweet and sensitive? She literally sobbed over Angel forgiving her, and now she's completely fine after a fucking war because her friends encouraged her? How did she get over war in less than a minute? I feel like one of these things are not like the other

Then it turns into some happy go lucky song about fixing a hotel! Like how you can just easily fix it, and you have no time to mourn the conquences of war! I kid you not a lyric literally is "No time for crying! We've gotta lot of work to doin'!" "Make the best of what's in ruin!" "It's as easy as can be!"

Then we see two people celebrating war! I kid you not the lyrics are, ahem "After the battle! Masterless cattle! Overlords hanging by a thread! With a bit of bravado, maybe tomorrow! We'll be the top of the heap! While the rest of Hell's pissing! Alastor's missing! Fled with his tail between his legs! The nature abbhors a power vacuum it leaves room for you and me!"

Ah yes, what an amazing way to handle war.

[menelaiad]

Hi! I have always been curious about, why did Homer called Menelaus “beloved by Ares”, when Ares helped to the Trojans? What do you think?

this is MY take on the whole thing:

ares loved the idea of menelaus. what menelaus COULD have been. as the god of war it makes sense for him to initially latch onto menelaus. in black and white terms, he is responsible for this war, it's for HIS wife. so ares is gonna' back him. he wants to support this war-starting, bloodthirsty, violence hungry king.

but that's not menelaus at all.

before the events of the iliad, at the start of the war. menelaus tries to get helen back by like .... talking to the trojans. a rather peaceful method. but they refuse. it's then that the war begins and leads us up to the events of the iliad. menelaus is not ..... for lack of a better phrase .... unnecessarily violent. it would be wrong to say he's not violent as he is seen to be so in the iliad. BUT you can see that some of his kills are from defending others (e.g. the two greek brothers/twins (?) who are killed and menelaus is willing to take on aeneas to avenge them. menelaus wants to spare the trojan until aga gets in his head).

aGAIN. i know as a modern audience people can see violence as violence end of. but in homeric/ancient times. menelaus would have been expected to be MORE violent. these are the people who have taken his wife and he's not going fucking buckwild insane on them. he's very rarely in the battle scenes. he has no aristeia like dio, achilles, patroclus and agamemnon do. and yet its TECHNICALLY his war.

so back to ares. menelaus ISNT what ares wanted him to be or thought he would be. he kills the least???? like???? this is HIS war and yet??? so i think it's possible that menelaus got the epithet BEFORE the events of the iliad and by the time we actually get to the iliad .... ares is sick of him. ares is actively working with the trojans (aeneas for example) cause they are giving him what he wants. bloodshed. violence. lots of actual WAR.

ares likes the idea of what menelaus can become. but he never does. he doesn't change. he doesn't ... get caught up in it all. menelaus actually has moments were he tries to spare the enemy or like actually laments that food, song, love and dance are BETTER than war and men should strive for that instead. and i think that pisses ares off so he abandons him. the gods dont really have strong loyalties like that.

(disclaimer: this is NOT me saying that menelaus is better than everyone else in the war because he doesn't kill as much. it's literally just in the iliad that he doesn't have NEARLY as many kills as others and this is just what ares would want as. yknow. the god of war. okay? im not like 'ares abandoned menelaus cause he was a GOOD guy and went to the trojans cause they were MEAN WAR GUYS' not at all.)