#she’s describing how beautiful and fierce the princess is

[bumblepuppy]

YA novels for girls are similar to shounen manga in that they will accidentally make the friendship between the leading girl and her bestie way more romantic than the relationship between her and her love interest.

[myocsfanfictions]

THE WRATH OF FIRE

MASTERLIST

Princess Ysilla Targaryen is the only daughter of Prince Daemon Targaryen and Lady Rhea Royce. The affection that she felt for her mother was strong, while her father had never been there, acting as if Ysilla was not even his. But she was. The dragon egg that had been put in her cradle hatched. An outcast of a dragon was born. A dragon with no legs. An outcast of a dragon for and an outcast of a dragon rider. Ysilla’s hair was dark but streaked with white. She was a Targaryen, and her wrath was not different from the one that burned inside the members of the House of the Dragon.

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CHAPTER 8

The rumors surrounding Rhaenyra’s children only got worse when her third child had been born.

Ysilla was now a girl of fifteen. She was very different from the skinny little child that had left Runestone so long ago. People would describe her as elegant, intelligent, and beautiful. She had grown to be graceful, as much as her dragon was. And as Dārysyr, her fierce was known by now. Her dragon had grown large and powerful; his muscles were well-formed, and his wings were strong. Ysilla went flying on Dragonback once a week. She would have liked to do it more, but she had her studies and her duties.

Just a couple of years before, Ysilla had the chance to speak with the Alchemists of King’s Landing, and she had been left very fascinated.

“Vysenia was said to be familiar with dark magic,” she said one day, sitting beneath the Hearth Tree as she observed Aemond practicing combat movements with a stick.

“You want to be Vysenia born again?” He asked, fighting against air.

“Do you think I’d made a fool of myself?” She asked with a little smile as she looked at the boy.

“No,” he answered, turning to her, “I think you are as willed as her. But with the grace of Rhaenys.”

Graceful. Yes. Ysilla had grown up to be very grateful. She knew how to bow, to speak, and to dance. The court was well impressed by her. And from Runestone, her aunt Jeyne was hoping for a good arranging for Ysilla. Not only because she had become very well respected by the people in King’s Landing but also because Queen Alicent seemed to have high expectations from Ysilla. She called her her ward.

“She probably wishes for you to be wed to one of her sons,” that rumor had reached her aunt Jeyne as well. And she seemed pleased by it in her letters. A Royce on the throne.

Ysilla, on the contrary, had no thirst for power. The thought of ambitions and schemes only reminded her of her father and what he had done to be always a step closer to the Iron Throne. But she was not her father.

The lack of personal ambition, though, did not make her blind to politics and schemes. It was because she knew how harmful they could be that she was always vigilant and observant of what happened in court. Fully aware that knowledge and duty were what was required to keep alliances and peace. She had grown up side by side with the Queen, raised by the same people that raised the princes. She knew that the health of the King was faltered, as did the respect some people had for the future Queen of the Seven Kingdoms when her children started to grow up to become more similar to the Captain of the Guards than her own husband. Everybody knew, and yet the King did nothing. This had also happened ten years before when her father had killed her mother.

“Are you not coming to the pits?” Aegon asked that morning when they were breaking their fast.

“You heard that right,” she answered, smiling at him before taking a sip of her milk.

“You cannot ditch me like this,” he said, leaning towards her with playful eyes, “I’ve promised you today would have been fun.”

Aegon had grown up, but his search for fun and enjoyment had remained the same. “Helaena wished to dance today. You know how I love her and how I enjoy dancing.”

He cocked his head to a side, “More than riding Dārysyr?” Then his hands moved to touch a strain of her hair, “Did I say how I like your hair today?” Ysilla took his hand to push it away. Aegon had always had a fascination with her hair, and since he had started to grow and notice women, he had begun to voice his compliments on her hair and appearance more often than not.

“I love nothing more than Dārysyr,” she answered, looking at the boy. "And we already flew with him and Sunfyre last week.”

Not so long before, Aegon managed to bend Sunfyre, becoming his dragonrider. Sunfyre was known to be the most beautiful dragon alive, and he really was. He had golden scales and pink shades, and even his flames were golden.

“I wasn’t meant to go fly together,” he said, a mischief light in his eyes.

“What’s with the face?” She asked, making him laugh.

“What face?”

“The one that always brings you trouble,” she answered with a glare. He was planning something. She knew him too well to be mistaken. She didn’t have time to ask because the wooden door opened to let Aemond enter the chamber.

“Good morrow, Aemond,” she greeted him with a smile.

“Ysilla, brother,” he answered shortly. It was how Aemond was, very different from his older brother. He was composed and dutiful. Less impulsive than Aegon was. “Mother is looking for you, Ysilla.” He said, sitting down.

“That’s why you’re not coming. Because of Mother,” Aegon said, making Ysilla turn to him.

“I wasn’t supposed to,” she said, standing up. Her eyes went from one brother to the other. "I’ll see you both when you return from the pit,” then she looked at Aegon.

“Behave.” He blown her a kiss.

“Like always, my sweet.”

“Stop that,” Aemond said, focusing his attention on the plate in front of him. Ysilla ignored Aegon, making her way towards the door. She wondered why the Queen wanted to see her. Ysilla knew she would have been busy with Rhaenyra after the princess’s labor ended and the third of her children would be born. Rhaenyra had been screaming for hours, and Ysilla stopped to observe the corridor that led to her chambers on her way to the Queen. By the screams, she seemed to be suffering very much. That made her anxious. She knew that it was a woman’s duty to give children to her husband. She just hoped the gods had mercy for them and an easy way to bring life to the world.

“Princess,” Ser Cole was guarding the door, bowing his head as she walked closer.

“Good morrow, Ser,” she answered politely. “I hope your day has been good so far.”

The man smiled, “It is, Princess.” His smile would have made her blush just a few years before. But the more she grew up, the less embarrassing it became to share words with men, even handsome men such as Ser Criston.

When Ysilla entered the chamber, the Queen was standing next to the window, and a serving girl was fixing the back of her dress.

“My Queen,” she greeted, bowing. “Have you asked for me?”

“Good morrow, my dear,” Alicent Hightower smiled kindly at her, “Indeed. Helaena is a little... agitated today."

Helaena had stayed the same in those years. She was still the sweetest girl that Ysilla had ever met. Sweet and gentle. But her queer behavior sometimes agitated even herself. Ysilla had seen Helaena in those moments, and she knew that the princess didn't like to be alone when she was feeling like that.

"We'll find something else to do then," Ysilla answered. They could have taken a walk or talked about bugs. Helaena liked bugs. Ysilla would have found something to ease Helaena's mind.

The Queen smiled at her, putting a hand on her arm. "What a blessing you are." Ysilla returned the gesture, bowing her head in gratitude and respect.

At that moment, the door behind them opened to reveal Rhaenyra and Laenor. Ysilla widened her eyes to see her cousin.

"Rhaenyra," the Queen gasped, "You should be resting after your labors."

"I have no doubt that you would prefer that, Your Grace," Rhaenyra answered, trying to keep her trembling voice steady. The pain that she had experienced was well visible on her face, and it was not surprising.

Ysilla had heard Rhaenyra screaming only a few moments before. She knew what happened during labor, and the septa had explained that to her. How could her cousin possibly walk? Or even walking up the stairs?

"You must sit," the Queen said, turning to one of her serving girls, "Talya, fetch a cushion for the Princess.” The girl bowed and turned to attend Rhaenyra.

“There’s no need,” Rhaenyra said. By the Queen insisted.

Ysilla followed Alicent as they walked towards the couple. Rhaenyra had finally accepted sitting down with Laenor's help, but seeing her in pain and holding her newborn baby, Ysilla felt like moving so that she could help her cousin sit. As the girl touched her arm, the Princess turned to look at her. A small smile appeared on her lips, probably still trying to hide her pain. It was well-known how stubborn Rhaenyra was.

“Thank you,” she whispered.

“There’s no need,” Ysilla answered, then exchanging a look with the Queen.

Alicent was observing the baby like she had done with Lucerys just a few years before. Ysilla knew what she was thinking: even this child had nothing of Ser Laenor in him.

As Ysilla went back to stand next to the Queen, King Viserys entered the chamber with a huge smile on his face. “What happy news this morning,” he exclaimed.

The years had not been gentle to the King. His body was weaker and more fragile. His skin had gotten paler and his hair thinner. The condition of his left hand had gotten worse. He first lost just three fingers, but it kept getting worse until the Maester decided that it was better to cut off the entire arm. Even so, Ysilla’s uncle tried to maintain a positive attitude, always smiling at everyone.

“Indeed, Your Grace,” said Ser Leanor, taking the child in his arms to present him to the King. Ysilla observed Rhaenyra’s husband’s face as he looked at the baby. He smiled happily and proudly. Could he really be so blind? He had never seemed such a man to Ysilla. It was true, though, that he was not very present as a father.

He is more present than mine, anyway. She thought as she observed the unbothered son of Corlys Velaryon pass the child to the King. But even in his expression, Ysilla could not see surprise or disappointment. She could not understand why both men acted so blindly about the behavior of the future Queen? Why did her actions have no repercussions? Everybody knew, everybody whispered. And yet the King did nothing.

He must truly love her, if he is protecting her like that. Ysilla thought, observing the happiness on Viserys’ face.

“A fine Prince,” he said, his eyes looking at every one of them. Ysilla smiled, lowering her eyes. “Sturdy. You will make a fearsome knight.”

Surely, Ysilla thought. If the rumors were true and his father was Ser Harwin Strong, he surely could have become a terrific fighter as an adult. Breakbone was the strongest man in the Seven Kingdoms.

“Does the babe have a name yet?” The Queen asked with curiosity.

Rhaenyra took a breath, “We haven’t spoken-”

“Joffrey.” Ser Leanor interrupted his wife. “He’ll be called Joffrey.”

Ysilla looked between them, hoping that her face did not give away the kind of thought she had in mind. Had they spoken of it or not? Did Rhaenyra agree with such a name?

“An unusual name for a Velaryon.” The Queen was speaking the truth. Velaryon came from Valyria as much as the Targaryens. Their names came from Old Valyria to keep the traditions. But it wasn’t only their costume: in the Seven Kingdoms, all the Noble Houses had names and family names. Ysilla’s name was a Royce name. Her mother, Lady Rhea, had done it on purpose. Ysilla’s father could be a Targaryen, but she had Royce’s blood in her veins as well.

“I do believe he has his father’s nose,” Ysilla would have frowned at the King’s words, but she had to keep her composure, so she decided to look at Rhaenyra and smile at her. The Princess did the same, but there was no truth behind that gesture. They were both aware of what was happening.

The King chuckled, still focused on Joffrey, and soon after, Laenor did the same before clearing his throat.

“If you don’t mind, Your Grace, your daughter has exerted herself heroically and should rest,” Ser Laenor said, ready to help his wife get on her feet.

“Of course,” the King answered. The Queen was soon at his side, taking Joffrey in her hands. Ysilla moved aside when she saw the King walking closer to his daughter, but she didn’t walk very far, curious about what they would have talked about.

“Well done, my girl,” Viserys said with tenderness. Such a tone forced Ysilla to lower her eyes, fully aware that her father would never have such sweetness for her. If she’ll ever see him again. She knew that he was an Essos with his lady wife and their two twin daughters. She wondered how he was fathering them. If he was cold and cruel like he had been to her so long ago. Ten years had passed, and yet she remembered the way he had looked at her as he said that he felt nothing for his firstborn daughter.

“I do hope the labor was easy,” the King said as Ysilla walked towards the Queen, who was giving the baby back to Ser Leanor.

“Do keep trying, Ser Laenor. Sooner or later, you may get one that looks like you.” She had said it so politely, but her intentions were quite clear—she was voicing the thoughts of the entire court. The man looked startled, and when he noticed Ysilla standing there, she didn’t say anything. She only smiled, with no true intention behind it.

Rhaenyra then walked towards her husband before they both left the chamber. Ysilla bowed gracefully as they disappeared behind the heavy wooden door.

“What a happy day,” the King exclaimed full of happiness.

The Queen lowered her eyes from next to him. “Indeed, my love,” she answered.

The whole situation was against everything that politics and duty required. Ysilla could understand why her uncle was protecting his daughter, but her King was making a fool of himself. And whispers could only get louder and louder, not only against Rhaenyra but against the King as well. He was not only Rhaenyra’s father; he was the Protector of the Realm, of the peace of the Realm. How would the realm answer once the King had left that world? What was ahead of them? That uncertainty was heavy in her heart. Politics could be ruthless, and it could reclaim anyone’s life.

“You wanted to dance, I’m sorry,” Helaena was saying as they walked in the corridors of the Red Keep.

“Nonsense, Helaena,” she answered honestly. The events of that morning had left little room for light emotions in her heart. “I don’t feel like dancing today.”

“Running from the back is important,” her cousin said. Ysilla turned to observe her. It didn’t matter how many years they had known each other; Helaena’s strange sentences left Ysilla confused all the time. She knew better than to ask. Helaena didn’t know how to explain the meaning of her words, and the more people asked her to, the more she got agitated. That was one of those days. One where Ysilla stood quiet, listening to all the strange things her cousin felt to say. She loved Helaena, but on those days, the hours went on slowly.

I wish I was at the Dragonpit, she thought. Ysilla wished nothing more than to be with Dārysyr, especially during days that felt so heavy in her heart.

They were back in Helaena’s chamber when the Queen arrived. Ysilla was set next to her cousin, who was very interested in counting the rings of a centipede. They have been there long. And Ysilla decided to take one of the many books that she had in her chamber to keep herself occupied until Helaena was satisfied with her counting. When the Queen entered, Ysilla was ready to stand up and bow, but the woman gestured for her to sit still and keep with her reading.

“This one has sixty rings and two pairs of legs on each, ” Helaena whispered, looking closer at the centipede, “It makes two-hundred-twenty-four.”

“Yes, it is,” the Queen said in a soft tone, even if her expression could not hide her worry. It was difficult to communicate with Helaena when she acted like that. They had to be patient.

“It has eyes,” the girl spoke, looking closely at the creature in her hand.

“Does he?” Ysilla asked, keeping reading her book.

Helaena muttered in agreement, “Though, I don’t believe it can see.” Ysilla looked at her with a confused frown.

“And why is that so, do you think?” Asked the Queen.

“It is beyond our understanding.”

Beyond mine, for sure, Ysilla thought at her cousin’s words. Those were too much of abstract concepts for her mind. She liked history better.

“I suppose you’re right,” the Queen answered. Some things just are.” As she finished speaking, though, the door opened to reveal Aemond. Ysilla put aside her book. Her eyes widened, seeing how dirty his face and clothes were.

“Aemond,” the woman gasped, walking to her son, “What have you done?”

“He did it again.” Ysilla stood up after Helaena’s words. He must have entered the Dragonpit. That place was dangerous for someone without a dragon, and Aemond was the only one of them without one. Dragons bend only to one person, and when they did, they will only listen to their rider. They could become very dangerous for anyone else. But Aemond had always been very fascinated by dragons. The pain in his eyes was always visible when they went to the Dragonpit.

Ysilla could understand him. She had been fascinated, too, before Dārysyr’s egg hatched. Being a Targaryen without a dragon hurt a lot.

“After how many times you’ve been warned,” the Queen reproved him, “Must I have you confined to your chambers?”

“They made me do it!” Aemond argued angrily. Who made him do it? Ysilla moved forward, feeling for her cousin. He truly seemed so upset. What had happened? But the Queen didn’t seem to share Ysilla’s same thoughts.

“As if you needed encouragement,” the woman said, worryingly observing her son to be sure he was not harmed. "Your obsession with those beasts goes beyond understanding.” When she spoke like that, the Queen truly reminded Ysilla of her mother's skepticism about dragons.

“They gave me a pig!” Aemond exclaimed. Ysilla’s eyes widened.

“A what?” The Queen asked in confusion.

“They said they found a dragon for me. But it was a pig!” Aemond answered, trembling with anger.

I’ve promised you today would have been fun. Aegon had said to her that morning. He was behind it. Ysilla could not believe it. He knew how Aemond suffered since he was the only one without a dragon. Even Rhaenyra’s sons had one each, but not Aemond, a son of a King. How could he be so stupid to do that to his own brother?

“You will have a dragon one day,” Alicent said trying to calm her son, “I know it.”

Aemond deserved a dragon. It was saddening to know that his egg hadn’t hatched. He had asked Ysilla many times how she did it as they grew up, but she truly wasn't sure how or why. Dārysyr was just born one day. It had been a very normal day. But Aemond’s didn’t, and it was not fair. Why did the Gods play such games?

Aemond lowered his gaze, “They all laughed.”

And why did the Gods make Aegon to be such an idiot?

_____________________________________________________________

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[helvegen-s]

Rage, rage | two

index

Pairing: Azriel x Hybern!Princess!OC

Summary: Nimue was a gift for the King of Hybern. His shining jewel, the perfect heir. However, she knows who the villain of the story is. When she saves her father's enemies from a tragic end, she realizes that now it's the Cauldron who has a gift for her: a mate.

Warnings: violence, injuries, description of injuries, PTSD, bad language, again The King of Hybern...

A/N: so here it is, the second part. I really hope that you're all liking it. It's starting to settle, our protagonists are meeting and it's getting more interesting!! As always, any kind of support would be greatly appreciated! Thank you all for your time❤️

Nimue stands in the middle of her enormous room: a chamber so deep within her father's castle, it is carved directly into the mountain rock. She doesn't see natural light, hear the ocean waves, or watch birds fly.

Not that she has ever seen them. She simply knows they exist, how they sound, how they smell, because the Cauldron has told her so.

She observes her own reflection in the huge mirror on the wall. The girl she sees is truly beautiful. She possesses an ethereal beauty that seems to emanate from within her, as if she were imbued with the same magic that created her. Her long, silky hair falls in wavy cascades of silver, with flashes of light that seem to dance with every movement. Her eyes are of a hypnotic color, like the whitest of pearls, shining with ancient wisdom and fierce determination. Her skin is pale as the moon, yet it gleams with a radiant glow that seems to illuminate even the darkest night. Her figure is slender and elegant.

The reflection the mirror returns is that of an ancient, wise, powerful being.

However, she only feels like a child, surrounded by things she knows from others' words.

When her father isn't listening, Nimue asks the Palace cooks to recount to her what the world beyond the walls is like. In particular, it's the words of old Ferlan that she enjoys hearing the most: she describes the landscape beyond the cliffs on which the castle stands, the dense enchanted forests, the fertile plains where people live in beautiful villages, the beaches of black sand and cold water, the cliffs where giants were said to have once dwelled...

It's those stories that comfort Nimue's lonely heart, that shed light on her shadow-filled world.

Before she knows it, she's wandered so far in her daydreams that she doesn't even know what time it is.

That's when she feels it in the air, even before hearing it. That sweet scent that accompanies The Voice...

"You have everything in your power to be free, child," it whispers in her ear. The scent, the presence, like a smoke-shaped entity, swirls around her, caressing her cheeks and tucking strands of hair behind her ears. "No one would dare stand in your way. Once you decide, the world will bow to your will. Your father will submit to your will..."

Nimue violently shakes her head. The Voice steps back, but when she becomes still again, it clings to her skin once more.

"But father... what has he done to me?"

The Voice laughs, and Nimue feels like she's going to be sick.

"What has father done to you? You're foolish, child. Foolish. Foolish. Innocent. Foolish," it spits out word after word, and Nimue feels them like daggers.

"Father brought me into the world, father gave me life. I owe everything to father, and he asks me to fight in his name. To protect my people from those who wish us harm."

Nimue clings to her own words like a mantra.

"Father loves me..." she whispers into the air, for The Voice is no longer there with her. She wonders if it was ever really there at all, or if it was just feverish imaginings to soothe her own loneliness.

Father loves her. But she knows he's not a good person. Nimue knows what lies beyond, and she longs to see the sunlight, to see the sea, to feel the rain on her skin...

Nimue knows her father isn't a good person. But neither is she.

She knows she has to kill her father. But where will she find the courage? She only knows these four walls that surround her. What will she do when she kills him? Will the Cauldron be angry with her? What kind of child kills their own father?

She spins, and spins, and spins with the same questions for years. Since the moment she gained enough awareness in her fae body to realize that her "father" wasn't the hero of the story, and she was just another puppet in his conquest game.

The only thing she was sure of was that she wouldn't be the good one either. That she wouldn't let her father win that game.

With light steps, she leaves her room and decides to wander around the castle for a bit. Curiosity is what moves her.

In these past weeks, her father's castle has been filled with various guests of all kinds, a very diverse selection. The legions of the attor, her father's elite soldiers, the highest-ranking officials, there were even two males from Prythian and a few simple humans.

Humans. Nimue had been smelling them for weeks in every corner of the castle. That stale stench that seeped into her pores.

She wondered what reasons the King would have to bring humans into the cleanliness of his castle, but as always, even if she asked, the answer would be the same: politics is not Nimue's concern. Nimue only fights, fights, fights.

However, today the hallways were surprisingly empty. Empty of humans, attor, and even the guards.

Where was everyone?

And it was right at that moment, in that desolate and gloomy hallway, that Nimue noticed the silence.

There were guards all over the castle. Magical guards isolating something, someone. There was something blocking her senses, and no matter how much she extended her magical perception, she couldn't feel the Cauldron.

The Cauldron.

Her heart skipped a beat when she realized she was alone without the presence of the Cauldron. If until then she had felt lonely, she realized it was nothing compared to the pressure she felt in her chest.

What was happening?

She began to run, like a lost child in an enchanted forest.

While she had never seen the Cauldron after she emerged, she had always lived with its constant presence in the castle. She knew it was there, it comforted her, it kept her company. Sometimes she even believed that The Voice she heard was the Cauldron itself, seeking to keep her company.

She kept running, and running, and running, not knowing where to. As she turned a corner, she felt the need to grip the white stone wall so tightly that she felt a nail break.

What was that pain in her chest? By the Mother, she had never experienced an arrow to the heart, but she imagined that's how it must feel. What was happening to her?

As soon as she caught her breath, she continued running somewhere, with that throbbing pain between her ribs.

And she heard it:

My creature, my sweet creature.

She stopped abruptly, all senses alert and panting like a racehorse.

Come, princess. I have gifts for you. Follow my voice, sweet girl.

Nimue almost sobbed. That voice, sweet, like a mother's... The Cauldron was calling her.

She finally saw it clearly: she knew which doors to open, which stairs to climb, which corners to turn. She saw it so clearly that for a moment she was blinded by all that power that the Cauldron emanated.

"I'm coming!" she cried, desperate.

She knew which door it was behind, and when she opened it, the wave of power that greeted her completely stunned her.

And then she began to process her surroundings: in the throne room, there were all the guards, all the creatures that formed her father's court. All surrounding a truly grotesque scene.

Nimue put on the intimidating mask she had practiced so much, while her gaze danced from figure to figure: an Ilyrian (an Ilyrian male, she hadn't seen any!) lying on the floor, its black and powerful wings now nothing more than torn limbs and patches of skin. A little further away, another Ilyrian male (by the Mother, two in one day!), this one with an arrow lodged in his chest and kneeling in a pool of his own blood, next to him a beautiful blonde female with tears streaming down her face.

She kept looking, there was everything in that room. When everyone recognized her presence and turned to look at her, she felt as if time stood still as she advanced, making her way among the guards' armors. With her head held high and her curious gaze, she tried to calm her own nerves and continued observing.

There were humans there, those women her father had once called queens. Queens of what? Also that hateful Jurian, with whom she had coincided a couple of times, enough to decide he was nothing but trash. And two females...

Her gaze returned to the group beyond, where behind the Ilyrian she found a pair of fae, and unwittingly she recognized him, his darkness.

Rhysand.

She frowned and continued walking towards her father, circling the whole scene while feeling all eyes on her, following her graceful movements.

Come, child. And look at the gift, look at it...

And she set her eyes on the Cauldron.

She forgot about that phantom arrow lodged in her chest, and stopped next to her father, her gaze fixed on the Cauldron.

She felt her father's accusatory gaze on her, but putting that aside, he spoke:

"You arrive at the perfect moment, my dear daughter," and after those words, she felt as if everyone in the room breathed again after her untimely interruption.

What the hell was going on there? What was the High Lord Rhysand doing in her castle? Who were those accompanying him?

"You arrive at the perfect moment to witness the miracle of the Cauldron. To witness the demonstration these humans will perform for it..."

Her father continued speaking, but Nimue completely ignored him. She just stood there, next to the King of Hybern, and analyzed the whole situation.

The two fae males who had been hanging around her house for weeks, the blonde and the redhead, bound by her father's magic. Weren't they allies? Why was her father imprisoning them?

A little further away, the two guards holding one of the two human girls began pushing her towards the Cauldron.

She heard screams, pleas, denials from all sides. The King spoke, the human Queens, the fae female next to Rhysand, some of them shouting at each other.

But Nimue only had eyes for the poor human they were pushing towards the Cauldron.

What were they going to…?

And as if she were a feather, they lifted her above the edge of the Cauldron and submerged her in a single motion, plunging her until she lost sight of her.

Nimue felt pure terror. Memories that weren't hers flooded her.

Skin dissolving, bones breaking, desperate screams.

She screamed into the air, bringing her hand to her mouth to stifle the sob that escaped her chest. Her father stopped her by pulling on the leash, even before she had thought of throwing herself towards the poor girl.

Rage, rage, rage, rage, rage.

Everything that happened afterward was like a blink.

The Cauldron spat the girl onto the flagstones as if she were a fish out of water.

Look, child. I have given you a sister. I have created a sister for you.

Nimue breathed so fast she thought she was going to faint.

The people present were saying things, shouting, crying, laughing.

The other human fought tooth and nail against the guards, her screams piercing Nimue's eardrums, who only let herself be infected by the rage of that poor human.

Her rage. Rage. Rage.

The rage that boiled in every nerve of her being. It bubbled at the tips of her fingers, beneath her skin, in her eyes, everywhere.

If she opened her mouth, she felt like her own rage would burst forth in torrents, like a river after the snows.

Her rage was going to burst out, all over her father.

The second human kept fighting. Nimue never imagined the human spirit could be so untamed.

And the hand of that woman pointing at her father made something change in the air.

Nimue felt her leash loosen, felt her father getting a little nervous.

And she saw the moment.

She saw the weakness in the air, the King's doubt.

And she embraced it.

The second human emerged from the Cauldron, transformed into something.

And Nimue exploded.

A beam of white light burst from her chest, throwing her father backward. The King's head hit one of the columns, and everyone present in the room recoiled at such a wave of power.

What rage. What immense rage. It consumed her inside, burned her. So much, so much rage.

She raised an arm and pointed at her father, feeling how, again, energy rose from her feet to the tips of her fingers. She struck the King again with all that rage.

"You're a monster!" she shouted. She shouted it again and again, while feeling that with every pulse of power she directed towards him, she was gradually breaking down his shields.

However, the King of Hybern laughed, kneeling on the flagstones and trying to regain his composure. A venomous, disgusting laugh that made bile rise in Nimue's mouth.

In a last attempt to take control of the situation, Nimue raised a shield in the center of the room, around the Cauldron. In two agile leaps, she positioned herself next to Rhysand.

"Show me a place," she demanded. Rhysand clung to the brunette female beside him, tears streaming down his face. His gaze jumped from Nimue to the Ilyrian males, from the Ilyrian males to the new fae females, and back to Nimue. "Tell me a place and I'll get you out of here! Quickly, show me!" the princess demanded again.

The guards pounded Nimue's white shield again and again, and behind her, she felt the King of Hybern standing up.

Her gaze met Rhysand's again, and the male, trembling, took Nimue's hand.

"To Velaris," he managed to whisper.

Nimue didn't know how, but as soon as she heard the name, she knew exactly where it was, what it was. She chose whom to take: the two Ilyrian males, the beautiful blonde fae female, the two girls who had been submerged in the Cauldron, the female clinging to Rhysand, and finally Rhysand himself, whose hand Nimue held when she let her magic transport her and everyone else away from there. Away from Hybern. Away from her home.

To Velaris.

Taglist:

@lilah-asteria @agentsofsheilds @leptitlu @just-here-reading

If you want to be added to the taglist, just let me know! Thank you for your support 🥰

[multific]

Aemond With a Fierce Wife - Headcanons

Aemond Targaryen x Reader

You were no noble

But you sure behaved like one

You were all so grand and beautiful

And once you married Aemond, this fierceness in you only grew

One would describe you as a bitch with a nasty attitude

You didn't hold your tongue for anyone

No matter who they were

Man

Woman

King

Queen

Prince

or Princess

You took no exception when it came to your honest opinions

You were very honest and raw

It was a part of you which made Aemond fall in love

Even when you just met him, a lady-in-waiting for a Princess he was supposed to court

You behaved like a Queen

The way you held yourself

The way you walked and talked

And that shoulder of yours which was always out, glistening in the sun as you moved, drove him wild

Your tongue was sharp

Aemond liked that

So, instead of the sweet princess, he married you and made you a Princess

Funny enough you were almost the complete opposite with him

Your smirk always turned into a full smile

Your sharp tongue could say such sweet things to him

Truth be told he feared you only wanted his name

But that was the farthest from the truth

At first, you wanted him because you hated the Princess

You wanted to show her that you are just as capable

To make up for every comment she made about you

How she often belittled you without any reason

For how she spoke of you behind your back

Calling you names

Oh yes, you wanted revenge 

But then you fell in love

Aemond was so different from all the other men

He showed kindness

He showed care

He was a real strong man

He was interesting

Smart

You wanted him

Not his eye, not his title, not his name or dragon

But him, Aemond

And true love you found in him

You loved gowns, the bigger the better

Sparkly, colourful 

Something perhaps not even the Queen herself would wear

But let's be honest Alicent adores you

She was the mother you never had

And something about your sharp nature intrigued her

Watching you in your grand dresses, all different colours, she loved to dress you

Given half of your dresses came from her, you felt like she dressed you more than her own daughter

You always stood your ground

Never even blinked

Not even in the presence of Rhaenyra

Alicent liked that no matter what happened, you stood up for her family

She listened to you defend her family harshly

One time you even laughed into the face of the King himself

The King wanted your head for such treason 

But the point you made and the way you defended yourself

No one was match when it came to you defending someone you loved

Not even the King

How could you not defend them?

You finally had a family

Aegon often referred to you as the snake

Spitting venom

But you just laughed

“Brother, hold your wife on a tighter grip.” Aegon said

“Looks like the Prince is scared of a woman who has her own opinion.”

“I’m not afraid.” he said taking a sip of wine.

“Then why are you shaking?” the rise of your brow, the silence in the room, you loved it.

Aemond loved it

Aegon changed a lot with you in the family

As if your words cut deeper than his own mothers ever could

One evening, you found him passed out on the floor

“Just what are you doing?”

“Sleeping.” he replied, not even opening his eyes.

“Right, a true King you will be, sleeping in your own piss and vomit. Aegon The Great Sleeper they will call you.”

The family was strong when you arrived but they only grew stronger

Aemond didn't care for his eye any longer

Barely even wore the eyepatch

Showing off the sapphire you admired

You changed the family but you never changed yourself

You were strong as a mountain

"No matter how the wind howls, the mountain cannot bow to it."

You would often say

But once you were in your chambers with your husband

Once the gowns and jewellery were off

Once it was only you and him

You were a sweet woman

No venom, no attitude

Just you and him

Just a woman and her husband

Aemond swore he saw so many sides of you he often wondered which one was the real one

"All of me is real, My Prince. A woman is like the elements, we could be dangerous as fire, but also soothing and calm as the water."

"And you, My Love, combine all of that with the fierceness of a dragon."

"Or snake as your brother likes to refer to me as."

"He is not smart."

"Because he used to be drunk most of the time, now that he put his cup down, finally he can see behind it and not only the bottom of it."

"You are clever my love. I wonder you never had any choice words as such towards me, why would that be?"

"Oh, who am I to criticize perfection, My Love?"

You loved his smile

It was so easy for you to make him smile

No doubt, you were his firey, fierce but loving wife

A/N: Who caught the Mulan quote? It’s one of my absolute favourites.

Taglist: imreadinggoaway @fleursirvart @v-2bucky ehsebastiancrunch-time-sports  @pxstelrainbow ablogbypeteparker liamssmilersmexylemony @greenarrowhead feelingsareharddd @thisismysecrethappyplace @sincerelyfan @theoneanna @aestheticsandmarvel @rororo06 @castellandiangelo @avengers-r-us @destynelseclipsa   @spilledinkindumpster celebsimagine @capsiclesdoll snoopy3000 @firstangeldragonranch @puknow @crazzyter  @alwayshave-faith @soleil-dor @alex12948 scream-kiwi79  @lxdyred  @imagines-by-a-typical-fangirl @liveforkarljacobs @anonymoussherlockandmarvelgeek @paola-carter @stunkbiggu @violet-19999 @praline357

~Masterlist~

ˇAO3ˇ

              DO NOT REPOST OR TRANSLATE ANY OF MY WORKS

[softsan]

Eyes On Fire. (Pt. 1)

PAIRING: Aemond Targaryen & Fem!Reader

CHAPTERS: | 01 | 02 | 03 | 04 |

WORD COUNT: 3146

GENRE: Alternatively Universes/Canon Divergence, Alternative Ending, The Greens Win, Loosely based on the books/show, Made up House,

DESCRIPTION: After the Greens win the Dance of The Dragons, you a left alone navigating the dangers and woes of Kings Landing. You were one of the last survivors of House Vermillion with the expectation to restore your House to its former glory. Pressured to find yourself a husband, you unintentionally catch the eye of the dangerously, one-eye kingslayer—how will you ever survive amidst those who kill, those who take, and those who wish to eat you alive? Can also be read on AO3 here.

WARNINGS: Bodily Injury, Death, Graphic violence, Suspicion, Attempted murder, Murder, Poisoning, Possessive themes, Aemond in general

OPTIONAL PLAYLIST: Royalty by Egzod & Maestro Chives, Middle of the Night by Joel Sunny (cover), Down (feat. Trella) by Simon

You’d do your duty as always. No matter the circumstance, no matter how the tides changed. You were the dutiful daughter of House Vermillion, the red hibiscus—petals bright and blushing, with the palest of white throats. Venom, Bane, and Frenzy were your House words. Not the most eloquent of sentences but it summed up the ferocity of your House. Small in stature and territory, but always an admirable opponent.

You bowed graciously, your beautifully hand-threaded skirt brushing the tiles of the Red Keep. You proudly displayed your house colors, the orangey-red, and a white-like silver complementing your most distinguished trait—your eyes. You and all Vermillion children possessed a pair of crimson eyes. Eyes that unnerved everyone outside of your House for how otherworldly they appeared to be.

You kept your breath steady, your sight grounded to the Lord’s feet as he inspected the ladies one by one. You had been brought to Kings Landing as a hostage during the war. Locked in a degree of comfort on the uppermost floors of the dungeons. Your father, uncles, and cousins had answered the call of the Blacks to fight the Great war they now quipped as the Dance of Dragons. They had fought fiercely to their bitter ends, leaving no male heir to House Vermillion’s Island Throne.

The Greens came out of the war victorious and overnight you unexpectedly found yourself, head of your House, a position you had never foreseen for yourself. You were to represent House Vermillion during the ceremony where all the great Houses were to re-pledge their loyalties to the crown—or face the abolishment of your House altogether.

The woman beside you nervously played with the hem of her sleeve, the bottom fraying at the edges. You like most of the other ladies lined up were not keen to be chosen. After all, but days ago you were all daughters of traitors, and despite the fact that King Aegon had pardoned your Houses, the stink of your House’s past treacheries remained.

You doubted anyone lined up here would be treated kindly. Especially if you were assigned the task of serving under the Targaryen family.

“You in the gown in redden silk,” The Lord called.

You offered a smile of puffery, lifting your gaze to meet his stony face.

“You will be serving under Princess Jaehaera,”

You curtsied in response, “It will be my honor to faithfully serve under House Targaryen.”

Princess Jaehaera was a girl of one and ten, described as sweet and simple. The maids had advised you she’d be painless to handle, quiet with few words to offer. But it wasn’t Jaehaera that gave you worry it was her Queen mother Helena and by extension to the Dowager Queen Alicent. Princess Jaehaera wouldn’t know your family’s standing, nor would she know their past treacheries but her mother and grandmother would.

“Let us break fast,” You swept the curtains of Jaehaera’s chambers open, a beautiful morning light flooding the room.

Jaehaera gave a soft grumble, stirring slowly awake.

“Come on now,” You encourage, searching for the hairbrush you remembered you’d placed by her vanity the night prior, “Your Queen mother expects you to be dressed and fed before your lessons.”

The Dowager Queen Alicent had specifically brought in Artisans that specialized in embroidery from Dorne. She wanted her only granddaughter to fashion a handkerchief to gift to her unknown betrothed, which was to be revealed during the Targaryen’s first hosted ball since the war had ended.

Princess Jaehaera slid her back off her mattress, her silver hair knotted at its ends. You knelt down, the ivory brush in one hand whilst you used the other to tuck away the silver strands that obscured her face.

“I’m terrible with the needle,” Jaehaera quietly confessed to you.

You hummed, aware of so. You could read from Jaehaera’s body language that she found her embroidery lessons to be a painstaking bore.

“It’s not a bad skill to possess,” You brushed the last off her knots, reaching for some red ribbon to decorate her hair.

Jaehaera’s face remained glum.

“How about after your lessons I’ll take you to visit the gardens,” You began to braid, weaving the red ribbon throughout, “We can search for some of those jewel-colored Beatles,” You whispered, knowing exactly how to entice the young girl.

“Truly?” Jaehaera’s eyes lit up.

“Yes, but first you must wash” You stood straight, “Servants!” You instructed, “Fetch a pail of the Princess.“

A flurry of servants heeded your request. You stopped one whilst heading towards the door “Dress her something green,” You kept your voice low, motioning towards the vibrant green gown you’d acquired along with the oval-cut emerald necklace that was draped over one the chests beside her vanity.

You had hoped your efforts would be appreciated by the Hightowers. It was your duty to do all you could to keep House Vermillion alive, even if it meant denouncing your father and uncle for their support of The Blacks. House Vermillion was in a fragile state, your wealth had dramatically declined, your remaining lands were at risk of being swallowed up by the crown and your people were restless with you as their head of house.

The servant nodded, “I’ll have someone escort her to the dining hall.”

“Make sure you don’t keep her majesty waiting.” You made your exit.

Your Aunt who had stepped in as regent during your absence and had advised you by raven to marry quickly. Your House needed alliances, it needed new wealth, and most importantly it needed heirs… But finding a husband that suited you was easier said than done.

“Lady Y/N is it?” A voice startled you.

You paused your velvet slippers, turning aback. Ser Cristion Cole approached, his armor glimmering in the light that filtered through the corridors. He was undeniably handsome, his white cloak immaculate without a stain of dirt.

You had heard whispers Ser Cole had once fancied the Princess Rhaenyra and had asked her to forget her crown, run away and marry him instead. Her refusal sent him on a downward spiral of retaliation and revenge. You examined his face, finding the rumors hard to believe. He had been re-instated as Dowager Queen’s Alicent’s sworn shield, having been removed from the hand of the king.

“Indeed, I am,” You’d tread carefully, politely lifting your skirts as you bowed. If what they had said was indeed true, he was not a man you wanted to familiarize yourself with, “Do excuse my rudeness Ser Cole the preparations in the dining hall have yet to be attended to, and do not wish to keep her majesty waiting.”

You passed him with haste, noting a glimpse of a shadowy figure lurking in the depths of your peripheral vision. Was it the hair of sliver you saw? Eye if violet?

You shook your head, you must have been growing paranoid.

You came forth with a plate with Princess Jaehaera’s favorite honey cakes. You held back the long sleeve of your sage green dress, placing the plate down on the cloth that covered the table.

You had assembled cakes, the likes of Honey, Blackberry, Oat, and Cream. You had chosen the cakes according to the Targaryen’s preferences. Jaehaera adored the taste of honey, Jaehaerys had a liking for Blackberries, their mother Helena preferred the lesser sweet option of Oat, while Maelor was still a toddler and would happily enjoy the taste of cream. You, however, hadn’t counted for the presence of another, certainly not the king’s brother—Prince Aemond ‘One-Eye’ Targaryen.

You kept your expression neutral. Prior you had only seen the formidable Prince from afar. He had a head of long silver locks that draped downs his shoulders, his face was unearthly, striking, and sharp, it was as if the gods had carved him out of stone itself. His sinister violet pupil was trained on your every move. Your cheeks unintentionally flushed; you suddenly felt naked under his heated gaze.

The subtle bodily reaction his look had given you brought him satisfaction. Amused, he awaited until you passed his spot at the table. He then, caught the long sleeve off your silken gown, his thumb brushing the red and black hibiscus threaded into your dress. The flower was embroidered in his house colors, not yours.

“You bring cakes for everyone but none for myself?” There was a hint of something in his voice you couldn’t quite decipher.

You offered your dearest apologizes, “Had I known your grace to be attending, I would have surely supplied some for you,”

Aemond tilted his head, “Some of what?” He challenged, pointing to the likes of the blackberry and honey cakes.

You bit the inside of your cheek. You hadn’t been around Prince Aemond enough to observe his preferences. How could you possibly surmise which cake he craved, what excited his taste?

“Which cake would you bring to me?” He pressed, ignoring when his sister Helena tried to provide you with a change of conversation.

“A Winter Cake,” You finally answered, it wasn’t a type of cake baked in Westeros. It was local to the Norvos, one of the Free Cities Eastward. You thought it safe to pick since it was unlikely Prince Aemond could deny disliking a cake he had never tasted.

You waited for his dismissal, unprepared for the grin that arose on his features.

“Then I demand a Winter Cake from you the next time we meet.”

Your hands were stained with charcoal, your back leaned against a tree. You had been subconsciously tracing the outline of Prince Aermond’s face on your piece of parchment. His face was truly unlike anything other you’d seen before. His angular jaw, his pink lips, and even the pronounced scar that crossed beneath his eyepatch had a beauty of its own. They had said Targaryens were closer to gods than men and judging by their looks than perhaps that was to be true.

Aemond was bold, wilful, and hot-tempered. He was a fierce swordsman and known to be unforgiving. It was best you stayed away from him. After all, you needed to focus. You needed to paint yourself as a dutiful lady, favored by the crown enough to entice a husband that would marry you and save your House. Prince Aemond with his unnerving stare…Your finger absently grazing the eye you drew— you feared, he would bring you nothing but trouble.  

The sun had begun to make its descent down to the Earth, a cold chill running through the air. Your body shivered, lifting your cloak closer to your breast, “The hour is late we should retire to our chambers Princess,” You called to Jaehaera, who had been carrying an unfastened jar of insects.

“A little longer,” She pled, her eyes spotting a spotted moth flying past.

"Only a little,” You Affirmed, “Otherwise, you are bound to catch a cold.”

Clinking could be heard in the background, the sound of metal hitting against metal. You raised your head higher spying Prince Jaehaerys sparring with a knight. You found it odd, they were practicing in the gardens rather than in the courtyards. You narrowed your eyes, Prince Jaehaerys usually trained with the same handful of knights. This knight, however, was different. You studied his armor, the small indented crest welded into the iron.

“House Lansdale,” You quietly bespoke to yourself, “ Harold, Nephew of Ser Loreth Lansdale,”

Your face hardened, the chill you felt now was a lot stronger. Ser Loreth Lansdale had been apart of Rhaenyra’s Queensguard, faithful until his death in her defense. House Lansdale had sworn their allegiance to The Blacks and refused to honor the new order under king Aegon. Your brow furrowed, this would not end well.

Aemond Targaryen had felt the wear of court life. The fatigue of listening to Lord after Lord whine, protest, and complain about their little matters and self-serving affairs. He much prefer the time of war, at least then he could ride daily on dragon back and burn down cities as he pleased.

His now existence was monotone, void of color. He yearned for something or someone that lit his fire, that could spike his interest. He’d had thought he’d have to wait until the ball in a month’s time so he could have some fun. Yet, this time to his benefit he was mistaken.

Aemond leant over the low-hanging balcony that stared over the gardens, his elbow resting upon the stone fixture while his hand lay in his palm. The cool wind blew his sliver locks ahead while his predatory gaze fixated on you.

You appeared to be the perfect lady, kind, and well-mannered. You knew how to entertain his niece Jaehaera and charm his Queen Sister Helena. You went out of your way to garner favor from his House by spoiling Jaehaera with gifts, honoring his mother’s Hightower colors, and even embroidering Targaryen-colored hibiscus’ on the sleeves of your dresses. He admired your commitment, but what he admired, even more, was how you studied and used those around you to further your cause.

It was unquestionable that you were trying to rebuild your house. Put in a good word when you could for your Aunt, appeal to the other Lord’s sensibilities to send food and livestock to the small island House Vermillion called home. You were tactful, underneath your sweet façade.  

He watched you place down the roll of parchment, carelessly wiping your charcoal-stained hands on your skirts. You ushered Princess Jaehaera to run off to greet Lady Barom who would most likely be by the pond, dismissing the Princess’ protest, letting her know that you’d be with her in a moment.

It wasn’t until Princess Jaehaera was out of site, did you turn your focus onto his nephew who was sparring with a knight. You lurked behind a tree, using it as cover as you observed the two of them.

Aemond was beyond engrossed with the scene at hand, silently scaling down the balcony until his feet met a fresh patch of grass. He felt his sheathed Valyrian steel sword against his hip, his hand naturally finding its place upon its handle.

Aemond strayed closer, as did you. It wasn’t until he was only a few paces away did he notice he didn’t recognize the knight sparring with his nephew. In fact, his nephew shouldn’t have been sparring in the gardens altogether. Aemond’s hold on his handle tightened.

You surveyed the knight and Prince Jaehaerys just as closely. Prince Jaehaerys had been innocently smiling as he twirled, leaving an opening where his back faced the knight. The knight immediately took advantage resting the sword against Prince Jaehaerys neck. Prince Jaehaerys dropped his sword in defeat, expecting the knight to lower his too but he didn’t. Ser Harold Lansdale continued to press the blade against the young boy’s neck, scoring blood.

“Ser Harold Lansdale!” You exclaimed emerging from behind a tree, this distraction was enough to get Ser Harold Lansdale to release the pressure he was placing upon the Prince’s throat.

You used your palm to knock away the sword, quickly weaseling Prince Jaehaerys out of the way.

“You shouldn’t be so rough on such a young boy,” Pretending you were ignorant of Ser Harold Lansdale’s true intentions.

You briefly bent to peer closer at the slice the knight had inflicted on the Prince. Luckily it appeared to only have cut the surface of the skin.

“Come now Prince Jaehaerys, head inside and I’ll call for maester to clean your wound up.” Prince Jaehaerys blinked back and forth before wordlessly nodding. He followed the trees, running up the steps and out of sight.

Ser Harold Lansdale’s nostrils flared, his cheeks purple, “You protect a Hightower Prince,” He spat with venom, “Your father was loyal to the Blacks, and you repay him so.”

“He is Targaryen Prince,” You corrected, “And Ser Harold Lansdale you cannot go around slaying children.”

“They are children of my enemies,” He raised his voice, “Your enemies too.”

“Children don’t fight their father’s wars,” You dropped your usual niceties, “The war is over Ser Harold Lansdale, I advise you to restrain your anger and adapt to your circumstances.”

Your last comment seemed to set Ser Harold Lansdale off, his arms arching as he heaved his sword back into the air.

Aemond unsheathed his sword at lightning speed and was about to come barreling forward when he saw you skid back with ease, the knight’s sword landing nowhere near you. You kicked your feet off the ground, dodging his next blow. You then used your palm to hit the inside of his elbow forcing him to drop his sword. Before he had gotten the chance to bend down and retrieve it, you kicked his ankles so he lost his footing altogether. Ser Harold Lansdale tumbled, a blade you had hidden in the depth of your sleeve sliding into your grasp. You rested it against the base of this throat just as he had done so to Prince Jaehaerys, cutting the first layer of skin.

“You seem to forget yourself,” Your voice bone-chillingly cold, “I am of House Vermillion. We are not known to be easy prey.”

Aemond watched in awe, a smirk widening on his lips. He was right during his first assessment of you… you were a lot of fun.

“Kill me,” Ser Harold Lansdale demanded.

You tsked, shaking your head. The humiliation of being brought down by women may have been too much for Harold Lansdale to handle.

“And be tied to your death? That wouldn’t be too smart for my image now would it.” You pressed harder onto the blade, “I won’t kill you now,”

Aemond pouted slightly disappointed, it would have been appealing to see you kill him.

“Venom, Bane, and Frenzy” You directed into his ear, your voice awfully menacing, “The poison in this blade will kill you.”

Aemond’s smile returned.

“In approximately—” You pretended to think for a moment, “Four days I’ll say. Well, unless I give you an antidote of course.”

“Antidote?” Ser Harold Lansdale grunted.

You released your dagger, “In the next couple of days if you formally apologize to me, I’ll give you the antidote.”

“You want an apology?” Ser Harold Lansdale barked.

“A financial apology would be most welcomed. I’m thinking two thousand coins, or maybe three thousand would be more suitable.”

“You bitch!”

You ignored his further vulgarity, his cusses repetitive and unoriginal.

“Remember, you have but four days.” You hid the blade back in the sleeve of your dress, turning to walk up the stairs to find Prince Jaehaerys.

Once you were gone, Aemond stepped out from the shadows. Ser Harold Lansdale who had struggled to lift his weight on his injured ankle, froze his eyes widening with a newfound horror.

“I’d say you have less than four days,” Aemond lifted his sword, slicing it clean through.

MONICA’S NOTE: Hello! Thanks for reading my first instalment. I’ve decided to repost this again as it isn’t showing up in any tags and tumblr support is not being helpful at all. I hoping this issues with tags is resolved soon. 

[rosepompadour]

MARIE ANTOINETTE, PRINCESSE DE LAMBALLE, AND GABRIELLE DE POLIGNAC 💗 "… I bring bad luck to all, what you suffer is my fault." — Marie Antoinette to the duchesse de Polignac, 1789 Her sickly melancholy, that kind of neurasthenia and fierce, secret despair, never left her. She fainted very often, suffering from pathological nervousness and her own fragility. She could not bear the sight of a bouquet of violets, even painted on a canvas, without falling as though dead, and then only the most powerful salts slowly brought her back to life. At court, she submitted to the crown of roses held in place by bunches of ribbons in her abundant golden hair, but she was as if deprived of herself at Versailles, her milky skin taking on an almost deathly pallor. Her pale blue eyes were flecked with gold spangles which gave her that air of expressionless strangeness. This sincerity of soul, this naivety, lived in a time when fashion was corruption and debauchery. But it is when she was far from the poses and gazes of the Court that she regained her childlike grace; she was again Marie la fou. — Alain Vircondelet on PRINCESSE DE LAMBALLE She was, quite simply, the most spectacular social climber of her century and the trick behind her success was that she hid it so well. She made it look effortless. Gorgeous, self-centred and wilfully isolated, Gabrielle became the historical poster girl for what had been wrong with a gorgeous, isolated, out-of-touch monarchy. Her lilac-coloured eyes, alabaster skin, youthfulness, pearly straight white teeth and brunette hair combined to make her a devastatingly beautiful young woman. It was the first thing anyone commented on when describing her and the only thing they all seemed to agree upon. The Duc de Lévis rather nastily remarked that her beauty had ruined her; she had come to rely solely on it and she therefore had no other personality, no other interests, beyond simply being beautiful. How she would have coped without her looks, we shall never know. She died before they had begun to fade. — Gareth Russell on GABRIELLE DE POLIGNAC "What a dreadful word — goodbye." — Marie Antoinette in a letter to the duchesse de Polignac, 1789

[softlytowardthesun]

Wich are your favorite fairy tale couples/romances and why?

*cracks knuckles* I'm excited for this one!

It's important to note that not all of these are necessarily "canon" to the story, whatever that nebulous word means in the context of oral traditions. Still, the fun of fairy tales as a genre is the audience participation aspect, allowing you to fill in our own imaginative gaps.

Gold-Tree, her husband, and her wife from "Gold-Tree and Silver-Tree": in this Celtic variant of "Snow White", the handsome prince fills the role that the dwarfs occupy in Grimm. She marries him and temporarily escapes her mother, but the wicked Silver-Tree finds Gold-Tree and poisons her. Thinking her dead, the prince takes another wife, and in a total reversal of "Bluebeard", the second princess walks into the forbidden room where Gold-tree slumbers, finds the thorn, and breaks the spell. The second princess then kills Silver-Tree when she makes her third attempt on Gold-Tree's life, and " prince and his two wives were long alive after this, pleased and peaceful."

The Peasant and the Soldier from "The Grave Mound": A comical story about two poor men who win their fortune through conning the Devil, which ends with them co-habitating and "living in rest and peace...as long as God is pleased to permit". I fell in love with this story after reading the dedicated chapter for it in the terrific academic anthology "Transgressive Tales: Queering the Grimms".

Betushka and the Wood Maiden: Every day at noon, a mysterious and beautiful maiden appears to the farm girl Betushka. They dance together until the sun goes down, and I'm just so moved by how it's described: "Betushka's cheeks burned, her eyes shone. She forgot her spinning, she forgot her goats. All she could do was gaze at her partner who was moving with such grace and lightness that the grass didn't seem to bend under her slender feet." Ultimately, Betushka succumbs to an Orpheus-style moment of weakness that separates them forever. Tragic, but undeniably beautiful.

The Clever Farmgirl and the King: I love a battle of wits where the two parties challenge each other but clearly respect and love one another. You listed this as one of your favorite tale types, and in hindsight, I'm inclined to agree.

Tam Lin and Janet: these two need no introduction. A haunting ballad of love and the transformations that it always entails. (Just please, never the non-consensual variants.) I have to shout out Overly Sarcastic Productions on YouTube for introducing me to this story, and the "Which Fairytale Lady Are You?" quiz, which assigned me Janet. I hope to be as bold and confident as this heroine, in love and in life.

Prince Yousif and Louliyya, Daughter of Morgan: An Egyptian relative of Rapunzel, I love their fierce and undying commitment to each other, and their resilience in the face of the many challenges between them and their happy ending.

The Lady and the Lion from "The Singing, Springing Lark": A "Beauty and the Beast" variant where the heroine knows about the curse from the word go, and they actually live happily in spite of his back-and-forth between his human and lion forms for a while, even having a child together. Of course, circumstances force them apart, and she travels to the Sun, the Moon, the Four Winds, and the Red Sea to get him back. It's a relationship built on honesty, communication, and willingness to sacrifice for one another. When people talk about wanting a fairy tale Prince Charming, this is the guy I picture.

The One-Handed Girl and her Prince: A lovely (if at times gruesome) Swahili story of a woman deprived of everything by her wicked brother, she finds love in a charming prince and they start a family together. When her love is out warring, her wicked brother rears his head and persuades her in-laws to banish her to the wilderness, and tell the prince that she and her baby died. I'm always moved by the makeshift funeral her husband arranges when he hears the wicked brother-turned-royal-advisor's lie, and their reunion at the end.

The couple from "The Nixie of the Pond": When her husband succumbs to a mysterious nixie, the heroine conducts a series of moonlight rituals, offering a comb, a flute, and a spinning wheel to the water spirit in exchange for his safe return. Of course, the nixie doesn't play fair, but they eventually get their hard-earned happy ending, finding each other under the moonlight listening to the same song she used to bargain for his rescue.

Broadening the definition of "fairy tales", I have to include Dorothy and Ozma, Clara / Marie and her Nutcracker, and Ahmed and Pari Banu. There are also stories with pairings that, while I can't honestly say I support, I still find compelling: Shahrazad leading Shahryar through the most intense talk therapy session in world literature, whatever the heck is going on with Velina and Tayzanne, the quasi-erotic dynamic of this proto-Little Red Riding Hood. Plus there's some terrific villain couples I love to hate, like the witch and her lover in "The Tale of the Ensorcelled Prince" (sorry, Burton's translation is all I could find online; if you have the chance, read Yasmine Seale's version of the text).

As you can tell, I've thought about this stuff a lot and I'm eager to talk about it. What are some of the romances and relationships you love / find compelling in fairy tales?

[yellowsocialbunny]

targaryen sims pt. IV

Princess Daella Targaryen was small of stature: on her toes she stood five feet and two inches. Everyone who met her judged her younger than she was in truth, as there was a childish aspect to her. As she grew to maidenhood she was described as pretty, enough to attract the attention of young lords, but wasn't singled out as exceptionally beautiful. Daella was considered sweet, kind, and gentle, with a tender heart. However, she was also a delicate and shy, tongue-tied girl, who was easily frightened and quick to cry. She liked flowers but was afraid of gardens, bees, and cats

Princess Saera Targaryen was a pretty girl. She was taller than her sister Daella. Saera was a fierce and stubborn young girl who thrived upon attention and became bad-tempered whenever she did not receive any. It was difficult to resist Saera when she wanted to be charming. Saera quickly learned how to get anything she wanted from her father. However, she could not as easily manipulate her mother, Queen Alysanne. Although her eldest two brothers, Aemon and Baelon, were always amused by Saera's mischiefs, they never knew the worst of them, and according to Septon Barth, Saera's sisters all disliked her to various degrees.

Princess Viserra Targaryen was the most beautiful of Queen Alysanne Targaryen's daughters. She had deep purple eyes and silver-gold hair, flawless white skin, and fine features. Viserra was a vain girl. Once, when a young squire called her a goddess, she simply agreed with him. Viserra was also a wild, high-spirited girl. She was described as sly, and had a grace that was uncanny and unsettling in someone as young as she was.

Princess Gael Targaryen was the thirteenth and last child of King Jaehaerys I Targaryen and Queen Alysanne Targaryen. Born during winter, Gael was also called the Winter Child. As a babe, Gael was small and pale. She grew to be a shy and sweet girl, although simple-minded and frail.

descriptions by A Wiki of Ice and Fire

[sonofthedunes]

in celebration of this blog’s first month, my first proper luke/andrie fic! the majority of this is set about a year after anh…except for the last paragraph. the quote about jewels and fire is lifted from the film the ten commandments. some kissing and swearing, but otherwise safe for work.

the voice of your eyes is deeper than all roses

For the longest time, Luke isn’t sure how to describe the color of Andrie’s eyes.

“They’re blue, aren’t they? Same as yours,” most people would shrug. But they aren’t the same, Luke would protest. Andrie’s eyes are a few shades darker, contain depths his never have. When they pin him in exasperation, he withers; when they light on him in affection, he’s fit to burst. He could stare into them all day and never tire of their shifting hues. And yet, when he ponders what they might be compared to, he comes up short.

Andrie has no such conflict. “You know what your eyes remind me of?” she tells him once as they hike through the pine forest on Krant. “The sky on Tatooine.” (She doesn’t say “back home.” That place was never truly home to either of them.) “A clear, cloudless day, where you can see all the way to the horizon.” Ducking her head in embarrassment, she snorts. “I’m sorry. That was awfully poetic of me.”

Luke doesn’t remember what lead to him asking her this-or if he even asked in the first place. What sticks with him is the pleasant flush spreading over his face and neck, the astonished realization that someone had cared enough to make that comparison. It sets him on a quest: to find an adjective worthy of Andrie’s eyes, the pair he has grown to care for more than any in the galaxy.

He dismisses the sky right away-mostly Tatooine’s. Where Andrie sees an expanse of beauty and endless possibilities, he sees only emptiness. If he concentrates, he can still conjure the bitter taste of envy on his tongue as he squinted against the twin suns, longing for a way off that desolate rock and into the stars. He would never want to associate his sweet girl with that.

Could her eyes be like a gemstone? Luke ruminates on this during a mission to Corellia, when he catches sight of a star sapphire glittering on a woman’s necklace. Certainly the color is right, and the way the facets reflect the lights of Coronet City are striking; the image of Andrie leaping into his arms after the Battle of Yavin, whooping for joy as unshed tears gleamed behind her lashes, suddenly surfaces. But this too he rejects. A jewel has brilliant fire, but it gives no warmth. Andrie radiates warmth in spades: her temper, yes, but her determination too, and her loyalty. And most of all, her love.

His father’s lightsaber blade is blue…could that be the answer? In its own way, the Jedi weapon is as precious to Luke as Andrie is: a link to his past and a key to his future. The lightsaber can destroy (he’d seen that firsthand), but it can also protect. In their brief time together, old Ben had described blue sabers as representing justice and bravery, and who is Andrie if not one of the bravest people he knows? Still, even this metaphor doesn’t ring true. He hefts the hilt in his palm and admits he can’t associate the girl he loves with a possession, even one as meaningful as this. So he keeps searching…

And finds nothing. And nothing, and nothing again, amid the fleeing for their lives and fierce bursts of combat with the Imperials. Perhaps he never will.

But as they say, when the Force closes a blast shield it opens a view port.

“Easy, kids. You smear that up, you’re cleanin’ it,” Han drawls as the Falcon makes its approach through the low-hanging clouds of Manaan. Sitting behind the pilot’s chair, Leia smiles at Luke and Andrie pressed against the cockpit glass. Their eyes are wide, mouths agape, as they behold the first ocean they’ve ever seen outside of staticky holovids.

“Majestic, isn’t it?” the princess asks her friends. “Once we’ve landed and set up camp, we should head to the beach. You ought to see it up close.”

As usual, Leia’s words prove wise. No sooner have the tents been pitched than the children of the desert follow her to the shore (Han declines, being of the opinion that if you’ve seen one ocean you’ve seen them all)…and are stunned speechless by the vast, rolling water before them.

After a few moments, Andrie finds the appropriate sentiment. “Shit,” she whispers, the breeze tugging a few strands of hair free from her braided bun. “It’s so…big.”

“Yeah,” Luke agrees lamely, brain attempting to grasp just how big it probably is. He reaches out with the Force and senses the life teeming within, the fish and plants, all untamed and vital. He wishes Andrie would open up her own connection and feel it too.

Leia, meanwhile, has already pulled off her boots and socks and is currently rolling her uniform pants to her knees. “Come on, we’ll wade in a little,” she says, then laughs at the slight panic on their faces. “I didn’t say we were swimming-I know neither of you are comfortable with that yet. We’ll stay in the shallows. All right?”

Still a bit uneasy, the pair nonetheless copy her motions and soon three sets of feet are bathed in Manaan’s surprisingly chilly ocean. Andrie shrieks a bit when the foam first touches her and Luke can’t suppress a body-wide shiver. It feels…strange. But good-strange, like trying a delicious alien cuisine. The air is laden with salt, as is the spray misting their faces. Birds cry in the distance. In a steady push-pull the flow curls around their ankles and drifts back, then surges forward again. Leia wanders out to her knees, reaching down to touch the water. “Feels nice,” she calls back. “You two okay?”

“It’s not so bad once you get used to it,” Luke replies with a measure of confidence. “I think I like the ocean.”

“Andrie?”

“You weren’t lying. It is majestic,” the other woman accepts, hugging her arms around her torso. “Could do without it being so damn cold, though. If I lose any toes in here I’m blaming you.”

They all share a laugh at that, enjoying each other’s company and this fleeting relaxation before they search for the missing Rebel scouts. Luke turns to look at Andrie as the giggles die down, and she boldly stares back at him, a playful grin stretching her mouth. She pushes back the wayward hair from her eyes-

And it hits him like a herd of bantha. That’s it. That’s what her eyes evoke: the sea. Not just the deep blue, but the turbulence, the ripples of life, the complete refusal to be controlled by anyone or anything. She can tear you apart in her fury, or calm you in her embrace. Of course. The sea.

“I figured it out!” he announces excitedly as he splashes over to her.

Andrie quirks an eyebrow. “I already told you, Luke, I don’t want Jedi lessons-“

“No! No, this is different. Your eyes, I know what they remind me of now.”

“What the hell are you-”

“They’re the ocean, Andrie,” he goes on with a grin. “They’re-they’re wild and stormy, but they’re gentle too, and-I know this sounds ridiculous, but I’ve been trying to come up with something since you told me mine were like the sky and…this is it.”

Andrie studies Luke, biting her lower lip. “You’ve been thinking about this a while, huh?”

He nods, a little self-conscious about his enthusiasm now. The tide of her gaze runs almost midnight blue and he wonders what it might be like to drown in it.

A kiss, soft as the sandy beach at their backs, lands on his cheek. She hums contentedly as she pulls away and remarks, “That just might be the nicest thing anyone’s ever said to me.”

“You mean it?” he questions, arms snaking around her waist to draw her closer.

“I’m a Mykarrah. We only say what we mean, starboy.” Tapping the tip of his nose with her finger, Andrie amends, “Or I do, anyway.”

“Well,” Luke remarks slyly, “there’s only one Skywalker, but he says what he means too.”

“Such as?”

“You’re beautiful.”

A roll of her lovely eyes. “As beautiful as the sea?”

“Even more than that.”

“You flatter me, Skywalker.”

“You don’t seem to mind,” he murmurs, nuzzling against her temple. A little sigh escapes her and her grip on him tightens. He smiles, just knowing Leia is shaking her head fondly at their display. “I love you, Andrie.”

“You and me, Luke,” she promises him in a hush. It isn’t the first time or the last, and he readily completes the other half of their little creed.

“Down the line.” He kisses her on the mouth this time, the sky meeting the waves. Despite the salt water on her lips, nothing in the galaxy tastes as sweet.

~~

Many years later, he stands on the weathered cliffs of Temple Island and gazes at Ahch-To’s restless sea. How fitting for the misery of exile, he thinks, to be surrounded by this evocation of her. To be constantly reminded of all the terrible ways he’s hurt her, of the potent final cruelty of leaving her behind. He will never be free of her anger and despair the rest of his days, buried there in the blue.

It’s what he deserves.

[alessabriel]

My Perfect Girl | 2/3

Sumary: KisakiTouman! That she achieves her goal of marrying Hinata Tachibana, being the only man in her life, and getting Takemichi out of the way. To have a perfect life, and a perfect sweet girl.

• CW: incest between father and daughter, described sexual scenes, daddy kink at its best, gagging, vanilla sex, oral fixation, chirophilia, voyeurism, female and male masturbation, cunnilingus, blowjob, deep throat, fingering, anal and vaginal fingering, compliments, hard sex.

The day of your departure your dad was not with you in the morning, a message on your phone let you know that he left an hour and a half earlier to solve some problems so that they could spend the whole weekend together. You smiled just seeing him, that meant they would spend it in your dad's bachelor apartment and you got ready to get out of bed, but on your nightstand you were surprised by a small flimsy white box wrapped with a shiny black ribbon crowned by some tiny beautiful flowers and a lilac post-it glued to the wood, which you took next to the box.

«Good morning princess, I hope you woke up in a good mood and this is a small gift before going to breakfast together. Don't leave your room until I come back for you.

With love Dad»

With a churning stomach and red cheeks, you quickly put that little note away along with the others inside a little wooden box that had the rest of the little notes inside, along with some dried flowers that your Daddy had given you. Just thinking that each little note was written by your Dad just for you, that he did those details just for you, made your stomach churn with butterflies.

You loved him so much it hurt.

You let yourself fall into bed feeling the freshness and softness of your black duvets, to turn around and crawl to the little box that was waiting for you. With eager hands you opened it to find a cupcake frosted with a single flower made of strawberry. With all the pleasure in the world you took a picture of it to show it off to Manami and then eat it little by little.

As it was morning, your mother had started her routine and you got distracted eating the delicious cupcake, enjoying it too much as it melted on your tongue leaving a sweet taste that lifted your spirits completely. And with the same emotion you tasted the entire cupcake, leaving the strawberry until the end, which you ingested with soft bites, trying not to destroy it. You felt so in love with every detail of your Father, he was so loving and dedicated that he melted you.

With a soft sigh and removing the trash from your bed, you got up to start your day, you had about an hour and a half to get ready when your Father arrived, you had to be pretty and attractive for him.

So time passed and you were ready, it was Saturday so there was nothing to do. You were sitting on the sofa in your room with your legs up on the sofa and leaning on the back and arm of it, lost in your cell phone killing time. When you heard your dad calling you at your door, you ran to open the door to hug him.

"Excited princess?" asked the older Kisaki amused.

Kisaki Tetta had fierce self-control but smelling your scent so early and having gone through a gut in the business, she left the adrenaline dormant in her veins and his dick restless in her pants.

"Yes, Daddy" you responded excitedly, completely ignoring everything, only having eyes for your beloved father.

Tetta really had good self-control but feeling the softness of your breasts against her, being able to smell the perfume directly from your skin and seeing how that pleated skirt only highlighted your waist and highlighted your round butt, she wanted to squeeze it violently. But she put everything aside to hug you back, intentionally keeping her hands near the trailing edge of your skirt and to her complete delight you moved away so her hand was under it.

It was a game between the two to know who would fall first.

You trembled with pleasure when you felt your Dad's hand under your skirt, warm and icy fingers from his rings so close to your buttocks. His hands were big, almost completely cupped your thigh and without thinking better of it you rubbed against his hand. Wishing that beautiful hand was between your legs, and you were lost in inchoate fantasy so a soft moan left you.

Same thing that made Tetta really almost jump on you.

But that moment came to an end with Hinata's arrival, before which you just snorted indignantly and took the car keys to leave without even saying hello, leaving the key to your room with your Dad.

"Will they come out honey?"

Kisaki felt dying hearing that affectionate name coming from Tachibana, she wasn't his perfect sweet girl and therefore that was disgusting coming from the mouth of his wife.

"Yes, it will be all weekend and I advise you not to wait for us, by the way" commented Kisaki once he locked his daughter's room to turn around and face his wife "Stop criticizing our daughter, she can dress as you like”

Hinata stirred uncomfortably when she saw her husband's serious expression, her comments that time had been guided by pure rancor and she still didn't regret it, she should act as if.

Hinata stirred uncomfortably when she saw her husband's serious expression, his comments that time had been guided by pure rancor and she still didn't regret it, she should pretend.

"I don't care about your excuses, that time you indirectly called her a whore and that, and I quote «if something happens to you for going out dressed like that it will be your fault» I tell you how bad that comment is?" the taller insisted, looking with well-hidden rancor at his wife.

And Hinata couldn't say anything.

"Anyway, next time save those comments."

(...)

In hindsight, the outing had begun with going to a restaurant for breakfast, visiting some bookstores that they both frequented (Kisaki only smiled when he saw you get lost in the fiction and horror zone), some high-end cosmetics store where the older man only saw you get lost. between corridors or followed you while with a tablet you wrote down everything you wanted with an excited little smile and a short and explanatory conversation about what you selected, and then go to eat something else, and continue with a tour of the various stores around the mall (there was no one, except a few people you could recognize as children of mobsters alike) that you loved to buy clothes, although it was inevitable for Kisaki not to dwell on the image of your bare legs and how You moved your hips, lifting the fabric a little to reveal your plain black panties. He felt like he was in hell itself but still he answered your questions in a genuine way, almost like a lover who helps you choose clothes.

It was a constant push and pull from both of them.

At one point you had tried on a dress but the zipper was behind your back and you couldn't reach it, so somewhat embarrassed you called your dad to the large dressing room where you were.

"What's going on?"

Without the need for words, Kisaki guessed the conflict, the closure of the dress was in the back starting at the bottom to culminate between the shoulder blades. So he approached you standing behind your back to take the closure between his fingers, he could see your pale skin and almost feel your buttocks but he chose to concentrate on the closure that began to rise carefully, until reaching the end where you finally he saw in the mirror, you in front of him with your wavy hair covering part of your shoulders and chest, the dress only further accentuated your curves highlighting your breasts, small waist and wide hips.

That tug-of-war looked relaxed.

The eldest was enthralled by your reflection in the mirror; cute and tender features, big innocent eyes but with a sinful gleam behind them, small upturned nose, plump and fluffy lips covered by faded lipstick, rosy cheeks and innocent expression. Without even anticipating it, Kisaki took you by the shoulders, adjusting to his chest, feeling you so close that he could smell your scent.

None said anything.

The pair of wandering hands little by little went to your neck, you swallowed dry saliva and let yourself be done, being face to face the first to move was your Dad who kissed you sweetly on the lips, a kiss that you savored without letting it go.

"Daddy," you whimpered sweetly when the kiss ended.

Kisaki just smiled when he saw you, your bright eyes and wet lips from your eager tongue, your slightly furious expression and made you see yourself in the mirror again, the dress was a beauty on your body as it hugged every curve and accentuated all the beauty of your Body. With the satisfaction of knowing that he was accepted, he hugged you from behind, leaving his hands on your hips, his fingers slightly loose on the fabric of the dress that covered your hips that he wanted to mark with his finger prints and admire those marks.

“You are my sweet girl right princess?”

Said question was enlivened by the pair of hands that gently and so wandering little by little rose to your breasts, your Dad had all of your breasts in his hands, squeezing them with such gentleness and care, squeezing little by little until your nipples were They got hard from the stimulation of that larger pair of hands. With adrenaline and desire circulating in your veins, you clung to your Dad's biceps, you needed to anchor yourself to something.

"Yes daddy"

The next thing that happened was a blur to you but full of vibrant and pleasurable sensations, your Dad was kissing you so dirty and demanding running his tongue over your mouth, urging your hips to grind on his thighs so slow and firm, hard. You could only whimper and cling to the fabric of his tailored suit as you felt your Dad's soft lips clinging to your hard nipples as you alternated between them. No part of your body stayed without attention. When you least expected it you found yourself with your hands on the mirror dirtying it with your fingerprints and misting it with your breath, with the dress hanging from your hips exposing your tits with hickey marks and a clear bite on the side of your neck, and with your Dad's cock rubbing against the fabric of your dress soaking it in precum and bruising your hips.

Only soft moans could be heard.

You squeezed your legs feeling the moisture in your underwear and wishing you could rip it off to touch yourself. But your Dad didn't neglect you, on the contrary he had one hand centered on your pussy on your clothes caressing your little clit with movements so delicate and smooth, that it only made you a little mess.

Before finally feeling your father's hand breaking the dress to direct his fingers to your warm and moist core, at that moment a voice from outside emerged cutting the environment.

"Mr. Kisaki, is there something wrong with the lady's dress?" I speak carefully the worker.

Although he cut off the atmosphere, he hadn't done it with the feeling when you, completely capricious and pampered, pulled your hips back, rubbing your Dad's cock much more against your now semi-naked skin. Your Father stopped you by the hip hard enough to bruise, the very thought made you wet and before you could whimper a pair of fingers were forced between your lips hard enough to shut you up, flattening your tongue. and playing with it. Kisaki could only smile at your reflection in the mirror, lost and glassy gaze with cheeks flushed a deep pink, with your pretty lips tinted around his fingers with saliva running between his fingers and making his rings shine, which made you more exciting was the traces of clothing that hung from your body, how the fabric seemed to cling to your body and your underwear so uncomfortable for you, you were a sensual beauty.

"You could wear the same dress but in black" replied the brunette still rubbing his fingers over your tongue savoring the warmth and how small your mouth is.

If the worker noticed something, she did not say anything, since she left with a statement and without looking for further evidence of anything.

With a smile your Dad continued to fuck your precious little mouth with his long fingers allowing you to make whatever muffled noises you wanted, like moaning and rubbing your legs together.

"We will continue at home princess"

That single sentence brought tears to your eyes both from retching and from the pain of not being properly cared for by your Dad.

There will be a second part of this filth, I actually wrote with my dick and it was great but EYE I don’t approve of this type of relationship, It’s just fiction R18+ so enjoy it or go to hell and yes, I am of legal age. I hope I didn’t cause bleeding eyes because of my mistakes, anyway ✨🖤🤙🏼

[eldesperadont]

CRIMSON CRESCENT

more wrestling ocs!! a found family heel/tweener faction thats led by a joshi vet whos feared and respected in a Minoru Suzuki kinda way, more info under the cut!

Origin: Crimson Crescent was formed out of a feud between Yukiko and a faction she had beef with. FUMI-HIRO was part of the group but betrayed them for her (Yuki being an old friend and rival) and in the same night Egusa Toshiaki would make his return to the ring (which was a pretty big deal at the time) to aid them, making the three the core and founding members of CC. In the following years they‘d recruit younger talent, i hopes of aiding their quest of uplifting the wrestling business outside the rules.

the members:

Yukiko Fanucci (fka YUKIKOH) a fierce and intimidating woman ever since she stepped a foot into the business. Starting as a frustrated angry brat, picking fights with anyone and everyone, always having a point to proof. Over the years the respect she earned gave her some room to breathe and mature. One source of stability came in the form of a rival, who down the line becomes her husband - despite being married they stay in opposite corners most of the time, both leading their own factions. Nowadays Yukiko is a cheerful sadistic lass that simply enjoys the beautiful violence of wrestling, egging on the younger generation to become even better than her.

Egusa Toshiaki, a friend of Yukiko since ages now, they debuted around the same time, started off as overly competitive brats that earned each others respect through several clashes, they held tag titles together in the earlier part of their career. They consider each other as family, Egusa and his partner being uncles for Yukikos child.

Fumi-Hiro, an old angry manlet, he’s loud and proud in everything he does and absolutely not compensating for his height. Fumi’s an established jr heavyweight wrestler who’s very prevalent in the deathmatch scene. - Him and Yukiko had a heated rivalry in the past which boiled down to who has the bigger ego, nowadays they laugh about it and are a splendid duo, both have overly vicious styles, them tagging against you is the last thing you want if you value your life. - Outside of wrestling he works in his daughters restaurant, his actual pride and joy (Yuki and Fumi probably bond the most over how much they love their kids, their kids bond over having heel wrestlers as parents which are feared in the whole business but actually are big dorks)

Aatami is a tall finnish lad in his 30s, rather quiet but nevertheless threatening. They are a heavyweight wrestler and tag with Egusa a lot. His career started in the european and uk indies, and an opportunity got them to wrestle in Japan, where they are based now. — Being in the same ring as Aatami is enough to give people chills, he has an off putting cold demeanour that barely ever cracks. Don’t mistake their attitude for indifference tho, his work in the ring is his biggest passion, nothing makes them happier than freaking out their opponents and making them submit to his impressive catalogue of technical wrestling.

KOZUE, a rising joshi star from Okinawa who has a background in karate. Her interest in wrestling made her move to mainland Japan, where she ended up getting mentored by Yukiko. After her debut went on her own, wanting to make a name for herself in the scene, hoping to get her teachers attention again like that - and she didnt stay unacknowledged for long. Yukiko challenged her protege and won their violent bought, but invited Kozue to continue learning while fighting on the same side, making her the 5th CC member. — Some would describe Kozue as entitled, she calls it “knowing what im worth.” People associate her with a petty princess who looks down on others, and yeah she tends to not think highly of most lol - in matches Kozue is the personification of “fighting spirit”, she would rather pass out than give up, more often than not crosses her own limits. She avoids relying on cheating but isn’t afraid of using dirty tricks - she excuses it with simply being smart. — The guys in the group didnt give her an easy time at first, they werent convinced that she isnt just an entitled brat that’s taking advantage of Yukikos hospitality, but Kozue pretty quickly proved that she isnt taking anything for granted. They get along splendidly now - Kozue can very much hold her ground but that doesnt stop especially Toshi and Fumi from acting like defensive dads sometimes.

Nikolai. 26, swedish, bastard, queer. A loud juniorweight wrestler with mean kicks and an even meaner attitude. After establishing himself in mainland Europes wrestling scene came to Japan, working all over the place and causing chaos. Just like Kozue he got challenged by Yukiko, and also just like Kozue he couldn’t quite defeat her, but found a place in this odd lil family. It didn’t take long for him to get along with everyone, he already knew Aatami, formed a tag team with KOZUE and reminds the seniors of the group of their own eager attitude back in the day. — Nikolai’s the current jr champ of CCs home promotion, defending the title with whatever’s necessary. Nik’s a cheerful but cocky lad, with some unresolved business back at home,,, a certain former tag partner, which he’s trying to ignore, will catch up with him sooner than later 👀

special mention: Yukikos son Akio Fanucci, better known under his pseudonym AIKO, a young illustrator, not a wrestler! he's part of CC by the virtue of his mother being the leader lol - Aiko creates a lot of promotional material and merch for the wrestling company CCs based at. - He's been surrounded by wrestling since he was born, isnt unathletic, but competitive combat was never sth he wanted to get into. On first glance he seems like a quiet person, despite his alternative appearance, but when you get to know him its clear that he's the kid of two no bs taking hardasses.

So the faction basically is a mom, two dads, the queer uncle and two brats — they do whatever they want and their allegiance is only to each other :]

[hiccstrxd]

Baby, te amo (forever ‘til the end of time)

So I wrote a little something for my soft juke babies because the idea just was too cute to let the opportunity pass. It’s tooth-rotting fluff (when is it not with me lol).

Summary: She closed her eyes, basking in the moment, basking in his presence, warmth and comfort, and the words came out naturally.

“Te amo.”

Or the one in which Julie grew up with the idea of ‘te amo’ being the ultimate love confession. She hasn’t ever used it romantically because no one had been deserving of what her mother used to call the promise of profound devotion. Until years later, that’s it.

Search it on ao3 here!

It was no secret how much her parents loved each other.

Everybody with eyes could see the brazen devotion in every term of endearment and the warmth in even the smallest interactions. Little Julie could not understand how the other kids were disgusted by their parent’s displays of affections when her mom and dad were just like the princes and princesses in her fairy tales storybooks!

And so, Julie grew to be in awe of the love her parents had for one another.

On the nights she couldn’t sleep, she would shrug off the blankets and pad barefoot through the house, clutching her favorite plushie under one arm. She would go searching for her parents, knowing that her mother’s soft tunes were her favorite lullabies in the whole world and her dad’s gentle words made her feel every bit like the daddy’s little girl her mom always said she was. And, more often than not, she would find her parents slow dancing in the kitchen, under dim lighting with their hands wrapped around each other and with the biggest smiles on their faces. For little Julie, it was magical and she found herself wishing to grow up quickly so she too could find someone to live a fairy tale moment of her own.

She was the honorable spectator to her parents' shows of affection time and time again, each one of them filled with what she could only describe as genuine, unadulterated love. Like witnessing her mother serenading her father with one of the most beautiful songs she has ever heard, or the time in which she saw her dad cooking an entire feast of all of her mom’s favorite dishes for their anniversary date.

There were way too many moments engraved in her mind that she just can’t let go; Julie holds them dearly in her heart because what her parents had was the epitome of true love and she would fiercely stand by that.

The truth is that Rose and Ray were absolutely enamored with one another. Julie is just glad she could experience it first-hand.

However, there was a specific moment that left Julie quite shaken, even as a freshly-turned teenager. She remembers her mom draping her arms on her father’s shoulder, gazing at him with the softest yet most ardent look in her eyes and saying, “Te amo” . So straightforward, without stuttering, whispering a confession from the heart. And her father’s face would soften immediately, his posture slumping as if he is getting rid of all his defenses, as if he doesn’t need them anymore. They would get trapped in this bubble of vulnerability together, a number of ‘te amo’s being muttered for their ears only like a sacred word, their smiles radiating blinding happiness.

She didn’t understand how a simple world could cause such a fragile reaction.

Julie did ask her mom about it when they were both cuddling on the sofa watching a movie, because she was always a curious kid and not knowing stuff made her restless. Rose had

smiled, bringing Julie closer to her chest and tucking some of her curls behind her ear. “Mi amor,” she had started, with a tender look that only mothers could muster, “sometimes, a simple ‘I love you’ is not enough.”

Julie had cocked her head to the side in confusion because that didn’t make any sense. That was how you verbally express that you love someone. Granted, there were some alternatives but that was the most universally known phrase, so she definitely didn’t see where her mother was coming from.

Rose had laughed at her bewilderment, hugging her closer as she continued, “In spanish, ‘te amo’ is so powerful. It’s the most beautiful, most intimate way to voice out what you feel towards someone.”

Julie turned to look at her mom, “but isn’t that the same as ‘I love you’?”

Her mom hummed, “Not quite. Te amo is saying I love you, adore you, respect you, protect you, accept you, support you and care about you all in one word. It’s a meaningful word that carries a promise of profound devotion.”

Julie had nodded in understanding, though she’s sure that many of what it entailed went over her head. Her mom, on the other hand, had seemed to know what she’s talking about so she must be right, Julie had thought.

Rose had smiled wistfully and leaned over to place a kiss on her temple, “ Te amo, darling.”

She hugged her mom tightly, breathing in the moment that would later become one of Julie’s most treasured memories.

Julie may had been young, and perhaps she didn’t get all the fuss about it or just how significant it was as her mom made it out to be, but it did make sense over the years. As she grew older she would only use it a handful of times: to her dad, her little brother and her aunt Victoria. Sometimes, she would half-jokingly send it to Flynn over text.

Never romantically, no, because no one had yet to be deserving of those words.

Until years later, that’s it.

“So, I was thinking that for the bridge we could slow down the tempo a little bit, what do you think? Reggie came up with a killer riff that we could use and make the song awesome!”

Luke is pacing back and forth in front of her, talking animatedly about the song they have been working on the past couple of days. There’s the distinctive bounce on his step and a glimmer in his eyes that appear whenever he’s talking about something that he’s passionate about. It’s endearing, really.

Julie would have never thought that she would harbor such strong feelings for anyone, let alone for someone who wasn't exactly... alive. But here’s this boy that makes her heart flutter when he as much looks her way, that makes her feel breathless whenever he smiles at her blindingly, that makes her write the silliest of love songs and daydream about dancing to the idyllic tune of a ballad.

It’s overwhelming and the mere thought throws her off slightly because never has she ever felt so deeply over a crush but, perhaps, that word is too short of a label for what it truly is after all.

“Julie, are you with me?” She snaps back to reality to the image of Luke kneeling in front of her, his thumbs carefully rubbing her knees in an attempt to make her come back to the conversation at hand. It’s more distracting than helpful, the pads of his fingers incredibly gentle against her skin, but who is she to complain?

Ever since they discovered they could be able to touch, they had been using that information to the fullest in fear that it could be short-lasting. All of them.

(“Hmm, this is nice.” Reggie says, there’s a hint of a smile in his tone as he wiggles closer to Alex in his attempt to equally find warmth and to not fall off the bed.

Alex grunts as he is being pressed forward, “yes Reg, I love being squished to death.” He deadpans, his words dripping with sarcasm, surely with a roll of his eyes thrown in there to get his point across. Julie grins inwardly, the irony of what he said not lost on her. “I can’t feel my ribs, geez have you always been this strong?”

“Hey! If you don’t remember, I give the best bear hugs in the whole world and afterworld for that matter!” Reggie sounds so utterly offended that it makes her chuckle at how ridiculous this whole conversation turned out to be. The bed shakes a little — mainly because of Reggie pulling back slightly to look at Alex right in the eyes but she’s sure the added weight also plays a part in it — and the sudden movement had Reggie yelping and grasping Alex’s sleeve in a tight grip in fear of falling off.

“See, that’s the universe telling you that you should never question my strength ever again.”

“Reggie that’s not— okay.”

Luke laughs beside her, the sound melodious and blithesome, it makes something inside her melt and she’s flabbergasted for a second because since when has laughter sounded so beautiful and enthralling.

He has one arm draped across her stomach and she has an inexplicable urge to snuggle closer to him, to erase the space between.

“Come on dude, don’t deny it, you are loving it it.” He says playfully, propping his head on one had as he narrows his eyes humorously at the boys.

Alex scoffs weakly, as if he was about to come up with an excuse that no, he clearly was having the worst time of his not-life but the battle was lost before it even started. He all but grins and gives in, “okay, yes. This is great, you guys win.” He says, cuddling up against Julie even more.

Reggie dabs him cheerfully on his side, hugging Alex impossibly tighter and if he was crushing him, he never complained once this time.

Luke hums, “Julie your bed is the softest thing ever. I think it’s starting to become my next favorite thing.” He snugs down to the point that Julie believes he’s about to become one with the mattress. She gazes at him, and hopes that her eyes don’t betray her by giving too much unsaid information.

He looks at her, “though, don’t worry. You’ll always be my number one.” Luke shrugs, a coy smile on his face as if he didn’t just set her heart ablaze.

The words die on her tongue, her teasing about how his guitar might become jealous forgotten at the back of her mind. She guesses that getting used to him openly flirting would never get easy but honestly, she wouldn’t have it any other way. It hasn’t been too long since they dared to cross over that fine line between friends and something more; she’s still threading lightly, he plunges all at once.

“Yes Julie, I wonder why we never did this before.” Reggie says, cutting her off before she could even answer him with a flirty response of her own. Sometimes she felt a little daring, sue her.

She turns her neck to be able to look at him and smiles, he has his butt half on the bed and half on the air, but he looks as happy as ever. “Off limits, remember.”

She sees realization dawn on him.

Julie continues, “also, I don’t know if you remember but you guys weren’t exactly tangible to human contact.” She says matter of factly.

“Oh, yeah.” Reggie draws out the oh as if he forgot he was a ghost for a second. He stares off at the distance before shrugging and nuzzling his nose in the back of Alex’s neck, all talk about it unequivocally forgotten.

She chuckles and looks over at Luke, ready to tell him that he too is her favorite next thing, her favorite person, her favorite music partner, her favorite everything. Ready to see him beam at her words, maybe get a little bit flustered but he’d eventually find another thing to say that would render her speechless — as he always do, it’s some kind of superpower she’s staring to believe. But she’s greeted by the sight of her boyfriend fast asleep, his lips slightly parted and his fingers grazing faintly her curls. And he looks so at peace, so happy even in his sleep that it makes that indescribable feeling inside her to appear once more. The melting and the twisting and the fluttering ever so present.

And she wants to act on them. She will act on them.)

She looks at him, his eyebrows are slightly furrowed because he can’t help but get concerned over her. It comes naturally, he had jokingly said. “Is something wrong?”

Julie smiles, “no, you dork.” Her hand comes up to brush his bangs that fell a little bit long over his eyes, moving them aside to reveal those green eyes that she very much loves glinting with affection and tenderness and everything in between that makes her feel so warm and fuzzy.

“I was thinking that we could take a break for a bit,” she suggests, her hand now moving downwards to cup his cheek and she felt him leaning in. She’s sure her stomach was the home of millions of butterflies, leaping and dancing by the way it feels all fluttery when he turns his head to press a quick kiss on the palm of her hand. He’s going to be the death of her, she swears.

“Sure, yeah.” He smiles, moving to the couch and sitting next to her, his arm coming up to tuck her on his side. His chin is resting on top of her head and he may have said a joke about how her curls tickle his nose but she tunes it out, she’s just so happy right now.

Luke tightens his hold on her, “Tell me about your day.”

She tucks her legs in, almost resting them atop of his lap but not quite, and drapes one of her arms across his chest, “Well, Mrs. Harrison said that we’ll start on the preparations for the Winter Musical Festival next week. She told me that she wants me to write and perform the song for the opening act.” Julie started to play with the neckline of his shirt — surprisingly one with proper sleeves, though she’s a secret fan of his muscle tees for obvious reasons — a habit she has taken a liking to.

“Julie, that’s awesome! You are gonna knock them off their feet, as always!”

She can’t help but smile at his enthusiasm, it’s contagious to the point that she momentarily forgets about the real reason of why she brought up the topic in the first place. “And I want you to come.”

Julie waits for his response, “and the guys too, of course.”

He smiles the kind that makes his eyes wrinkle from how big he’s smiling, the apples of his cheeks popping up in the process. “Julie, we’d be honored!”

And then he softens up a little, she feels him slump further on the couch and his body curving towards her and Julie wonders if it was because of another emotional overload or because the excitement of the day is finally catching up to him — he has way too much energy, she really doesn’t know where he stores it — but then a quieted “I’d love to,” was being murmured in the space between them and Julie stopped wondering.

She closed her eyes, basking in the moment, basking in his presence, warmth and comfort, and the words came out naturally.

“Te amo.”

It’s straightforward, without stuttering, whispering a confession from the heart.

Julie doesn’t know if he understood it, in fact she doesn’t wait for him to act on it for that matter because she lifts her head from underneath him — feeling all kinds of emotions all at once — and takes his chin in her hand to bring their lips together in a searing kiss, the image of glazed eyes the last thing she saw.

They have kissed before, of course, small pecks here and there but nothing quite like this. Perhaps her not so little confession making the moment significant tenfold.

The kiss is mind-spinning and it makes her lightheaded and weak on the knees (she’s just glad she’s sitting down for this one), it carries both passion and tenderness at the same time and it’s brimming with everlasting promises that are left untold but still very much avowed. It’s sensitively overwhelming because there’s Luke everywhere; underneath her fingertips, on the back of her mind, on the soft glides against her mouth, on the gentle touches of his knuckles along her back, her face, her arms. She doesn’t know when he ended and she began.

She feels like her soul is being set on fire and then he tilts his head just so for their lips to slot even more perfectly together — if that was even possible — and she quite literally melts on his arms. She hums against his lips, and she needs more.

On a whim of boldness, she swings one of her legs to straddle his lap, wrapping her arms around his neck, weaving her fingers through his brown locks to draw him impossibly closer. His hands were everywhere and her skin felt like it was being put aflame. Come to think of it, she wonders how she hasn’t combusted already.

She tugs his bottom lip in between her teeth, a low grunt was heard in the air as a result and she grins against his lips at the sound.

Julie slowly pulls away, giggling at how he follows her lips as she moves away as if he doesn’t want to let her go yet. She leans to place one soft kiss on his cheek, another one on the tip of his nose and another on the corner of his mouth. She’s tempted to leave a trail down his neck, but she refrains from doing that in fear of not being able to stop after the first few kisses.

Luke runs his hands gently up and down her arms, his eyes looking a little distraught and she feels oddly proud at being the one responsible for such absentmindedly state in the rather streak-focused Luke.

“Te amo.” She repeats, this time looking at him directly in the eyes, hoping to convey everything that the word entails in her body language, in her facial expression, in the pitch of her voice. Because if anything, her mother taught her that it should be said from deep within.

For a second it seems like time and space stop, but then Luke shifts from beneath her and brings his hands to frame her face gently. His expression is stark and intense, and she didn’t know she was waiting with a hitched breath when she let out a sigh of relief at his next words.

“Te amo más.”

She doesn’t know how he knows those words, she doesn’t care to ask when and why or to even consider any possible explanation because right now that’s the last thing on her mind as she leaps forward and embraces him in a crushing hug. Because nothing else matters as long as Luke loves her and she loves him just as much, as long as there’s amor and te amo’s in their love language.

[secondgenerationnerd]

Fic idea: Omega travelling somewhere Extra: the 4 monsters (Mar'i Lian and the twins) causing chaos wherever they go

Y’know what’s funny? Lian and Jai call their kids “the monsters” too 😂😂

Enjoy Omega on Tamaran!

————————

When Mar’i invited them to Tamaran for a month, Omega couldn’t say yes fast enough. After hearing about it for so long, they’d been excited to see their friend’s home. Sure, figuring out the translators was a hassle, but so worth it. None of them had see Mar’i smile as brightly as the moment they arrived.

Mar’i’s stories didn’t seem to do Tamaran justice. Hell, the palace alone seems larger than she described. White stone colums in each large room. Corridors so long their voice echo. Each of their chambers seemed larger than necessary. Then again, most Tamaraneans tower over them.

After the fiasco with Alpha, they finally get a chance to admire the palace. Mar’i had done the normal things—Throne room, gardens, library. But then she show them her favorite places. Aside from her mother’s room, which she carefully avoids, they see where she’d play hide and seek. Where she and her mother curled up to read or play games. The nursery, where she’d spent her childhood, still has remenants of the little girl she was.

None of them expected the pictures. Queen Koriand’r had several photo albums from her times on Earth. One was simply labeled “Daddy”, containing news articles and pictures of Dick. Lían and Ma’i had been shocked to find a picture of Kor’i holding a baby Lian. Their hearts ache seeing so many pictures of a young Mar’i with her mother. In most of them, Mar’i seems fascinated with something or someone else; her mother only has eyes for her. A warm, fierce love for her daughter, like Mar’i was her whole world. While they don’t say it at least not to Mar’i, they wonder how much it hurt to lose that love.

As much as being back excites her, Mar’i seems…different. It’s one thing to know their friend is royalty, to see the glimpses here and there; it’s something else to see her consumed in that role. Milagro, having privileges from Mar’i as a Lantern representative, told the others about some of the meetings. How Mar’i listened to each issue and each councilors’ ideas on how to address it. Always looking to help as many of her people as she can. She greets each person she comes across by name, or at least with a respectful gesture. While everyone responds with respect, it’s clear they do it out of habit. At meal times, Mar’i seemed like her normal self—bubbly, carefree, like she’s exactly where she wanted to be. Maybe she was.

But there’s a heaviness in her eyes, no matter how hard she masks. She holds herself back in conversations, even ones on her favorite things. A permanent tension in her body worries them the most. The beautiful gowns and robes she wears each day are, just that, beautiful. Matching the diadem resting across her brow. But they look almost like a costume on their friend, weighing her down more and more.

When they mention it to Galfore, Mar’i’s k’norfka/pseudo grandfather, he hadn’t been surprised. For some reason, that surprised them. It shouldn’t have, he did raise her after all. The old k’norfka did tell the group what got a younger Mar’i out of her head. It took some careful maneuvering and some manipulations on their end, but—

“C’mon!” Mar’i calls ahead of them. She keeps spinning on her toes, making sure they’re following her, half dancing as she does, skirts flying around her. The heaviness in her eyes lifts as they approach the local village, “There’s a bakery Mom brought me to all the time, they’ve got these cakes, better than any on Earth! Mil, there’s a dress shop you’ll love!”

“There’s our Ri.” Lian murmurs to Colin. “Been missing her.”

“She’s got a planet to look after, Li.” The meta reminds her, but he’s smiling as their princess dances ahead. “But yeah, been missing her too.”

The villagers seem to be preparing for some festival, hanging glowing lights and streamers from trees and buildings. As Mar’i passes them, several call out. Not like someone greeting a ruler. No, like they really know her. If Galfore’s to be believed, and her mother took her here to be ‘normal’, most of them probably do.

“Princess! Princess!” Four young children—three girls and a boy, all with fiery hair— run up to her. Gathering her skirts, Mar’i kneels to meet their eyes.

“Well, hello!” Most of them expect her ‘Princess’ voice. But she just sounds like…Mar’i, “It seems you all know me, but I don’t know you.”

One of the girls steps forward, chest puffing out, “I’m Lexka’ar. This is Shar’ri.” She gestures to the smallest of the girls, then the other two children, “Then the Zumka, P’laria and Rond’ar.”

“Zumka?” Lian asks. Something about the girl reminding the archer of herself.

“It’s the closest word we have for twins.” Mar’i explains. She brings the side of her cupped hand to her chest, extending it to each child. Their translators waver, Mar’i’s Tamaranean coming through clearly, “X’ntal qu zumka. Irri zat j’ai.”

Irri and J’ai. It’s like they’re 9 years old again, meeting the princess for the first time. Irey had been taller than Mar’i then. Offered her hand in friendship without hesitation. How is it the same scared 7 year old from that day is the same young woman before them now, giving the children her whole attention.

Standing, Mar’i points to a shop, “Milagro, that’s the dress maker I was telling you about. They know you’re coming. Have fun.”

“I love you too.” Milagro laughs, pulling Colin behind her. The princess turns to the twins and Lian.

“We,” she says confidently, “Are playing a game with the kids.”

“What kind of game?” Jai asks.

“It’s like four square but better.”

Watching them move to join the kids, Damian notices an odd expression on Jon’s face, “Penny for your thoughts.”

The Super shakes his head, smiling at his girlfriend as she talks with the children, explaining the rules of the game to Lian and the twins, “She’s going to be one hell of a queen.”

Damian nods, “That she is. Ready to be King?”

“King?” Jon snorts, “I’ll be Mar’i’s arm candy, have no doubt about that.”

His best friend nods, not bothering to hide a grin of his own, “At least you know your place.”

[mishwanders]

• For The Love Of Moonlight • Chapter Four •

Summary: It’s time for the Fierce Deity to return to the realm of light and Moonlight has complicated feelings about it.

Warnings: A bit of language, but other than that, safe for everyone.

Author’s Notes: Written by Mishwanders. Please do not take or repost it.

FTLOML

<Prev | Next> (coming soon)

A few more days passed and Fierce’s wounds had begun to heal to raised scars, to the point of where I felt confident they wouldn’t reopen if he didn’t do anything too strenuous. I had mended all of his clothes by hand, ensuring them to be as good as new. Now, the only thing I had to do was sneak him out of this realm and back into his own.

And that was proving itself a harder feat than I liked to admit.

I scoured the library for answers, picked up every book I could get my hands on, but none of them possessed the answers I was looking for, a way to send someone back to the realm of Light. I even questioned the librarian on it, to which he returned with the least ideal information - there was nothing on the subject in the Twilight realm.

Damn it.

I had to start rethinking this whole situation, how to get Fierce back to his home without anyone being the wiser. Until then, I would have to endure his presence for a bit longer.

Enduring it though, was not a difficult task on my end. I quite enjoyed it, even the jests he tossed my way eventually became a part of his infectious charm. He also had a lot more knowledge about the realm of Light, feeding me the information from the palm of his hand in a way that books never could. We discussed all manner of subjects, but I think my favorite of all was Hylian astrology. The way he described it all, especially the moon, had me enraptured in his words. He spoke of it as if it were the most beautiful thing he’d ever gazed upon. His expression was one of adoration for it.

“Do the Hylians have a deity for everything?” I asked curiously.

“No. Why?”

I shrugged. “You speak of the moon with so much affection, I'm curious if there is one attached to it as well.”

The Fierce Deity chuckled at me. “There is not, at least not one I’ve been made aware of. However, maybe my affection for it has grown because of my time spent with you, little moon.”

I look up at him from my side of the table. “How many times must I tell you that your flattery will get you nowhere?”

He smiled at me, “At least once more.”

I chuckled at his response, looking down at Lili who was in my lap, fast asleep with her wings curled around herself, her face closed like a sleeping flower. I gently petted her, feeling her snuggle up more into herself, a sound that was almost a pur emanating from her small form. I looked back up at Fierce. “You make the realm of Light sound more delightful, especially at night. I’ve always wanted to see the night sky there.”

Fierce tilted his head and asked curiously, “Are you allowed to leave this realm, little moon?”

I shrugged, “I have no idea. I still don’t even know how to get you back there. I’ve been thinking more about it, considering the possibilities. There are scrying pools scattered throughout the Twilight, something I know the princess has used many times to see the future of our realm. But I do remember her muttering something into the pool time and time again when she was a small child. I wonder if she was seeing more than just the future - like a window into another world. I wonder if it’s possible to create a door that way.”

I could see Fierce pondering over my idea, mulling over it before he finally spoke up once more. “It’s possible, but it would take quite a bit of magic to do so.”

“Do you know what kind?” I asked

Fierce’s eyes drifted from me over to the staff leaning against the table. “How powerful is your Twili magic, little moon?”

I tilt my head to the side. “Do you think my magic might be able to suffice what we need?”

He smiled. “With mine? Possibly.”

We spent a few more days discussing the plan, the possibilities that could occur, what would happen if it did or didn’t work. Throughout all of our time planning, the realization that our time together was coming to an end began to creep up on me until the final day arrived. It was then that I realized just how much I was going to miss him. And to be honest, I didn’t know how to deal with these emotions and feelings that were residing in me now, how I wanted him to return to his own realm and how much I wanted him to stay by my side.

It was complicated, trying to deal with the way I felt and ensure he didn’t pick up on these emotions. It was futile though. He always looked at me as if he could see into my very soul, reading the pages of me like an open book.

I don’t know if my emotions had affected him or maybe he was feeling the same way, but one night he seemed a bit more lost in thought, a melancholic expression in those white eyes and even in his voice at times. On one occasion, he must have been so lost in his thoughts that he woke me up out of a deep sleep beside him, his whisper sounding like the rumble of rocks.

“Little moon…”

I opened my eyes at the sound of his voice. I could see the pensive look in his eyes. Although, Lili didn’t seem to mind, considering how she was curled up on his chest, fast asleep as if she weren’t even aware either of us were awake. The only thing I could really get out of my groggy state was a simple “Hm?”

There was a long pause before he asked me a simple question.

“Will you miss me?”

My attention was thoroughly grabbed by his question. Feeling a bit more awake now, I sat up on my forearm, looking down at him and whispered back. “Yes. Even with the constant jesting at my expense, I will miss it and I will miss you.”

I could see him attempting to hide the crack of a smile, turning his head away from me, averting his gaze. But he soon returned his attention back to me. “I’m going to miss you too.”

Hearing that he would miss me too made my heart tighten into a ball in my chest. I tried to bite back any sadness that attempted to escape me, pushing it away. I didn’t want his last memories of me to be of my sadness, I wanted him to be able to leave my side in peace, without worry for my state, even if I did want to ask him to stay. But I knew he couldn’t, that all good things must come to an end sooner or later. At the very least, I could leave him with a nice memory and maybe a gift from the Twilight.

And I had just the thing.

There was a certain necklace that was given to me a long time ago, one I never wore because of how big it looked around my neck, how absolutely heavy it was, even for someone my size. It was a simple black leather chain and in the center there were three blue encrusted Luminous stones at the center of it, that shone in the darkness. He’d told me how much he adored the blue glow of the stone on my staff and the stones in my home, so I thought he would like this too, that it would be something simple for him to keep for the rest of his eternity. Something that would always remind him of his time here when he’d look at him. Something that would remind him of me.

I would give it to him on his final day here. A simple parting gift.

That final day soon arrived, faster than I would have liked, but it arrived all the same. We made our way through the Darkwoods, passed the place where he’d fallen into the Twilight realm and my life, all the way to a small pond. It was still, so still it looked as if it were glass in front of us, truly a natural mirror. Fierce stepped beside me, taking it all in for a moment. He turned his attention to my staff then, gently placing his hand on it.

“May I borrow this?” He asked

I nodded and allowed him to take it from my hand. I watched as he drew a pattern in the dirt before the water, twisting and turning in intricate ways, making a variety of symbols that I didn’t understand. When he was done he stood before it, taking one last look down at it before turning his attention back to me. He handed my staff back and beckoned me to stand in front of him. I did as he asked, but I stood in front of him instead of before the pattern he made. He looked down at me and I knew he was puzzled. I reached my hand up to the black tie around my neck, undoing it and took the necklace away from its hiding spot under my traveling cloak and into his view. I held up the luminous necklace to him, seeing his eyes widen slightly at the glowing stones.

“I know it’s not much, but I want you to have this. Something to remember your time here.”

He gently took it from my hand, inspecting it further. I could see the small tug of a smile pulling at his lips and he tied it around his neck. It settled right above his armor, casting a subtle glow. He looked at me happily. “Thank you, Moonlight.”

I turned away from him, hiding the smile on my face as I looked down at the pattern he drew in the dirt. That’s when I heard him speak up from behind me. “Little moon, I have something I must ask of you.”

I looked over my shoulder at him, curious as to what this may be. “Yes?”

“When I return to the realm of light, I will be unable to move at my own accord as I do here. Assist me once more, be my guide.”

My ears perked up at his request, feeling the light of my skin glowing ever so slightly. I smiled at him and nodded. “I will.”

Fierce stepped closer to me and I could feel his chest plate pressed against my back, as his arms wrapped around me, placing his larger hands over mine on the staff. I felt the heat in my skin rise, and noticed the glow emanating from my body as he enveloped me. We both raised my staff into the air and for a brief moment, I felt the surge of a large amount of light surging through my body towards my staff. The luminous stone on my staff glowed so brightly that it lit up the area we were in the Darkwoods, making it feel as if someone had sliced open the dark blanket of sky and let the realm of Light pour in. I closed my eyes and we both brought the staff back down into the ground, forcing the light into the sigil.

That’s when something happened. Something I hadn't been expecting amidst all of this.

Fierce kissed me.

I felt the warmth of his lips on my cheek, which caused my face to erupt in a furious heat, glowing brightly, forcing another surge of energy through my body and into the staff. It was just enough to force the existing light within the sigil out of the ground and seep into the water. The pool began to shine with the light, twisting and moving on the surface as it opened into a doorway. My mouth hung open, surprised that we were able to accomplish this task but also because of what just happened. I looked up at him and I could see the triumphant grin on his face.

“You did that on purpose.” I said, my voice still in shock.

“Just think of it as my gift to you, my little moon. Something to remember me by.”

As if all of the memories he’s leaving me with wouldn’t be enough. I guess it was payback though, for the necklace. It’s not like I minded it that much. It was nice.

The Fierce Deity let go of my staff and walked towards the swirling portal in the pond, his exit. He turned around and held out his hand to me, inviting me to join him. I took his hand and walked with him through the swirling vortex of black and white, the light and the darkness mingling until finally it disappeared. I found myself standing in the middle of a forest, not much different from the Darkwood, as if it were a mirroring image of it. But everything was different in its own way, let’s black, more blue and green and brown and -

I looked up into the sky, seeing the dark purple and blue hue of the night, the twinkle of tiny little stars. That’s when my eyes caught the moon, how bright it was, seeing its gentle light cascading down to this realm. I was so excited by it, it was so much better than the drawing and books ever made it out to be. I turned my head to Fierce, to tell him how beautiful I thought it was, but my smile quickly faded when I realized he was no longer standing beside me. I looked down at my hand, where it once held his. His hand had been replaced by a simple wooden mask, one that was in the shape and color of his face.

So he hadn’t been lying about him being cursed. All of that was completely true.

I walked away from the portal, finding a spot by a tree and sat down, resting my back against the rough bark. I held the mask in my hands, against me facing up so if Fierce could still see, he’d be able to look up at the moon with me too.

“It’s really beautiful.” I whispered, “I'm happy I get to share this moment with you. Even if you are in a mask.”

I felt the warmth radiate through it and noticed a subtle glow coming from the eyes. I smiled. He was still there and he could still hear me. I brought him to face me and smiled.

“Thanks for bringing me to see it.”

I placed a gentle kiss on his forehead and felt the warmth deepen, the light growing brighter. I chuckled, knowing he was probably feeling the same way I had been earlier. “Consider that payback.”

I then turned him back around to look up at the sky. We stayed like that for a while, a long while in fact. I didn’t wish for the night to end, but I knew it was soon coming to a close. When I saw the subtle shifts in color, that’s when I began to look for a place to put him, somewhere that he would be safe. I found a hole in a tree, something just big enough to place him. I turned him to face the opening so he could see the changes outside.

“I know this may not be the most sufficient, but at least no one who isn't deemed fit will be able to get to you. I hope whatever happens in your future, that maybe one day we can be reunited. Until then, goodbye, my Fierce Deity.”

There was a subtle glow from the eyes again before it died out. I left him there in that tree and made my way back through the portal, breaking the sigil on the ground in the twilight realm so no one could pass through again. I made my way back home after that, to a house that felt much more empty than it had before. I never expected this goodbye to feel like this, leave me feeling as empty as my house felt right now, but it did. I walked through the house and stopped when I noticed something lying on the bed. I settled on the edge and picked it up, finding it to be a letter. I opened the letter and read the contents, feeling the tears sting my eyes as the words leapt off the page. It was full of all the words Fierce never said, a confession of love for me that he could never seem to say. It was a lot for me to take in, to know how he really felt. I kept that letter and read it over and over again for as long as I could, before the words began to fade off the page and became solidified in my memory.

We both knew that the darkness and the light could now always be together. He was a sunshine to my moonlight, something I could only gaze at from afar when our worlds met for a brief moment in the sunrise and the dusk.

As much as that saddens me, I was still hopeful with the chance of meeting him again.

We would eclipse once more.

We would meet again.

[internetgremlin]

Annabeth Chase

Whatever you think this is about to be, shut the fuck up because it's not that.

I don't make tiktoks, and I don't know if this is trending as much on tumblr as it is over there but the reaction to Leah being cast as Annabeth Chase in the upcoming Disney+ Percy Jackson series has been explosive, to say the least, and after nearly a week I think I've finally collected my thoughts enough to say my piece.

Absolute disclaimer: Comments, reblogs, whatever are fine. But don't come for me. I'm not here to spread hate and I most certainly am not here for fights so DO NOT try to start one. I've been in two minds about saying anything at all for a while but I feel like I need to put pen to paper if you will, and at least journal my thoughts a little.

So, here goes.

When they first announced Leah's casting I was... feeling some feelings, and I'll admit I wasn't initially filled with joy.

But let me tell you WHY.

I am a white cisgender female with blonde, CURLY hair. Emphasis on the curly.

In the early 2000s, curly hair was highly unfashionable and having pin-straight hair was in. I HATED my hair. My mum has very thin straight hair and had no idea how to take care of mine. I grew up crying as my hair was brushed dry, the only hairstyle I knew was a 100% frizzy ponytail. For every slightly formal thing I did from school photos to attending weddings, my hair was straightened. Even at the hairdressers, they used to wash and straighten my hair before it was cut, so it never looked right once I washed it and it sprang back. For years I used harsh chemicals and all sorts of nasty products in attempt to tame it. I straightened it for school every morning for 18 months as an early teen, I don't even want to think about how much damage that did.

Of curly-haired role models and main characters, in books and movies and media, there were few. I think Hermione Granger is the most obvious, but also characters like Mia Thermopolis from The Princess Diaries. But for every single curly-haired main character I got to see myself in, that I could relate to and pretend to be, there was always one thing that happened. They had a makeover, and their hair was brushed and washed and STRAIGHTENED, and then, all of a sudden they were seen as beautiful, desirable women.

I grew up thinking that I would only be seen as pretty, beautiful, or even as a girl at all when I had straight hair. (is it worth mentioning I was frequently misgendered from a baby up until about 15 because my hair was always short or scraped back into a low ponytail/bun?)

And then I read Percy Jackson and I met Annabeth, who looked like me. She was a white girl with curly blonde hair and she didn't give a fuck. She is ruthless and clever and fierce and wise and she is my hero. I adored her and I wanted to be her and throughout 10+ books she appears in she never has a straightened out makeover. Percy sees her as beautiful from Day Fucking One and he values her always, and for the entire person she is rather than one trait or another predominantly.

When she has her 'makeover moment' on Circe's island in the Sea of Monsters she still has curly hair but it's described as shiny and tamed and Percy sees her as beautiful but 'not her' and 'not right'.

So you can imagine when the only character I've ever truly connected to and felt represented by was changed, it was a blow and the 12-year-old inside me was devastated.

But I'm an adult. Curly hair is not an inherently white trait, and there are far, far more little black girls who have suffered with managing and loving their hair far worse than I have. For every white main character who has curly hair, even if she has a makeover and it's straightened to be desirable, where are the black characters with incredible natural hair? I'm not even listening to the Hermione argument here.

I'm an adult, this show is primarily for kids. I do not need to be represented in this show. I have the books, and I had my childhood and it's time for well made, representative and inclusive media to take the stage. It's time for all the little girls with or without curly, difficult hair, white or black to be able to take something from this incredible character.

And look at Leah, she looks great. From the trio picture released you can see it already works. I can already see her proving everyone wrong and that girls are as much the heroes as boys are, giving endless attitude and calling Percy Seaweed Brain, I can already see her virtually glowing as she talks about battle strategy and architecture as if it's perfectly normal for a 12-year-old.

I trust Rick Riordan with this series. So far Walker has proved himself to be the perfect fit for Percy, and I know he would never do us dirty on any of the characters. His statement rings completely true, it's not about how much an actor looks like a book character, but how well they can bring that personality to life that makes it.

So to anyone in the fandom, especially to adults like myself who used to enjoy the series as children and teenagers and are excited for it to be brought to our screens *properly*, if you're not okay with Black Annabeth and Desi Grover then you need to take a long, hard look at yourself buddy, because that ain't about 'representation' and 'book accuracy' and you fucking know it.

Also, it's a tv show. Don't take things so seriously.

And, one final mama bear note, THESE ACTORS ARE CHILDREN. Sending racial abuse to anyone is horrific, but these are LITERAL KIDS. Don't fucking abuse kids, come on.

tldr: surprised but excited about further casting for the PJO series and anyone who has an issue with the actors' race can go fuck themselves.

(image not mine but look at these babies, I would die for them)

[ladyemiliastark]

I’m back to Westeros

I haven’t written a review on tumblr in a very long time, honestly I haven’t used tumblr for a very long time. I tend to get very involved with movies, tv shows and book, which is not always great for my mind. What brought me back here is House of the Dragon.

I was one of the people truly disappointed by the final of GoT, a show I had dedicated a lot, and I still am. So I wasn’t very hyped for the new spin off, I had decided to watch it with calm when it was all out and not follow it week by week. But then, purely by chance, I was with my sister the night of the season premiere and, since we are not able to see each other much at this point of our life, we wanted to recreate the many evenings spent together watching GoT when we were younger.

I really liked the first episode, the word building, the characters that I had read about in Fire and Blood years before, the dialogues that brought me back to GoT season 1. Westeros caught me back and it was nice to see a show about a world that I still love without the burden of the last season of GoT.

I think I was a casual viewer more or less until episode 4/5 when I realized “OK, I’m hooked again”. House of the Dragon really became the hilight of my week and a way to look forward to Mondays.

I didn’t really know what to expect from the show, my expectations were very low and maybe that’s why I appreciated it so much. I’ve never been a fan of the Targaryens and, while I did not hate her, I was never on team Daenerys, however I think that now I kind of love this house of crazy, dramatic people. And the dragons! I never cared for the dragons in GoT but I’m so excited for them in HotD. I’m a Stark girl for life but this show made me love the Targaryens!

When I read the book, and there was not even a hint of a possible show, one character stood out among all and that’s Princess Rhaenys Targaryen, the Queen Who Never Was (but should have been). I loved her from the first time I read about her, a fierce and bold dragon rider lady wrongly treated who should have been the queen of the Seven Kingdoms. I can’t describe how happy I am that the show version made me fell in love with her even more (Eve Best is a great casting choice!). She’s graceful, regal, wise, fierce and protective of her family, she’s faithful and loyal and has the boldness of a Targaryen. Say what you want about her escape on Meleys but that’s the Targaryen way and the scene was fucking beautiful.

No one on this show is a truly and completely good person and the show in my opinion shouldn’t be watched looking for the good vs bad people, it’s about interesting characters who commit terrible things, they have their reasons for it but they are all war criminals, let’s just choose our favorite. I’m team black all the way and I’m so ready to support all their crimes next season.

There are interesting characters on both teams to be fair and I want to see them all act.

The cast is really great and I could see their chemistry and real life affections. Eve Best stood out to me but they are all very good and add a lot of depth to these characters.

I did not expect to like Rhaenyra so much in the end, I was afraid I would not really tolerate her or feel like I feel about Daenerys but she actually won me over during the season. And for Daemon, he’s not the villain but is not a good person either and that’s fine.

There are some love stories in the show but of course my favorite is the one of Rhaenys and Corlys: that’s a true loving marriage (I got so many Ned and Cat vibes), a partnership built of trust and love that really emerges from their interactions, word and stares. Eve and Steve have great chemistry, are so committed the characters and they really did justice to my favorite book relationship. I know what may come for them but they’ll always be my favorite and I’ll always have those scenes that shows their real love for each other. I can’t get over how they look at each other. The idea that we could have the Sea Snake spin off and see their start pleases me immensely.

One thing I truly appreciate of this show is how much less violence, especially against women, and gratuitous nudity there is: they are trying to do better and I like it.

Overall I loved this first season, it brought me back to a world I love and I look forward to season two, something that hasn’t happened in a long time for me.