#she will work herself to death to be worthy of them in a way she doesn’t when it’s not as serious

[autistichalsin]

Analysis of each character's final words in the new Dark Urge evil ending

If you are romanced to a character, you have the option, when taking the new version of the Sins of the Father ending, to kill your partner in front of the others in your party, killing them with one last kiss. They then give their last words and pass away. I love each and every one and feel they are incredible characterization moments.

So let's break these down!

Lae'zel:

I... I am glad it was you. No other blade would have sufficed.

This is something that hammers home that, Vlaakith or no, Lae'zel deeply believes in all the ideals of a Githyanki. Life is a privilege for the strong, and death is the price of weakness. Further, if romanced, Lae'zel will affectionately call you "the source of my bruises" many times. If she has to die, if she has finally found the one person stronger than herself, then she is "satisfied" that it is you- who she both loved and admired. The only one she would ever consider worthy of besting her.

Karlach:

Fuck you.

Short, simple, and to the point, just the way Karlach does everything else. She's already gone through all her stages of grief with her engine- well, almost all of them. Anger still remains. She burns hot until the end.

Wyll:

I... I forgive you.

This isn't just Wyll being a good guy. This is heartbreak, and guilt. Guilt for not saving you from Bhaal's influence when he was so sure he had. Heartbreak that after he gave his literal soul to save as many people as he could, he couldn't save you- and couldn't save others from you, either. All he sacrificed, negated in an instant by the person he loved and trusted most. Of all the characters here, Wyll (tied with Halsin) sounds the most obviously broken, and it's easy to see why, given that he is self-sacrificing to a fault.

There was a set of scenes datamined from the game, where at the Morphic Pool, the Netherbrain would have taunted the players, causing them to hallucinate things related to their fears and insecurities. Wyll's would have been a vision of himself talking about how he was never a hero, how the Blade of Frontiers was a farce all along. One can't help but think about that scene here, wondering just how much blame, bordering on self-loathing, he might feel here.

Dark Justiciar Shadowheart:

I... I'm coming to you, Lady Shar.

Another short and simple one. By becoming a Dark Justiciar, Shadowheart has fully embraced the nihilism of Shar's teachings. Why be saddened or angry at her own death when this is just what she's embraced with all her sacrifices?

(Sidenote: this does also answer a question I had, namely, what was going to happen to everyone Durge kills. Thankfully it seems they aren't actually going to be sacrificed to him as such, and will indeed end up in the realm of their deities. This makes Bhaal's plan even DUMBER, because deities in DND lore need worshippers to have enough power to exist. Killing everyone at once just guarantees that soon after Durge dies as the last person alive, so too will Bhaal fade from existence.)

Selunite Shadowheart:

I... I thought we were going to save each other...

This Shadowheart rejected everything she knew. She was scared to defy her goddess, but worked up the courage- thanks to you. She thought you would have a new life together. She believed in you. She thought she would get to return the favor, and help you turn the page on Bhaal, too.

She's not just heartbroken for herself; she's heartbroken for you, too. Heartbroken at the life you denied both her and yourself.

Gale:

You made me want to live...

From the moment the orb entered Gale's chest, he knew he was at risk of dying. Then Mystra all but marked him as a dead man walking. But despite that, he finds love with you- and for the first time thinks maybe there is a purpose for him beyond Mystra. That he isn't more useful to the world dead. More than that, he wants to live to be with you, to enjoy your company and companionship. And then you kill him, and do the one thing WORSE than what would have happened if he'd never been pulled from that rock.

It almost would have been kinder to just hack his hand off the first time you met him, though Gale may or may not agree.

Spawn Astarion:

I should have killed you when I had the chance...

The angriest, most bitter response out of all the romanced companions, a step beyond Karlach's "fuck you." This is beyond "fuck you" and even beyond "I hate you." It's "I regret every moment I spent with you." You made him believe he could have better. That he could recover from what Cazador did. You even convinced him to spare the 7,000 spawn and that he could be something better than Cazador.

And now you reveal it was all a lie. Astarion is probably thinking that you talked him out of completing the ritual solely so he'd be easier to kill right here and now. How many regrets are flashing through his mind, how many moments where he wonders if things could have been different if only he'd done this or that, even aside from killing you?

All he wanted was to live as a free person. And then the first time he thinks he has that at last, he loses it as the world ends.

Ascended Astarion:

No... no, this can't be... I can't- you can't- no...

In contrast to spawn Astarion, ascended isn't angry, because he doesn't have the clarity, the ability to process what's happening. Spawn Astarion could tell he'd been betrayed.

But Ascended? Ascended, who went through so much to become one of the most powerful beings in the world, only to STILL lose without fanfare? And by you, his own spawn who he thought he had under his control? It isn't betrayal, because he is bluescreening; he can't comprehend what happened or how or why. How could he have been killed, and by you of all people? Was all he went through killing Cazador really for nothing? How could it be when he was supposed to be the most powerful? Was power actually meaningless all along?

He doesn't say anything of substance because he can't understand what's happening here.

Halsin:

Thaniel... goodbye...

Halsin is the oldest of all the companions. He's experienced the most loss of anyone; his birth family, his fellow Druids, and, for a time, Thaniel. He has had more than enough time to contemplate his own mortality, because he's already lived multiple lifetimes.

So here, two things are happening. One, he isn't expressing anger or betrayal at his murder- because he is more than wise enough, and humble enough, to understand that there are worse things than what has been done to himself. Instead of himself, he is thinking of the world he's leaving behind that is about to fall- and most of all, of his most important person, the one who gave him a purpose, who was there when no one else was, who he failed once and only just got back. The closest thing to a child he'll ever have. In his last moments, instead of himself, Halsin is thinking of those he loves.

And second, it's an almost deliberate snubbing of Durge. He willingly walked into that kiss, knowing full well it would be the last thing he ever did. He gave you his death, he pleaded with his own god to forgive you and him both. He gave you everything he felt he owed you, and no more- no begging or sobbing. Instead, he comes as close as he ever gets to selfishness, and spends his last moments thinking about the thing that makes him the happiest- which could have been you, in another life, if you hadn't done this.

Minthara:

No... we were meant to do this together...

Heartbreak, disbelief, and betrayal. You spent so many nights planning this out. She had been cast aside by her people, her goddess, and she was going to get the last laugh. She was going to crush them personally under her heel and prove she was the best (or second best, behind you) of all of them. She's devastated she won't get to help you torture all those souls and take what she feels was owed to her. But interestingly enough... no anger. Probably because it was overshadowed by the sheer heartbreak, but also a sign that even in those moments, she still admires you for your ruthlessness.

[allfearstofallto]

PLS CAN YOU FEED US MORE hero of the nation knight!childe ON MY KNEES I LOVE YOUR WORK SO MUCH AND I SEARCHED EVERYWHERE FOR A FIC LIKE THIS

This took FOREVER to write, but here you go!!

Blessings Be to The Hero of the Nation

Historical AU

Yandere Hero of the Nation! Childe x Fem! Reader

TW: yandere themes, stalking, minor character death, blood, threatening, forced marriage/engagement

He kept one of your hair ribbons wrapped around the hilt of his sword. It billowed in the wind constantly and would draw watchful eyes to it. That pastel pink fabric didn't match a single thing on his brutish, usually bloody exterior, but he still kept it regardless. You tragically didn't give it to him in a blatant display of affection and well wishes for him on his journey, instead, he found the little ribbon after it'd blown off your head and up to the wind. A little pout formed on your lips realizing you'd lost it, but you decided against retrieving it. He didn't though. He picked it up and placed it in his pocket, taking it home to clean off the dirt and grime.

That same ribbon was clenched in his hands when he arrived at the gate of your manor, along with a few other gifts that he would give to you. He'd just slayed the dragon, the wretched menace that was terrorizing the nation, now and only now did he feel worthy to ask for your hand. Cleaning off all the blood and gore that was on his armor, polishing it into light metal that could blind anyone who looked directly at it, he was certain that this would charm you off of your feet.

When he was invited into your home by your parents who were surprised to see the hero himself at their door, he didn't care about the tea or the cakes. The praise meant nothing coming from them. He skipped the pleasantries and went straight to the point. He wanted your hand in marriage and he wanted the wedding to be soon.

A skittish expression crossed your father's face as he gritted his teeth, “We've decided to leave that decision up to her.” Childe smirked, that was even better. He'd never met a woman who wouldn't fall for his charms.

You were called down from your room, eyelids heavy and half open, still in your thin sleeping gown with a robe over it. You were rubbing the tiredness from your eyes as you walked down the stairs, your other delicate hand gripping the banister. And when you saw him, you bowed. A deep traditional bow, given to those of a respectable higher status.

He kneeled down on one knee before you. The male kneeled for only one person, the queen herself. His sword pulled from its sheath, he laid it flat against his palms, offering it up to you. That knocked the sleepiness from his body and suddenly your eyes were wide open. Genuine shock was making your body stiff as a board and you looked back and forth to your parents who didn't say a word.

“Your visage has danced around my heart non stop since the first time I laid eyes on you. I wish to use this sword only to fight for you. Won't you please do me the honor of becoming my wife?” Words spoken in honor, with him meaning every bit of it. You were meant to take the sword from his hands, tapping it gently upon each of his shoulders, but you didn't. You just stood there, lips trembling, but not saying anything.

A marriage proposal via a letter was easy to ignore or reject, you didn't have to see their reaction. But never had you had someone be so bold as to propose to you in person. And not only that, the very hero that saved the Kingdom. Rumors told you he'd be marrying the first princess, she obsessed over him before he became the hero and those feelings seemed to only grow stronger after he waltzed into the city with the bloody head of the beast. Yet here he was at your feet, patiently anticipating your answer which he was positive was going to be a yes.

“I-'' you began, trying to think of the easiest way to let him down gently, “I fear that I'm not ready for marriage yet.” You said hurriedly. That wasn’t entirely a lie. You spent countless hours looking at the list of marriage candidates and scoping them out at balls and parties, but quickly realizing that none of them suited your tastes in that way. The entire idea of being wed barely satisfied you. You wanted to push it off for as long as possible.

“I'm willing to wait for you until the world crumbles. I'd even accept being your fiance until the day we die, as long as I can say you're mine,” he was persistent, you'd give him that.

You fiddled with your fingers nervously. Time felt as if it had stopped and this moment would never end. No matter what you did, he was still going to be there, “I thought you were to be wed to her highness, the princess?” You questioned him.

A scoff fell from his cherry pink lips, eyes looking you up and down, drinking in every inch of your body in that thin nightgown, “She does not interest me. Not the way you do.”

“There is really nothing interesting about me,”

“Won't you let me be the judge of that?”

Your shoulders slumped as you looked to your parents. They seemed as surprised by his persistence as you did, but weren't going to step in to help you, they always affirmed that it was your decision, they wanted you to be independent.

“Forgive me, hero, but I can not accept your offer,”

For just a split second you saw that princely expression slip. His eyes grew dark, lips in a deep frown, a rage you'd never seen before. But he was back to his usual expression in less than a second, that charming smile forming on his lips again as he stood from his knees and sheathed his sword a little too slowly.

“You wound me, my lady,” he'd mutter softly, hands still conveniently tight around the hilt of this sword, “Won't you please accept my gifts? And if you are to begin considering marriage, I hope that my proposal will be remembered fondly.”

Childe showed himself out, a little too quickly, but you didn't dare tell him to slow down. It was only once he was out those large double doors, did the air in your home feel breathable, you finally felt safe again. You watched his carriage leave from a window, watching as his eyes went dull again, losing all shimmers and feeling like a hollow mimicry of what humans were supposed to look like.

You were quite embarrassed to say you fell in love after that. Not with Childe, of course. You mentally tried to push the man from your mind after the way he startled both you and your family. Instead, your feelings developed for a commoner boy. You found yourself eyeing him when he'd deliver produce to your home, his face being one of pure beauty despite his messy exterior. As months went by, you'd catch yourself stealing bashful glances at him, locking eyes only for both of you to look away shyly. When the engagement was announced, Childe was one of the first to hear about it.

You twirled around the house in your wedding dress. Something plain and basic, but it was what your family could afford, and quite honestly, you loved it. You didn't want to take it off. Your fear of getting it dirty lessened as the days went by, until the wedding was only a week away.

“A guest for you, my lady,” one of your maids had said. Typically, when the employees of the house saw you dressed in your white gown, they'd smile at you, overjoyed as well. But she didn't. She looked worried, even a bit tense as she made the announcement to you.

“I hadn't arranged to meet anyone today,” you said a bit quietly, going to you closer to pick out something to change into, “Please tell them to wait in the day room.”

She stood stiffly for a second, then opened her trembling mouth to speak again, “I tried to, my lady. But he insisted on seeing you right now. He's just outside the door,”

A part of you wanted to ask who it was, who would be so disrespectful as to barge right up to a lady's room without her permission. But you already knew. There was a sense of unease sinking into your stomach. Unease and recognition. All the gifts and letters he'd sent weren't enough, were they? The man you were ignoring just had to come see you in person.

“Let him in,” you told the maid. She seemed confused at the ease at which you allowed such a thing, but still opened the door, revealing Childe who stood still in the hallway. He stepped past her, eyes only trained on you, “You're dismissed,” you said quietly, with a reassuring smile to the maid. Hesitance danced across her face, looking back and forth between you Childe, but she still did as told, bowing before leaving.

“You look lovely,” he said breathlessly, taking in the sight of you in that pure white dress.

“Thank you,” was all you could think to say back. Now that he was here before you, your mind was growing blank, all the things you wanted to say suddenly getting lost in fear. You tried not to notice the tension in the room, the way he was eyeing you like a predator about to pounce on a rabbit, but even your tough exterior was easy to see through.

“My heart aches for you, my lady,” he speaks softly while taking slow steps towards you. The terror of this situation made you move backwards, until your feet had made you press your back against the wall, “I fear that my haste might've made me do something…irrational.”

His dominant hand seems focused on the sword at his hip, making you look at it. It was only when you saw the red speckles all over his hand, hilt of the sword, and the oddly familiar pink ribbon he kept tied around it, did that coppery smell fill your nostrils.

With a trembling voice and a fake smile, you tried to assure him, “Any mistake is fixable, Sir Childe.”

“Not this one,” his hand continued to hold the hilt of his sword, squeezing it a few times as of testing the weight of his blade, “Do you know the best part of being the hero? The dragon slayer?” He asked, waiting for your response which was just a slow, forced shake of your head, prompting him to continue, “It's not the riches or the praise. It's not even the women.” As he speaks, one of his hands slides down from your cheek, to your neck, to the bodice of your dress. Tearful eyes look down to see him smearing that red liquid, that blood onto you white dress, staining it.

“I don't understand,” you mumbled, but your words fall on deaf ears.

“The best part of being the hero, is the freedom to do what I want. With no prosecution. Who in their right mind would stand up to the man who saved our failing nation? The answer is no one. Not the king, nor his workers, and especially not your weak little fiance,”

The sight and smell of blood, Childe's deep, hollow blue eyes, the way your heart felt as if it wanted to lurch out of your mouth. All things you tried to focus on as his words pounded their way into your skull, understanding washing over you like a wave that was trying to drown you where you stood.

“Wh-what did you do?” Your voice, so high pitched and breaking as the weight of the words forced through your body.

His hand, cold, soft, wet with blood rubbed your cheek, while his face never faltered, those dead eyes never changing, he had no remorse. It made you sick to your stomach, images of your fiance flashing through your head as you tried to imagine what he looked like, the hopeful ones saying that he was at least still alive.

“I'm going to ask again, nicely this time,” he began while pulling a ring from his pocket. Much more intricate than the one your fiance had given you, seeing as he had the hero's budget. But that didn't make you feel any less light headed when it was slipped onto your ring finger, freezing cold against your warm skin, “Will you do me the honor of becoming my bride?”

[watcherintheweyr]

'Rhaenyra is a bad mom bc she knowingly gave birth to bastards and she knew how much danger they'd be in!!!!'

1. She had no way of knowing those babies wouldn't pop out looking exactly like her, beforehand. And unfortunately she couldn't stop at Jace. The throne needed an heir. Driftmark needed an heir. And a spare was needed as well, given the sheer rate of Targaryen children dying untimely deaths.

2. She had to provide heirs to the throne, and to Driftmark. If she hadn't, society wouldn't have blamed Laenor, they would have blamed her- which makes her position even more unstable, bc then she 'can't fulfill a woman's duty' so why would men think her 'able' to fill a 'man's role' by ruling the kingdom? And she and Laenor tried. He was either unable (meaning infertile or impotent, or unable to get it up), or unwilling. (And they did try. We dont know what they tried but Rhaenyra is shown to be clever in the show so honestly i have no doubt she attempted what Margaery suggested with Renly.) Laenor was in on the entire thing. He was aware of every part of this. He wasn't duped, he wasn't cuckholded- it was a plan greenlit by him, bc this way he and Rhaenyra would both have their heirs and a family. This cannot in any way shape or form be compared to Cersei cuckholding Robert (fuck Robert Baratheon tho), seeing as Robert was **not** at all aware that his children weren't his, and wouldn't have been OK with that.

Either way- she chose not to maritally r*pe her husband and put him through more trauma after it was clear their attempts weren't working. Yall are always so upset for Alicent (rightfully so, bc show!alicent was maritally raped, even if it wasn't considered as such in that time), but you... WANT Rhaenyra to do that to Laenor? Hello???

[And no. Rhaenyra did NOT rape or coerce Criston Cole. The actors, writers, and directors have all stated their sex was consensual and 'an act of love.' It was Rhaenyra going to someone she felt close to and trusted after feeling abandoned and unwanted and betrayed. In that scene you literally watch, as after Cole tells Rhaenyra to stop undressing herself, she moves aside so she isn't blocking his way to the door. The director states that the moment they show Cole folding and setting down his cloak was him choosing his desire over his oaths. And Criston Cole has known Rhaenyra since she was 14. He knew damn well the sort of person she was- and she was not the person who would have harmed him for saying no. She was an intoxicated and emotionally vulnerable 19 year old- Criston was in his late 20s to early 30s. And it's explicitly stated in ep.9 that the ONLY person a Kingsguard cannot refuse is the king. In ep.7 Criston disobeys a direct order from Alicent when she wants him to mutilate Lucerys. Criston Cole was not assaulted. Stop trying to assign Aegon's sins to Rhaenyra so that you can feel better for supporting him.]

3. In the books, the rumors of their bastardry at large halted when all of Rhaenyra's boys' cradle eggs hatched. The ONLY people who continued to try and raise issue were the core green faction. But the realm at large *did not give a fuck* why? Because every actually relevant party claimed those boys. Repeatedly and without flinching. Laenor claimed and loved those boys even face to face with Alicent's bullshit. Corlys claimed and love those boys- he was proud of them, and it's been stated by the actor in the show that Luke was his favorite- that given the... events of ep.10, Corlys will be out for blood. And Viserys repeatedly insisted upon their legitimacy- because Laenor and Corlys claimed them, because he knew that by forcing Rhaenyra to marry Laenor in order to repair the damage his insults caused House Velaryon, that he had backed her into a corner.

Rhaenyras boys are remembered to history as Velaryon. Even **Green supporters** noted that they were good, capable, intelligent, and **worthy** princes. That their deaths were unfortunate *for the realm.*

Legally, those boys are legitimate. They cannot be proven illegitimate without Laenor renouncing them, and he never did. Furthermore, trying to declare children illegitimate due to their appearance is a stupid, dangerous precedent. The fact that it's people who have no ties to House Velaryon pushing these rumors and pushing for disinheritance makes it even worse, because they're meddling in the succession of a House that *is not theirs.* if that became a standard, imagine the feuds and conflicts that would erupt- lords pushing for the children of rivals to be declared illegitimate all for the sake of trying to grasp and steal land, power, and influence as a norm? The realm would tear itself apart. Not to mention the sheer danger that would place women in, in Westeros.

Furthermore, even whilst usurping her, even while calling her children bastards, the Greens also imply Laenor's homosexuality was inherited by the Velaryon princes- that they would use Rhaenyra's 'promiscuity' and Laenor's 'predilections' to turn the Red Keep into a brothel- ironic, considering that's more what Aegon would've done. So even while claiming that Rhaenyras children are bastards that shouldn't inherit, they try to state that what the boys inherit or learn from Laenor makes them unfit for the throne. They can't keep their own damn story straight- because their usurpation was never about what is moral, what is right, or the greater good. It was about greed. Power. Sexism.

It doesn't matter what those boys looked like, especially seeing as Rhaenys had dark hair in the books. What matters is that Corlys and Laenor and Viserys claimed them and declared them legitimate, and that they **never** deviated from that.

As for Vaemond, he was a second son. And he waited until Corlys and Viserys were dying and too ill to stop him to make a grasp for power. Youre not supposed to look at that and feel hes in the right. Youre supposed to look at that and see a man consumed by greed, and literally trying to bury Corlys' will and intentions before the man is even in a grave. He was NEVER Corlys' heir- he just wanted power. It wasn't about his House, or their legacy, it was about him.

(And before yall start shit about Rhaenyras boys stealing Laena's girls' inheritance... Rhaena and Baela are *TARGARYEN*. Not Velaryon. Their claim was to the throne or to any holdings in Daemon's name. NOT to Driftmark.)

Rhaenyras boys being betrothed to Rhaena and Baela tied up any issue of 'Velaryon blood.' Baela would have been queen consort of the seven kingdoms at Jace's side, and they very clearly adored one another in book and show. Rhaena would have been Lady of the Tides- which she never would have had a chance for, without Rhaenyra (and Laena) making those betrothals. She and Luke were also canonically very close- and in show she's very encouraging of him whenever he looks nervous or uncertain. They had a bond.

Rhaenyra stole nothing. She gave those girls more. And she loved them- they were the only daughters she got to have, seeing as the Greens treachery caused the early death of baby Visenya. If she hadn't loved them, she wouldn't have trusted Rhaena to look after Joffrey or give her Morning's egg from Syrax. She wouldn't have immediately invited both girls to the table when she was queen, which is something her father did not do for her until much, much later. He allowed Rhaenyra's voice to be silenced too often when she was first made heir. Rhaenyra did not repeat that hurt to her girls or her boys.

Anyways, moving on.

You lot do also remember that Rhaenyra herself has Velaryon blood, right? Jaehaerys I's mother was Alyssa Velaryon. Aegon, Rhaenys, and Visenya the Conquerors' mother was Valaena Velaryon. It's not immediate, but there *is* Velaryon blood through *all* of Rhaenyras boys.

Ultimately, Rhaenyras boys were only in danger because of the core Green faction usurping the throne. If they hadnt- no succession crisis or rebellion could have truly threatened Rhaenyras boys- because none of them would have had dragons. All of Rhaenyras children loved one another- her sons by Daemon would not have turned on her sons with Laenor (and Harwin). They were a true, loving family- possibly one of the healthiest and most close knit one House Targaryen ever boasted.

And another thing... 'her having babies with Harwin was stupid, she should have picked someone Valyrian!'

Here's the thing. Rhaenyra had to be careful as hell choosing who would father her and Laenor's heirs. She had to choose someone who was physically close, and who could be trusted. Someone who wouldn't try to publicly claim those boys in boast or jealousy. Someone who would keep their mouth shut and had no ambition of their own in regards to the throne. Do you really think Vaemond Velaryon (as I see him suggested a lot) would've kept his mouth shut? That he wouldn't have tried to use this to blackmail Rhaenyra and Laenor for more power and status? Do you think Rhaenys would have ever fought for or supported Rhaenyra if Rhaenyra had tried to have Corlys sire her children? And flying to see Daemon in Pentos and having a purely Valyrian child 9 months later would have made things look even more suspect.

Furthermore... she chose someone who cared for her deeply. Who clearly had a positive relationship with Laenor. She chose someone so she wouldn't have to traumatize herself- she took power over her body in a way almost no Westerosi woman has ever been able to. They were a family unit- Rhaenyra, Laenor, and Harwin. Those children were loved and cherished by two fathers and their mother. They were raised never doubting their mothers love, nor their father's- either father. They were raised and educated to be true, good princes of the realm.

Rhaenyra fought like hell for her children. She was an incredible mother. Yall just believe everything the Green faction says without looking at it critically, and that's unfortunate as hell.

[anneapocalypse]

On Wuk Lamat, and Female Characters in FFXIV

The Thing with Wuk Lamat is you can tell me you think she had too much screentime; you can give me numbers on how many lines she had or how many scenes she's in relative to other characters or other expacs; you can prove to me "objectively" that she gets more focus than other main NPCs; you're simply not going to convince me that this is something I should be unhappy about. And not just because it's silly to think you can use numbers to prove a story is good or bad and make someone else go, "Wow, you're right, let me just throw away all the joy I experienced with this story and revise my opinion because you've scientifically proven to me that I'm wrong."

Because while I love Final Fantasy XIV and I have greatly enjoyed its story in so many ways, fundamentally one of my biggest beefs with this game has been how much female characters have been denied complex character arcs and growth and agency and interiority.

Minfilia gets treated as a sacrificial vessel who lives for everyone but herself and doesn't even get to have feelings about her own death because that entire arc is focused on a male character's angst about it instead. The game tells us in the Heavensward patches that Krile sees Minfilia as her best friend and then just forgets about that later and never follows up on what that loss must have meant to her. Ysayle is basically right about most of what she's fighting for but harboring a bit of self-delusion is apparently such a terrible sin that she has to pay for it with her life, while her male foil is deemed so worthy of salvation that there's a whole plot point about how important it is that we risk our lives and others' lives to save him. Y'shtola is a major character who's been around since the beginning, and the game keeps dropping maddeningly interesting things about her (apprenticed to a cranky old witch in a cave! saved her own life and the lives of her friends with an illegal and dangerous spell and it worked! reserved and undemonstrative yet regularly through her actions reveals herself to be deeply caring! disabled!) and then shows complete disinterest in following up on any of those things with the kind of depth and care shown to male characters with complex arcs like Urianger.

In general there is also a repeated thread of female characters being portrayed as weak or overly emotional: Minfilia is weak because she doesn't fight and needs to be eaten by a god in order to gain "a strength long sought." Krile is portrayed as not being able to pull her weight with the Scions (despite the fact that she actively keeps five of them from dying in Shadowbringers) and the only thing they could think of for her to do in Endwalker was be yet another vessel for Hydaelyn (hmm, that sounds familiar) and it's not until Dawntrail that she gets much actual character development in the main story and even that has to come alongside "Look, she can fight now so that means she's useful." (And I love Picto!Krile, I'm just saying, there's a pattern.) Alisaie, despite having very good reasons for needing to find her own path apart from her brother, is portrayed as having to prove herself when she returns, that she's "not the girl she once was," and "will not be a burden" (while Alphinaud is repeatedly given the benefit of the doubt and reassurance and affirmation from other characters even after he takes on responsibilities he isn't ready for and fucks up big time).

And if you follow me you know I adore Urianger, and I love Alphinaud and Thancred and Estinien too, so please don't misunderstand what I'm saying here! I'm not knocking those characters, or saying we shouldn't also love them. I just use them as a comparison to demonstrate how the female characters have been neglected.

Lyse has some of the stronger character development among the female Scions, and while she's still kind of portrayed as being too emotional and hotheaded in early Stormblood, I think it's actually explored in more depth in a way that I like; Lyse has good reasons for wanting to fight for her nation's freedom, but having been away from Ala Mhigo for several years now, she needs to understand the stakes for the people who've been there fighting for years, what they've lost and still have to lose. She grows as a person and rises to the challenge of leadership, and I'm even okay with the fact that she leaves the Scions afterward because it feels right for her to stay in Ala Mhigo, and at least she doesn't die.

And by all accounts she was, like Wuk Lamat, widely hated when her expansion came out.

Unironically I think the other female Scion with the strongest character arc is Tataru. She tries to take up a combat job, finds that it's not for her, and decides to focus on where her strengths are instead. In doing so, she both holds the Scions together as an organization in the absence of a leader by capably managing their finances, and also comes into her own as a businesswoman and makes international connections that benefit both the Scions and her personally. In contrast to Minfilia, she's not portrayed as weak because she doesn't fight, and is actually allowed to be an important character who's good for more than being sacrificed. Tataru is still distinctly in a supporting role for the player character, however, and her character arc happens as a side story that takes up a relatively small amount of screentime over several expansions, which I think is probably why she doesn't evoke such a negative reaction.

But there is a pattern of the game's writing showing disinterest in the interior lives of female characters generally, and in making their growth the focus of a story.

So yeah, I'm going to be happy about Wuk Lamat! I'm going to enjoy and celebrate every moment of her character arc, of her personal growth, of watching her put the lessons she's learned into action. I'm going to love and treasure every moment when she gets to be silly, embarrassing, emotional, scared, grieving, confused, upset, seasick, impulsive, and still deemed worthy of growing into a hero and a leader. I will love her with all of my soul and you simply will not convince me that it wasn't worth the screentime after such a profound imbalance for basically the entirety of the game. We've never had a major female character get such a strong arc with this much love and attention put into it and that means more to me than I can truly say. The backlash to it is disheartening, as this kind of thing always is, but I'm not going to let it ruin the wonderful experience I had playing it and how much joy it continues to bring me.

And for those of you who don't want any of that for a female character, thank goodness you have Heavensward and Shadowbringers and Endwalker and no one can take those away from you.

(And if you follow me you know that I love Shadowbringers and Endwalker and have very fond memories of Heavensward despite some issues with it, so not only can I not take that from you, I am not trying to!)

Some of us have been real hungry for a character like this with an arc like this, so, I think, y'know, maybe we can have that. As a treat.

[lookingforariaa]

Attack On Titan: Actor AU ᝰ.ᐟ

ᯓ★ From the very first "Attack on Titan" table read, Eren Jaeger and Y/N L/N been locked in a personal war. They had hated each other, for their own personal reasons. But, now, fate (or the writers) had dealt them a cruel hand: their characters, the series' central love interests, were about to share their first intimate scene. actor!eren x actress!reader

Ensconced in the makeup chair, you flipped through the script with practiced ease. Your brow furrowed in concentration as you absorbed the scene directions and drilled the lines for today's shoot into your memory.

If 13 year old you thought it was bad enough having to share your first kiss with Eren Jaeger at the end of the season 2 finale with a bunch of camera's pointed at you, she would probably want to kill herself for this scene.

Smiles were plastered on for fans, talk show appearances, the whole nine yards. But everyone on set knew the hatred simmering beneath the surface between Eren and you. But your reasons for the animosity ran deeper than just hating him for the funsies.

You'd always bristled at entitled people like Eren Yeager. His producer father had undoubtedly greased the wheels for his leading role alongside you. He hadn't earned it like everyone in this series had, and he had gotten one of the leading roles in the series.

It wasn't fair. The rich always win.

The first table read had confirmed your worst fears. You had extended a friendly hand, introducing yourself as his love interest and the second leading role in the series.

Eren's response? A dismissive scoff and a head-to-toe sweep that spoke volumes. That self-satisfied smirk ignited a fire in your gut. People like him, who waltzed into success on silver platters, were everything you weren't. You'd clawed your way up, and his arrogance was a slap in the face to everything you'd achieve

The hatred towards Eren only intensified on the first filming day. His arrogance wasn't confined to you. He barked orders at crew members and treated his assistant like an indentured servant. Your blood pressure skyrocketed.

These were people, not props for his entitled performance.

He treated them like they weren't human.

The scene triggered a raw nerve. You knew all too well the sting of dehumanization. The humiliation. Your mother was a single parent forced into sex work to keep a roof over your head. Even if you lived in a brothel full of sex workers, you didn't ask god for anything else other than to get your mom another job.

You had watched your mom try her best to hide you from the men coming in so you wouldn't have to fall into the hands of prostitution as well. The way those men treated her - a flicker of desire followed by callous dismissal, like a discarded rag.

Like she wasn't even worthy enough to be called a human.

You had clawed your way out. Your striking features - the cascading dark blonde hair and the mesmerising hazel eyes and amazing acting skills - were your ticket to this role, a chance to give your mother a life she deserved.

Seeing Eren was like looking into a mirror of your traumatic past, seeing your mom thrashed around like an object.

Blinking back the sleep in your eyes after having drinks with Sasha the entire night, the scripts pages wavered in your hands, the words blurring at the edges.

Sasha's death still felt unreal. You'd sought solace in her company after they killed her character, clinging to the real Sasha for as long as possible.

A yawn stretched your lips into a wide, ungainly shape. The gentle hum of the hair curlers and the soft touch of the makeup brushes did little to dispel the exhaustion clinging to you like a second skin.

The last layer of blush being applied felt strangely cool against your warm cheeks. You lowered your heavy lashes as they started applying a gentle layer of mascara to your makeup as the finishing touch.

The problem with Attack On Titan was the fact that all the makeup had to look natural. But at the same time all the girls, especially you and Mikasa, had to look beautiful.

Which wasn't hard, because both of you were drop dead gorgeous. But both of you were too humble to ever admit it out loud.

You skimmed through the script one last time as the Matt, your gay best friend who mostly does your hair, brushes them out slightly to make them look more natural.

Perfect," he sighed dramatically, a playful smile on his face. "Ready for today's shoot?"

You rolled your eyes, a groan escaping your lips. "Absolutely not."

"Yeah, figured," Matt chuckled. "t's funny honestly. Do you actually have to ride his thigh? God, the writers hate you."

"Oh shut up!" You scoffed, slapping his arm with your script as you looked a laughing Matt through the mirror.

"Okay, come on, they're asking for you."

"Tell them I'll be right out."

The director barked out his final instructions, taking help from Isayama as his gaze flickering between you and Eren.

Both of you stood with arms crossed and brows furrowed, listening carefully to the director and Isayam. Eren, clad in his iconic faded green shirt and a the black jacket over it.

While you wore a white button-up strained slightly against your chest, the small black corset tied right beneath your chest emphasizing your hourglass figure beneath it.

"So, remember, Y/N you hate him in this scene, you despise him." The director emphasized, looking down at the script.

"Yeah, that's gonna be easy to act out." You scoffed, rolling your eyes.

Eren smirked, leaning down for his mouth to reach your ear. "Don't forget what scene we're filming." His breath tickled your ear. You didn't know what sent the chills down your spine-- his mouth being so close to your ear, or the fact that he was referring to how you had absolutely no control in this scene.

The director clapped his hands, snapping you and Eren out of your silent standoff. You cleared your throat, forcing your attention away from the infuriating green shirt and towards the man barking orders.

"Y/N," he said, pointing at you, "when you say, 'So you're going to kill billions of people for what?!' I want a reaction. Fling your arms wide, like you're trying to grasp the weight of those lives. Let your anger crackle in your eyes, burning into Eren as you demand an answer." You nodded.

His gaze shifted to Eren, a glint of amusement in his eyes. "Eren, when you deliver the line, 'For you,' I want hesitation. Let out a sigh that speaks volumes. Run your hand through your hair, whatever. Turn away, build the drama. Then, do a dramatic turn around back towards Y/N, unleashing that scream with every ounce of conviction you have. Got it?"

Eren nodded understandingly, pursing his lips. "Got it."

"Great! Let's get this scene rolling!" The director boomed, clapping his hands. A flurry of activity followed as the set crew started getting the prison set ready for filming, fixing any minor misplaces in it.

You and Eren stood by, the tension crackling between you like live wires. Within minutes, the set was prepped, the harsh overhead lights casting stark shadows on the fabricated brick walls. You took a deep breath, steeling yourself for the emotional rollercoaster about to unfold.

"Scene 27, take 1."

"Lights," The director sighed, "Cameras." He pointed, "And.. action!"

The sterile light glinted off the metal bars, casting a harsh glow on the tense scene unfolding. You stood across from Eren, your voice laced with barely contained fury

"I know what I'm doing," you spat, the words sharp as shards of ice. "But do you, Eren? Do you have any goddamn clue what you're doing?!"

Eren was positioned before a cracked mirror, avoided your gaze. His knuckles tightened around the chipped porcelain sink, the strain evident in his posture. A sigh, heavy and laced with despair, escaped his lips as he stared down at his clenched fists.

"Yeah," he muttered, his voice barely a whisper.

"Yeah?" you shrieked, disbelief and frustration clawing at your throat. "Because from where I'm standing, it doesn't seem like a single thought has crossed that thick skull of yours!"

Your hands flew to your hair, tugging at the strands in agitation. Frustration boiled over, and you flung your arms wide, the metal cot scraping against the wall with a jarring clang

"Eren!" you roared, your voice echoing off the cold stone walls. "You're about to make billions die at the hands of a horrifying death! And for what?!"

Eren remained silent, his back a rigid wall against your onslaught. A shaky breath escaped him, his jaw clenched so tightly his teeth seemed ready to shatter. Slowly, he raised his hand, running it through his hair in a gesture of defeat. His eyes, half-lidded and shadowed, flickered towards his reflection in the mirror, a flicker of something akin to shame crossing his features.

Then, with a dramatic flourish, he spun around, his voice laced with a desperate conviction that bordered on hysteria.

"For you!" he screamed, the words echoing through the cell. But as quickly as the outburst erupted, it died down. A defeated sigh escaped his lips, and he repeated the words, this time a mere whisper, "For you..." His half lidded eyes met yours.

"Well, that's fucking stupid!" You screamed out.

"Cut!" You furrowed your eyebrows and turned your head back to the director. "Y/N! Your resolve breaks for a second, okay? You still love him deep down and when he looks at you like that your heart aches." The director says, clutching at his own heart to emphasise. "So wait for a second, show emotion, and then say the stupid line."

"Idiot." Eren muttered under his breath, loud enough for you to hear.

"Okay, got it. Everything else was fine?" You asked, ignoring his comment.

"Yeah." The director responded, "Let's take it again from Eren's line."

"Scene 27, take 2."

"Lights, camera.. action!"

Eren sighs once more, "For you.."

A tremor ran through your composure. Your eyelids fluttered shut for a brief moment, a shaky breath escaping your lips. When your eyes reopened, the anger had returned, but it felt brittle, tinged with a flicker of something else - confusion, maybe even a hint of pain. It was a fleeting glimpse, quickly masked by the familiar fury

"Well that's.. that's fucking stupid!" You stammered, trying to showcase your characters resolve breaking.

"Is it?! I think it's fucking stupid that you aren't understanding that Marley wants to take you so you can make pure royal blooded babies with my brother so they can take the founding titan easily!" Eren roared, turning back to you.

"Babies?" The word hung in the air, a foreign concept amidst the weight of Eren's plan. The anger you wielded began to crumble at the edges.

A shaky laugh escaped you, a humorless sound that echoed off the cold stone walls. "Is that it, Eren? All this so I don't sleep with your fucking brother?!"

Eren's jaw clenched tight. He ran his hands through his hair again, his voice laced with a desperate edge. "You aren't fucking getting it! They'll use you, Y/N! Turn you into a breeding machine for their twisted agenda and then kill you! This way, at least you're..." His voice trailed off, the defiance flickering for a moment.

"Atleast i'm what? Safe? You fucking sociopath! You're killing all these people for one person?!"

"Shut up."

"That's what you are.. a murderer, a psychopath!"

"Shut the fuck up." He growled, grabbing you by your neck and pushing you against the wall, choking you slightly. The camera followed both of you in kind.

You smiled, scoffing. "Or what? You'll kill me?"

He choked you harder, making you stretch your neck up as you whimpered slightly.

"I told you to shut the fuck up."

"Make me."

A tense silence stretched between you, punctuated only by the ragged rasp of your breath. Disgust simmered in your eyes, a mirror image of the icy loathing reflected back from Eren. The space between you crackled with unspoken hostility

He was supposed to kiss you now, but you were glad he wasn't, otherwise you might've barfed in his mouth. He looked at you with the same expression etched on his face: disgust.

"Cut!" The director yelled out and Eren rolled his eyes, sighing as he released your neck and immediately walked away from you.

The director slammed his script down, the sound echoing through the soundstage. "Alright, what's going on here? You two are supposed to be passionately making out, not glaring at each other like you're about to duel."

Eren scoffed, running a hand through his hair. "Maybe that's the point. Maybe our characters wouldn't actually kiss in this situation."

You crossed your arms, your eyes narrowing. "Oh, and why wouldn't they? Because your fragile ego can't handle kissing someone who doesn't fawn over you?"

Eren's smirk vanished, replaced by a cold stare. "Funny you should mention ego. It takes a certain level of delusion to think anyone would be interested in someone who constantly reeks of desperation."

You bristled. "Desperation? At least I earned this role on my own merit, unlike some nepo baby." You smirked. "At least I don't need a daddy with a fat wallet to buy my way into a role."

Eren's voice turned low and dangerous. "Careful. You wouldn't want to upset the golden goose who keeps this whole production afloat, would you?"

Y/N leaned forward, her voice a steely whisper. "Don't you dare pull that daddy producer stunt on me. You think your money can buy you everything? It can't buy respect, and it certainly can't buy genuine affection."

Eren's smirk faltered for a moment, his jaw clenching, much to your amusement. "Oh, touchy subject? Truth hurts, doesn't it?"

The director sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. "Look, can we focus? This scene is supposed to be about raw emotions, about their need for each other. Let's take it again, both of you are professionals, I know you can handle it."

"Scene 27, take 3."

"Lights, Camera... Action!"

The boy holding the movie clip snapper sighs, exhausted, even from a simple job as his. "Scene 27... take 23."

"Okay, guys, If it doesn't happen this time then we'll have to redo this tomorrow. And then we won't have time to film the scenes scheduled for tomorrow, hence the season 4 premiere will get delayed. So, just be professionals for once. You aren't kids anymore." The director sighs, putting his cap back on as he leans back in the chair.

Both you and Eren get back into place as the director yells action and Eren quickly slams you against the wall.

"Shut the fuck up."

"Or what? You'll kill me?"

He choked you harder, making you stretch your neck up as you whimpered slightly.

"I told you to shut the fuck up."

"Make me."

You and Eren looked at each other for a second and you almost thought he was going to chicken out once more, so did the director as he rolled his eyes and slid a hand across his face.

But he didn't.

Eren quickly brought his lips to yours, rough and full of all the hatred that's been simmering between both of you all this while. It was a frantic kiss, as the director had wanted. Both of you were breathless as his hand stopped choking you and went to the side of your neck and the other clutched at your waist, and your hands went to grasp at his hair.

It was a tangled mess of limbs as your heads moved together at the speed of light, begging to deepen the kiss, begging to explore every inch of each others mouth. The air crackled with unspoken desire, the kiss a whirlwind of exploring touches and desperate needy moans. 

Everything was a blur. Gasping breaths mingled with the frantic rhythm of your kiss, his tongue had even made an appearance. It surprised you, because when kissing a co-star the other doesn't use tongue to keep the kiss professional and to show the person respect.

But what would Eren Jaeger know about respect?

His hands gripped your waist, a possessive ache that mirrored your owns as one of your hands tugged at his hair and the other caressed his cheek. The kiss deepened, your heads moving together frantically, a battle fought on bruised lips and tangled tongues.

A whimper escaped your lips as Eren grabbed your hair and tilted your head backwards, the kiss turning urgent, so frantic. It felt like an eternity, a culmination of unspoken longing poured into this single, desperate moment.

Your hands twisted in his hair, pulling at it harshly on purpose, hoping it would hurt. With the groan that he let out into the kiss, you were sure it did.

Then, with a swift movement, Eren shoved his knee in between your legs, your surprised moan swallowed by the next searing kiss.

His hand shot out, gripping your throat as your heads whipped back and forth, a frantic chase for deepening the kiss. A tender moan left your lips as Eren's grip on your throat tightened, his tongue thrusting deeper. The sound of your kiss echoed in the room, into the mic, a desperate rhythm. You let out another soft, breathy moan and it was muffled into his mouth as he tried to get even closer to you.

And with the directors snap, which was your cue to start grinding on his thigh, you did just that. A soft moan escaped your lips and muffled into his mouth. "Eren." You sighed into the kiss, as you disconnected your lips and connected your forehead with his, grinding on his thigh.

Fuck. You didn't expect this to happen, especially not with Eren, but you could feel your pussy pulsate and throb with need. You just hoped he couldn't feel it.

"We shouldn't do this." You said in a soft moan as you threw your head back, giving Eren the chance to kiss down your neck.

"We shouldn't." He sighed into your neck.

"It's a bad idea." Your grinding intensified and his hand came to grab at your hips to help you, a sigh of pleasure escaping you, your nails digging into his shoulder.

"It is." You could feel his breath on your neck.

"I loathe you."

"The feelings mutual."

The air crackled as your eyes locked with Eren's. You guys locked eyes for a moment, as written in the script.

And then you leaned down as you were slightly lifted above the ground with a surge of undeniable desire. Your lips met in a frantic kiss, a tangle of emotions that both fueled and fought against your self-control. The kiss was so rushed, such a blur. Both your heads moving so frantically to fight for dominance.

It was like you were fighting to crawl into each others skin.

A strangled sound escaped your throat, a mix of surprise and something more primal. A flicker of uncertainty crossed your mind. Fuck, why were you enjoying this?

Shame threatened to choke the rising tide of sensation, but Eren's touch, a hand gently yanking at your hair, grounded you. In that moment, you were caught in a delicious storm of confusion and exhilaration.

"Cut!"

You tore yourself away from the kiss, gasping for breath. Eren mirrored your action, his chest heaving slightly. A ghost of a smile played on his lips, a hint of amusement dancing in his eyes. Both of you gazed at each other with longing and confusion, almost disgust and hate for themselves because deep down they know they liked it.

''Great job! I love the intensity. We'll just need to film some POV and closeup shots for the sex scenes and we're done for the day." The director smiled, praising both of you. "Let's take 5."

You started to walk away, but before you could leave, Eren grabbed your hand. "Also, by the way." You sighed and rolled your eyes.

"What?"

"I could feel that, you know."

Shit.

[writingwenches]

Aemond x Peasant OC

synopsis: Aemond leaves the comfort of the Red Keep to trek around the backwoods Riverlands, where an annoying peasant doesn't believe he is a prince. Then they do hand stuff near a lake.

themes: brat!Aemond, spoiled!Aemond, mixed race main character, mc grew up in a westeros version of a nunnery, surprise trans side character~ this is just the start of a larger “rewrite HOTD” type story.

word count: 10k (i hate me too.)

warnings: 18+ MDNI, no targcest, hand stuff, mouth stuff, mommy issues if you squint, mentions of sex work, mentions of child death and pregnancy complications. Religious nonsense.

PART TWO OUT NOW

Freedom From – Act One

Charity is the only hope for useless girls, and not enough to go around. The Maidenhouse of Haronfall was an ancient structure, run by the Faith for centuries as a place to send discarded girl-children, forging useless girls into something worthy. It was their true calling, regardless of what those girls’ wants. 

For unwanted men of the realm, there was the Night’s Watch. Some unwanted boys are sent as soon as they were old enough to lift a sword. They were raised and trained to be useful along their brothers, forged to the sole purpose of defending the realm and never to be left wanting. 

The Septas of the Faith of the Seven recruited woman of fine birth, in want of a life not owned by a husband, and those who’s families were willing to pay handsomely for a life of purpose for their unfortunately female child. Women worked and clawed and won their way into the duty of a Septa, the Faith had no use for useless girls. 

There was no place in the realm for unwanted girls. Brothels did not want them. They already had enough bastards, and young flesh did not turn enough of a profit. Girls were not wanted unless they were useful, and many unuseful girls found themselves living on the streets or dead in a ditch.

That was what would befall Lyn is she were ever to be found wanting, of something more, of something else. She was lucky to have been given her place amongst the holy woman of the Faith, even if she was not going to benefit from their handouts much longer. Lyn had been found wanting at an early age, never reaching the hidden marks required to be gifted a role as a Novice. Those girls found wanting were given hard work of servitude, waiting on the Septas that filled the halls of the Grand Motherhouse, constructed around the ancient order’s orphanage, nestled in the swamp lands of The Bite. 

The prayer before work was never ending, but no one had the heart to interrupt the young girl, hands clasped together, eyes stitched shut, conversing with the gods in earnest. Lyn tried to shake her mind from racing at the thoughts of the future, focusing on the task at hand. House Erenford was not able to keep a staff his large permanently, but they would take every chance for a few strong-backed girl servants from the Faith to tend their Keep during festivals and feasts. House Erenford honors hard workers, and knows that the serving girls’ would be in need of work away from their lands as soon as they could find it. The elderly Lord Erenford would always put in a good word with visiting households in need of additional servants. 

Lyn tried to for her back to appear straight, as she lowered herself enough to reach the basket of herbs that needed plucking. Her fellow maid, Hanna, peeled potatoes below the table and out of sight of piety. This was not the first time the group of maids had been contracted to work during a feast at House Eronford’s keep, and Lyn knew that they did not have time for endless prayers and blessings if they were to keep their schedule. Their traveling party lost many hours to traveling from the Motherhouse, where the young maids hailed. 

Lyn’s eyes remained downcast, she was raised by the Septas of the Faith of the Seven since as long as she had memory. She had learned to pray before she could do any other task, it took many years to learn how to appear to be praying, which is much more efficient. 

Her small movements had been noticed, however, by the Lady Aeditya Mallister. She had been raised on a far-off world, at a distance Lyn could not properly imagine, away from the tradition of the Faith. 

Lady Aeditya cleared her throat, trying to get someone’s attention, her empty cup dancing in her hand.

For years, Lyn assumed Aeditya was of mixed peoples, like Lyn herself, with skin of a strange middle ground between dark and light. But, after serving the lady on numerous occasions, she was assured that Lady Mallister was of impeccable birth, thought to possess ravishing beauty by her entire nation, a nation where all peoples looked like her, but obviously less beautiful. 

Lady Aeditya exhaled loudly, and no move was made to fill her empty cup while prayers were still being pledged.

Lyn agreed that Lady Aeditya was beautiful, but knew that her distant land would not welcome her for her skin alone. Their features were completely different, were Lyn was plump and sturdy, Aeditya was slim and narrow. 

“LYN!” the lady finally shouted. The prayers abruptly stopped. “My cup is empty. Where is the wine?”

“Of course, Lady Mallister,” Lyn said dutifully, flicking away the moist bits of shredded herbs from her fingers, glad that the room burst to life as work for the feast could finally begin. Behind the pillar of the wine cellar, Lyn suck a few gulps from the pitcher to warm her belly before returning to fill the lady’s empty cup. 

—

“Ugh!” Lady Aeditya huffed, as she lounged on the stone hearth, stroking her distressingly pregnant belly. “It’s too quiet in here, someone speak,” she ordered, her wine cup almost empty one again. 

“Is the duck ready for the oven?” Hanna chimed, thinking her thoughts aloud as she passed. 

“No!” Lady Aeditya stamped, “The babe grows ears! Do not speak of things I know nought about!” Her words staccatod for emphasis. “It is isolating to me, we must not encourage such things for the babe,” she said as if it were obvious. “Lord Ryver and Waltel Frey are sparring, as always, and I did not come here to be bored.”

Lady Aeditya came to Haronfall, along the edge of The Bite, all the way from Seaguard, the western most point before the Iron Islands. It was the only area of land Lyn had ever known. It was more than a week’s journey between the two settlements, and every pregnancy, Aeditya seemed to spend the majority of her time away from her lord husband.

“What would you like to speak of, Lady Mallister?” Lyn asked, sharing smiling glancing to the other girls working. She tried to get the savory herbs from beneath her fingernails, to not spoil the sweet pie filling she was mixing. 

Lady Aeditya signed again. “it is always up to me, the true burden of being a lady.” She sat up straighter and addressed the help with her eyes. The Lady Aeditya saw an unorganized gaggle of unmarried maidens, who were long old enough to bare children of their own. Poor, former infants that were abandoned by their destitute mothers at the Faith’s doorstep, now traded around as extra help for a few measly coins. Aeditya say little difference between this and woman who sell their bodies in other ways. She could never imagine sullying herself with such unfulfilling work with a true lack of purpose. She pitied them in some ways – an envied them in others. “Girls, be thankful your minds are not always at the helm of every stimulant in conversation.”

Honestly, Lyn was thankful as her brain was far away from the dank kitchens, hidden below the gathering hall. The windows were scarce and to allow only for light, rather than a beautiful view of the fertile swamplands surrounding the keep. Lyn’s mind was free to soar and wonder, watching a bale of turtles balancing on a single log as they competed for the best spot in the sun. Lyn often wished she were a simple turtle, floating along the creeks and bogs, armored against chomping lizards and long beaked birds. She was free. 

Very much unlike Lady Aeditya. 

“Oh!” she exclaimed, both hands reaching for her overlarge belly. “Come hither! The babe! He kicks!” 

The room flurried with rushing girls and dropped buckets. 

Lyn did not think Lady Aeditya so bad. Lyn was present at her last birth, as Aeditya’s labors began in Haronfall, and lasted days. The boy was born asleep, the Septas said, wrapping him in cloth and not allowing the mother a single look before carting him away, leaving Lyn and the other girls to hold Aeditya close as she wailed. At the request of Lord River, Aeditya remained in Haronfall to give Lord Mallister’s temper time to subside. 

Lyn smiled as she felt the babe kick, before other girls pushed her palm away to feel for themselves. Lyn didn’t know how much she believed in the gods, but she prayed to all of them on behalf of the Lady Mallister, prayed that they would finally bless her with a single child that lives, if only to spare her from her lord husband’s much-gossiped-about wrath. 

Lyn was very thankful she was a poor maid, with no hopes and no prospects. She had seen first hand what prospects could do to a woman. 

— 

Whatever the reason for Cinda Lannister’s personal crest being a lioness fighting a diamond snake, many speculated that she was much more the snake than a lioness. Perhaps the speculation began from Cinda herself. 

“My prince,” she curtsied impeccably. “Oh, how I wish you’d allow me to call you ‘my favorite prince,’” she teased, snaking her hand around Aemond’s arm, without him offering it. 

“As I have told you since childhood, you are allowed to do no such thing,” he scoffed, wishing he could shake her arms away like he could his mother. Cinda Lannister was a high-born lady, not something that could be manhandled, so he allowed her closeness begrudgingly. “What is it you want this time, Lady Cinda?” 

The younger sister of Master of Coin, and personal possessor of the largest sapphire mine in all of Westeros, threw her head back with a laugh, allowing the tall prince a better view of her bare neck and low-lying neckline. “You are always a laugh, my prince!” she mused, “I do not want anything from you. I simply wish you tell you of a surprise gift I have found for your dear, sweet, sister, the Princess Helaena.” 

“What is it?” he asked plainly, wishing the halls of the Red Keep were shorter, or any other reason for this conversation to end. 

“Well, it wouldn’t be a surprise if I told you!” she jested back, “no, I will not tell you what it is, simply where to find it, if you would wish to help me fetch it for her.” 

Aemond offered Cinda his hand at the end of a long staircase, as any proper gentleman should, and she gracefully accepted it. “Fine,” he held his tongue in anger, “where is it?” 

“Haronfall,” she replied quickly. 

“Heronhol?” he had heard, expecting the gift to be some haunted tree spider. 

“No, my prince. That is a common miscommunication. Haronfall, along The Bite, Near The Twins, but not quite. Ruled over by Lord Eronford. It is far older than Haronhol and some say it could be the inspiration for Lord Aaron’s naming of his own Keep.”

It was not often when Aemond took more than a thought to remember the heraldry of a house. “A heron on a pink banner?”

“Correct, my prince!” Cinda used this as an opportunity to giggle. “That is correct?” Cinda asked, turning towards Aemond’s back.

Aemond had not noticed the girl following behind, a girl, barely old enough to be called a lady, clad in bright red rubies and lace. “Yes, aunt,” she replied meekly, not looking up at Aemond. The daughter of the Realm’s Lannister Master of Ships. 

“Thank you, Cordelia,” Cinda said. 

Aemond had been offered the young Lady Cordelia on numerous occasions since her birth. The second-born prince had no interest in playing nursemaid to a child, or bedding one. 

“Haronfall is where I shall be traveling to, unfortunately I shall be missing the King’s nameday festivities, but as you know, your sweet sister’s own nameday is so soon after, that she rarely receives much fanfare.” Cinda said. 

“And with all of the troubles she has had of late with those nasty girls from the Stormlands. I simply shudder to think of the vile insults thrown her way.”  

—

In the past, Helaena’s ladies forced her around the keep, the princess’s feet dragging paces behind the ladies’ closely fortified wall of linked arms. They had all hailed from the Stormlands, a great honor bestowed by the crown. Jena Estermount, the eldest daughter to the second richest house in the region who openly mocked the gods, Arianna Tarth, a half-dornish girl, and Corenna Storm, a noble bastard of House Baratheon.

As they wafted through the walls of the Keep, Aemond thought it plain to see that the princess’s ladies were not interested in the princess at all. Helaena did not seem at all bothered when the Queen dismissed the group of catty ladies from court after she discovered them mocking the princess behind her back. Queen Alicent distrusted each girl for their own glaring flaw, and only had the prejudices enforced through the girls’ actions.

In reality, Helaena had not minded the names they called her. Some of the names were quite clever. One of the girls, the bastard, had called her “Batty.” Helaena had never given much thoughts to bats before that name, and since has discovered she finds them quite fascinating.

—

Cinda had always seemed to have the Queen’s interest at heart. Aemond figured Cinda was a child when his mother was married, basically offered as a gift from the Lannister family. Cinda was a Lady in her own right, the rightful daughter to the Lord Paramount of the West, and had the authority born from her great house, to assist the queen with any ladyly matters that concerned women. 

Aemond wasn’t sure what ladies did all day, but he supposed planning gifts for a princess was a worthy endeavor. 

Aemond had only known Cinda to honor his mother in whatever way necessary. He liked the way she made people squirm. 

“Careful, Lord Larys,” she quipped once, while his mother and the clubbed foot whispered in the corner. “If you aren’t careful, I shall marry you. And I shall keep my husband on a much shorter leash.” 

Cinda was young enough to be a proper match to marry Prince Aemond, but old enough to lack many more fruitful child baring years. It would basically be admitting to the realm of his care for the woman, which he had none, no matter how many times he returned to her bed to lay his head upon her chest. It meant nothing, he told himself, even as the tears stung the corners of his eyes as he burrowed himself into her. 

Cinda was just a teen, helping the Queen Mother after Aemond’s incident on Driftmark, letting the small boy lay on her chest as he was sick on milk of the poppy. 

His mother was there, asleep on the chair near his bedside, but she could not bare to touch him. The last time she cradled his face, the night it happened, she erupted with rage and she was horrified, afraid she would lash out at the boy with her anger like she had attacked her once best friend. 

It was Aemond that snuck into Cinda’s chambers a few moons past when they stopped sleeping in his own chambers. It was the first time he had seen a lady without a corset, when he climbed into her bed, teary eyed and pouting about the pain his family was tired of hearing. She let the pitiful boy sleep on her chest, Aemond thought her was much more comfortable without her corset. 

Cinda had never changed the way she looked at him. He had always been the poor, second son that she loved to dote upon. Even after gaining Vhagar and losing his eye, she never faltered in her incessant mothering of him, always to his annoyance. 

The winter following his lost eye, Cinda had made sure to strap him into his winter coat personally, buttons, belts and all. So many, the young boy would grow too impatient every time he attempted to shrug it off. 

Aemond would threaten to feed Cinda to his new dragon at her every annoyance, and every time she would hug him close, and before long he was tall enough to get a face-full of her ample chest. 

It had become a game for him, without him realizing what he had been up to, with his newly formed fascination with women’s breasts. 

Cinda was the first to notice his little scheme, calling him out in their quiet place, “I thought you my favorite prince for being so different from your elder brother, His Grace. I can’t have you being a leacher as well.” Her thumb as passed over his lips as she caressed his cheek and he felt every inch of skin set aflame. 

He legs stormed him out of her room and down two corridors before he was able to hear the world again. The blush did not leave his flesh for weeks, as every time the young boy caught a glimpse of a red dress, he was reminded of her alluring words. 

Aemond had been panicked for so long that Aegon noticed. When Aegon approached Cinda about the incident, she licked her thumb to wipe away from dirt on Prince Aegon’s nose. He lost interest quickly, not enjoying her mothering the way others did. 

His grandsire had even requested to speak with him about something important. Aemond was enameled by the strategic maps and sums that scattered the office of Hand to the King. 

It was a meeting, much worst than he could have ever feared. Otto thought it had been time that the young prince he spoken to about urges. Aemond thought about jumping from the Hand’s Tower, surely death was better than this. 

“I don’t…” Aemond was cut off, Otto was not going to let him get out of this one. 

A large, ancient tome was presented to the young prince. Aemond closed the book as quickly as he opened it, after seeing the crude drawings of nude bodies. “I don’t want this,” he said, pushing it back to his grandsire, not making eye contact. 

“Think of it as an early nameday gift,” Otto patted him on the head, not allowing Aemond to leave without the book. 

The young prince held the tone like it was covered in acid, not wanting it to suddenly burst into flames. That was until he noticed Aegon a floor below, and Aemond hid the book under his shift, tucked into his breeches to unsuspiciously walk past his elder brother and little cousins. 

It obviously did not work. 

It never worked. 

He stopped seeing Cinda unnecessarily after that, only allowing a passing conversation at a mutual dinner or ball. It wasn’t something he needed, he reminded himself, with his hands clasped behind his back as he surveyed the Harvest Ball in the Red Keep. The festivities were distracting his brother and his club of suitors from The Reach, all who took great pleasure in Aemond’s discomfort. If the Reach Ladies ever found out about his secret nighttime travels to Cinda’s chambers to be swaddled with a babe…the only option would be to sacrifice himself to the Old Valyrian gods by Vhagar’s dragon fire. 

Even as a man grown, Aemond could still picture the sting of Lady Ivyanne Tyrell’s voice in his imagined scenario that he allowed to play on loop every night. 

“By the gods, One-Eye, do you love Cinda Lannister?” He could feel their laughter, even without it ever happening. 

Not that he had thought about the exact scene in his loneliest hours of sleep, Cinda was never at a lack of quips and womanly come-backs. Lady Cinda Lannister was not afraid to call out Ivyanne for the sapphic invert she truly was. “Have fun with your Game of Flats, I’m sure Prince Aegon enjoys watching.” 

Not that Aemond ever imagines such things, especially right after he had just finished his imagining. It was always the last time, every single time. 

Lady Cinda Lannister bathed in the morning, before the sun is fully risen, beginning her day before some of the Keep’s servants. Aemond knew that much about her routine, after being gently woken and forced to trek back to his own chambers before the castle was awake. 

The early morning after his thirteen nameday festivities Aegon had talked him into, Aemond found himself in Cinda’s chambers once again. She did not have to ask, his tears could not be controlled. 

Cinda had derived a way to lock the doors from the inside, she was never one to to be caught off guard. 

They both bathed in their shifts. Aemond cried into her neck as she washed his hair and sponged his face. She distracted him with Lannister family histories, courtly gossip she had overheard, talk about her excitement for his sister princess’s new ladies-in-waiting arriving from the Stormlands soon.

They couldn’t stay there forever, as Aemond would have wished. The dream between sleep and awake evaporated together into the cloud of his memory. Aemond could not remember if he asked Cinda to marry him that night, or if it was only a fleeting dream. Regardless, there was a sweet declaration of her painless rejection. Aemond had not minded. 

— 

“I hope you are daydreaming of me, my little prince,” Cinda laughed, grazing his cheek with her fingernail. 

The waking nightmare had been so real that Aemond started back to attention, tripping young Cordelia, who was following him too closely.

“You will be gone for weeks,” Aemond continued forward, leaving the young Cordelia to pick herself up from the floor. 

“I hope you do not miss me too fiercely while I away,” she shined. 

“I never do,” Aemond blanched as she pressed her lips to his cheek. 

— 

Aemond could not withstand another moment of his father’s sixtieth nameday celebration, and took to the skies before the great hunt had finished. He had been given his heading of The Bite, and he had studied the wastelands of the kingdoms in his youth for this very reason. He had no need for a map. 

Vhagar circled the estuaries trickling out of The Bite, the bitter air of the cold swamp fluttered upwards, the smell of fresh death, and decay played inside him. Only a place like this could grow the strange bog creature his sister was surely going to cherish from Lady Cinda. 

The settlement had been easy enough to find, after a few hours of searching the shores. Vhagar’s legs sank into the muck as she landed, the elderly she-dragon grunted with every movement, refusing to lean on her wings for support. She took two additional landings for Aemond to calm her enough to dismount.

Before his dragon had disappeared from view, tall, squawking birds had found perch upon her wide back. Aemond was sure her dragon fire would not find purchase amongst the brush and trees, the place was too dank to be set ablaze. 

By the time he reached the settlement, Aemond had cursed every rock and root he had passed for the past few miles. He wished Vhagar had roasted the entire countryside rather than spend another moment knee deep in cold muck. 

— 

“Ryver has gone mad yet again,” Lady Aeditya’s slurred down the stairs, she risked tumbling for a change at her favorite exaggerated eye roll, marking her judgement on others. “He thinks there is a Targaryen prince at his door.” 

The work in the room stopped at once. 

“…another one?” Hanna asked, her hands almost burning on the pan she paused handling. 

“It seems so,” Aeditya shook her cup until it was filled. 

“This shall be the fourth ‘prince’ to show at up his door, correct?” Lyn asked, she could not hide a smile stretching over her lips. 

“When his Lord father is away, Ryver will open the Keep to anyone with silver hair and a claimed title.” 

“What do you think this one will be like?” Hanna asked, “handsome for once?” 

They all had a laugh at that. 

“This one is different,” Aeditya answered, “Or so Ryver claims. This one…has lost an eye.” The lady stretched out her iris as she drained her cup. 

Lyn did not understand the gesture. 

“The prince,” a quiet maid said, “one of the prince’s is missing an eye. They call him ‘One-Eyed!’” 

There was mumbling amongst the ladies, Lyn even joined in. 

Aeditya could not help but be correct in all things, “Girls! Do not be such gullible lambs! Are we really to believe there is only a single silver man in the entire world and he lives at the king’s palace?” 

The new mumbling confirmed that the Lady had a point, as she usually did. Lyn was glad that her worldly education was being put to good use somehow. “Girls these days–” Aeditya said, ignoring their clearly overlapping ages, “–are so quick to believe whatever best suits them. Back when I was a maid, girls were instructed on forming more than the quickest of opinions.” Her hands were at her belly, wishing her wisdom above all for her future son. Wisdom and breath. 

“And besides, I’m sure he would have been born without the eye. Marrying one’s brother dilutes health, it is a simple matter of nature. And besides,” Aeditya looked over the gathered foods. “How would a young princeling lose an eye to begin with? They own the strongest guards on the continent” 

“Perhaps it could have been an accident?” Hanna asked, seeing it as a reasonable offer. 

“No.” Aeditya put down her goblet. “I saw the creature’s face, that scar was no accident.”

— 

Lyn did not want to admit to herself that she wanted a peak at the potential prince herself. If only for the chance to see a nasty scar. Lyn wasn’t one for violence, but she did think the human body a fascinating thing. She sometimes forgot about the prominent marks that scar her own face, a thing that some Septas preach as a consequence for a mother’s sinful life. She was only reminded by her betters. When a traveling Septon instructs her to stand as an example for his sermons on the ill-effects of sin on the body. Lyn did not mind the occasional Maester passing through their congregation asking to examine her. She had been assured that there was nothing malicious about the marks on her face. 

Lyn likened her marks as her calling card, she was an easy face to remember a few summers past, it was what helped her gain her odd-jobs, helping rebuilt fences and carrying stone for ailing paupers. Most in the Realm would scoff at the offer of manual labors from a woman, but those in need are much kinder. They they are not always grateful, it is not because of her sex but because no one wants to turn beggar. Though, accepting help from the Faith was always easier on an ailing conscience. 

For as long as Lyn could remember she had been amongst the statues of the Seven Gods, and the Septas of the faith. She had learned to clean herself by them, she learned discipline by their rods, she learned how to be of use to the world.

Lyn was grateful for her life amongst the Septas, but was glad to be away whenever possible. Lyn thanked the gods that they only appear in Haronfall for the markets, and only require novices to accompany her during work in the Erenford’s Keep.

Lyn surmised most of the Septas had not imagined ending up in such a cold, dank place in the middle of the Kingsroad. The western shores of The Bite was unforgiving terrain, a swamp of brackish, mud-colored water that every structure eventually sinks into. The Reverend Mother often reminded the girls of her life in the southern Reach, of the endless summer days and sweet smelling grass. The wet, grey skies where the North, Riverlands and Vale meet leaves much to be desired for a southerner. 

Lyn was not meant for a life as a Septa, as was foretold since her youth. The maesters and Septons tested the young girls as they came into the charge of the Faith and Lyn, and the other girls of the Maidenhouse, left them unimpressed. She had not shown intelligence, or gifts for art, or sums, or memorizing prayers. So, she was ranked amongst the useless girls who needed to be molded into something more.

Lyn knew of the dangers of a beautiful face, the Septas told them every tale that could exist of beautiful girls being dragged away and savaged by men of all ages and sizes. It was horrifying. Lyn was glad that no man would ever want to drag her away or trap her in a tower. Lyn did not mind being disgusting and ugly because of the marks on her face. 

Besides, girls did not care about such things as ugly, they cared about her all the same. So, she was glad the world was not ruled by women, just like the Septas they would force a use for her in their world, no matter what she looked like. 

“You can really give it to him, my Prince!” The eldest child of the current Lord Erenford called. “We Riverman can handle our own!” Lord Ryver shouted, as he hurled his sword into the guarding shield of his companion Waltel Frey. 

The two young men began fighting in earnest, as a third party looked on. The Supposed Prince. Lyn assumed.

A small boy ran into the fray, wooden sword blazing and iron helmet blocking his line of sight, requiring a few strikes to properly attack his opponent’s buttocks. 

“Yes Robyn! Attack!” Ryver shouted, “Go for the legs!” the small boy wrapped himself around the Frey’s knees as the clang of realm swords sounded until Waltel Frey yielded, which was traditionally followed by a rant of Red Ryver from the Erenford boys.

“Oy!” Waltel called from his chosen place to end his tragic death rattles for the amusement of Little Lord Robyn. 

“Well, isn’t it my favorite grayscale woman!” Robyn leaned against the fence encircling the training yard. 

“Have you ever seen greyscale?” Lyn asked, her tone trying to convey that this was not her favorite greeting. 

“Obviously not,” Robyn answered, he might have been known as the Red Ryver, but he didn’t have a death wish.

“It does not look like this,” Lyn pointed to her face, “I know this because Maesters have shown me their drawings.” 

“Do you speak to Maesters often?” It was the turn of the Supposed Prince to speak now. 

Lyn regarded him, with her eyes. “Charmed,” she stated, echoing the word of Lady Aeditya to denote that she was less than pleased.

 “Lyn lives at the Motherhouse!” Little Lord Robyn added, firing an arrow into the fencepost Lyn was standing in front of, thankfully his ever present helmet did not effect his view, this time.  

“The Maidenhouse?” Waltel questioned.

“Maidenfort!” Ryver echoed his common words for the Faiths Cloisters. 

“We get plenty of Maesters there, if it please you,” she stated, bowing slightly in the presence of Supposed royalty.

“Are you a Septa?” Aemond regarded her this time. She had a ruddy face covered in mess and sweat, brought upon by the brisk pace of a servant’s life. Her hair was braided down slick to her head, it was either flecked with blonde or dirt. What Aemond first guessed was mud on her face turned out to be her, freckles could not contain the black stains that blotched her cheeks. “You are dressed like a child servant.”

Lyn’s skirts were inches shorter than the noble ladies and their proper servants, “It’s easier to walk,” Lyn stated the obvious. She did not need yards of extra fabric mucking about her purpose in life. “And I am no Septa,” Lyn clarified, though not wanting to explain her life any further to this imposter.

“So…it seems the Prince of the Realm has come to Haronfall.” Just as Aeditya had many times before, Lyn brought the conversation to the group. Ryver had wasted no time to clasp his hands upon the Supposed Prince’s shoulders. He did not seem to like that. “That is exciting. What brings you here Ser–Prince?” Lyn had never thought how to address a royal before.

The Prince scowled, “I am here to fetch a gift for my sister,” he answered plainly. 

“I make baskets!” Lyn could not help but exclaim proudly. The Septas had instructed her to always he in search of work, then one would never be wanting for it. “If your sister is in need of a gift.” 

The Haronfall boys were dutifully thrilled at the suggestion. 

“–no,” the Supposed Prince chuckled the word with an arrogance Lyn had not experienced in a man of his young years. 

“Alright!” Lyn did not need to defend the usefulness of a basket very often, and her blood was beginning the boil.

“You make baskets?” he mused in her direction, not lowing himself to speaking directly at her.

“I do. I make them all m’self, I do. I harvest the grass, I dry them, I weave them, without help from no one,” the words bubbled from Lyn’s mouth. “Unlike the looks of you, who could nought tie his breeches alone.” 

Aemond did not like when she pointed to his breeches, or their ties, or the general area in which they reside, in some field, in the damned Riverlands. It was unseeingly! Prince Aemond Targaryen was a god amongst men, the rider of the largest dragon in the world and he would not have his manhood regarded by some peasant. 

“I am a Prince of the Seven Kingdoms–”

“More like six,” Lyn said loudly enough for Ryver and Waltel to stifle a laugh. Ryver’s only respite was promising to explain the jest to little Robyn at a later time. 

Lyn pointed at his breeches straps again, just to watch his face twist in annoyance. 

“I could have you whipped for saying that,” Aemond spat, nearly disrupting the wooden fence separating him from the swampland creature that dared to grace his–

“If you were the real prince–“

Aemond’s mind echoed the if, convulsed his annoyed face into confusion. 

“If!” Lyn repeat to overpower the groans from Lord Ryver, who had thought the group was at a place far past this. He had only been wrong three times before. That did not denote a pattern. Yet. 

Lyn looked the supposed prince in the eyes, a gaze devoid of any reverence or interest. “If you were the real prince, you could have me whipped no matter what I say,” she regarded the man no further. “If it please you, I have a job to return to.” 

Aemond’s hand was on his dagger, he had every right in the whole of the realm, on any continent on this earth to carve a hand from the woman’s body and feed it to Vhagar on his return to the Crownlands. 

“But! He had one eye!” Ryver called after the disappearing peasant. 

A shiver dripped down Aemond back like a bead of sweat on a hot day, his body defensively braced himself for a jest at his own expense. 

“Everyone here seems to think,” Lyn turned and shouted across the lawn, “that the prince was born with only one eye! So, perhaps, have your tale at the ready for your…situation,” Lyn mimed his injury with her giddy hands. 

She was too far away for a sword, but Aemond was sure he could hit her if he pried the bow from the little boy Lord’s hands. 

In reality, Aemond was greeted by the stare of Haronfall boys who seemed to think the peasant woman had a point to make. 

Aemond could feel Vhagar rushing through him, she was far from this place, instantly disliking the frigid swamp mess. The easiest option would be to cart the nonbelievers to his dragon, but he knew he would be too tempted to order Vhagar to feast upon them before taking to the skies to burn the village to the ground. 

It seemed that the truth was taken as fact relatively quickly, with little questioning. Both Lord Ryver Erenford and Ser Waltel Frey seemed to ponder a vague memory of their fathers reading a message over dinner, some years ago, regarding the tale.  

It seemed that the lowborn, lord, peasant men and the helmet clad child believed him long enough for supper and a bed, though he was growling unsure he even wanted that.

— 

Prince Aemond had never been to such a disorderly affair, seated as one of many at a large cypress table that curved around the hall. The food was served in no rememberable order, plates of meats and desserts lingered together on the table. 

Lord Ryver regaled his guests with the grand tale, depicted on the keep’s newest addition to the tapestry gallery. In the threads it told the story of renowned warrior, The Red Ryver, and House Erenford’s defeat of some Rivermen, somewhere. Even Ryver’s younger brother, little Lord Robyn, was featured, wearing the iron he has refused to remove for the past six moons and his miniature bow. 

Aemond watched as the help gathered around the table, listening to Ryver climb upon the hall’s table to reenact memorable battle moments.

The servants were dressed in an array of clothing clothes and fabrics, as if the group had been bandied together for this night alone. Most of the maids wore a grey dress fit for a child, the length only reaching to their mid-calf. Aemond had a mind to walk back to Vhagar and never leave the comfort of King’s Landing again, Cinda could fetch her own surprise. 

Aemond did not make himself sick from wine and exotic liquors often, but this was a specific situation he wished to forget his memories as he went about making them. 

—

There was dancing after the meal, and the maids joined in on that as well, acting as if they were High Born ladies, dancing with visiting lords and 

Lyn stepped out of the overly warm keep, to get a deep breath of the fresh night air. It smelled of rotting plants and decaying leaves, like the smell of new life sprouting from under every stone. She noticed that she was not alone. 

“I see we both needed time away,” she said to the figure, clad in leathers like he was ready to ride away given the slightest reason. 

The prince had just excused himself to be sick on the grassed levee fortifying against the encroaching swamp. 

Prince Aemond scoffed at the girl, his mouth foal with the taste of wine and sick. The peasant girl’s skirts were riding even higher on her legs from the dancing, her leggings as disappeared hours ago as the temperature of the kitchens rose and warmed the entire keep. She looked like someone begging for his coin. 

“Hello, Greyscale,” he retorted, his mind shifting to the quick insult. 

“Hello, Cripple,” Lyn barely tolerated the language from her friend and employer, this man would get no sympathy. 

Aemond did not like that. He did not like a single moment. His skin lit up in a drunken daze as if he were standing on guard for a fight. His hazy mind did not know where he had placed his weapons. 

He opened his mouth to speak, but thankfully was interrupted, for he would not have been able to swallow his sick back into his stomach in that moment.

“Listen closely, Silver-boy,” Lyn began, as Aemond gripped the hilt of an imagined dagger. 

“As I am sure you are well aware,” he started. The moon was mostly full in the sky, but the torchlight of the terrace was not enough to see his lavender eyes sway drunkenly as they attempted to focus. “Your brothers have visited here. Three times now, I’d wager.” 

“What?” That made no sense to Aemond, as his mind reeled to Cinda. Had she charged Daeron and Aegon into her mission? She would never do that to him. 

“And I think it only fair, seeing that the last Targaryen Princeling to weasel their way into these walls stole a favored sword of the Lord Erenford!” Lyn’s tale weaved itself. She was sure Haronfall had been the talk from the North to the Vale after the beating Ryver’s Lord Father gave him after that. 

“I just think,” Lyn continued, “That after the feast, you should just take your leave. Lord Erenford need not know of this feasts guest of honor.” 

“I will not be ordered about by some–“ Aemond was sick again. 

“You’ve filled your belly, just leave quietly,” Lyn laughed at his misfortune, “It was smart of you to come during the King’s nameday celebrations. The Septas told us of the King’s nameday and all of his grand plans. And I would assume…” Lyn moved closer, clasping her hands behind her back. “…That you knew Lord Ryver would be left alone and… vulnerable, with Lord Erenford traveling to the capital…where I would assume the true prince is,” Lyn enjoyed immensely being right. “–celebrating his own father’s nameday?”

Never in Aemond’s life had he needed to prove his lineage, it had been clearly written on his face and stitched into his clothing. The green of House Hightower was as thick in his veins as the blood of dragons. And yet here, he was some imposter.

And he was growing tiered of this ruse he was seeming to play. He was growing tiered and perhaps too drunk. It reminded him far too much of the time a young Aegon recruited the Reach Girls and his cousins to pretend that he had been rendered invisible for weeks on end one boring winter in their shared youth. 

“Fine!” Aemond had been many things in his life, he had been a failure, a twat, an annoyance, a disappointment, but never…no one. “Fine! I shall leave! Just stop with the ceaseless tales, of rivers and princes! My head is spinning.” He could walk to Vhagar and leave this place and no one would never know or believe that a real prince had graced their halls.

It could have been the wine, or the company, but Aemond could not prevent a laugh when regarding his current fate. 

“I’m glad that you agree,” Lyn was pleased. “I was a good plan. Little Robyn even believes he saw your dragon fly above the keep.” The deep breath of the night air carried with it something that she had only smelled somewhere in the memory, that she could not place. 

Aemond could not stand the taste of sick in his mouth and fished a forgotten fruit from his coats pockets. 

“What is that?” Lyn asked.

“What?” Aemond asked, as the woman pointed to what he was idly palming between his hands. 

“Is it something for your dragon?” she laughed.

“This?” he asked, “is an orange.” Aemond was sure he recalled his mother telling a story about it being one of his first words as a babe. 

“An orange? Like the fruit?” she asked.

“Yes, you imbecile.” 

“Well, where did it come from? Was it a gift from The Twins? Ryver has never–– it seems so–“ The wine rushed through Lyn’s system, and the beautiful smell embolden her. 

“No, I thought it for my travels,” he quipped. “I am glad of it. I was not aware the Riverlands to be such a dreadfully barren place” 

“The land is plenty fruitful here, when it wants to be,” she replied, holding out her hand. “Now, give it here, I want to try it.” 

The fantasy played through Aemond’s head that it pulled a smile onto the corners of his face. The image of himself offering her the fruit, and just as it graced her palm, he would use his entire strength to throw it into the fucking swamp. His glorious vision was interrupted by the disappointed eyes of his mother. Her furrowed brows were too vivid from much wine. Aemond groaned and handed over the mysterious fruit.

Lyn inhaled loudly, the smell like she had never experienced before. It filled her nostrils and woke up her blood. 

Aemond’s hand twitched slightly as she prepared an opened mouth bite into the skin. His hands were then crossed under his arms. 

“Is it safe to eat?” she asked, stepping forward to eye him in the dim lamplight. Aemond felt the stone wall of the terrace against his leather clad back. 

“No, it’s poison, I will gladly watch you die.” 

Her laugh sounded like a pigs snort. Her smile was quickly replaced with a scowl as her teeth peeled a thick membrane of skin into her mouth. “It’s–delicious,” she forced herself to say, open mouth chewing the bitter bite. 

“No! You fool,” he wrenched the fruit back before she could cover it in any more of her bile. “It must be peeled first.” 

Aemond was so glad of the dark night’s lack of light upon their shadowed corner of the terrace as the woman spit the bitter taste into the dirt. The Prince nearly dropped the orange in disbelief of a lady performing such a disgusting act. 

She laughed at him once again. 

“Here!” He huffed, as he had picked away the disgusting bits. His bare fingers gripped the dripping fruit as he held it out as an offering. 

The blood drained from his body and disappeared deep inside of him at the contact of her tongue on the tips of his fingers as she took the fruit from his offered hand with her mouth. Aemond had not been aware of the deep breath that had been held up inside his lungs, but they emptied as the girl’s eyes flashed in the torchlight, the color of honey passed before a flame. The prince watched the endless dance of emotions over her face as she experienced the flavors for the first time. 

“Its a mess!” The fluttered giggle that left her made him offer another piece without thinking, and she took it the same way. 

He responded somewhere between a right and a yes as he tried to memorize the coloring and ridges and valleys of her face, as if he would need it later to solve a life threatening puzzle. He wanted to lick the juice that he had watched drip down from her chin, to the place under her clothes. 

He felt things under his own clothes stir. 

“Come swim with me,”

“What?”

“Its the least you can do after eating all the food I helped prepare,” she said, beaconing him away from the terrance and into the expanse of the night. “A prince would be in want of a bath, I am sure,” she laughed, for she nor any other servant would be prepared to carry water up stairs after a feast like tonight. 

Aemond allowed himself to be led away. His hands still grasp around an imaginary dagger, at the prospect of her robbing him blind. 

“I do not plan to steal your virtue, princeling” Lyn’s words had a drunken edge in their own right. She did not often partake in wine, as it was not offered to her as it could take away from the Septas reserves. 

Aemond’s hand released the dagger that had never been there, as his eyes played their way over her body as he followed her into the moonlight. He played the scenes of her trying to overtake him and none seemed to have purchase. Unless she attacked him with a stone, but Aemond was sure his arms were longer. This had not been the first time since they met that he had imagined choking her. 

“So, where are you from?” Lyn asked, flexing her lady-like conversational skills that Aeditya spoke so highly of. Lyn allowed him some time to answer, as they maneuvered past a precarious log. 

“A Valyrian bastard,” he replied, just like his nephews. “I hail from Dragonstone. It is an isle in the mouth of Blackwater Bay. Near the capital.” He got close enough to see her face in the dark, adding on more information until he found recognition take root. 

“Could you see the palace, from your isle?” she sounded eager to be fed more.

“From my own palace?” he felt something inside of him at her gasp. 

“Did you really live in a palace?” 

Aemond could not begin to guess what she had been imagining, but he liked watching the wheels turn in her mind. “When I was a boy,” he did not want to get too far from her now. 

“What was it like? Could you simply ask for an orange and it would be fetched for you?” He nodded until she continued. “And there would just be oranges in the kitchens? And what if the kitchens run out? Would they–“

“They would be punished severely,” he added, strangely not enjoying her new gasp as much. “But–“ he had to think quickly to play her throat like an instrument. “We could never run out of oranges, they grow on the island.” She enjoyed this more, he enjoyed when she licked her fingers at the lingering taste. “Giant orange bushes, all along the ocean’s edge, too many to ever eat in all the feasts of the year.” 

She touched him with her next astonished laugh.

“And when you needed clothes they would clean it? And when you wanted a bath…would they bathe you?” her last words were a whisper, a topic proper ladies should not be speaking about.

The Septas and girls of the House of the Faith all bathed together. It was a cloister of women, no one had anything to hide. And Lyn had once heard Lord Erenford state that men should not sit in stagnant water, it unaligned the humors. 

“Yes,” Aemond whispered back. “They would bathe me every day.” 

“Would they only bathe you? Or would there be–?” 

Aemond licked his lips as he watched the moonlight dance on the dipped juice along her chin. “Would there be what?” he could barely hear himself speak over his heart beating. “What could they have done?” he played dumb, he could smell the orange on her breath. 

“They would have…” Lyn eyed his lips, his eyes far too towering above her head. She guessed that he liked being tall. Lyn could not help but laugh. “… they would have stolen your virtue!” 

“The servants did not bathe me!” He admitted, rolling his eyes at her naivety. “They were servants, they only fetched water.” 

Aemond would mow anyone down with his sword if they overlord the ‘wow’ that left his lips as the girls twirled in the moonlight. 

“We are here!” she announced, it seemed to be a river. 

“Turn around! It is too dark to see anything!” she called, her hands moving to unclasp her work clothes. 

“If it it too dark, when why must I turn around?” 

“Valyrian gentlemanly duty?”

He turned without much fuss until he heard her body splash into the water. He had been a gentleman and not looked, he had given his word. 

His eyes fell on her discarded clothes and drifted to her swimming form. He did not know the state of her, but from the pile she left behind it didn’t seem she have many options to be left wearing. 

“Now you turn around,” he ordered, as he kicked off his shoes. 

He watched her turn, not knowing when to stop himself in his state of undress. 

Aemond watched as her head turned over her shoulder. He undressed completely and wadded into the water. He had not taken a breath the entire time. The water was warmer than he expected.

They spoke about the sky, and the weather, and whatever other topics that flattered them, their distance ebbed and flowed like the tides, inching closer to one another and then pulling away. 

“Ryver is a bastard?” Aemond asked, his toes could feel the bottom of the lake if he put his mind to it. 

“No. Ryver is the first true born child of Lord and Lady Erenford,” Lyn explained. “But, little Lord Robyn is the heir because Lord Ryver was born…as Lady Ryver.” 

There was a pause in the air as Aemond let it all sink in. 

“The Lord Erenford allowed it, and all will be well as long as Robyn lives to inherit after their father dies.” 

“And if not?” Aemond asked.

“Lord Erenford’s brother does not approve of…any of it. And he is next in line after Robyn. But! Even before then, The Red Ryver wishes for a Keep all his own. ‘Feast Keep’ he calls it. A place where all and everyone are welcome. Fortified to withstand any threads from his uncle and…those would you see them all hang. Away fro the Septas…”

“Away from King’s Landing,” Aemond added, understanding her meaning, forgetting his imagined birthplace. He turned his body in the water to face her. 

His hands floating in the water to support himself, just as she did the same in the moonlight. He had washed his mouth out of the water many times over, he smelled her beautiful orange breath, assuming his own was foul. The orange juices had been long wiped away, but Aemond will imagined her lips would taste of sweetness.

He was brought back to reality when she spit a mouthful of water into his face. 

“That’s disgusting!”

“We’re in a lake,” she shrugged one arm above the waterline. 

Aemond eye was at the water’s edge when he saw the moonlight glisten off the skin on her bare shoulders. She had marks there too. He wondered where else on her body she had them. He watched her skin disappear below the water, like a beaconing ancient puzzle. 

“You’re disgusting.” Perhaps for the first time in his life, he did not mean that has an (entire) insult. 

“And you’re a liar,” she pointed out. 

Aemond enjoyed being a low-born, if only because he knew it was entirely temporary. He let out a laugh and a breath at a realization he had yet to make. 

“You’re naked with a liar,” he whispered, if he could see her bare shoulders then what else could she be wearing. 

“Well!” she laughed, “You are to, I’d say.” 

“But–“ That was entirely different.

“Because I’m a girl,” she barked back.

Aemond swam after her. 

“–a woman,” she corrected. “A lady, even!” 

“You are no lady,” he was enjoy this game that he could not tell you last time he had ever been angry. 

“How would you know?” she teased. 

“Because–” they had stoped swimming, just treading water, his toes dipped to the pebbled floor if he covered his nose. She was close enough to touch. Aemond reached his hand out and brushed her bare waist. “I’ve met ladies, and they would never be so–” 

Did she not notice his touch to not flinch away? Or did she simply not care? There was no word for this feeling. He had felt it above the clouds, away from the red keep, and now between his toes in the muck. 

“Ladylike?” she offered.

Aemond watched as her her hand breached the water, like she was trying to not frighten her prey, and rested itself atop his shoulder. 

“What are ladies like?” she repeated herself, after her second hand touched his shoulders. He had not heard her the first time. 

“They must…” he tried to remember anything else that wasn’t here, in this lake, under his moon. “Beautiful, and well-read. They should sing, and dance, be pious, but not overly-so. Painting, embroidery…drawing, even, an art is important for ladies to be accomplished with.” 

Lyn was surprised there was even more.

“She should know her histories, and geographies, and sums so she might not bleed her husband’s purse dry. And, there is just something about her,” he almost sighed, “in her manner, and walk. Her air should be build to maintain her husband’s social and political alliances.”

“All at once?” She removed her hands from his shoulders. “All the time?” Lyn could not help but laugh.

“Not all the time, but yes! All at once! Some try and many fail,” he scoffed. 

“You seem pleased with the failures of women,” she mocked, stretching herself backwards to wade towards the shallow edge. Her back arched and she felt cold air on her chest.

There was a pause in Aemond as his brain worked, a whisper brushed against his mind that reminded him of Aegon. “…What women?” he asked, closing the distance between them. 

Lyn was pleased, this time, she wrapped her arms around his neck, not close enough to touch him. She nodded her head, and he copied, she shook it and he did too. 

“Good boy.” It was as quiet as the wind. He could stand easily, and palmed her waist with a sigh. 

There was a long silence.

“…have you…?” she asked, he felt it in his chest, as if she had said it in any worldly tongue he would have known what she was asking. 

“Yes. Once. A long time ago.” The words came out, slowly, one at a time, but it was said. “My brother, took me to a brothel on my thirteen nameday. And…never again.”

“Oh,” she only said, her tone dipped in sadness at the edge of the sound.  

“Have you?” his brow furrowed, in a genuine question. He had never given much thought to the purity of lowborns.

“No,” she answers firmly. “…yes,” but she corrected. “He…It wasn’t my…” she sighed into the story, never having told it before. “Last winter,” it had been over a past year, “A friend got sick, the Septas wanted us to pray but, she a needed medicine, and there was a man…and he was very handsome…so I…got the coin…” She picked her fingers behind his back. “But at least…I did not lie to a Riverlord for a free meal?” 

“But aren’t you worried the Septas will check you?” Aemond heard her attempt to make light, but ignored it. 

“I don’t think they can tell,” she answered.

“What?”

“I grew up with girls, and some went out and…had their fun, and some were taken before getting there, and some swore to have never and…I think the Septas feel what they want to fell.”

“So you think they're lying about it all?”

“Maybe!” 

“You think everyone is lying,” he teased. 

“Perhaps, sometimes, they are!” 

He wanted to kiss her, to feel her lips on his, but she stopped him.

“Come sit on the dock with me,” she motioned, they were back where they started. Her hands gripped and pulled herself out of the water in one fluid motion, to sit atop the dock, bare as when she was submerged. 

Aemond watched the watch drip from her hair down her neck and disappear into the shadows of the night, if only he could see in the dark. He was at her knees, standing in the waist deep waters, he could rest his chin on the dock if he liked. He liked his lips and place his hands on the girl’s knees. 

“Have you ever seen a lady like this?” Lyn asked, she shoulders swayed in the sticky night air and her should feel her breasts shake as they lay on her crossed legs. 

He shook his head in answer. 

“What about this?” she asked, moving her hands with her knees and she spread her legs wide, exposing her cunt to him. 

She had something else snarky to saw, but Aemond did not hear it. The moon and the stars would not support his endeavors to drown in the sight of her. Where his hands had been idle before, he gripped her knees to pull her further spread before him. 

“What are you–?” 

He was close enough he could almost…His tongue licked up her core and she played him music with her voice. He moaned into her as his tongue explored the raised flesh where her opening met. His tongue circled whines and moans around the bundle of nerves until he kissed her clit with his lips and didn’t let go. He suckled the bud, as he had wanted to suckle hard nipples of bellowing beasts in his sick fantasies. Her hands are in his hair, Aemond would not be freed from his prize, leaving Lyn to fist his hair like reins of a saddle. Her moans were shaking her entire body.

His finger played at her entrance. “Have you ever touched yourself?” he finally relented, for his desperate question. 

“No!” she shook her body. “It’s…messy and wet and,” she could never bring herself to do it, and he did not let her finish. 

His two fingers sank in, “You are wet.” She spread her own legs now, bucking against him as he returned to lapping at her clit while he coiled his fingers in side of her. “And messy,” he pumped in and out, his free hand twisting her nipple in his hand. He had never seen it gentle, but she clasped both hands over her own mouth to scream. 

Aemond felt her clenching around him fingers as his mouth continued its attack. She bucked and tried to press her legs together, but he would not allow it. “Ahhhg!” she moaned, into the air, and slowly her quakes came to and end. 

“Stop, stop…please–” she panted, her back layer against the dock. 

Aemond did not like his lack of a view, and joined her on the platform, his own breath panting as he studied her face like a treasured map. She breathed, and her chest rose up and down, the water had dried from her skin but dripped from her hair. Aemond’s hands were firmly planted on the dock besides him, not wanting to touch something to fragile that she might run away. 

“My turn,” she finally said, sitting up and catching his lips in a kiss. He had tried kissing before, but not often, mostly in games of children who could still play innocent. His mouth opened slightly and her tongue licked at the entrance. 

He moaned into her as she wrapped her hand around the base of his cock. Lyn nipped at his lips lightly as she began to pump him, she could feel his skin tighten with every stroke, growing longer, and wider, filling her hand.

His mouth was useless for her kisses, she licked his tongue as his mouth hung open in pleasure. Aemond’s head found the crook of her neck and moaned into her skin. Her free hand fingered the strands of his silver locks. He was a shivering mess as he pumped his hips into her firm palm. 

“Mmm,” he moaned as her free hand found his balls, palming them with every trust of her hand. He matched her pace and trust himself with her, she breathed heavy in his ear to match the pace. 

“Lyn!” a voice called out from the darkness.

“What?” she shouted back, the loudest and sweetest sound Aemond had ever heard.

“Where are you? It is the Hour of the Owl! We must be going!” The ghost voice cursed them. 

She moaned. “I am coming! I shall be there! Away! Please!” she begged.

Aemond had lost his pace, his head was shaking, he could not do this anymore. 

“Wait,” Lyn hushed him, “Shh, shh, wait.” She was assuring, her strokes still strong as she could feel him hardening into her hand again. 

“Let me,” she moved herself to between her legs and lowered her face to his cock. Her tongue starting at his base and licked up to twirl his head around her lips. She peppered kissed down his length as her hand returned to stroke him. Her kissed reached the base and went lower, kissing and sucking in the skin of his balls as he trust himself into her hands. He did not last long, the naked girl with her mouth on his cock. He trust and whine and pumped and he could hear her laughing and sucking and breathing and he came shaking on his chest. 

They breathed together, and their breathing turned to laughter. Their discarded clothes still in the same pile it was forgotten. 

“You’re called Lyn?” he said, praying to whatever god allowed him to remember her name. “I’m called–“ she interrupted him with a finger over his mouth.

“I don’t care,” she said, kissing his cheek and disappearing into the darkness, leaving Aemond a mess of himself.

//authors note – thank you SO MUCH for reading! This is the first project Im posting that I am proud of. It is barely edited, so I will eventually work on that. But, this is the beginning of a story worked out well. Plenty of twists and turns to come! I am always here for encouraging words, fic recs, headcanons, questions, and anything else~

My work on this fic inspired THIS POST. I’m just fascinated at HBO’s lack of “courtly ladies”, especially in a family where sisters are born to marry their brothers. So, I changed that and made some angsty mean girls to make fetch happen

[hyperactivewhore]

hi I love your blog we have very much the same opinions in everything except klamille is my favourite klaus ship and klaurora is second

I have been trying to enjoying klaus fics or any tvdu fics on wattpad but every thing I have read so far doenst show the characters accurately which is very annoying

I was hoping and want to request if you could give me some recommendations on fics on wattpad that are good. (Mainly klaus but any love interest would be good)

could you please give a short summary/review so far of any recommendation you give so I don’t waste time starting one only to not like ir

sorry if I am sounding rude English is not my first language but I can read it fully thank I you very much

Don't worry, you're not sounding rude at all, if anything you actually sound really sweet. I'm glad we share some opinions and I'm really honored you came to me for some suggestions.

I haven't read long fanfictions in a while outside works in ao3, I left Wattpad a few time ago but I'll still try my best, tho I'm not very good at giving summaries. Fair warning these are mainly fanfics I've read in Archive of Our Own, not Wattpad, but I hope it's not a problem. If it annoys you, send me an ask and I'll give you some Wattpad recommendations!

Patisserie (ao3, poly Mikaelson siblings x original female character, no incest) by @wickedlyemma:

Stats: (published: 2020-12-29), (completed: 2023-03-12), (words: 154,943), (chapters: 45/45), (comments: 4,385), (kudos: 8,469), (bookmarks: 1,799), (hits: 279,967)

Tags: Polyamory, Sugar Daddy, Self-Indulgent, Explicit Sexual Content, No Incest, Slow Burn, Not Canon Compliant

Summary:

I think we've all read those kind of tvdu fanfics where the main character is a teenager, usually related to the Gilbert or the Forbes, still in high school and who suddenly stops trying to make a life for herself just because she gets dragged into the supernatural world. Well, Patisserie is the opposite of that. For once, the main character isn't a teen but an adult around her twenties, who works at a bakery and is completely unaware of the supernatural world until Klaus decides to change that.

The slow burn is is truly worthy of a chef's kiss, the way the author describes and writes the Mikaelson is just so on point it hurts. Their family dynamic is so entertaining to watch, but it's as fucked up as it is in the show, which it's something not many authors can accomplish. The way they behave around the main character, a simple human, it's so amusing because they truly know nothing despite their age and she's just so easy to relate to, because for once the oc is not ridiculously overpowered.

The way we perceive the Mikaelson and the vampire world from a human pov is truly interesting, how she copes with all of it and eventually learns to love all of them individually while being aware of the danger is so well done. Kol and her, as well as her relationship with Klaus, are particularly interesting to read, especially considering how they all behaved around her at the beginning and especially because both of them are the most dangerous members of their family. They are all selfish creatures, and I love how it shows the more their relationships with her develop.

Apotheosis (ao3, Klaus x original female character) by atriums;

Stats: (published: 2022-01-01), (completed: 2022-12-13), (words: 158,264), (chapters: 31/31), (comments: 606), (kudos: 1,817), (bookmarks: 491), (hits: 69,472)

Tags: POV Alternating, Minor Original Character(s), Minor Character Death, Canonical Character Death, Implied/Referenced Abuse, Implied/Referenced Sex, Sexual Content, Devoted Reader, Author Rejects Canon and Substitutes It with Their Own, Cannibalistic Werewolf Cults, Nobody Is Good But Also Nobody Is Evil, These Characters are Flawed and Problematic (Probably), This Fic is Not a Bastion for Healthy Characters and Relationships, Reader/OC Especially, Reader/OC can be any ethnicity

Summary;

You know those fanfics who fix (almost) everything problematic in canon? Apotheosis does exactly that. In this story, Klaus isn't a complete irredeemable character for once, but he also isn't half as bad as his canon version, and due to the oc being a werewolf, this fanfic does expand on his werewolf side a little more than The Vampire Diaries or The Originals ever did. His family and him actually have a healthy bond, and Finn gets the recognition he deserves for once.

The story is set in season three of TVD, exactly when Klaus and Stefan are trying to make hybrids for his pack, and in a ironic plot twist, Klaus decides to take you with him when you're still a werewolf after you say you're not worthy to be a hybrid, at least not yet.

Her devotion to him is completely endearing and I absolutely love how Klaus actually cares for his pack, especially because they're all canonical characters who were killed way too quickly. Her relationships with the members of their pack are so well written, and this fanfic it's the perfect mix of humour and seriousness. It has a ongoing sequel, which I just adore. I warn you though, all the characters have several differences from their canon versions.

Twisted Obsession (fanfiction.net, Klaus x original female character) by rocket-queen98;

Stats: Originals, M, English, Romance & Angst, chapters: 16, words: 59k+, favs: 1k+, follows: 1k+, updated: May 6, 2023 published: Aug 13, 2016, [Klaus M., OC] Elijah M., Hope M.

Summary;

Lola is one of the most adorable mc I've read. She is human and around nineteen, if I remember correctly, and just a sweet girl and adorable. She's introduced into the supernatural world thanks to baby Hope, who is just the cutest, due to her needing a mother figure now that Hayley wasn't present in her life thanks to the curse placed on her.

Her relationship with Hope is my favorite part of the whole fanfic. She doesn't suddenly turn into her mother, she doesn't intend to either, but rather becomes her best friend and Klaus and her develop a bond thanks to this. The way father and daughter interact is so heartwarming too, the subtle hints of them being werewolves, and seeing a main character having a good relationship with her father for once is a good turn, especially in tvd fanfics.

It's clear Klaus and Lola have something going on, even if they won't admit out loud, but for some reason the people around them give the impression they don't actually want them to date. There is implications something more fucked up than usual is going on with Klaus and his relationships, and I'm pretty sure him and Cami were a thing in this fic too. Surprisingly, Hayley and Cami aren't turned into absolute bitches, but there is Jackson bashing though.

The Girl in the Forest (fanfiction.net, Klaus x original female character) by noblecrescent;

Stats: Originals, T, English, Mystery & Romance, chapters: 30, words: 311k+, favs: 232, follows: 176, updated: Feb 19, 2017 published: Jan 23, 2016, [Klaus M., OC] [Elijah M., Camille O'Connell]

Summary;

This fanfic is a tetralogy of books set in The Originals, I read those fanfics a while ago so forgive me for any mistake. Maleny is a witch who was cursed, if I remember correctly, and was constantly body-jumping every short time.

In one of her lives, she met Klaus and they fell in love, but she died, if I'm not wrong, and they end up meeting again in New Orleans time later where he has a child on the way and a kingdom to conquer.

I can't remember a lot more without giving you spoilers, but it's worth checking it out!

Now, I'll give no more summaries because I honestly don't remember a lot of the next fanfics, but it's your choice if you want to read them;

A Veil Between Love and Hate (fanfiction.net, Klaus x original female character) by MandalorianHybrid;

Stats: Originals, T, English, chapters: 57, words: 200k+, favs: 609, follows: 359, updated: Sep 15, 2019 published: Jan 30, 2014, [Klaus M., OC]

Summary; Another five books set in The Vampire Diaries, with a story that eventually moves to The Originals.

Allure (wattpad, Klaus x oc x Stefan) by @viavolterra;

Stats: 575k Readings, 20,5k Votes, 34 Chapters

Summary;

I just could not not recommend this fanfic. Mia comes to Mystic Falls to seek revenge after Damon kills her best friend Lexi, but she of course gets dragged by the problems in that little town.

The thing I like the most about Via's story is how there is no cliché: no bashing towards Tyler or Elena, Mia actually befriends them, Bonnie gets the recognition and love she deserves, Klaus doesn't suddenly turn into a different person just because he loves the oc, he continues to be a piece of shit, and how sweet and empathetic she is, not like those reused badass mc who are just rude.

I would recommend some more, but it's kinda hard to find fanfics with a good Klaus depiction. I'm pretty sure I left out a lot of amazing fanfics, though.

[lament4piligrim]

Frozen heart knows no pain

Arranged marriage AU, pre-MK1

Angst, No Comfort (at the beginning), Hate/Love, Jealousy

Before and after marriage Bi Han is in relationship

Brothers do love his partner (not legitimate wife, but they respect her)

Bi Han ignores (or try) his wife, while his partner tries at least befriend her

Wife is an excellent healer, but she hides her true powers because of an accident

Wife does not interfere in the relationship and avoids any contact with Bi Han, his partner and brothers

Her bestfriend is Sector

Character names are fictional, you can use your own

Prologue

If someone asked Bi-Han what, or rather who, he hated most in the world, he would have answered without a second thought: his own father.

He hid his hatred deep inside him, behind a mask of cool indifference, promising himself and his mother that none of his family would notice it. At least not until the right moment.

The eldest heir sought to become an unique Grandmaster, one that had never before existed in Lin Kuei. He spared neither himself, nor his brothers, nor his loyal warriors - since he was assigned to keep an eye on trainings, he toughened them up to bring out the most resilient and strongest who would become the backbone of his clan in the future.

The first benefits he tasted a few years later, when his mother's death and his father's cold "I'm sorry" didn't haunt him at night.

When the ice in his heart was melted by the warrior in whose eyes he saw stars and whose tinkling laughter captivated his mind.

She had joined Lin Kuei willingly, loving martial arts with all her heart that she had to run away from home because of her parents' prohibitions. She probably wanted to prove to herself and the world that she could protect herself and those she loved, that she was worthy of something more than just a young girl who was stuck in the village for good.

Bi Han thought that such a fragile and insolent girl had no place in Lin Kuei. She dared to contradict the words of the eldest heir and even more so to argue with him, finding it amusing. Not surprisingly, she quickly found favour with Tomas and Kuai Liang. Together, they never missed a moment to mock him. It was annoying as hell.

However, Bi Han couldn't help but notice the wounds and bruises on the girl's arms. The results of hard work and determination. The first thing he realised as he began to look at the girl differently.

He saw the way she agonised her body, balling her fists into bloody knuckles and clenching her teeth tightly as she broke bones. Saw her rise up, unwilling to admit defeat in practice fights. Saw her eyes shine with excitement when she would take down her opponent and then happily help him back to his feet with a satisfied smile. Her smile was like the sun that warmed on spring evenings.

And Bi Han realised that he was deeply in love with her.

He tried to change, to become more open… to let her into his world, to shield her from evil, to protect her at all costs. Only for her to smile at him, not expecting him to blame or criticise her.

He truly felt happy when she kissed him first. Shyly and awkwardly, standing on tiptoe and putting her hands on his broad shoulders. Her face was crimson with embarrassment, and yet she couldn't stop smiling foolishly, as if she had received the most precious gift.

It took a few more years before the whole of Lin Kuei was aware of the relationship between Bi Han and the fox (as they nicknamed the girl for her playful nature). Both weren't shy about showing how much they loved each other, and sometimes fought in public if they saw each other in strangers' company trying to flirt with them. Fox could even throw a tantrum, but Bi Han was skilfully able to suppress it by not letting the girl go all night.

His relationship with his brothers improved, thanks to her. They began to spend more time together, and Kuai Liang thanked fate for giving them Mingzhu.

The Lin Kuei warriors thought that nothing would shake this strong alliance. Even those who disliked Mingzhu didn't doubt it.

Things began to crumble when Grandmaster made the decision to marry Bi Han to the daughter of an important and close ally of the Lin Kuei.

Chapter 1

P.S. Probably I'd publish it in AO3. As I said, you can use your names for characters, or even put yourself in their place

[thestargayzingetherian]

Shadow Weaver's "Redemption"

So I often see posts going around about Shadow Weaver's death scene and how she "deserved worse" or "doesn't even count as a redemption". In my opinion, like a lot of She-Ra stuff online, it ignores a lot of the nuance of the show's actual writing.

I don't really call her arc a redemption arc... but I do see this scene in particular as her finally, at long last realising how much harm she's caused to Catra and Adora. By keeping them apart... she's actually made Adora weaker, ironically, all those years of manipulation... and it's been for nothing. Adora isn't her perfect little pawn, she's weak and dying of green prime virus running through her and hurting at the thought of her best friend dying to Prime's little pet cthulu.

I see way too many people say that SW should have died sooner and to be honest, yes, if this was any other story, yeah they'd have probably killed her around season 3. If they genuinely did want her to have a redemption, they'd have made her arc in seasons 3 and 4 more genuine, have her work to really be an ally of the rebellion and not being the manipulative witch she'd always been. But that's not what Nate Stevenson wanted to do. By keeping SW around as long as the show did, they got do more with her and show how someone like her is in various environments, both in the Horde and on the side of the rebellion.

I genuinely think this WAS SW doing a "one good thing" like Catra did. And to be honest, it was the only good thing she could really do. There is no way that if she did survive this that she could truly make ammends for the harm and cycles of abuse she perpetuated, especially not at this point in the story.

Hordak was at least under the influence of his programming and war was the only thing he knew when he started the Horde. Sure, he's not entirely absolved of his actions in the war, but he's at least more of a victim and his compassion for Entrapta show's he's at least worthy of a second chance. Shadow Weaver was clearly a woman driven by power, a desperate need for control and that was her own choice, likely from being scared of being weak. (I believe she was telling the truth when she told Catra that Catra reminded her of herself, that she was once a weak and hurt young woman who hated being weak and wanted to be stronger and that began her lust for power.)

Also, what she says to Catra and Adora? "It's much too late for me, but your story is just beginning. I'm so proud of you. You're welcome."

She could have very easily just said sorry, much like Catra did when she rescued Glimmer.... but would ANY apology be really able to make up for what she did? No, probably not. Instead its just... "you're welcome" as if to say "you're finally rid of me, congrats". Because she knows that pain now and how it tore Catra and Adora apart. And the fact she does this with her mask off, without any hint of lies, as if to be finally honest for the first time in so long.

I know it's fun to dunk on SW and say she's the worst ever and yeah, I do enjoy that too... but I also know what her arc, if you can call it, that is about and why she is in the story. Like everything in She-Ra, she has a lot of nuance to her, even if you didn't realise it.

[kc-writes-sometimes]

Crown and Kin | Chapter Two

Ao3 Account | Masterlist

Chapter Two: History

Word Count: 3,524

Pairing: Aemond Targaryen x Original Female Character

Summary: Daella’s world begins to unravel as secrets from her past come to light, forcing her to confront hard truths. As tensions rise and alliances are tested, she finds herself caught between the safety she’s known and the dangerous future that awaits.

Themes & Warnings: 18+, Character Death, Rape/Non Con, Future Smut, Canon Typical Violence, Canon Typical Incest, Angst, Dad Daemon Targaryen, Bastards and Brothels, Fluff, Friends to Enemies to Lovers, Canon Divergence, Dysfunctional Family, Team Black Centric, Slow Burn, Eventual Romance

↞ Previous Chapter | Next Chapter ↠

Daella of King's Landing

The soft murmur of voices tugged at the edge of Daella’s consciousness, pulling her from the grip of a restless sleep. She blinked, the dim light of dawn seeping through the heavy drapes, casting long shadows that cloaked the figures at the far end of the room. Rosalie and Ser Harwin stood close, their faces drawn with worry, the tension between them thick enough to cut.

"He saw her, Rose," Ser Harwin muttered, his voice low and heavy with anxiety. His pacing was restless, his boots making only the faintest whisper against the stone floor. "He knows her name. She can't stay here. It's too dangerous."

"And where would you have me send her?" Rosalie shot back, her voice trembling as she fought to maintain her composure. "She's just a child, Harwin. No title, no lands, no parents—nothing that would warrant a good match with someone worthy, let alone one that would keep her safe."

Daella kept her eyes half-closed, feigning sleep, watching them both through her lashes. Rosalie's appearance was far from her usual pristine self—her strawberry-blonde hair, usually perfectly styled, hung loose and dishevelled, framing her face in a way that made her seem younger, almost fragile. Her pale pink robe, a stark contrast to the confident woman Daella knew, hung loosely on her slender frame. The vibrant green of her eyes seemed duller today, weighed down by worry as she glanced at Daella and whispered, "We are all she has."

Harwin stopped pacing, his expression softening as he pleaded, "Let me take her to Harrenhal. She’d be safe there. Daemon’s already asked if Daella was mine; it could work. Alys wouldn’t begrudge taking care of another child."

Rosalie rolled her eyes, her voice dropping to a sharp whisper. "I will not let her be raised in a haunted castle with no roof, by a witch!" Her words cut like a knife, and Daella saw Harwin flinch, his jaw tightening at the mention of his ancestral home. Harrenhal’s reputation was well-known—a once-grand fortress now reduced to ruins by dragonfire, a place of whispers and ghosts. Yet, the tales had always intrigued her. She often dreamed of walking its crumbling halls, feeling the history beneath her feet.

Harwin’s voice was softer now, tinged with resignation. "I promised Elyse I’d look after her. She’s my responsibility."

Rosalie stepped closer, her hand resting gently on his shoulder. "We both made that promise, Harwin. She’s as much my responsibility as yours." She glanced at Daella, her gaze tender. "Besides, you have responsibilities elsewhere. Daemon will soon return to whatever hole he crawled out of and forget he ever saw her. Daella doesn’t matter to him. Stop worrying, Harwin."

Daella stifled a yawn as she pushed herself up onto her elbows, the room coming into clearer focus. The tension hung in the air like a thick fog. Ser Harwin was leaning against the wall near the door, his broad shoulders slumped under the weight of worry, while Rosalie moved toward Daella, her expression softening into something more familiar.

"What time is it?" Daella asked, rubbing the sleep from her eyes.

"It’s time to get up, my dear," Rosalie replied, her voice gentle as she brushed a strand of hair out of Daella’s face, tucking it behind her ear. One of the few vivid memories Daella had of her mother was how she used to play with her hair—brushing, braiding, and twisting it with oils she had or could borrow. Rosalie had taken it upon herself to continue that tradition. Every month, without fail, she applied some kind of oil to Daella’s hair, just as her mother had done. It smelled awful and looked even worse, but Rosalie insisted it was necessary to keep the hair manageable. She always said the women upstairs used it too and that Daella should be thankful they let her borrow it.

"Is Ser Harwin staying to eat with us?" Daella asked, her voice bright with hope as she slid out of bed, the cool stone floor jolting her fully awake.

Harwin offered her a small, wry smile. "I’m afraid not, little flame. I’ve been summoned to explain why I’m missing a helmet from my uniform." He winked, then turned on his heel and strode toward the door.

As he left, the door closing softly behind him, the room seemed quieter, but the tension still lingered like a shadow. Rosalie sighed, her eyes following him before turning back to Daella with a forced smile.

"Come now," she said, trying to muster some enthusiasm. "Let’s get this mane of yours under control."

The sun was high in the sky as Rosalie and Daella walked through the bustling streets. Rosalie rarely took her with her when she went to pick up supplies for the brothel, but after the events of the other night, she seemed unwilling to let Daella out of her sight. Although Daella wasn’t sure why, it seemed that the encounter with Prince Daemon had been blown out of proportion.

"Did you hear what I said, Daella?" Rosalie’s voice cut through her thoughts as she tugged on her arm.

"What? Sorry," Daella replied quickly, snapping back to attention. Rosalie shook her head and pointed at the stall in front of them.

"I asked what you wanted for dinner," she said, motioning to the grey-haired man behind the stall, who was eyeing Daella with mild curiosity. "Fish or pork?"

Daella cocked her head to one side, considering the options. "Pork, I think. Can I look at the stalls?"

"Of course." Daella was already walking away when she heard Rosalie call out after her, "But stay close and keep your hands to yourself!"

The main thoroughfare was alive with activity, the stalls crammed together as if every inch of space were valuable. The royal family’s carriages occasionally rolled down this road, though how they managed it, Daella couldn’t understand. The road was barely wide enough for the throngs of people, let alone carriages. But in the warmer seasons, everyone seemed happier, more willing to spend their hard-earned coin, even if the prices only dropped by a copper or two. A bargain was still a bargain, after all.

As Daella wandered past the colorful stalls, something shiny caught her eye on one of the tables ahead. She approached the old woman manning the stall, her gaze dropping to the jewelry laid out on a soft red cloth—silver rings, gold bracelets, and gems in vibrant hues of red, green, and blue. One piece, in particular, stood out—a necklace half-hidden in a pile, its color darker and more mysterious than anything else around it.

"What is that? It’s beautiful," Daella asked, pointing to the necklace.

The woman pulled it from the pile, the red and black gems glinting in the sunlight. From this angle, the metal appeared silver, though it had looked almost black before. She placed it in front of Daella with a smile that didn’t reach her eyes. "It’s too expensive for you, my dear."

"I asked what it was, not how much it is," Daella retorted stiffly, turning away with a flick of her hair. She marched off, her braid whipping behind her as she left the old woman to her trinkets.

Continuing down the row of stalls, Daella stopped at a long table covered in books. She picked one up, thumbing through the pages, pausing every so often to trace the inked drawings. The words were a mystery to her, but the pictures told their own stories.

"Ten Thousand Ships," a strong voice said from behind her, startling Daella into slamming the book shut. "Nymeria was certainly a force of nature."

She spun around, nearly colliding with the body bent over her shoulder. Stepping back, Daella looked up into the familiar face of Prince Daemon Targaryen, his silver hair catching the light, his purple eyes fixed on her.

"Who’s Nymeria?" Daella asked, looking down at the book in her hands.

"You should know, you’ve been reading her book," he replied, his brow furrowing as if puzzled by her question.

"I was only looking at the pictures. The words don’t make any sense," Daella admitted, dropping her gaze to the ground, embarrassed.

"You can’t read, can you?" Daemon’s voice held a note of concern, his confusion deepening. It wasn’t uncommon for girls like her to be unable to read—there was no need to learn—but she supposed all noble children were taught from a young age.

"No," she said, shaking her head. "I never needed to learn. Rosalie can, I think."

Daemon’s gaze softened as he studied her, as if trying to solve a puzzle. The silence between them grew awkward and heavy.

"What are you doing out here by yourself?" His face wrinkled in annoyance as he looked through the crowd. "I thought my instructions were clear."

"Rosalie and I came out to buy things for dinner. I’m sure she’s around somewhere. She told me not to go far and not to touch anything," Daella said, rising onto her tiptoes to see if she could spot Rosalie in the crowd.

"It seems you’ve broken more than one rule today, little princess," Daemon chuckled, his voice a mixture of amusement and reprimand. He tapped the book cradled in Daella’s arms before reaching into his pocket. With a flick of his wrist, a shiny coin sailed through the air, landing with a clink in the hand of the man behind the table. Swiftly, Daemon tucked the book under one arm and scooped Daella up with the other, pressing her securely against his side.

From this new height, everything seemed so different, so far away. Daemon was tall, taller than Ser Harwin by a good measure. As they retraced Daella’s steps through the crowded streets, she couldn’t resist sticking her tongue out at the jewelry seller who had scolded her earlier. The woman scowled, but it only made Daemon chuckle more, his amusement vibrating through his chest and into Daella.

His silver hair brushed against her cheek as they walked, soft and almost silken. Unable to resist, Daella reached up to play with the ends, marveling at how much softer they felt than her own tangled locks. Softer even than Rosalie’s. Her fingers moved further up, the urge to braid his hair growing irresistible. Carefully, she began to weave a few strands at the base of his neck.

"What are you doing?" Daemon asked, his voice tinged with amusement, though softer now, as if they shared a secret.

"Braiding your hair," Daella replied, her focus wholly on the task at hand, too absorbed to glance up at his face.

"And why is that?" he queried, the hint of a smile in his tone. He sounded different from the stern man she’d met before. Kinder, perhaps. Or maybe just in a better mood.

"Because your hair is soft and pretty. It's prettier than mine, so I think it deserves a braid," Daella answered honestly, her small fingers working diligently. Daemon’s sudden bark of laughter startled her, and she nearly dropped the braid. Determined, she quickly resumed her work, not wanting to ruin the neatness she’d managed. The thin braid she’d fashioned was barely noticeable, hidden among the silver strands as it disappeared beneath his doublet. A small smile tugged at her lips at the thought that he might leave it there, a secret only they would know.

As they turned into a familiar street, Daella’s surroundings snapped her back to reality. "Are you taking me home?" she asked, a thread of apprehension weaving through her voice.

"I am," Daemon’s tone shifted, stern and unyielding. His gaze fixed ahead on the building in front of them. "I’m taking you home, and then I’m going to have a word with your mother." With one fluid motion, he set Daella down on the ground before pushing open the side door to the brothel. The darkness inside suggested that Rosalie had yet to return from the markets.

The room was silent as Daella kicked off her boots and dropped them by the bed. A sudden thought occurred to her. "How did you know where I live?"

Daemon sighed, moving to light a torch on the wall. "King’s Landing may change in many ways, but its bones remain the same. I frequented this place often when I was younger. My brother, too, though he stopped coming after he married Aemma. I’ve only returned once since her passing."

"Oh," Daella murmured, glancing down at the dusty floor. "I’m sorry."

"There’s no need for apologies, sweet girl," Daemon said gently, placing the book on the table before sinking into one of the creaking wooden chairs. "Now, enough of such dreary topics. How about I tell you the tale of Princess Nymeria and her ten thousand ships?"

Daemon’s storytelling must have lulled Daella to sleep, for when she next opened her eyes, the room was bathed in the soft light of the rising moon. She glanced around, searching for any sign that Rosalie had returned, but the room was empty save for the figure slumped at the foot of her bed. Daemon was still there, snoring softly, his back against the footboard, one leg stretched out, the other bent at an angle, his chin resting on his chest.

A mischievous thought struck Daella, and she quietly leaned over the edge of the bed, retrieving one of her black shoes. Taking careful aim, she threw it at Daemon, quickly lying back down and squeezing her eyes shut, feigning sleep.

"I saw that," Daemon’s laughter rumbled through the room, causing a giggle to escape Daella’s lips.

Their laughter was abruptly cut short by the sound of a voice outside the door. Daemon’s expression turned serious as he moved swiftly, positioning himself behind the door, out of view. He pressed a finger to his lips in silent command, drawing his sword with a quiet hiss. Understanding his signal, Daella bundled herself under the blanket, pretending to be asleep.

"Oh, thank the gods," Rosalie’s voice was filled with relief as she rushed through the door, nearly tripping over her skirts in her haste. But before she could reach Daella’s bed, Daemon kicked the door shut with a resounding thud, causing her to whirl around in shock.

"The gods had little to do with it," Daemon said, his voice low as he sheathed his sword and moved past her, reclaiming his seat at the table.

Rosalie’s relief quickly morphed into anger as she turned to face Daemon, her eyes narrowing in suspicion. "What are you doing here, Daemon?" she demanded, her tone sharp and devoid of any honorifics.

"You forget yourself, Rosalie," Daemon replied, rising from the chair with a deliberate slowness that made his height and presence all the more imposing. He rested his hands on the pommel of his sword, the gesture unmistakably threatening.

Rosalie’s face paled as she backed away, her movements cautious as she made her way around the bed. Her hand brushed against Daella’s hair, smoothing it back from her face as she glanced down at her, her expression a mix of worry and resolve.

"Why are you here, my prince?" Rosalie’s voice was strained, her teeth clenched as she forced out the words.

"Much better," Daemon mocked, a glint of amusement in his eyes as he tilted his head slightly, regarding her with an air of superiority. "I am here because I found Daella wandering the streets. Alone. Again."

"So you decided to kidnap her?" Rosalie snapped, her voice barely concealing the fury simmering beneath the surface.

"I didn’t kidnap her, Rosalie," Daemon corrected with a sigh, shaking his head as if dealing with a particularly stubborn child. "I brought her home. To you and her mother." He paused, his eyes scanning the room before landing back on Rosalie. "Where is Elyse?"

The mention of Daella’s mother sent a jolt of confusion through her. How could he speak of her as if he knew her? Daella’s mother had been gone for years, long before she could remember.

"Why would you think she’s Elyse’s?" Rosalie asked, her voice wavering slightly as she positioned herself between Daemon and Daella, her stance protective.

"It’s not hard to see," Daemon said, pacing slowly, his eyes never leaving Rosalie. "Daella looks exactly like her. Now, where is she? I wish to speak with her." His voice took on a taunting lilt as he called out, "Eeelyyyse, come out, come out, wherever you are."

Rosalie flinched at his words, her eyes darting toward Daella briefly, a flash of pain crossing her features before she forced her expression back to neutrality. "Stop that! You’ll wake the girl," Rosalie scolded, her voice tight with barely suppressed anger. "Elyse died two years ago."

Daemon froze mid-step, his entire demeanor shifting in an instant. A storm of emotions played across his face before he spun around, striding toward Rosalie with an intensity that made the air in the room feel charged. He reached her in two long steps, his hands seizing her arms with a grip that made Rosalie wince. He pinned her against the foot of the bed, his face inches from hers, his voice low and dangerous.

"How old is she? Is she mine?" he growled, his eyes burning with a mixture of fury and desperation.

The sudden violence jolted Daella out of her daze. She bolted upright, heart pounding in her chest, eyes wide as she took in the scene unfolding before her. Everything felt wrong, twisted, as if the world had been upended. The warmth that once surrounded her was gone, replaced by an icy dread that crept into her bones. She couldn’t make sense of what was happening. She didn’t have a father—never had, never needed one. The words echoed in her mind, over and over. Rosalie and Harwin were all she’d ever known.

"Don’t be ridiculous," Rosalie spat, her voice laced with both defiance and fear as she struggled to pry Daemon’s hands off her arms. "Why does it even matter?"

Daemon’s eyes flickered with something dark and dangerous, a shadow that threatened to consume everything in its path. His grip loosened for a moment, only to tighten again as his hands slid up to Rosalie’s throat. His fingers flexed, pressing into her skin as he leaned closer, his breath hot and menacing against her face. "I will not ask again, Rosalie," he whispered, his voice now a lethal calm. "Is. She. Mine?"

The room seemed to shrink around Daella as she watched in horror. Her breath came in ragged gasps, each one catching in her throat as the realization began to dawn. Daemon’s face twisted into a cruel sneer as Rosalie, trembling under his grip, finally gave a small, defeated nod.

Everything shattered. The world Daella knew crumbled into dust as the truth—a truth she had never even considered—crashed over her like a wave of ice. She had never thought much about having a father and never needed to. Rosalie had always been there for her, nurturing her, comforting her when she was sick, and celebrating her namedays with whatever small gifts she could find. And there was Ser Harwin—strong, dependable Harwin, who had always been like a father to her. But now, everything was uncertain.

She couldn’t stay here. She couldn’t face this—whatever this was. Before Daella knew it, her feet were moving, driven by a desperate need to escape. She leaped from the bed and bolted for the door, not bothering with her robe, a jacket, or even her shoes. The cold night air bit into her skin as she tore through the streets, the sounds of the city barely registering in her mind.

She had to find Ser Harwin. He would know what to do. He would take her away like he had wanted to. The streets blurred as Daella ran, the cobblestones rough and unforgiving under her bare feet. She didn’t care. She needed to reach the guard tower, to feel safe again. But as she rounded the next corner, she skidded to a halt, her breath catching in her throat.

A group of men blocked her path, their laughter dying as they noticed her. Their eyes raked over her, taking in her disheveled hair, the thin nightdress clinging to her skin, her torn and bloodied feet, and the panic in her eyes. One of them, his face marred by pockmarks and a leering grin, stepped forward, his gaze predatory.

"Well, look what we have here," he drawled, his voice thick with malicious glee. "The gods must be smiling on us tonight, lads."

"And what a pretty little thing she is," another man sneered, his eyes gleaming with a hunger that sent a shiver of pure terror down Daella’s spine. "Just the sight of her is making my cock twitch."

Fear clawed at Daella’s insides as the men began to close in, their intentions clear. She stumbled back, her heart hammering in her chest, her mind racing to find an escape. But there was nowhere to run, nowhere to hide. She was trapped, and the darkness pressed in around her, suffocating, as she faced the monsters that lurked in the night.

↞ Previous Chapter | Next Chapter ↠

[lovelyyandereaddictionpoint]

How do you think the Gorgan sibling reader would fair in twst? Like they were taken in the place of Yuu?

Escaping into Twisted Wonderland | Yandere Gorgan Sisters

Should you finally find some way to escape

It’s likely a purposeful decision to be sent to a separate world

And you can enjoy whatever time you have with them

Whether you're falling in love or joining a club

It won’t last forever 

because your sisters were coming for you

“Did you think we’d let you get away so soon? You’ve barely outgrown your gills!”

What makes it worse is that they don’t immediately begin to attack

Especially with a world full of mages

Granted what they can do is much more violent 

They slip into the cracks

Becoming the nurse that you never see 

“Ace you look so much better, now.”

“Right?! I got a visit from the gorgeous Miss Dusa! I can tell you now she’s so into me!”

“Well, whoever this new nurse is I feel sorry for her.”

“Oi so cruel!”

Or gaining a devoted gaggle of ‘poisoned’ students

“Good work, you truly are a worthy boyfriend. Now for your next task!”

Or even wooing Crowley into answering her every call and whim

“So generous of you my darling crow. You’ve gifted our little…chick enough food.”

“Yes! This way they won’t be relying on those nasty snakes! Right?”

“...Yes, my dear.”

Eventually, it all leads to you

Making sure your life with your newfound friends crumbles 

So that when they offer their consolation and a path back home you’ll be more willing to go

But should you see through their tricks and are backed up by your friends 

There is no way there will not be bloodshed

The boys you’re so close to are best at subduing mindless monsters of ink or even just outwitting a powerful adversary

Fighting witches with insatiable bloodlust is another

Medusa is likely the worst offender more than eager to call upon the snakes she implemented into the medicine

It’s horrifying to watch her snakes spring out of the brave soul that charged ahead

Next to her is Shaula who personally seeks to destroy those interpersonal relationships as she orders the poisoned students to attack

Watching those poor students use their magic to bring their friends to their deaths

Lastly is Arachne who mostly decides to focus on obtaining you and letting her awestruck minions to bring all the best magical items to her as she prepares to send herself and you back

And your other sisters if they’re fast enough

To make matters worse the most powerful students the ones closest to you are the ones they hone in on

Their pressure is so visceral they make it a point to eliminate them or hypnotize them accordingly

Or align with them

“As promised you’ll have our blessing once those obstacles are dealt with.”

“Do you suggest I…kill them?”

“Kill them, cripple them, heck even eat them for all we care!” 

“But if you are successful I’d be willing to overlook your interest in our little sibling.”

“...consider it done.”

In hindsight maybe it’s better if you don’t leave

That way you don’t have to witness the heartwrenching sight of another world beginning to change

Under the regime of your oh-so-powerful sisters

[luci-luck]

Earth “ponies” go first! MASSIVE autism dump comin’ atcha live

TW: ableism , grief , parental death (just in case the tags failed)

This is more so for me but I still wanted to share 🫶

Sandstone (Pinkie):

- b i g puppy energy

- Built for work but prefers to play

- Has crystal pony genes but depression makes them subdued. Can only go full crystal mode in a moment of pure and raw jubilation.

- after constantly being told who she’s supposed to be, they rejected the idea of labels entirely

- no labels for gender or sexuality means loving Pinkie does not impact your sexuality score!

- (intersex is not about gender but biological sex. That being said many intersex people use intergender as their gender as it relates to their experience as an intersex person.)

- deals with internalized ableism due to conservative fillyhood environment. Feels bad when they need to ask for help/support. Got herself an unofficial certificate in psychology so he can be his own therapist (it doesn’t work out)

- Parents would totally support the pony version of Autism Speaks just saying. Pinkie’s dad thinks neurodivergency is curable with hard work and the right attitude whilst her mom mourns the loss of her son after the diagnosis.

- ADHD makes xeir rejection sensitivity off the charts

- Internal battery runs on the company of others so can’t ever live alone.

- Had problems with food insecurity

- Relies on sugar as a steady supply of dopamine

- Can have moments of poor motor control. Clumsy

- Eyesight is bad but doesn’t wear glasses. Afraid that ponies will start thinking he is smart and they will expect even more from him. (In human world she wears contacts)

- Feels embarrassed being high support needs and just wants to be treated like everybody else. Hates when xer parents call her “special”

- Also hates being infantilized but is not confident in their decision making

- Xe is a sensory seeker unlike the rest of their family who are all sensory avoiders. Sisters compromise and try to meet his needs. Pinkie in turn tries to be mindful of their touch aversion but finds it hard sometimes. “Everypony’s just so scoop-able!”

- Trained Gummy to “stay”. Is very proud of his emotional support gator

Applejack:

- Is incredibly strong for her size

- feels like she has to constantly prove herself worthy of taking over the farm. Has gotten into arguments with Big Mac about overexerting herself

- Is a hinny (donkey mom and stallion dad) (ofc hinnies are supposed to have tails more like horse but I love the lion tail on AJ so 💁‍♀️) (I said mule in ALT text because most people don’t know what a hinny is)

- Because of this, she is more calm under pressure and thinks more logically

- has major depression from grief and ptsd (duh)

- Isn’t used to being in a stress free environment so she creates the stress

- Likes running the apple stand but certain families trigger her

- Obsessed with anything from the past generation. A time when her parents were young and happy

- Can be a bit insensitive to other’s problems and wants them to “put on their big girl pants” like she had to.

- Feels like she has to fill in the roles her parents used to do. Especially so Applebloom and Granny don’t have to stress over as many things.

- Was in the process of cutting her mane when she remembered that AB liked to braid it so she stopped half way.

- Is the mom of the friend group. Makes sure everyone’s needs are met before tending to her own. (Which is bad btw)

- Has problems with insomnia but getting better.

- Struggles with OCD and will repeat unnecessary tasks if she believes it will help protect her family

- Has an emotional support dog named Winona who also reminds AJ to take breaks 🐕‍🦺

- Sees no point in getting her chronic pain checked out. Will hopefully change her mind in the future. Wears leg braces to ease the soreness.

- Got diagnosed later on. Grief masked her autistic traits.

- Also has a hard time asking for help but has gotten better after she found out that Applebloom has been internalizing that mindset. She must lead by example

- Stick around long enough and she’ll happily invite you over with a hot cup of cider 🍺

- (Other people tend to fall in love while getting to know someone. Demiromantics however need to get to know the person first and then develop romantic feelings later)

- Thought she wasn’t capable of developing crushes until she got to know Coloratura.

[madcapberry]

One sec I need to talk about Shiva.

Lady Shiva was introduced in Richard Dragon: Kung Fu Fighter in the 70s. She was a traveling martial artist hellbent on getting revenge for her sister, who she believed had been killed by Richard Dragon. She lured Dragon into a trap, revealed herself as Carolyn's sister, and tried to fight him to the death. Once she realized that Dragon had nothing to do with it, that Cravat and The Swiss (unimportant villain characters, they killed Carolyn) had been the ones to kill her sister, she helped Dragon defeat the villain (by giving him her shiny belt so he could redirect the beam of a deadly laser that was being pointed at them while they were fighting, don’t even ask) and Richard Dragon and Lady Shiva became allies, friends even. Dragon convinced her it would be a waste to kill Cravat and told her that he had killed the Swiss himself. She accepted this. They shook hands. This all took place over the course of one issue of Richard Dragon: Kung Fu Fighter. It took ONE issue for Shiva to go from antagonist to ally. She then tagged along with Richard because she liked the adventures he got up to, the danger, the challenge, and the thrill of it. Richard even called her later on when he needed help on a different adventure. What I’m saying is she didn’t start out as evil.

Okay, so what do we know about Shiva so far? She’s a thrill-seeking peripatetic martial artist of great capacity and skill. She cared about her sister. She’s willing to kill. She’s an adventurer and a valuable ally. Great. Moving on.

The Question 1987 features THE Lady Shiva. A character capable of both ruthlessness and mercy, cruelty and tenderness. A curious, thrill-seeking, teasing character. She was vicious and nonpartisan and she was working as a mercenary for hire. But she was an ally, even when she was beating the shit out of Vic. She loved the O Sensei. You can tell she even cared about Vic in her way. I’m not saying she had a heart of gold, or that there weren’t tropes she fell into. She wasn’t and there were. But she was a fairly well-rounded, morally gray character that played a key role wherever she showed up. She was closer to a non-traditional anti-hero than anything else. Idfk, just go read The Question.

I read a tvtropes article describing Lady Shiva as “an archetypical Dragon Lady, complete with sinister motivations and exotic sex appeal,” which… she isn’t. She subverted this trope in several ways actually. She never had “sinister motivations” until Chuck Dixon got his grubby little hands on her. Her motivations were pretty neutral. She had her own set of principles, she was very morally gray. She wanted to travel and fight worthy opponents on her adventures for the thrill of it. She seemed to operate mostly on personal whims, and on the basis of building worthy rivals, out of love for the art of combat. And she didn’t use her sex appeal for shit (until the Richard Dragon reboot comic kms), she didn’t tolerate sexual advances or objectification. She just WAS NOT a conniving temptress, I don't understand where this misperception came from (but I do blame Dixon, I’ll get to that in a sec).

This same article states that she began as the arch-nemesis of Richard Dragon? Unless you’re accepting the version of the two of them from the very short lived Richard Dragon 2004 series as their canonical relationship then NO she didn’t. But I digress.

There was a marked change in the way Lady Shiva was written by the time Robin (1991) came out, this is where her character starts to lean towards the Dragon Lady trope imo. She also weirdly, and maybe arguably, leans more into traditional femininity while at the same time being written as more wild and uncontrollable. Chuck Dixon seemed to fundamentally misunderstand Lady Shiva as a character. He turned her (sometimes ironic) disdain for brutes who wouldn’t last a second in a fight with her into stereotypical womanly haughtiness. He turned her capacity for ruthlessness into bloodlust. And he made her into a conniving, somewhat deranged, villainous woman, tempting our young hero towards evil (oh my!). Again, I’m not saying she ever had a heart of gold, but Dixon changed core character traits (namely her respect for other people's personal code) to turn her into a villain.

“Kill him, little bird. Kill him and become a predator…Aren’t you my weapon? My instrument of death? Say you are mine.” Like?? She would not fucking say that, respectfully.

That isn’t even to mention Richard Dragon (2004) where Dixon turned Shiva’s relationship with Dragon into a resentful, sexually charged dick-measuring contest.

Even so, I don’t entirely hate Shiva as a villain, especially in Batgirl (2000). Pucketts Shiva is a bit less egregious imo. So she’s a passively suicidal evil mentor-figure who wants Cass to be a killer like her. Whatever, I can get on board with that I guess. I can enjoy it because I love Cass and this is a great comic run. But the retcon that–Listen, THE RETCON THAT IS SHIVA’S SISTER BEING KILLED BY DAVID CAIN, SHIVA DESCRIBING THIS AS FREEING, SAYING SHE’S GRATEFUL, THEN AGREEING TO GET PREGNANT WITH HIS CHILD IN RETURN?? This boils my blood. Shiva, who was introduced as somebody who cared about getting revenge for her dead sister. Shiva, for whom freedom and autonomy were core character traits. That Shiva?? That Shiva is relieved her sister is dead and is willing to carry her sister's killer's child to term?? What the fuck?

I hate it. I don’t understand it. Why would you take a complex character who makes it difficult to tell who she really cares about, and flatten them into somebody incapable of love?

Okay I’m done, this is getting too long and I don’t even want to get started on New 52 era Shiva. I don’t have a conclusion, I’m just annoyed. Thanks for reading. The Question (1987) is NOT a perfect comic but if you’re interested in Shiva please please please check it out, it’s very moody and philosophical, noir-esque. Also Chuck Dixon suck my dick.

[lilyway]

Icarus {Alastor x Reader} Part 2

Warnings: Blood, Gore, Death and canon-typical violence. Please be aware of these warnings going forward.

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3

Part 2: Desperation 

Becoming an exorcist turned out to be the worst decision she had ever made. The only upside, if it could even be called that, was the passage of time becoming practically nonexistent. Days bled into weeks, then into months, and finally into years, each one blending seamlessly into the next.

Each day became a relentless cycle of training under Lute's watchful eye, her body being battered and beaten by her new bosses. Lute’s cruel methods pushed her to her very limit and demanded more.  It was clear as day that Lute wanted nothing left of her old self. She would make sure she was battered and bloody, by the end of the day and every time (Name) endured. 

Her torture didn’t end when Lute wasn’t around. On the days when Lute was occupied elsewhere, (Name) found herself serving as Adam's secretary and personal assistant. It was the smallest break even if it was humiliating. He treated her like a lowly pet, someone who served to inflate his ego and bring him his food. 

They were her masters now, the ones she lived to serve. Being in their "care," if one could call it that, came with its sickening rewards, like scraps tossed to a loyal pet. At first, (Name) accepted these rewards with a forced smile, pretending they meant something to her. But soon, even the pretense of gratitude faded, leaving behind only the bitter taste in her mouth. Even with a smile on her face fading, came the odd feeling of pride.

All that mattered now was keeping her mind occupied, or perhaps empty enough to forget about her old life. In that regard, Lute and Adam were masters of manipulation, expertly shaping her into someone who suited their whims. Serving them became a mindless and demanding task, but it was a distraction — an escape from the memories that threatened to give her a one-way trip to hell. 

As she toiled under their watchful eyes, it didn’t take long for her to ascend the hierarchy and become someone "worthy" of standing beside them, or rather, behind them. This newfound position came with its own set of expectations, a particular level of power, and angelic authority. It wasn't long before (Name) realized the significance of those rewards. Each blessing bestowed upon her wasn't just a token of appreciation; it was a manifestation of angelic power, something most angels would dream of possessing.

Blessing after blessing, (Name) accumulated every inch of power she could squeeze out of her mortal life's achievements. But with each blessing came a curse, a reminder that she was owned, that all her power was given, not earned, and that she had none to begin with. 

Being dragged around by Adam and Lute catapulted her to the status of a rising star in the Court of Heaven. Yet, each victory felt hollow, devoid of true accomplishment. Whether it was a triumph she didn't deserve or a demeaning task like hand-feeding Adam, the rush of pleasure that followed was quickly overshadowed by a sense of pride. It brought something for her emotionally deprived soul to consume and return her ability to smile. An empty smile that never reaches her eyes. 

With every gain, came something to mourn. The woman in the mirror may have looked like her, but she was nothing more than a stranger. Each step up the ladder of power only widened the chasm between who she was and who she had become. The reflection staring back at her held no trace of the spirited girl who once roamed the streets of New Orleans, filled with hope and full of love. Instead, it was a hollow shell, a vessel for every corrupt thing that existed in heaven. 

It made her nothing more than a monster in an angel's skin. The pride became a sense of entitlement and I’m better than you attitude. Something she got from Adam, over the years. Lute gave her cruelty as she worked to kill whatever love there was. 

With enough power to not make a fool of herself, she was dragged to her first extermination. (Name) quickly learned what being an exorcist actually meant as she flew through the portal and saw hell for the first time. The sight that greeted her was beyond anything she had imagined. The air was thick with the stench of sulfur, and the sky was an ominous shade of crimson. Tormented souls wailed in agony as they were subjected to unimaginable torment by her fellow Exorcists.

Her shell-shocked expression must've been priceless as Adam and Lute teased her for it for weeks. Her jaw fell open as she watched the sinners run for their lives as Lute shoved a halberd into her hands. All she could do was hold onto her newfound weapon until her knuckles were white.

As the chaos unfolded around her, (Name) felt a wave of revulsion wash over her. She wanted no part of this slaughter, no part of the brutality that unfolded before her eyes. The screams of the sinners echoed in her ears, their pleading eyes haunting her every thought.

She remembered muttering that she couldn't do it, that she wanted to go back to Heaven, to return to the simplicity of paperwork or any other mundane task. Her pleas gifted her a solid slap across her face as was dragged into the fray by Lute. She couldn’t even utter a single protest as she was stunned by the levels of violence around her. 

(Name) found herself staring at the helpless sinners around her, their terrified faces etched into her memory. Lute's nagging voice pierced through the chaos, reminding her of her duty, of the task at hand. In a haze of confusion and horror, (Name) raised her halberd and struck down a sinner, decapitating him in one swift motion.

As the reality of her actions sank in, (Name) felt her stomach churn with nausea. She looked down and saw the blood pooling at her feet, a cruel reminder of her actions. (Name) took a life, killed a sinner, and gave them their permanent second death. 

Lute's amusement only added to (Name)'s distress as she watched the scene unfold before her. The glint of amusement in Lute's eyes sent shivers down her spine. With a heavy heart and trembling hands, (Name) obeyed Lute's orders and carried the severed head to Adam. His praise fell upon her ears like a bitter irony, they were angels, the messengers of heaven. 

💟

Seated at the table with Lute and Adam, (Name) struggled to focus on the task at hand. Her mind kept drifting back to the horrors of hell to the faces of the sinners she had condemned, and to the fresh blood that still stained her hands. The blood dripped onto the table and made a small pool under her hands. Despite her best efforts to push the memories aside, they lingered like a dark cloud, she was no better than the two of them. 

As Lute and Adam discussed the details of the next extermination, (Name) found herself lost in a whirlwind of emotions. How could she continue to partake in these acts of violence and destruction? Wasn’t this enough to condemn her to hell? To rip her away from everything she was trying to achieve. 

There was a sense of resignation, a fleeting acknowledgment that in the presence of Adam and Lute, she found a semblance of security. As long as they remained by her side, she knew she would remain in heaven. That she would remain an angel and never fall. That her actions were just, there was nothing wrong with what she did. Nothing at all. 

(Name) forced herself to focus on the task at hand, suppressing the turmoil raging within her. She voiced her opinions and contributed to the planning process, having to remind herself that they deserved this. That they deserved to suffer and die. 

The meetings after each extermination soon became a grim tradition, a macabre celebration of a job well done. As (Name) sat at the table with Lute and Adam, she couldn't shake the feeling that their actions were wrong. With each passing extermination, her heart grew twisted and dull.

Despite her reservations, (Name)'s death count continued to rise, and she soon earned a rank of her own, just below Lute. It was a hollow achievement, a mere title that held no power. No matter how high she climbed in their ranks, she would always be at their mercy, subject to their games and harassment whenever they deemed it necessary.

She would be their Maven of Heavens, the exorcist specializing in supporting and neutralizing threats. Their little pet finally upgraded to their marionette who sang and danced to whatever tune they played. As a cruel joke, they stopped calling her by her name and called her by the title they gave her. Her name wasn’t (Name) anymore, it was Maven now. Even with her constant reminders that wasn’t her name, it never stopped. 

Yet, she continued to fulfill her duties. There was always an endless list of tasks to complete, responsibilities to shoulder, and goals to achieve. But, more importantly, angelic power to obtain, to squeeze until there was nothing left. Until (Name) was gone and only Maven remained. 

Everything she was given was always funneled back into the extermination, every drop of her blood and power was in the service of killing every sinner she came across. Her blessings pulled from the good she did in life, were twisted and reshaped into tools of war. The war she wanted no part of, the stupid war that Lute and Adam plotted a way to maximize their slaughter. 

Oh, (Name) attended those meetings, with a thick book and record player. Letting them go on about strategy and how fun it would be. While she enjoyed her books and scrolls on the history of heaven. 

The exorcists' fervent hatred for the sinners metastasized like a virulent plague, infecting their hearts and minds with a ruthless thirst for bloodshed. Year after year, the fervor grew, driving them deeper into a mindless frenzy. It was a far cry from the vision of salvation that (Name) had envisioned when she first grasped Lute's hand. 

Following Lute and Adam in their twisted version of righteousness, there was little room for thought and that’s what she wanted. Her days became a routine of plotting the demise of sinners and going out to have coffee with Lute. While making sure Adam remained the moral beacon that he was supposed to be. Virtue wasn’t his strong suit and his ego was bigger than heaven itself. It was a two-person job, unfortunately. It was a life devoid of joy or meaning, a hollow existence, but it kept her in heaven.

Out of everything Lute and Adam did to her, there was one thing that always got under her skin. They never treated her blessings with respect and only remembered them when the extermination came around. How she despised them for it — no, hated them for it. 

Her gifts were not intended for slaughter; they were meant to protect souls. To see them twisted into instruments of violence and manipulation filled her with seething anger. There was enough anger to rip Adam to bloody shreds and the thought was tempting. 

He took the purity of her voice, something that brought her solace and joy became a weapon in Adam’s war. Once able to soothe troubled souls, lured sinners into her grasp like unwitting prey. The chains she wove with her voice bound them in place, ensnaring them as they fell in her view. It was nothing more than a curse now. Something that tainted her conscience to the point she didn’t use it unless she had to. 

There was one blessing that slapped her in the face over any other and that was her healing ability. What should have been a gift of empathy and mercy, joined the rest of her curses. Becoming a symbol of her inability to show even a shred of mercy to any sinner. The touch from her brought only agony and death, as the holy flames consumed anyone who wasn’t a winner. 

The first extermination after she obtained her blessing, became a day she’d never forget. There was a young hellborn child injured and cowering in the alleyways. The child stared at her with innocent eyes as she muttered things she couldn’t hear. (Name) did her best to soothe the child, she had never harmed a child in her life and offered to heal her. When she did, holy flames consumed the girl and she burned to death. 

(Name) just stared at the burning corpse and stepped back until she hit Adam’s back. He gave her a strong pat on the back as a job well done as they found it amusing. They thought her torment was funny, that killing a hellborn child was okay. 

There was only one blessing; they couldn’t taint with their cruelty. The blessing given to her by her final actions in life. How she tried to shield those women from harm became a holy shield in her afterlife. A shield made of golden light that surrounded her allies. It was a simple little thing and absolutely useless. Sinners never fought back. 

(Name) used it to prevent minor injury when it came to training with Lute. While during exterminations, it was primarily used to create a layer between her body and hell. She never wanted her body to ever come into contact with that place. Ever. 

How she hated that place and gave up her freedom to avoid being sent there. The place that she blames all her problems on as she had to kill her heart to survive. Cha 

Heavens, how she wanted that place gone.  

💟

As the time for their yearly extermination approached, the exorcists prepared themselves for battle. (Name) sat beside Lute, clad in a long black dress with a translucent veil obscuring her face, her halberd resting casually on her shoulder. Lute meticulously inspected her minimal armor for imperfections. 

Meanwhile, Adam took center stage, his pre-rally speech a cacophony of fervor and anticipation. With zeal in his voice and fire in his eyes, he rallied the exorcists for what he deemed their "slaughter party," his words stoking the flames of excitement and bloodlust in the room.

"You're as quiet as ever," Lute's voice lingered in the air, momentarily breaking through the noise surrounding them. 

(Name) turned to face her as she watched Lute continue getting ready. "There's nothing to say," (Name) replied, her voice barely audible amidst the roaring of the crowd. "Besides, you don't like it when I talk."

Lute shot her a small glare, her eyes daring her to keep talking. "Right. Do you ever wonder why?"

"No," (Name)'s response was curt as she turned away, her attention drawn to Adam who was now pointing in their direction.

"Everyone remembers last year's extermination, right?" Adam's voice boomed, cutting through the chatter and drawing the attention of the assembled exorcists. (Name)'s heart dropped as she prayed he wouldn't mention their bet.

As her shoulders slumped and her halberd slipped from her grasp, (Name) sighed heavily. She fumbled forward to retrieve it, only to find Adam standing right in front of her, a large box in his hands.

“Maven lost the bet! She messed up real fucking bad and had to retreat! And you know what that means!” Adam's voice thundered, his words like a sharp slap to her senses as he shoved a box into her hands. 

“What?” (Name) asked, her voice barely above a whisper as she stared down at the ivory box.

The ivory box felt heavy in (Name)'s hands, but it wasn’t as heavy as her failure from last year. She couldn't bring herself to open it, fearing what lay inside, fearing the humiliation that could be inside. Adam’s punishments were always the humiliating sort and whatever he had in store for her was bound to be one of his worst.

Adam's smirk loomed large as he leaned in closer, relishing in her discomfort. " Open it, Maven ," he commanded, his voice dripping with malice.

There was a delicate white dress lay nestled in the ivory box, its intricate embroidery catching the dim light of the dressing room. Her heart sank as she realized the gravity of Adam's twisted punishment – was he making her wear a wedding dress on extermination day?

“It's wedding time, Maven!” Adam's words cut through the air, dripping with sarcasm and malice, as he gestured to the dress with mock enthusiasm. His finger guns only added to the surreal absurdity.

“You're kidding,” she managed to choke out, her voice laced with disbelief and irritation. Another exorcist shoved her into one of the spare dressing rooms and slammed the door in her face. 

“Lute! Some help, please!” Her voice carried desperation, but it was met only with silence as Lute returned to Adam's side, her allegiance unwavering.

“Whatever Adam says is law. Remember, Maven ?” Lute's words cut through the air like a blade, 

Adam, just you wait. I’m going to tear your flesh piece by piece off your bones. The thought tempted her to go for his throat this instant, but she wouldn’t make it far. 

With a grumble of frustration, (Name) reluctantly opened the box, her fingers trembling slightly as she extracted the puffy dress from within. It bore a striking resemblance to the attire worn by the seraphim, albeit fashioned for special occasions, and Adam's mockery was evident in his choice. 

As (Name) held the delicate white dress in her hands, memories flooded her mind, transporting her back in time. She hadn’t worn anything like this since her wedding, and walked down the aisle to Alastor with the biggest smile she had. It was the happiest day in her life. (Name) bit down on her bottom lip as Adam banged on the door telling her to hurry up. She didn’t care about Adam telling her to hurry it up and returned to staring at the dress. 

She had buried those memories deep within her soul, afraid that revisiting them would only reopen old wounds and condemn her to a life of unending suffering.

Yet, as her fingers traced the intricate embroidery, she couldn’t help herself. The gentle strains of music, the fragrance of flowers, the loving gaze of her husband as she walked down the aisle into his waiting embrace. 

You look beautiful, my belle. Your beauty surpasses any other dame in New Orleans. 

It was a distasteful gesture, using such a garment as a gag during their preparations for battle. Nevertheless, (Name) resigned herself to the task at hand, hastily shedding her attire and struggling into the gown unaided. Each layer of silk and lace seemed to cascade around her form, pooling at her feet as she emerged from the dressing room. It wasn’t something she would’ve preferred to wear, she preferred her plain black dress. Wearing white on a battlefield would just show all the blood. Maybe that was the purpose of the dress, to show her how tainted she was. 

Stepping back out came with a roar of laughter as she stood outside of her changing room. As Adam's laughter echoed through the room, (Name) felt her cheeks flush with a mixture of embarrassment and anger. With Lute's joining in and the chorus of laughter growing louder, (Name) walked back to her halberd that was in Lute’s hands and snatched it back. 

Returning to her previous seat, she started fixing her hair and pulling it back into a messy bun. She hated being the butt of the joke and that she was powerless to do anything about it. All she could do was place a mask over her face and wait for it to subside. 

“Happy?” she retorted, her voice laced with sarcasm as she pulled her veil back down over her face. (Name) resisted the urge to roll her eyes at Adam's patronizing remarks, her frustration simmering beneath the surface. His attempts to lighten the mood only grated on her nerves further.

“Look at that! Someone's all pissy that she had to suffer her consequences.” Adam's taunt washed over her like a wave, his words stinging with their underlying mockery. She shot him a glare, refusing to dignify his jibes with a response.

“Come on, Maven! Lighten up a little, live a little, ” Adam insisted, his tone laced with false cheer as he pulled her to her feet. His encouragement felt more like a thinly veiled threat, a reminder of the consequences that were waiting for her if she disobeyed him. “It’s extermination day! Smile!” 

Forcing a strained smile onto her face, (Name) nodded curtly as Adam released her. She smoothed the wrinkles from her sleeves with brisk motions and quickly took her place behind Lute and Adam. 

As Adam's speech unfolded, (Name) listened with a mixture of disdain and resignation. His words dripped with arrogance and self-importance, a reflection of his inflated ego and insatiable desire for adulation. It was a familiar rhetoric, one she had grown accustomed to over the years – the sinners were ungrateful, they owed everything to him, and they should worship the ground he walked on.

It sickened her to see how he was idolized in heaven, despite his egotism and blatant disregard for others. His constant reminders of his role in the creation of humanity only served to further inflate his already bloated sense of self-worth.

With an exuberant cry, Adam's voice got everyone to their feet as the portal to hell opened up behind them. "Let's kick some fucking ass!"

Lute and Adam wasted no time, darting through the yawning gateway and soaring into the darkened skies of Hell. (Name) lingered behind to cast a quick shield and flew after them with her weapon in hand. Their arrival came with the screams of the sinners below, who either didn’t bother to run or didn’t prepare beforehand. 

She had no empathy for them, there was nothing she could do if that empathy worked. Flying high in hell’s skies with reckless abandon she would commence her purge. 

With a haunting melody, (Name)'s voice cut through the desolate streets of Hell, her song weaving through the air like a lament for lost souls. " Thou seek the dark with an unsheathed blade .” She sang, her voice a somber intensity that seemed to reverberate off the walls.

" Now a white, ivory throne beckons, " She continued. The air itself seemed to shiver with the intensity of her song.

" So obtain the fate you sow, " This was the slaughter that they sought, their punishments for their misdeeds.

"On this path, be weary, friend and foe,”

As her song echoed through the streets, the sinners below stirred. Like puppets on strings, they moved in a silent, solemn march toward her, their bodies betraying them as they succumbed to the irresistible call of her song. 

From her elevated vantage point, (Name) watched with a mixture of determination to see her job done. Her eyes pierced down at them as she gazed down at the doomed sinners. 

"Join in the tale, in the blight, of conquest and lies,"

Golden chains slithered from her wings, wrapping around the ankles of the sinners below, binding them to the blood-soaked streets. With each link, their movements became restricted, and their futile struggles were quickly silenced by a slice of the exorcist’s lances. 

"Come the sun, to tarnish in the sky," she sang, her voice resonating with a haunting quality that seemed to reverberate throughout the bloody streets. 

Her voice, laden with empty sorrow, echoed back to her ears, eliciting a shudder of discomfort. It was a sensation she loathed with a fervent passion. (Name) couldn’t believe that was how she sounded now. “Vow that we shall tear the light.”

Like sailors answering a siren's call, more sinners walked out as if entranced, walking willingly toward their inevitable demise. She could call them fools, but in truth, they had little choice in the matter. “Dark seize the throne.”

“Lost in thoughts, all alone.” Her voice carried a melancholic resonance, echoing through the desolate streets of Hell. With a swift motion, she hurled her halberd down below, its blade finding its mark and ending the struggles of a sinner who dared to claw at her chains. “ You are an ocean of waves, weaving a dream.”

"Like thoughts become a river stream,” She descended to retrieve her weapon, her gaze fixed upon the pleading sinners below. Their cries for mercy fell on deaf ears, there was no escape. "Yet may the tide ever change, flowing like time,"

"To the path, yours to claim. Thou seek the dark with an unsheathed blade," (Name) kept singing as she approached the next sinner, her halberd poised for judgment. "So obtain the fate you sow," she intoned solemnly, her blade descending with a swift, decisive strike. The sinner's blood spattered across her face and stained her once-white dress.

(Name) watched as Lute flew down and cut them down as Adam shot beams of light down. That was her sign to keep moving and that her job wasn’t over. “Thou seek the light with an outstretched hand,” Her song wouldn’t end until she chained every last sinner in hell. “A divine blade lies before you.” 

High above the desolate streets of Hell, (Name) soared, her voice echoing through the twisted alleys and shadowy corners. "So command the wake of dreams. To restore the world, cut 'way the seams." 

"Join in our prayer, in our song of birthrights and love." As she sang the words her heart cried for her to stop. The walls around her heart began to crack, as emotion poured through. Why was she doing this? Who was she singing for? Herself or to get someone else’s attention? 

“Come the sun, illuminate the sky.” She pushed the thoughts out of her mind as she flew higher in hell's skies. “ Pray that we may quell the dark.” 

There’s my belle! Did you have a good day at work, my darling? (Name)'s mind jolted at the unexpected intrusion of her husband's voice echoing in her thoughts. The familiarity of his words sent a shiver down her spine. She blinked, trying to shake off the sensation, but his voice lingered like an unwelcome guest.

No. No. Focus on the task at hand. “Light take the throne.” (Name) lightly smacked herself on the side of her head before returning her gaze to the streets below. 

Her heart weighed heavy with the absence of the sinners she expected to heed her call. With each passing moment, her frantic search for the sinners took on an air of urgency. Her movements betrayed the facade of composure she sought to maintain. They always answered her call, she never needed to go out of her way to search for them. 

The few sinners that appeared had their ankles quickly bound as (Name) started to boil with anger at her failure. Where were they? The real question was why was she acting so desperate? Her every movement screamed that she was searching for someone. She would never search for a sinner in her life.

There’s my dearly beloved, my little belle, my canary. The echoes of her husband's voice reverberated through (Name)'s mind like ghostly whispers. She was losing her mind the longer she stayed in this horrible place. (Name) didn’t deserve this torture. She wanted nothing more than a mind empty of worries and any memory of her life when she was alive. 

Alastor was here. (Name)'s thoughts, driving her forward with a singular focus that bordered on obsession. He had to be here . There was a terrible feeling in her gut,  what would happen if she found him in her current state? She’d just lure him to his death by either her hand or the hand of her fellow exorcists. 

“May thy chosen path lead way and grace you with virtue,” 

Each note she sang bore the weight of her longing, her heartache laid bare for all to hear. It was a cry from the depths of her being, a call for him to come out. She just wanted to see him, all be damned. 

“But surely a balance awaits.” This was wrong. This was a fool’s errand, she had to stop before she went out looking for him. She could feel the cracks forming in her mental defenses. 

“So be it bliss or pain you gain.” Look for me Alastor, I’m right here. No, this is wrong. I shouldn’t be doing this. “Descend into the abyss thou see.” 

(Name), will you marry me? As (Name) heard those words echoing in her mind, her heart skipped a beat, and her breath caught in her throat. Fueled by recklessness she abandoned her mission as an exorcist and began her search. 

“Where the hearts of many wander,” 

Alastor, please let me see you. I’m right here! That’s all I need and I’ll go back. Please.

“Quietly, they wish and weave.” 

She descended back to the streets, (Name) scanning the faces of the sinners in her chains, a mixture of frustration and determination coursed through her veins. None of these sinners were her beloved Alastor, chaining them to the ground, she returned to the skies. With the hope, she could lure him out with her song. 

“Placing hope inside their one, pure dream.” She found herself straying further from the safety that Lute and Adam provided. Flying further fueled by desperation for one moment of joy. “After the storm stills its wake, may all be blessed.”

(Name) needed to be louder to make him hear her. She didn’t care if the whole pride ring could hear her. She didn’t give a damn, she needed to be heard. “ So the fate and fallen can find rest.”

Her song was interrupted as she felt something grab onto her ankle and flung into the crumbling building. The air escaped her lungs as she gasped in pain. Her mask tumbled from her face, falling back into her lap as she quickly straightened her veil over her face. With each ragged breath, (Name) struggled to rise, her limbs heavy, as howled in pain. 

As her hair cascaded down her back, freed from its confining bun, (Name)'s fingers sought solace in the familiar touch of the ribbon that bound it. With trembling hands, she clutched the ribbon close to her chest. She needed something to grip on as she coughed up the blood that was stuck in her throat. 

(Name)'s fingers clenched around the sturdy shaft of her halberd, the familiar weight grounding her as she pulled herself upright. She whispered a prayer as her body was surrounded by a golden light, (Name) felt the searing pain ebb away, replaced by a soothing warmth that spread through her limbs. The injuries inflicted upon her began to mend, the broken bones knitting back together and the deep gashes closing with miraculous speed.

She didn't know who would have the nerve to strike back at an exorcist, she did commend them for their recklessness. If they wanted to fight, they sure had one now. (Name) by no means having a repeat of last year and getting thrown across half a block into a building by a child. They may have gotten the upper hand briefly, but she was going to make sure they paid for it with their lives.  

“Aren't you a rude one?” (Name) shouted as looked around for the foolish sinner. “Hiding? Show yourself!” She commanded as she felt something wicked surround her. 

The force of the blow shattered her barrier and left (Name) defenseless. Her body had to feel the wind in her hair, feel their blood on her hands. She would kill that damn sinner and make sure she sent him to his permanent afterlife herself. 

Despite her pitiful appearance with blood and dirt staining her once pristine white dress. It was slightly torn by the impact, but it wasn’t too badly damaged. Adam might not care about tradition in heaven but she sure did and she was going to make sure she showed her dress the respect it deserved. 

“Well, well. You aren't looking so good, my dear.” The sound of the man's voice, distorted by static, seemed awfully familiar. 

(Name)'s heart raced as she felt the weight of those glowing red eyes bore into her very soul. Instinctively, she knew that lurking within the shadows was a presence that spelled danger.

The demonic eyes deeper into the shadows with every step she took towards them. Her steps were quick until she saw a dark alleyway and froze. She wasn’t going to go in there. The last time she went into an alley like this she got herself killed. 

Taking multiple steps back around the corner and turning around to run around the corner. (Name) stumbled over the dismembered leg of a sinner, her heart lurched with a mixture of horror and frustration. The sudden obstacle sent her tumbling forward, her hands reaching out instinctively to break her fall.

With a sickening rip, her dress tore beneath her weight, the fabric giving way to the unforgiving ground beneath her. (Name)'s breath caught in her throat as she felt the sharp sting of pain shoot through her body.

A tall figure, shrouded in darkness, leaned down just enough for (Name) to discern his unsettling smile. “Well, well. What do we have here?” His voice carried an eerie undertone that stirred something within her, leaving her staring up at him as if she had seen a ghost.

“Who are you?” Her voice emerged as a hoarse whisper, disbelief coloring every syllable. The encounter felt surreal, defying all logic and reason.

“Allow me to introduce myself!” His words flowed with a strange theatricality as if he were performing on a stage. “Alastor, a pleasure to be meeting you.”

As he introduced himself again, it felt like every defense she had meticulously constructed crumbled into a million shattered fragments. (Name) could almost hear the sound of her walls shattering along with her composure.

Blinking, she forced herself to stand tall and approached him, her wings drooping under the weight of her emotion. 

Why so glum, my dearest. Smile for me, there's nothing you can't handle. How his voice haunted her as she felt it tickle her ear. These words weren’t real, they were in her mind. This wasn’t real. 

Her voice quivered with a mix of disbelief and anguish as she uttered, "Is this some sort of cruel joke?" She despised how small and broken she sounded, the raw vulnerability in her tone. 

His response came smooth and unwavering. "Cruel joke? By no means," he countered, his words laced with a hint of amusement as he leaned closer, invading her personal space. Instinctively, (Name) recoiled and stepped back. 

How his marriage vows echoed in her mind as she could still vividly hear him say ‘I do’ after the priest read out the usual ones. 

As (Name) hesitated, torn between hope and dread, her gaze lingered on the figure before her. Tall and imposing, his presence commanding attention even in the dimly lit alleyway. Atop his head perched a pair of fluffy deer ears, a peculiar addition to his enigmatic appearance. They seemed out of place yet strangely fitting, adding an air of whimsy to his otherwise ominous presence.

(Name)'s voice trembled as she spoke, her heart pounding in her ears. "Al? Is that you?" she asked, her words hanging in the air like a fragile thread.

The demon grinned in response, his expression twisted with a hint of mischief. “In the flesh, my darling.”  

Her doubts surged forward like a tidal wave, threatening to engulf her fragile hope. "Impossible. Absolutely impossible, " she muttered under her breath, her gaze flickering to the halberd clutched loosely in her fingers.

The demon's grin only widened as (Name)'s grip tightened around the pole of her halberd. She could feel the weight of doubt and disbelief pressing down on her, swallowing her hope whole. 

"You're not him," she stated firmly, her voice filled with hatred. She needed to be strong, this was a trick of hell playing a rather distasteful one on her. 

The demon raised a brow, observing (Name)'s desperate struggle against her encroaching madness. Her thoughts betrayed the fragile state of her mind, as her sanity quickly slipped through her fingers like grains of sand.

(Name) swung her halberd through the air with a desperate slash. With practiced ease, the demon evaded her slashing attack, moving with a fluidity that seemed otherworldly. Her veil caught with her swing pulled it off her face. Grabbing her veil from her weapon she threw it back over her face. 

A glimmer of something indefinable flickered in his eyes, softening his expression ever so slightly. Her heart dropped as his expression softened. 

“You're just an imitation. You're not real! " (Name)'s voice echoed with desperation, repeating the words like a mantra as her frustration bubbled to the surface. With each repetition, her tone grew louder until it erupted into a vehement shout directed at the demon before her. 

"Such aggression, my dear," He remarked, his voice laced with amusement as he effortlessly evaded her frenzied attacks. Despite her fervent attempts to drive him away, he danced around her with an eerie grace.

"Aggression? You demons want to tell me about aggression!" (Name)'s words dripped with disdain. She refused to accept this mockery of her beloved Alastor. (Name) clinging to the hope that he wasn’t here or that he died his second death years ago. 

"I could say the same to you," he mused, gracefully evading her swing as he retreated. "Angels, my dear, always so enamored with aggression.”

“Our actions are just.” My actions are always just. She thought as her swings grew more desperate, losing their grace. Her form was well abandoned by now as she threw swing after swing. 

“You're telling that to yourself,” he countered, stepping closer, his presence unsettling her balance.

“Even if I am, that has nothing to do with you!”

(Name)'s desperate swings met only the mocking laughter, his amusement apparent in every blow she missed. Her desperate swings met only the mocking laughter of Alastor, his amusement a haunting melody in the air. As her final swing cut through the air, she overextended, her balance faltering as she slipped on her gown. 

But then, a sudden weight pressed against her, breaking her fall with an unexpected gentleness. She glanced up at the demon who was now inches away from her face. Alastor caught her, he was real. 

Her honey-brown eyes showed the emotion she couldn’t voice. "Back to your feet," Alastor's voice, being so close to her ears, resonated through her soul. Shattering the defenses she built around her heart to keep her emotions in. 

As he gently lifted her, her weapon fell forgotten to the ground. “Thank you.” She murmured, her voice barely above a whisper. 

In the quiet moments that followed, a profound silence hung between them. (Name) struggled to come to terms with the reality as she stared at her husband. He was real, tangible, her husband was standing right there. 

“What happened to you?” 

“Whatever, do you mean?” His response, accompanied by that ever-present smile, made him unreadable. 

“Do you remember me?” She had almost forgotten how it felt to be vulnerable with someone else. Her voice quivered as she tried to smile through her watering eyes. “It's me, Al. It's your belle.” 

(Name)'s hands trembled as she reached up to remove her veil, revealing the raw vulnerability etched across her tear-streaked face. Strands of hair danced wildly in the static-charged air, framing her features in disarray. Clenching her fist around the fabric of her veil, hoping to relieve some of her emotion. 

Alastor didn’t answer her question and instead gave her a type of smile she couldn’t puzzle out. 

"Alastor?" Her voice carried the weight of a thousand unspoken questions, a plea for reassurance. Stepping into his personal space, her hate for his fellow sinners quickly was left behind as she hesitated to reach out and touch his cheek. Her gaze searched for any sign of recognition, any flicker of the man she once knew.

"Can I touch you?" The question hung in the air like a delicate thread, tethering her to the hope of rekindling the bond they once shared. It was a plea for permission, a silent request for them to go back to the times when they were alive. 

Then, with a subtle nod, Alastor granted her permission, his acquiescence a silent acknowledgment of the tangled web of emotions that bound them together. As the veil slipped from her grasp, cascading to the floor like a fallen dream.

With trembling hands and a heart heavy with longing, she reached out to him, her arms wrapping around his form in a tentative embrace. As she pressed her face into his chest, she finally let out the tears she held for so many years 

"I'm sorry," she whispered again, her voice barely above a breath. “ I’m sorry.” 

"Why, pray tell, are you apologizing?” Alastor's interruption was firm yet tender, his words a balm to the wounds that had festered within (Name)'s heart for far too long.

“For leaving you behind, for not coming sooner, for becoming this.” 

As he gently pressed her face into the soft fabric of his chest, she felt a rush of warmth and solace wash over her, dispelling the shadows of doubt and guilt that had haunted her for years.

“That's quite enough, my belle,” 

(Name)'s grip tightened around the fabric of his suit, her fingers seeking refuge in the familiarity of his presence. At that moment, all she wanted was to hold onto him, to imprint the contours of his form onto her memory. 

As the moments slipped away like sand through an hourglass, (Name) became acutely aware of the passing of time, the weight of duty pressing down upon her like a heavy cloak. Despite the solace she found in Alastor's embrace, she knew that she couldn’t linger here. 

“Something on your mind?” His voice was something she'd miss when she would have to return to heaven. 

“I have to go back,” she confessed, the words tumbling from her lips with a sense of urgency. She pressed herself closer to him, seeking some sort of reassurance in his warmth. 

“As you should, my belle.”  

It broke her heart as she pushed herself off him. “Right. Unless you want me to stay?” Please tell me I can, Lute and Adam be damned. The words never left her lips as she deflated knowing it wouldn't be fair to him. 

"This realm isn't fit for dames like you, (Name). Hell wasn't crafted for the likes of you, my belle."

“But, I finally found you again,” 

As (Name)'s voice trembled with emotion, Alastor's response was firm, his words cutting through the air with a sense of finality. "And let it be the last."

The disbelief in (Name)'s eyes was palpable. "You're pulling my leg, Alastor." Her flicker of hope was extinguished as soon as it appeared. 

But Alastor's tone remained unwavering, his gaze steady as he spoke again. "My beloved belle, you are out of place here. Hell has no place for you." 

"I'll come back," She declared with unwavering resolve. "I'll come back every year. I won't stop until you let me stay."

“Your visits would indeed be lovely, but alas, the answer remains a resolute no,” 

“Mark my words, I'll be back.” 

Bending down and picking up her halberd and veil from the ground.  She didn't care about fixing her hair and threw it partially over her face. (Name)'s steps echoed through the narrow alleyway, the weight of her emotions heavy upon her shoulders. Her grip tightened around the halberd, the cool metal offering some semblance of comfort amidst the turmoil within her.

As she emerged from the shadows of the alley, Hell's streets greeted her once more. But before she could take another step, a gentle tap on her shoulder halted her movements. Turning slowly, she found herself face to face with Alastor who was very much in her personal space. 

“Al?”

His lips met hers in a tender embrace, igniting a rush of emotions within her that she had long suppressed. With abandon, she abandoned her weapon once again and reached out to hold his cheeks, her touch trembling with longing and affection.

"Happy belated anniversary, (Name)," He whispered.

Tears welled up in her eyes as she returned his sentiment, her voice choked with emotion. "Happy belated anniversary, my darling. Take care of yourself, I'll be back next year."

He gently urged her to depart. “Off you go now!” 

“You know, I’d give up forever to stay here.” Alastor's expression softened as her words pained him. ,

"I know you would, my dear," He murmured. “It’s time to go.” 

With a nod, she took her weapon and flew back to the skies. She watched Alastor disappear into the shadows as she continued her song until Adam opened the portal and they all returned home. 

💟

As (Name) stepped foot back into heaven, the weight of her encounter with Alastor still heavy on her heart, she was met with an unexpected and unwelcome greeting from Lute. Her fist connected with such force that it knocked her off her feet, sending her crashing back to the ground.

“What the fuck was that?” Lute's voice was sharp, cutting through the air like a blade.

“I have no idea what you're talking about,” Her glare told another story as she pulled herself back up. 

“Where the fuck were you?” Lute's frustration simmered, her eyes boring into (Name) with an intensity that made her squirm. 

“Killing sinners.” 

“Sure, you were. I saw you being flung into a building and disappearing,” Lute countered.

“I was knocked out.” 

Adam's callous words hung in the air like a toxic fog, his laughter a discordant melody against the backdrop of tension. “She is pretty weak,” Adam remarked, his tone laced with mockery as he reminisced about past encounters. “You had to drag her back so many times, good times.”

Lute narrowed her eyes. “I'm going to break every single bone in your body. And I don't want to hear a scream.” 

“Do your worst.” 

That must've pissed her off as her hit threw her back against the wall as her blood escaped her lips. (Name) didn't know where her confidence came from as she took blow after blow. 

There was something to look forward to after this was all over. 

💟

The song is Lost in Thoughts Amalee version its the 6 minute one.

Maven means someone who's experienced or knowledgeable. It's an ironic title for our main girl. Since she took Lute's deal without knowing anything.

I struggled to pick the song for this part. Originally it was FF10-2's 1000s words as my first choice. This was almost 19 pages LOL There's one more part left that I'm currently editing. Please look forward to it. I might make this into a series. But, who knows.

[mynonclicheblog]

Which hopes/expectations do you have for Season 5 Steve and Nancy separately as individuals?

I hope to see them both fulfill their character arcs, learn what they still need to learn (especially Nancy- Steve hit most of his pivotal milestones through s2-4), and close the parts of their stories that remain unresolved.

I hope to see them both ending the series alive and well, on track to achieve peaceful lives for themselves after the shitshow they've endured for 5 seasons.

My preference is for them to do that together, of course, because I think it feels the most thematically resonant for their characters- but whether jointly or separate I want them to be happy, man. They deserve it.

I hope Nancy is able to forgive herself for Barb's death. To understand that she isn't a guilty party, to finally heal from the trauma that has haunted her like a shadow. I want her to see that she is not the sum of her past and is a good person worthy of good things. I want her to feel respected, trusted, and valued by the people around her, to have support and a genuine sense of community- to know that she doesn't have to go it alone. I think season 4 did a good job jumpstarting something like this, allowing her to act as sort of a leader to the party and bond with them in a way we haven't seen before.

As I said, Steve has already come a long way. He's undergone more self-reflection and growth than any other character on Stranger Things. There's not much left for him to achieve, so to speak- just continue showing up whenever he is needed. I think Steve is in a position where he can be content no matter how things end up for him, which is great. He's worked diligently on himself, embraced a platonic circle of friends who mean the world to him, bravely protected the innocent and had a hand in saving the world multiple times. He's told the girl he loves that he still loves her simply because it is his truth, no ultimatums or demands. In season 5 I hope to see this fully realized version of Steve continuing to be there for his people and helping them along in their own journeys, however that may be.

Those are my hopes for them in season 5- but I try not to do expectations.

[dlartistanon]

I want to share some interesting discussion about Arturia (and Executor by extension), including some discussion about neurodivergency--a lot of this informs their characters and actions and shines better light on how it can reflect real life.

Also, here's her prequel comic which gives more context

The outcomes of her actions are not often good, but she's definitely not supposed to be evil/malicious/sadistic. She is ideologically driven and, because of her morality axis being different from most, genuinely believes what she's doing is good/correct. She has reason for what she does, such as being opposed to Laterano's limited empathy and discrimination, and what happened in her childhood.

It can be read as a commentary on how the vast majority would rather remain sheep to survive, then be true and (possibly) die.

Her motivation can be summed up as: she wants people to stop repressing themselves. Which theoretically sounds good on paper, but obviously impractical in practice. Sometimes honesty isn't the best policy.

Kriede's fate, his death, was out of his own real volition. What resulted in him wanting to save Ebenholz.

It's unconfirmed, but she may be a victim to her own Arts. She has no inhibitions about removing other people's inhibitions. Or she gaslights herself/disassociates when it comes to her mother's death. She was probably traumatized, but underreacted. To her, Mom dying and using her Arts on her mom are two separate things that have no causation.

She does not regret using her Arts on her mother. She does regret being unable to have helped her mother go further to achieve her dream before she died. Arturia considers it her own failure that Mom died before she reached self-actualization. At the core of it all, Arturia wants to see more people be like her mother, willing to act on what they truly want.

People's despair are all worthy of being addressed and felt and released. That's extremely relevant to her worldview. It's what separates humans from animals acting on instinct. Arturia doesn't care for the Seaborn and thinks they are beneath notice. They are Nothing to her. You can be Good or Evil, but you must be human. Have human desires, because animalistic desire is boring. Human irrationality is what makes them beautiful to her.

People who say that Arturia caused everything to happen in Hortus de Escapismo ignore the fact that the overall situation had been deteriorating long before she set foot there. If anything, she may have just sped up the process of things that were going to happen anyway. Which is not the same as causing it. Looking at it from the perspective of the people living at the monastery, it's reasonable that there would be depressing thoughts floating around everywhere. But the Abbot tells Arturia that her music soothes the pain.

Laterano's response to the situation did nothing to alleviate the actual problem, the material conditions (ie no food). If Arturia's abilities worked the way some people think they do, everyone at the monastery would've been dead in a week or less.

If you're debating jumping off a cliff, then she isn't going to make you jump, nor will she influence you to jump. If someone is worried about Arturia's Arts affecting them, causing them to do bad things they otherwise wouldn't have, because of intrusive thoughts, then they shouldn't even be concerned. Because Arturia is not interested in that. Acting on intrusive thoughts is not what she looks for. It's more akin to helping someone dive deep into their subconscious to face the thing(s) they refuse to face. Some people choose to take this back up with them to the surface. People who contemplate doing bad things for brief moments normally don't have those kinds of thoughts sitting deep within their psyche to drag up.

Arturia obviously needs therapy, but the most important thing to her is whether you have the conviction to act on your desires. Let go and embrace how you truly feel. The extremities of pain and despair (and perhaps even happiness) are among what she values. A very complicated individual.