#that has possibly been without a ruler for some time

[lesbianfakir]

Canceling fakir for being abusive? Tired, old, been discussed for 20 years and there’s not much more to say. Let’s cancel him for something new. Fresh.

Let’s cancel Fakir for being pro-monarchy.

[howmanyepsofmlseason6areleft]

Miraculous Ladybug Season 6 Airdates January and February (+some other junk)

THAT'S RIGHT WE ARE FINALLY BACK!!

These dates have been out for awhile now, so I'm sorry for how late this is! My motivation for this blog has been entirely tied to personal life/ interest in the show, and since it hasn't been airing consistently and I've been busy with school it's been rough. But... here we are!

Before I get to more yapping, here are the dates! All of these can be found on the Disney Channel US website (if you're looking for a source), but honestly I wouldn't be surprised if another international network beats Disney in premiering at least one of these episodes in the next month or so. However, I'll make sure to be on the lookout so I can let you guys know/ update the post if necessary.

THE ILLUSTRHATER ✔️ Airdate: January 24th Time: 7:45 pm Brasilia Standard Time Channel: Mundo Gloob Language: Portuguese

THE ILLUSTRHATER ENGLISH DUB ✔️ Airdate: January 25th Time: 11:00 am Eastern Standard Time Channel: Disney Channel USA Language: English

SUBLIMATION ✔️ Airdate: January 31st Time: 7:45 pm Brasilia Standard Time Channel: Mundo Gloob Language: Portuguese

SUBLIMATION ENGLISH DUB ✔️ Airdate: February 1st Time: 11:00 am Eastern Standard Time Channel: Disney Channel USA Language: English

WEREPAPAS ✔️ Airdate: February 7th Time: 7:45 pm Brasilia Standard Time Channel: Mundo Gloob Language: Portuguese

DADDYCOP ✔️ Airdate: February 8th Time: 11:00 am Eastern Standard Time Channel: Disney Channel USA Language: English

WEREPAPAS ENGLISH DUB ✔️ Airdate: February 15th Time: 11:00 am Eastern Standard Time Channel: Disney Channel USA Language: English

So- it seems like this new era of miraculous is already off to a great start in the world of out of order airing with episodes 2-5 airing before episode one [EDIT: WE ARE NOW ALSO GETTING EPISODE 11 BEFORE EPISODE ONE ARE YOU KIDDING] , so I'm sorry to anyone who wants to watch it in order! However, hopefully nothing too crazy happens in the first episode that isn't recapped by the 2nd, so maybe you can watch these episodes as they come out anyway without too much confusion (doubt) [AGAIN, PROBABLY NO LONGER APPLIES W/ EPISODE 11 AIRING BEFORE OTHERS 💀] Either way, I'll try to let you guys know what the vibe is in that department (in the least spoilery way possible) , and at the end of the day its entirely up to you guys as viewers what you want to do! I'm sure we all have our routine with out of order airing by this point in time haha.

As for the blog, new pinned post dropped, partially revamped the look, and I will continue to post as necessary!

Excited to go on this journey with y'all, and here's to the new season :)

(Chronological order under cut)

MIRACULOUS LADYBUG SEASON 6 CHRONOLOGICAL ORDER

S6E01- Climatiqueen

S6E02- The Illustrhater

S6E03- Sublimation

S6E04- Daddycop

S6E05- Werepapas

S6E06- Sleeping Syren 

S6E07- El Toro De Piedra

S6E08- Vampigami

S6E09- Mister Agreste

S6E10- The Dark Castle

S6E11- Revelator

S6E12- Wreckless Driver

S6E13- Yaksi Gozen 

S6E14- Grendiaper

S6E15- The Ruler

S6E16- Noe

S6E17- A Fairy Good Night

S6E18- The Dirtifiers

S6E19- Riginarazione

S6E20- HeartFixer

S6E21- The Chained Titans

S6E22- Lady Chaos

S6E23- Sadnansi

S6E24- Queen of the Dreadzone

S6E25- Secret Protocol

S6E26- Nemesis

[sisyphusrequiem]

AFFOGATO COOKIE ANALYSIS! +some art

Affogato cookie, my favourite in the game and one of the most underrated… and hated, for decent reason.

He also stands as one of the most mysterious, with little to nothing being given regarding his core motivations or past. As a result, this is my psychoanalysis of Affogato Cookie, and what his past may look like!

Starting off with evidence we can draw from the main quest, we can easily surmise that:

- Affogato is intelligent, cunning and manipulative. He knows what to say to sway people to his side, and make their opinions into his. He holds a subtle disdain for Dark Cacao through his dialogue when conversing with and about him, as if he has to force himself to say the words ‘My Lord’ and such.

- He shows an apathy towards the people of the kingdom, and yet also shows respect. He is quick to turn away villages desperately seeking need, but quick to reward those who follow him. Despite his cruelty regarding everything, he states his wish as a ruler is to “Make all cookies in this Kingdom able to spend their days happy and free.”

- Regarding his past he says, “Most of my life I was down on my knees. Even the moments I was allowed to sit in a chair, none of them were spent in comfort.”

- And, when sharing delicacies, he seems to favour the priests most.

Evidence outside of main quest:

- His description says: Affogato Cookie spent restless years without a place to belong until he came up with a simple solution: to create a land of his own once and for all! He appeared out of nowhere on a frigid night in the Dark Cacao Kingdom and has been busy earning the trust and favour of the locals with the help of his strange concoctions and mysterious chants.

- One of his ascension quotes is: "The Coffee Village? I barely remember my time there... "

- And his loading screen trivia reads: "After leaving his home, Affogato Cookie wandered the land and learned a lot about magic and witchcraft."

With all this evidence compiled, this is my theory for his past and motives!

It can be believed he grew up in the coffee village, spending his childhood years there. Since, however, he hardly remembers his time there, it can be assumed it was destroyed long ago, from a rough timeline of Affo’s pre-teens to young adult years. The description for its place on the map says ‘the only known home location has been left abandoned and in disarray.’ This means the villagers must have left in a hurry, so it can be theorised that something must have attacked, possibly some wild animals, especially since something similar happened to the Milk Tribes village.

He said he spent his time without a place to belong, suggesting he was travelling alone. Because of how destroyed the coffee village was, and how little we’ve seen of other coffee tribe residents, we can make the assumption Affogato cookies parents, caretakers, and/or other family died in the attack, if they weren’t already dead prior to the destruction of the village.

My belief is this event made him want to become ruler of the kingdom, so he could prevent it from ever happening again, and could protect all other tribes and villages in the area. I also believe that as time went on, this belief became distorted, until he began to prioritise his own role as leader as the most important thing. I still do believe he desired prosperity within the kingdom, but we’ll discuss that later!

Following his travels we know he learned many things about magic, witchcraft, and manipulation tactics. However, there aren’t many other specifics to fill this large gap of time in his life. From comments such as “Most of my life I was down on my knees”, his knowledge of ‘mysterious chants’, his favour of the priests, and even his decor, where he burns incense and prays, it can be surmised he was a priest or at least performed religious rites. Whether or not this is something he did as a kid, and then continued to do as a way to make money or simply devoted himself to such a thing, or if it’s something he picked up along his travels and then decided to utilise is unclear, but we know it’s a talent he picked up. It also suggests his ‘strange concoctions’ may be a form of apothecary, and that this may also be a job he picked up or pursued, perhaps even both at the same time to make ends meet and further his skills?

Finally, his lovely entrance into the Dark Cacao Kingdom itself! It says he appeared on a frigid night, quite possibly using a vulnerable day as a way to make himself appear as a sort of angel, helping them at their most desperate, and earning their trust. He probably started as a helper, earning the affection and approval of the locals (which was probably easy even without manipulation, because he had first-hand experience of the difficulty of surviving without security!), before working his way up as an apothecary, priest, (these are both implied in: ‘busy earning the trust and favour of the locals with the help of his strange concoctions and mysterious chants’) and finally becoming the king's right hand man. Then it continues on with the events we already know from the main story.

From my theory of his past, these are what I surmise as his motivations: Following the destruction of his village, he wished he could become ruler so other villages could stay protected and be safe forever. Along his journey of furthering his skills, he began to lose sight of this goal and instead wished to become ruler of the land and have everyone under his rule. However! My belief is when he became ruler, he looked back on his previous wish of safety, and thought while safety is important, comfort should be valued above all. Spending his life on his knees and in discomfort, he wishes for everyone who went through similar things to no longer have to suffer the way they always have. He begins to slow the security of the walls surrounding the kingdom because he prioritises his subjects happinesses before their security, the complete opposite of Dark Cacao.

Dark Cacao and Affogato parallel each other in a way no one else seems to realise, with Affo growing up in harsh environments and wishing for no one else to experience the same, sacrificing their security to do so, and Dark Cacao, following the dark flour war, became so terrified of losing his citizens that he put all his focus into security, sacrificing their happiness to do so.

It’s sort of tragic, two people who at their core want what’s best for the kingdom, but can’t seem to find a mix between protection and comfort like they should. I genuinely think if they worked together they could make the kingdom as great as it could— (gets dragged off stage) “”HEY HEY!!!! I WASN'T GOING TO RANT ABOUT AFFOCAO— DON'T BOO ME????””

Regardless, I really hope they do expand on Affo’s character!! If you have any alternate theories or headcanons you wanna add on feel free to hit up my inbox or add your own tags to the post!

[fridaysmind]

IDW Starscream x reader

This got me so interested that I lost sleep and just started writing, falling asleep every 20 minutes, lol

The meeting alone was a message of destiny. First acquaintance, discussions at some boring event didn't just brighten the evening, but allowed a veritable meadow of flowers to bloom in your spark. Peaceful Cybertron was beautiful, it was a pity that few people appreciated what they had.

Then the long war. Deaths, one after another, the smell of about to burst energon from someone's insides, hunger, pain, death again. At what other moment than this should you want to be closer to the one who heals the frame and the spark with mere words, with tugging sounds and a self-assured tone? You didn't hesitate to pick a side. The processor was on maximum, reports, tasks, fixing equipment or repairing the wounded, you learned fast, everything you could learn, just to earn a higher rank, to stand if not on par with Starscream, then at least to be as close to him as possible. But that plan failed so miserably… You were sent away, as if to separate you from him, fate mocked and hated for something.

Without giving up hope, you kept in touch with him from a distance. You wrote to him much more than he did, and more often than not, he would suddenly appear online, reply to one or maybe just two messages with something short, and start complaining. About the Lord, about the tasks, about the soldiers. And you supported him as best you could, not knowing that you were the only one who stayed on his side and told him something positive, like a life preserver thrown so timely.

Then it was finally over. After an agonizingly long time that passed imperceptibly but sucked the last drop out of every Cybertronian, the one you had been waiting and longing for for so long finally stood before you. He was washed and polished, just like you. After millions of years, nothing creaked in your joints, the sky overhead was clear, and Starscream, though slightly changed, was looking over his shoulder with such familiar optics.

For so much time of companionship and support, you were allowed to watch the most important events not from the surface of Cybertron under the new ruler's balcony, and not live, but standing directly behind his back. You've missed him so much that you delight in every movement of his adorable wings, from a full flap, to a barely perceptible twitch. And now he stands there, says his speech, which he has been working on for a long time, makes snide comments, waves goodbye and goes to the exit, passing by and casting a lingering glance at you.

On another workday, you hand over the report into his manipulators, savoring the instant touch of your fingers as he picks up the datapads. He sets them aside and stares at your figure standing in front of him, scrolling from side to side in the expensive chair.

"Not a single remark in your direction my dear, not during the war, nor for your service to me personally, I should suspect you, are you surely a common mortal?" his voice is so sweet you want to lick your lips languidly. You chuckle at his words, and smile at him sincerely, not believing it to be true.

"You shouldn't, I'm just always motivated. It's nice when work is appreciated, you know how unpleasant it feels when it's blatantly not to"

He presses his lips together and nods a few times, dropping a slightly sinking gaze to the surface of his desk, but wipes it off his faceplate and looks at you with the familiar friendliness only you are accustomed to. "You were, are, and I hope will remain my oldest and dearest friend, I need loyal people like you at my side."

And you nod to him too, more than willing to do him a favor. But, oh, how you want to be more than just a loyal friend to him in this time, how you want to put your helmet on his shoulder, take him by the arm and intertwine your fingers, especially in front of everyone. How you want to just nuzzle into his cheek and leave a kiss. And even more than that. Much more. You hide your EM field from Starscream and take a step back, coughing slightly.

"Well, I'll be off, right? So much for rebuilding Cybertron," and you slip out of his office, almost flying out, not noticing at all his outstretched manipulator in your direction in a pathetic attempt to delay.

He abruptly dropped his helmet onto the table with a loud clang, growling out of not knowing what to do. Friend, you're a friend. Odd, what else could he say? 'Hop on my lap, please'? He can't take this pressure, this feeling that if he doesn't act faster, someone will take you, so friendly and open, into their filthy clutches. He doesn't know how to approach you. He's barely even interacted with femmes during his asset. It's worth asking for advice. Primus, from whom? It's all idiots! He jumped up, remembering someone he could have a decent contact with and maybe even get something worthwhile. Dropping his chair from the abruptness of his movements, he quickly close his personal documents and left the office, remembering to lock it.

You're calmly walking down the corridors with another plan in your head and a whole city of ideas and dreams about the future, when you see someone with your side-eye around the corner and turn your attention to the end of the next corridor. Your processor reflexively recognized Starscream's figure instantly, only then did you realize that Windblade was standing next to him. That wasn't the point, it was the way they were standing. Close, too close. He exhales and leans toward her, saying something too quietly for you to make out. Her optics widened in disbelief and surprise as she opened her mouth and looked as if she was embarrassed. Your jaws clenched to a squeak. What could he possibly have said that? He so rarely stood so close to even you, what was she doing so near to him? You stepped out from around the corner completely and shouted a greeting to the far standing mech and femme, causing them to literally recoil from each other. Oh no, you saw the whole thing!

You're in front of them in a couple seconds, looking as shy as if they'd been caught kissing in the pantry.

"What were you discussing?" you smile affably at them both, shifting your gaze from one to the other. They look at each other sharply at your question and Windblade nods her shoulder awkwardly, kneading her hinge and averting her gaze. What was that supposed to mean? Were they flirting?

Starscream instantly went into tactical retreat mode, taking one step back, then another, then silently turning on his heels and adding a step into the unknown. Oh, how rude. This is after all that? Distrust, huh?

You felt as if the spark was about to stop shining from the pain beneath your breastplates. You held yourself back from showing emotion, continuing to look welcoming to at least one onlooker.

"You looked so embarrassed together. If I'm reading this right, I'd have to say that the two of you are very organic." No, you don't think so. And your own words hurt you, but you just want to know more. And femme is throwing up her manipulators and actively waving them around in denial.

"No, no, you've got it completely wrong! We weren't talking about anything like that, never mind…"

"Then what else could you have discussed?"

"We weren't discussing anyone"

Oh no, they weren't gossiping about you behind your own back were they? You force yourself to chuckle sarcastically.

"It's all clear with you lovebirds, how shy." you don't want to hear any more, so with the same quick stride that Starscream had, you walk off in the other direction, leaving Windblade at a loss. What should she have told you? To declare in Starscream's absence that he's in love with you and like a boy doesn't know what to do when he barely trusted her with it? It would have been such a scandal.

She looked sadly in the direction Starscream had gone, then in the direction you were going, and sighed heavily, leaning against the wall and realizing how difficult it was going to be for the two of you.

@skittyhugger because it's your order.

Аnd @alexandraibis because I know damn well you're gonna love it.

[city-of-ladies]

An early Japanese ruler who brought stability to her kingdom, Himiko (ruled c. 180–c. 247/248) remains shrouded in mystery. Her story offers fascinating glimpses into the power of female rulers in ancient Japan.

Himiko and the sources

Himiko’s existence is known through Chinese sources, the earliest being the History of the Wei, compiled in 297. This is due to the queen having sent embassies to China. The text provides more details about Himiko and the Wa people (Japan was then referred to as “Wakoku” or “Dwarf Country” by the Chinese) than about other regions. This suggests that her assertive diplomacy held significant importance for China.

Himiko is not mentioned in Japan’s national histories, such as the Kojiki and the Nihon Shoki, which were compiled much later. It is likely that she did not fit the narrative these works aimed to promote—one of an unbroken dynasty passed down mostly through male rulers.

Chosen to bring back peace

Himiko ruled over the kingdom of Yamatai. The exact location of this kingdom remains debated, with some scholars placing it in Kyūshū, others in the Kinki region. No conclusive proof has emerged.

She came to power after a long period of warfare. The country had previously been ruled by a man, but his reign was marred by unrest. The people therefore chose Himiko, hoping she would restore peace and stability.

It is possible that several of the chieftains who supported her rise to power were women. Archaeological finds from the period indicate that women held prominent leadership roles in political, military, and religious spheres.

Himiko may have been a shamaness or priestess—an exalted and influential position. The History of the Wei states that she “occupied herself with magic and sorcery, bewitching the people.” Himiko remained unmarried and was assisted in governance by her younger brother.

She apparently led a secluded life:

"After she became the ruler, there were few who saw her. She had one thousand women as attendants, but only one man. He served her food and drink and acted as a medium of communication. She resided in a palace surrounded by towers and stockades, with armed guards in a state of constant vigilance."

Bias and interpretations

Modern scholars have often interpreted this passage in ways that downplay Himiko’s authority. Some suggested that her brother was the true ruler, while Himiko merely performed religious duties without political power.

However, most researchers now recognize that leadership in ancient Japan typically involved support from assistants and regional chiefs. Himiko’s position was consistent with this model. Nothing in the sources suggests her brother ruled in her place; rather, it seems she was chosen because other leaders saw in her the qualities of a capable sovereign.

Himiko was not the only ruler to remain unseen by foreign envoys—this practice continued for centuries. Her seclusion, therefore, was not exceptional.

The Chinese chronicler may also have been biased. In imperial China, only male rule was recognized, and a female sovereign would have seemed a barbaric anomaly.

Himiko’s rule and diplomacy

Himiko successfully unified around thirty chiefdoms under her control. She led the most powerful kingdom of her time and was able to subdue others. Her authority stemmed not only from her religious status but also from her control of borders, markets and taxation.

She invested heavily in diplomacy with China. In 238, she sent gifts to the new emperor—including slaves and fabrics. In return, she received a golden seal designating her “Queen of Wa, Friend of Wei,” along with woven fabrics, swords, jade jewelry, and bronze mirrors. In 243, she dispatched another embassy with brocades, which were highly valued by the Chinese, further enhancing her prestige.

Death and legacy

In 247, Himiko’s rival, the king of Kuna, prepared for war, and internal unrest was growing. Himiko died before the conflict was resolved. According to the History of the Wei:

"A great mound was raised, more than a hundred paces in diameter. More than a hundred male and female attendants followed her to the grave."

Her succession marked a continuation of female rule:

"A king was placed on the throne, but the people would not obey him. Assassination and murder followed; more than one thousand were thus slain. A relative of [H] imiko named Iyo 壱与, a girl of thirteen, was [then] made queen and order was restored. Zheng [the Chinese ambassador] issued a proclamation to the effect that Iyo was the ruler."

Himiko’s story has long fueled scholarly debate. Was she linked to the legendary Empress Jingū, who was also said to have been active during this period? Where was her kingdom located? Where was she buried?

In early modern Japan, after the Meiji Restoration of 1868, Himiko’s story was reinterpreted to suit a new ideology. As government was to be seen as the exclusive domain of men, Himiko couldn't be acknowledged as a true ruler.

Yet Himiko continues to fascinate. She has appeared in numerous works, from films to video games, and was recently featured as a playable leader in Civilization VII.

If you enjoy this blog, consider supporting me on Ko-fi!

Further reading:

Aoki Michiko Y., “Empress Jingū: the Shamaness ruler ”,in: Mulhern Chieko Irie (ed.), Heroic with grace legendary women of Japan

Souyri Pierre-François, Nouvelle Histoire du Japon

Yoshie Akiko, Tonomura Hitomi, Takata Azumi Ann, “Gendered Interpretations of Female Rule: The Case of Himiko, Ruler of Yamatai”

[ashprince-of-bel-air]

AN: So i'm hoping to make this a 2 part story if people like this, i'm basing it on a post I saw saying that Geta would treat Y/N like the pharaoh in The Mummy and paint them so nobody else could touch them. This is also my first time writing a fic because I was desperate for more Geta content so any constructive criticism would be nice!

Part Two

Treasure

Geta had always been possessive and selfish, that had been clear throughout his entire life. He detested sharing anything with his brother, Caracalla as they grew up together, whether it was toys, food or even just any basic attention. He despised the fact that he had to share the role of Emperor with him, never feeling that he was fully in control at any given moment, knowing he had to acquiesce some of his power to him. All of his resentment he kept boiling away inside of him, using it to advantage when he needed to intimidate his Generals or even dish out the Emperor’s justice in any way, helping him feed his public image of being a ruthless ruler. All this he used to his advantage whilst he plotted a way to dispose of his brother, he was happy this way, until he saw you.

It was a blazing hot day in the Colosseum, the smell of blood and sweat was full in the air as the Gladiator Games were now in full swing, the roaring of the audience was deafening, you had experienced nothing like this. This was your first time at the arena, your father had delayed on bringing you to watch the games fearing that you would not have the stomach for it, not wanting to jeopardise his ever climbing position by having you faint or scream in disgust in front of the other senators or even the Emperors. As you watch enthralled by the spectacle the sibling Emperors watch on the games with a touch of boredom, drinking their fill of wine to cool down in the hot sun, suddenly Geta’s eyes land on you, enraptured by your visage as if you were the physical embodiment of Venus herself. He leant forward slightly in his chair to gain a better look of you without alerting his brother to what he was so enthralled with. He could not turn his gaze away from the way the light pink tunic hung deftly on your skin, your skin looking so pure and untouched, he almost snarled at the thought of any of these lecherous old senators even thinking to touch you and defile you. Geta subtly heeded over a guard and commanded him to bring you to his palace after the games had finished, his mind no longer on the games as it raced with thoughts of you and how he wanted to keep you all to himself. All his life he had to share with his brother but in this moment, he knew he would do anything to make sure that you were his and his alone.

The games end and everyone begins to pile out of the Colosseum, you follow closely behind your father not wanting to be lost in the crowd. The pair of you begin to approach your carriage and begin the journey home, as you near the carriage door you both become scared and confused as to why two members of the imperial guard are stood at the door. You stand wringing your hands anxiously as one of them whispers in your fathers ear, you watch his eyes go wide and nod obediently at the guard, your father nods for you to enter the carriage and you make the journey to your new destination in silence as your father had commanded.

Once the carriage pulls up at your final destination you step out and are amazed to be at the steps on the imperial palace, your mind races with possibilities, “is this a mistake?” “Are we in trouble?” “has my father upset a powerful senator?” your mind coming up with endless conspiracies as you walk up the steps and enter the palace, none of your thoughts positive. The guards eventually lead you in through the palace and usher you into a room, it is one of the most magnificent rooms you have ever seen, adorned with rich cloth tapestries and a shallow marble pool in the middle of the room to provide an escape from the harsh Rome heat. You approach the man sat in the throne at the far side of the room nervously, waiting for something bad to happen. As you stand at the bottom of the stairs below the throne you notice that the tall statuesque figure looking down at you is none other than Emperor Geta, quickly you lean forward and bow as custom dictates and await his command for you to stand up to address him.

Geta watched you walk into the throne room, his eyes upon your nervous visage, you were like a deer ready to bolt and he was watching you like a lion watches his prey, a predatory look already in his eyes as you approach him. He chuckles softly as he sees you bow once you realise exactly who he is, he stand from his throne and walks towards you, circling you, knowing that he has you in his grasp. Geta eyes your father and speaks in a curt tone “you are dismissed, your presence is not needed here.” Your father attempts to interject however the guards escort him swiftly away and send him home in the carriage you arrived in. Geta walks to stand in front of you, still bowing politely which he found to be endearing, you feel his finger hook underneath your chin as he places pressure against it to pull you up to look into his eyes, you stare at them and notice the possessiveness in them. “what is your name little dove?” Geta demands as he hold your gaze, not letting his hand drop from your chin. “its Y/N, your majesty.” You barely whisper to him, intimidated by his towering presence. He leans his face closer to yours, his voice almost a whisper as you can feel his breath against your lips. “well Y/N, I was completely enraptured by your presence at the games today and I had to bring you here to be mine.” His eyes darken with what you can only imagine to be lust, not knowing the ways of men yet, you gulp softly not knowing what he has in store for you but how could you refuse an Emperor what he wants? Geta looks down at you scanning all the curves of your body, pure and untouched skin, he takes a lock of hair in his hand and plays with it, pulling it up to his lips kissing it and whispering in an uncharacteristic softness. “my treasure.”

[catbread0]

Hi , first time requesting something but could you do a Qin Shi Huang x shy fem River goddess reader hc or one shot (I don't mind) , possibly fluff , reader is the goddess of the sea/rivers in China (so Mazu) , and QSH finds her after his match , wondering why she's so familiar, QSH saw her once dancing byherself when he was still a proper ruler of China. I think she'd look like how Mazu looks on the pictures I've seen, I think I'd like QSH to try to marry Reader.

Please and Thank you

Qin Shi Huang x Mazu! Reader

It was nice doing this request. Forgive me if he sounds OOC. It's because I haven't read any manga after season 2 due to there being no hard copies in English in my state. I'm only going off of what my friend has told about their personality traits, without spoilers. Hope you enjoy reading, and I'm sorry for any grammar mistakes!!

(*´・∀・｀*)

Words: 587

(!!PLEASE NO SPOILERS!!)

Fluff, idk who actually won the round

Record of Ragnarok Masterlist

Searching For You

Qin Shi has been wandering around China. Being an emperor was draining and decided to see where more forces were needed in case of an invasion from any neighboring countries.

While he was walking around, he heard a faint yet soothing voice coming from the distance.

Curiosity got the better of him, and he decided to follow the voice. There, he hid behind a tree and saw a beautiful maiden dancing in the river that flowed by here.

That beautiful maiden was you, Mazu, the Chinese Goddess of the sea. However, he didn’t know who you were.

You didn’t notice Qin Shi behind the tree as you kept dancing. Your red hanfu flowed elegantly with your movements, and the gold hairpins and jewelry that you wore swayed with you.

Qin Shi couldn’t take his eyes off of you, and he studied your appearance. However, he took a step to get a better look but stepped on a branch that was on the ground.

You immediately heard the noise and stopped dancing. You were on high alert and vanished into the water.

Qin Shi came out of his spot and tried to find you and followed down the river for a bit. But at the end of the day, he couldn’t find the maiden that had stolen his heart at first sight.

During his reign as emperor, Qin Shi would hire people to try and find the beautiful maiden. Some said that he may have been dreaming or hallucinating, but he knew what he saw wasn’t fictional. Qin Shi would ask painters to paint the beautiful maiden by giving descriptions of them.

All of them came close, but he would not be satisfied even if it was the smallest mistake.

You plagued his mind until he died.

Now, Qin Shi was fighting for his life again in the hospital of Valhalla. His match had finished, and he was recovering, but while he was watching the screen they had for him in the room, he saw a glimpse of the same beautiful maiden he saw years ago.

Qin Shi immediately asked for a nurse and asked if they knew who that maiden was. They said yes, and he asked for you to be brought to his room.

A few minutes later, you arrived, and you were in front of him. He knew you weren't a hallucination. He was glad he finally found you again.

You both talked to each other, and you had to admit it was lovely talking to someone as interesting as him.

Qin Shi explained how he searched for you when he scared you off. You laughed since you were mostly worshipped during the Song Dynasty, almost 740 years apart.

The moment Qin Shi was discharged, he went to find you and asked you to have a date with him. You both had a joyful time, but to Qin Shi, it felt as if he kept falling for you more each time you laughed or smiled at him.

After a few days, Qin Shi decided to ask for your hand in marriage. But not without making it extravagant, after all, what emperor wouldn't make a ceremony for a god and future empress?

Qin Shi learned that you are celebrated on your birthday, the 23rd day of the third month of the lunar calendar. So he gathered all of his civilians both far and wide to his palace to create the largest and best festival for you.

Qin Shi couldn't wait for your birthday to propose to you.

~Lilly's

[nellasbookplanet]

people have been fawning over how humanlike the gods are for a month now, but now its wrong to compare them to mortal powers because they're otherworldy beings that can't possibly be thought of in human terms? or is the suggestion that they're like mortals, but they're just an innately superior group of people that deserves to have power over everyone else?

Hello anon! Are you the same person who got all up in my askbox yesterday? You certainly seem to have an equally poor grasp on what I actually said and a willingness to make it somebody else's problem. However, I no longer have a headache and am feeling less cranky, so lets treat this as a genuine question.

I never said it's wrong or even inaccurate to compare the gods to humans/mortals. What I said is that some seem over-eager to equate them with groups or systems where they don't actually fit, or to project our own world onto them. This tends to lead to poor textual analysis. For example, equating the gods with mortal rulers (specifically tyrannical rulers, even), the one percent, a higher social class, rich people, or colonizers of mortals all read as comparisons made from the assumption 'gods are the most powerful sentient beings of Exandria; therefore I will compare them to the most powerful people of our world'. Do these comparisons make actual sense as parallels? No! Kings and rich people and colonizers aren't innately more powerful than others because we don't live in a fantasy world where magic is real. You can take said power from them and redistribute it fairly. You cannot do this with the gods.

Ultimately, the last few words in your ask neatly sum up the problem with this mindset: do the gods deserve to hold this power over everyone else? Lets look at this through a comparison: do sorcerers like Imogen deserve to hold power over everyone else? She, like most sorcerers, was born with powers others do not have and has no way to get rid of them. They cannot be taken from her and redistributed to the masses to make things more equal, because they are a part of her innate self. In using them, Imogen can do good, but she also sometimes ends up hurting people by reading their thoughts without consent or, at times, even meaning to. So, does Imogen deserve this power? By now, you might see the problem. It doesn't matter whether she deserves her power because you can't take it from her without killing her, no matter how unfair you think it is that she has it. 'Do they deserve their power' is an irrelevant question that people keep coming back to. What you're actually asking is, 'do the gods deserve to live', or even 'do we have the right to kill them' which is a lot more loaded.

The gods already evened the playing field as much as was possible by locking themselves behind the divine gate, severely diminishing their influence on Exandria. They can no longer cause any more harm than any mortal, because now they must act through mortals such as clerics and paladins, through which they do a lot of good (or have we already forgotten about c1 and c2, or even the resurrection of Laudna by a divine cleric and the actions of FCG in c3?). If this still isn't enough for you, you might want to ask yourself whether what you actually want is fairness and the good of the people of Exandria, or if you're just looking for pointless revenge for the sake of it.

[requiem-for-a-raisin]

The Past Records: William & Victor - Part 2

*Fan translation for funsies! IP owned by Cybird, translations are my own and may be inaccurate. See About page for more info.*

WARNING: Contains major spoilers for Victor’s route.

:readmore:

It's already been a month since I met Victor,

and he invited me to the castle on the palace grounds.

Victor

"This is our hideout, our base of operations for defeating evil with evil."

The polished floor reflects the shine of the chandelier, making the entire castle shine beautifully.

(It's hard to believe it's a base of evil.)

After we shook hands in the audience chamber, Victor said he needed a base to do his evil deeds. He set his sights on an unused castle on the grounds, and it seems he's been working hard to build this base of evil for the past month.

Victor

"I've prepared a room for you. Feel free to use it whenever you like."

William

"Are you going to live here too?"

Victor

"There are plenty of rooms."

(He's being vague.)

As we walk around and he explains about the rooms, I notices several servants.

Victor

"Also, all the servants who work in this castle are deaf, so please communicate with them using sign language or writing."

William

"Yes, I understand."

(By hiring deaf people, he was able to expand employment and maintain confidentiality at the same time.)

This alone made it clear that he was extremely skilled, both as a ruler and as an evil man.

Victor

"And this is the common room."

He walked us into the common room, sat down on the sofa, and gave me a document.

Victor

"I know it’s early, but it is time to ‘defeat evil with evil’.”

The document he handed me contained information about a certain nobleman.

William

"Robert Sullivan... the son of a viscount."

Victor

"He was unable to inherit the family line because he had difficulty socializing, and instead his younger brother inherited it, leaving him without a place to live."

William

"But he does have money."

Victor nodded and continued.

Victor

"For the past six months, he has been buying a lot of goods imported from overseas. They are all the same."

Wood, acid, sulfur... these are all the raw materials for gunpowder.

Victor

"He seems to have had some problems as a nobleman, but he has talent as an engineer. That's one of--"

William

"The technology to make state-of-the-art bombs."

Victor

"Good answer, you are correct."

William

"If he has that level of technology, we could consider recruiting him into the military."

Victor

"That's difficult. The group he went to with the new bomb is made up of republicans."

I looked up in surprise and met his eyes, eyebrows drooping and a wry smile.

Victor

"The fact that we have a family succession system is entirely the fault of this country. So let's overthrow the throne."

Victor

"If I do that, I will be recognized by the people. The world will change dramatically."

William

"...If their desire for recognition goes wrong, it can become an evil that could destroy the country."

Since the Queen ascended to the throne, republicanism has become more harsh.

The Privy Council is not united in their loyalty to the Queen, and the nobles kneel before the Queen but secretly commit disrespect and betrayal.

It was clear that there were few people who truly served and protected the monarch.

Victor

"So, tonight, we are going to infiltrate the base of that republican group!"

William

"Wait a second, they're after you."

William

"What would you gain from going with me? I'm sure it'd be fine if I went alone."

Victor

"No, we'll go together. Otherwise, what's the point of having a face like Victor?"

Victor

"...And as a ruler, I want as many lives as possible to survive."

He stands up and holds out his hand.

Victor

"If we can convince them, that would be the best thing."

(I have the feeling that no matter what we say, they won't listen.)

I sighed and took his hand and stood up.

William

"If the Queen dies, our people will be in trouble. Please don't do anything reckless."

Victor laughed, looking happily pleased.

On the way to the headquarters of the republican group, we had a casual conversation about how we spend our days, our favorite foods, and got to know each other.

We talked about the name of our organization, our future prospects, our ideals, and so on. I enjoyed talking with him, and we got along so well that it felt like we were old friends.

William

"Now that I think of it, sometimes you're inconsistent in the first person... does that mean something?"

Victor

"... It used to be me, but I thought it was more convenient in some ways, so I changed it."

Victor

"But if I let my guard down, it comes out. I still have a lot to learn."

The moment Victor put his hand on the door, the conversation ended and the atmosphere changed.

Victor

“Let's go."

Just as we had heard, we went inside and found a republican group holding a rally.

Robert Sullivan stood alone on the stage and raised his voice in front of them.

Robert

“This is a bomb that has been successfully made twice as powerful as a normal one!"

As Robert held up the bomb and received thunderous applause, we hid behind chairs and listened.

Robert

“Coming morning, we will carry out a revolution!!"

Victor's brow furrowed.

Robert

"We'll throw bombs in from all sides to set the palace ablaze."

Robert

"Then the men hiding in the palace will take the queen's head in exchange for their lives in the flames of hell."

Robert

"It will be difficult for those who throw the bombs to return alive."

Silence fell, and Robert raised the bomb again.

Robert

"However, in order to bring peace to this country, we must defeat the queen!!"

Republicans

"Woooooooooo!!"

Victor

"I see."

As they raised their swords in excitement, Victor lowered his eyes, exhaled, and slowly opened his eyelids.

His eyes were filled with a strong will when I saw them again.

Victor

"And as a ruler, I wish for as many lives as possible to survive."

Victor

"If we can convince them, that would be the best."

(...Ah, I see.)

Realizing this, I stood up.

Robert

"Who are you?!"

William

"It must be lonely to be a ruler."

Victor

"William...?"

William

"More than anyone, I wish for freedom and happiness for the people. But my feelings go unheard, people go astray, and more lives are left unsalvageable."

I get closer to them, one step at a time.

William

"I will kill the queen in exchange for my own life. Will the future you all desire bring you freedom?"

We all stopped where we could see each other.

William

"The monarch who loved you all, no matter how much you betrayed him, has just now let go of your hand."

Just tens of seconds ago, Her Majesty had given up on them. Judgmentally deciding that she couldn't save them, she lowered her eyes and faced forward with resolve.

Robert

"Somebody, grab those bastards!"

William

"'All of you, stay where you are."

In an instant, everyone except us froze, and only moved their eyes in confusion.

Watching their expressions gradually change to ones of fear, I asked Victor.

William

“They claim to have their own sense of justice and are trying to commit slaughter. I see these people as evil."

William

“Victor, what do you think of them?"

His cold gaze said it all.

—

Notes: This one was a long one and I think the gendered pronouns are purposely inconsistent? Because our dear Victor is unconstrained by gender norms? William is always interesting despite not being my favorite, but this event has made me love him so much more. I always thought him as being a bit haughty and, well, self-righteous, but he is also very loyal and protective of those he cares about even after knowing Victor for only a month. Just two good boys embracing their “evil” justice together! 😊

[queenstarlight2]

Hello! Im not sure if you're still accepting requests but I've got a story in my heart that I'd love to be brought to life. It's based around Thranduil x Reader. The reader is a human who has a positive history with the Mirkwood elves. She and Thranduil have become especially close over time as she isn't afraid to stand up to him when needed. They have deep, unspoken yet obvious feelings for each other that they have never acted upon as she understands his position as the King of the Elves and he knows that his time with her would be limited being a mortal. Unfortunately, he doesn't know how limited that time will be being that she is human and susceptible to human illness. She discovers that she has terminal cancer that Elven magic cannot cure. She chooses to not tell Thranduil as he has his kingdom to focus on. One day, he realises that he has not seen her about for a day or two and asks after her. No one can remember seeing her either so he goes to her chambers himself to check on her only to find her unresponsive (either in her bed or on the floor). That's a whole lot of detail Ive just given so you're welcome to take it in any direction you wish should you choose to take this idea on <3

(thanks anon for a reason to destroy people's hearts. this is my first time doing some bittersweet angst. I loved it)

Spoke to late(2k)

The halls of the Elvenking were filled with a sense of quiet unease, a feeling of something not quite right that hung heavy in the air. Thranduil, the regal ruler of the Woodland Realm, frowned as he moved through the corridors, his sharp eyes taking in every detail.

It had been days since he had seen her - the human woman who had captured his heart with her courage and spirit. He had noticed her absence from the usual routines and social gatherings, but he had been wrapped up in the affairs of state, unable not to give it much thought. Yet, now, the nagging feeling in the back of his mind had grown incessant, tugging at his attention with the force of a restless spirit. He had tried to ignore it, to push it aside, telling himself that she was no doubt busy with her matters. But the feeling had persisted, gnawing at his usually calm composure. Thranduil's frown deepened as he continued through the palace, the sense of unease only deepening. The halls seemed quieter, less alive as if a vital presence was missing. He found himself looking at familiar corners and passages, expecting to see her there, her laughter echoing through the corridors, her eyes sparkling with wit.

But she was nowhere to be found. He tried to tell himself it was nothing. She was merely occupied with something. Yet, his heart knew it was something more ominous. His steps slowed as he approached the wing where her chambers were situated. There was no bustle, no activity. It was as if the place was holding its breath. He quickened his pace, the unease now a tangible thing, tightening around his chest.

He came to the door of her room and pushed it open without a knock. The room was dim, the curtains drawn, a stark contrast to the usually airy and lit space it was. He stepped inside, his eyes scanning the room, a cold claw of fear now gripping his insides. Her presence lingered in the air, a faint scent of her favorite flowers, a hint of her perfume. He saw her things, her clothing, her hairbrush, the trinkets she kept on her dresser, all as they were. Yet, she was not there. The bed was made, untouched, the blankets undisturbed.

Thranduil's heart now pounded in his chest, the fear a full-blown beast he could no longer ignore. He moved to the sitting room, searching every nook and cranny, his eyes wild now, his mind racing with grim possibilities.

There was no trace of her, no sign of a struggle, no indication of where she could have gone. He began to doubt his sanity; perhaps he had exaggerated her absence, perhaps he had missed her somehow. But his heart, the part of him that was attuned to her, screamed that she was nowhere to be found.

Thranduil's search led him now to the bathroom, his heart in his throat. He pushed open the door, his eyes scanning the small space. There, on the floor, he saw her - a pale figure, crumpled like a discarded doll.

For a moment, he froze, a raw, primal fear tearing through him. Then, he was at her side, dropping to his knees, his hands trembling as he gently turned her over. Her face was pale, her eyelids fluttering slightly. A cold sweat beaded on her forehead. She was alive, but… but not well. Thranduil's mind whirled, panic and dread vying for attention. He pulled her into his lap, his hands running over her body, searching, hoping…

Thranduil gathered her in his arms, his heart thudding against his chest, his mind awhirl with fear and disbelief. He cradled her like a delicate treasure, a small, unconscious part of him noticing how slight, how light she was.

His steps were quick and strong as he hastened out of the room and towards the Healing Halls, her body limp and pale in his arms.

The palace was a blur around him as he ran, his only thought was to get her help, to get aid for her, to save her. The guards and attendants they passed watched in surprise, their questions dying on their lips as they took in the sight of their king, his eyes wild, his expression a mask of fear and determination, carrying the unconscious woman in his arms.

The Healing Halls were a flurry of activity as Thranduil burst in, the healers halting in their tasks, their surprise quickly replaced by a keen professionalism as they saw the woman in his arms. Thranduil laid her gently on one of the beds, stepping back as the healers surrounded her, their hands moving quickly and precisely, their voices low and swift as they began to assess her condition.

Thranduil stood back, his hands clenching and unclenching at his sides as the healers worked over her. His mind was a whirlwind of emotions, his fear giving way to a strange, hollow acceptance. He knew, deep within the core of his being, that this was the end, that he was going to lose her. Yet, he held onto a desperate, foolish hope that the healers would find a way to help, that they would find a cure, that she would wake up and smile at him once again.

The tension in the room was palpable, the sounds of the healers' voices and the soft rustle of their movements the only sounds in the heavy silence. Thranduil's eyes never left her, his gaze tracing the lines and planes of her face, the flutter of her eyelids, the shallow rise and fall of her chest.

Slowly, the healers began to step back, their expressions grim, their eyes filled with a sorrow that told Thranduil everything he needed to know. One of them, a healer he knew well and trusted, came to his side, laying a sympathetic hand on his arm.

"My king," she murmured, her voice soft, filled with regret, "we have done all we can. Her condition is… terminal. Her body is failing."

Thranduil's throat worked, his eyes stinging as he looked down at her. She was so still, so pale, a memory of the vibrant, fiery woman he had known. He reached out, his fingers trembling as he touched her cheek, as if he could, by the force of his will, bring her back to life.

"How long?" he asked, his voice guttural, the words tearing from him like a wound.

The healer bowed her head, a mixture of sympathy and sadness in her eyes. "It is difficult to say exactly," she said quietly. "She is weak, her body is failing. I cannot tell you for how long she will hold on, but I can say it will not be long."

The healers exchanged glances, their faces somber. Understanding the unspoken request, they nodded respectfully and slowly left the room, closing the door behind them, and leaving Thranduil and the woman alone.

The room was suddenly quiet, the silence heavy, only broken by the soft sound of the woman's shallow breathing, and the hum of the soft, dim lanterns. Thranduil moved back to her side, his eyes never leaving her face.

💕💕💕💕💕💕💕💕💕💕💕💕💕💕💕💕💕💕💕💕💕💕

I felt my eyes flutter open, my vision hazy and unclear. Everything felt off as if I was dreaming. Then, I saw his face, his sharp features softened with emotion. “Thranduil…” I managed to murmur, my voice barely above a whisper, my throat dry and painful.

His eyes widened, and a range of emotions flashed across his face – surprise, shock, fear, and above all, relief. He leaned closer, his hand coming up to brush a strand of hair away from my eyes. “You’re awake,” he murmured, the words filled with wonder and something deeper that I couldn’t quite place.

I tried to sit up, my body weak, every muscle protesting. He gently eased me back down, his hands strong and yet gentle, as if handling a fragile artifact.

“Rest,” he whispered, his voice a deep, soothing rumble. “You’re weak. Don’t overexert yourself.”

His fingers traced the lines of my face, his touch light as if he was trying to memorize every feature, every contour. I could feel the tension in his body, the fear that was trying to claw its way to the surface. Thranduil’s fingers continued their light, almost reverent touch, tracing each curve and line of my face as if he was trying to burn the sight of me into his memory. For a moment, he was silent, his eyes locked on mine, a maelstrom of emotions swirling in their depths. Then, he inhaled deeply, his voice a hoarse whisper. “I… I need to tell you something… something I should have told you long ago.”

He looked down, his hand resting against my cheek, his thumb tracing slow, gentle circles. There was a tension in his body, a vulnerability evident in his eyes that I had rarely seen before. When he looked back at me, his expression was open, his usual cool composure almost shattered.

“I… I love you,” he murmured, the words coming out in a rush as if he couldn’t hold them back any longer. “I’ve loved you for longer than I care to admit”

My heart gave a painful lurch, a strange mixture of joy and sorrow swirling within me. I reached up, my hand shaking, to cup his cheek. His eyes fluttered closed, and he leaned into my touch, the lines of his face tightening as if he was trying not to let himself break.

I took a shaky breath, my grip tightening on his wrist, my eyes searching his. “We may not have much time,” I said quietly, my voice laced with raw, aching honesty. “I’ve always known that… that my time with you would be limited. We never spoke about it, but we both knew.”

I closed my eyes, the weight of my unspoken secret now too heavy to bear alone. “There’s something else,” I said, my voice barely a whisper. “I didn’t want to burden you with it, but… I have cancer. I’ve known for a while now.”

His eyes widened in shock, his body going eerily still, his fingers tightening against my skin. “You… you’ve known this whole time?” he asked, his voice hoarse, a mixture of disbelief and something that sounded almost like anger in his tone.

I nodded, my eyes still closed against the sudden rush of tears. “I didn’t want to worry you, didn’t want to put more on your plate than you already have to carry,” I murmured, my voice shaky with emotion. “You’re the king… you have a kingdom to oversee…”

He swore a sharp exhale that sounded like a pained gasp. When I opened my eyes and looked up at him, I saw a storm of emotion in their depths – anger, fear, pain, and above all, a deep, aching love.

“You should have told me,” he said, his voice tight, his eyes locked on mine. “I had a right to know. I… I would have –” He couldn’t finish the sentence, his voice cracking, his jaw clenching as he struggled to keep his emotions in check.

His fingers left my cheek and threaded into my hair, his touch now more insistent. He leaned down, his breath warm against my skin as he murmured, “You should have told me.” Then, he captured my lips in a kiss. It was a fierce, desperate kiss, filled with all the words he couldn’t say, all the emotions he couldn’t express.

The kiss broke slowly, both of us breathing heavily, our foreheads resting against each other. My eyelids were heavy, my body weak, and I let out a soft exhale, exhaustion pulling on my consciousness. “I’m… I’m so tired,” I murmured, my voice a weary whisper.

Thranduil pulled back, his eyes locked on my face, his expression a mixture of worry and tender concern. “Rest,” he whispered once again, his hand running through my hair in soothing motions. “You’re exhausted. You need to rest.”

I closed my eyes and let sleep claim me, my body relaxing into the softness of the bed. Thranduil didn’t let go of my hand, his thumb tracing slow, gentle circles on the back of it, his gaze never leaving my face.

The room was quiet, the only sound was the soft crackle of the fire in the hearth and the hum of the soft, simmering lanterns. Thranduil sat by my bedside, my hand still in his, his eyes fixed on my face, his expression a war of emotions – grief, love, regret, and above all, a deep, aching sadness. Slowly, silently, my breath grew shallow and labored, and then… stopped.

Thranduil’s eyes widened, his whole body going eerily still as he realized what had just happened. His fingers tightened on my hand, the reality of it all crashing down on him like a wave.

“No,” he whispered, his voice rough, hoarse with grief. “No, no, no…”

[tutanchanup]

I don't know why I have decided to murder you all... I apologise

The Beheading of Vlad Draculea

…a short story intertwined with history.

~°~°~°~°~°~°~°~°~°~°~°~°~°~

Now I STRONGLY RECOMMEND PLAYING THIS WHILE READING! (sorry for the weird format but I haven't figured out how to do it properly here on Tumblr yet, someone help me 😅)

Because it captures perfectly the tone of the scene, thus making your experience fuller too 😉

(The video is amazing too if you'd be interested later)

First, the (un)necessary wall of text (feel free to skip 😄):

What historical facts I was inspired by that we have at least somewhat documented:

What his personality seems to be from what we know of him - pragmatic, resilient, unbreakable, a genius strategist and warrior

His behaviour and crowd interaction I base in the ways of mediaeval aristocracy, a field I specialize in*

We know he'd been killed by his enemies shortly after he'd ascended the Wallachian throne for the third time after 12 years of exile, in 1476, at the age of 45.

He was probably attacked by another pretender for the throne

There's a possibility he suffered from haemolacria

Even though in the world he became known by the propagandistic stories depicting him as a monster, fascinatingly, it has never happened in Romania itself. Somehow there survived his image of a just and beloved ruler, something only now the modern science started to discover has basis in history

Facts for those that don't know much about him:

For his memories, I use the real historical events that we know happened in his life

We know he built his castles with secret passages

We know he was an excellent fighter

His war strategies were legendary, he must've been incredibly clever and was very resourceful

His people probably really loved him. He defended them against the Ottomans and brought down those nobles who exploited them. Their living conditions improved greatly during his reign (justice for everyone, no unfair immunity for boyars, support of lower class, tax exemption for craftsmen, new roads, ending exploitation from Saxons, rewards for common people, commoners lifted to boyar status, ending the sending children as slaves to the Ottomans).

One theory states that that was the reason why they called him Drakgwlya (Dracula means ‘son of the dragon’- his father had the nickname ‘Dracul=Dragon’, his enemies changed that to ‘son of the devil’, but it has one other possible origin - as you'll find out later in the story)

°~°~•~°~°

My assumptions that I used to cover the missing parts:

If I was Vlad's enemy and managed to overpower him, instead of murdering him on the spot I'd choose to behead him publicly, had I the chance (beheading was the only allowed way how to execute a nobleman - btw Vlad upheld that too, he never impaled them, as opposed what the propaganda stories accuse him of).

Why? See the following:

His people were waiting for his return for 12 years with patience and hope. I would want to make sure that they'd see that he's finished for good and that there's no chance that he could return again somehow someday

Vlad the Impaler at this point had an absolutely massive reputation as undefeatable scourge of his enemies (an image even strengthened by the propaganda depicting him as the devil incarnate). I'd absolutely want to create in the public eye the physical image of me being the one ending him

We think that his head was probably sent to the sultan of the Ottoman empire, Mehmed II. Possibly shortly after. But in mediaeval times, the body of the fallen monarch was preserved and paraded around, so that people could make sure that he's really dead - both his followers and his enemies. However without head, how could you persuade them that that's really the legendary Vlad the Impaler and not just some guy in his armour? Public execution solves this, as there would be testimonies from people that saw it happen

°~°~•~°~°

*His personality in my works is based on my own thorough research. I'm considering his upbringing as a 15th-century voivode - influenced by medieval Christianity, and needing the moral code required of a ruler who led his people into battle (I'll do some posts on these later).

Does he sound like a B-movie superhero to you? That's not a coincidence! Modern superheroes are the continuation of mediaeval legendary knights. And many traits we associate with classic heroes - unwavering courage, honor, strategic brilliance, and even calculated ruthlessness - were not just ideals for a medieval ruler. They were necessary for survival. A voivode leading his army personally into battle couldn’t afford fear, hesitation, or weakness. His power depended on his ability to inspire loyalty, intimidate enemies, and outmaneuver both foreign invaders and internal threats.Those who succeeded in embodying these ideals became themselves legends or saints - like Charlemagne or Vlad’s cousin, St. Stephen (guess whom he had the opportunity to learn from…).

And if one thing is certain, Dracula’s name became more than legendary.

This short story tries to imagine how that could've happened.

~°~°~°~°~°~°~°~°~°~°~°~°~°~°~°~°~°~°~

Now let's leave the realm of cold facts and musings, and let us step into the warm embrace of art:

Hear, hear! For I have a tale to tell you, of the last day of Vlad Voda of Wallachia:

And let the captivating tones of the bard Farya Faraji wash over your ears while I will be doing so.

~°~°~°~°~°~°~°~°~°~°~°~°~°~°~°~°~°~°~

Vlad Draculea, or "the Impaler" as he's become known lately, was standing in a cold, dark cell of his own castle. A massive iron collar around his neck, the chain linked to it binding him to the iron bars of the prison.

That collar was the problem.

You see, he had expected something like this could happen. He wasn't called one of the best strategists of his time for nothing. He knew that there was a chance that one day some of the pretenders to the throne could capture him and throw him in a cell so they could prepare to execute him publicly. He would have done the same. That's why he had rebuilt his castles with secret passages leading from the prison cells he could one day find himself in, including this one. The secret way was hidden under the wooden bench, its opening accessible after removing the third floor stone from the right of the northern wall.

But he hadn't counted for the collar.

It wasn't there when he last checked the state of the castle after his return from 12 years of exile. But his enemy has fished it out of who knows where.

Apparently, the ingenuity of Vlad Draculea had become so legendary, that his enemies made sure to be thorough. Curses.

And so he had ended with an iron collar around his neck, chained to the bars, just a few steps away from the secret passage that could've led him to safety, and yet now made agonizingly unreachable.

He tugged at the chain again, but it was no use, the metal was just too strong.

Vlad couldn't but laugh heartily at the sweet irony of this whole situation.

The saddest thing is, that of all places, the shackle was around the neck. If he'd been chained by wrists, he would consider breaking his thumbs. Maybe he'd manage to break his ankles too, if the shackles had been there instead. But breaking his neck was... a possibility, for sure, but not one that would lend him much advantage.

Vlad smirked again and slightly bowed his head in respectful admiration. "Well played, indeed!" he mused. As a warlord he could always appreciate a clever strategy, even when it was used to defeat him.

But he didn't bash himself over his defeat for too long. He knew he had done the best he could. This wasn't really something he could have prevented in advance.

Sometimes, life was just like this. Sometimes, even the best strategy still couldn't guarantee that you stayed alive.

There was no use in spending his last moments on earth wallowing in pointless grief.

So instead, he decided to use this moment of respite to contemplate his life. And what a life that has been!

He smiled sadly at his cruel childhood. He wept briefly for those he'd loved that had fallen. He laughed again at the times that had brought him joy. He smiled with gratefulness at the moments when he had felt true happiness.

And then he finished with a short prayer, thanking God that he could've lived through all that, and now pleading that his soul be received in heaven.

He then took a deep breath in and out and then looked at the cold cell around him anew, his expression now calm.

"I wonder what awaits me next?" he pondered. The thoughts about his own death inadvertently looming over him couldn't be escaped. But maybe, it won't be so bad... Maybe he'll see his loving wife again. What a nice sight that would be, to once more see her with her arms open, welcoming him home after he will return from his very last battle.

He might even set his eyes upon the face of his beloved brother Mircea, now surely a better sight than when he'd last seen him, when his dead face with gouged out eyes was marked by the horror of having been buried alive. Ah, how he was excited to see him smile again instead!

And his father would be there too... father who he'd hated until the last moment for giving him away to the Ottomans as a hostage and then subsequently betraying them, thus sentencing his own son to death, which neither of them couldn't have known at the time that wouldn't come. But then when Vlad met him again he'd sacrificed himself to save Vlad and Radu’s lives... Vlad longed for the opportunity to talk to him again ever since.

And then of course there would be his dear mother, who he had last seen when he was just 7 years old, and never got to know what had become of her after that. Now he will finally be able to hear her story.

Vlad smiled wryly at those thoughts.

His chain of thought was broken by the metallic sound of keys in the door. Ah, the time has finally come. He looked with a bittersweet smile as that damned collar fell to the floor. Oh well. Now when the fully armed soldiers had clasped him firmly with their hands, it was a dead end anyway.

As they led him over the courtyard that his steps had marked for so many times before, he quickly assessed the situation. The soldiers were many. Too many. And they were armed too. Even if he managed to wriggle himself free from their grip, they would catch him before he'd even reach the closest window. No, the only thing that would achieve was him dying sooner, with no pride whatsoever, and staining his reputation with the mark of "coward" as well. That simply wasn't worth it.

So he let them lead him to the newly raised wooden terrace, where his enemy already awaited him, along with the executioner's sword, and the crowd to behold that. Draculea walked with his head proudly raised, a brave smile across his face. He wasn't scared at all. Why should he be? Fear would do him no service, especially not now. Being scared wouldn't change the situation in any way, so why spoil his last moments with it? He was calm instead, his gaze already fixed beyond mortal matters. He didn't pay much attention to the words of his enemy. It didn't matter anyway, and he would risk that he would roll his eyes if he heard his enemy boasting how he was the one to bring the fearsome Vlad the Impaler to his demise.

His gaze stopped at the sight of the beheading block, and his eyes sparked with curiosity: "I wonder how that will be!"

Then suddenly, a sharp shout tore him away from his thoughts.

It came from the public.

He looked at the crowd for the first time. He didn't pay them much attention before, as he wasn't interested in seeing faces of people cheering over his demise or laughing at his defeat. But he was surprised that that wasn't what he saw. No. The expressions he saw were full of... sadness. The people... His people... were mourning him. "Vlad Voda!" one man had cried with desperation. Soon one woman accompanied him, tears running down her face. These were the people who'd waited for 12 years for his return, and now they were forced to see their hopes of him being their ruler once again thwarted before their very own eyes. "Vlad Voda, don't leave us!!! Don't go, dragul...!"

Dragul. Beloved. The name his people had given him.

Vlad smiled at them kindly, saying without words "But what can I do?"

From the crowd came the answer: "Fight!"

Vlad almost laughed out loud. What use could there be in fighting? Don't they see the odds? The platform was full of armed soldiers, two of them were holding him as well, and his hands were tied behind his back.

But the crowd stood firm. "Fight them!! Fight, Vlad Voda!!!!"

Vlad smiled again at the unfaltering faith they had in his fighting skills.

But then he gave it a moment's thought. Sure, there was no chance to win whatsoever, he knew that beyond doubt. But maybe... Maybe it would be nice to have one last battle. To once more unleash the admirable strength of his body that he had cultivated since childhood. To use the battle skills he had drilled into his mind with such care that they became part of his instincts now. To feel his heart race with adrenaline in the heat of battle ...for that one last time.

But the voice inside his head had stopped him. It was that voice which always rose up to make him aware that he as a voivode had responsibility to his people. He couldn't just let his own desires win. His life wasn't his own, it never was, it always belonged to his people. He was there to serve. And starting a fight here and there wouldn't do them much service, what if they'd risen up and started fighting the guards themselves? That would result in a bloodshed.

He looked back at his people with an apologetic smile.

But they weren't satisfied, no, they had started to rally even more when they noticed he'd actually considered their proposition. Someone started shouting his name, and more people joined. They wanted to see. They wanted to see their Vlad Voda fight one last time.

Vlad again eyed the surrounding, his eyes narrowing in focus as he was taking assessment of his situation. Then he smiled with a playful smile. Truly, there was no chance. But he himself was curious - how many soldiers he could take down before they'd overpower him? One? Two? Five? It was surely a challenge with conditions like this, especially since his own arms were still tied behind his back. But he always rose up to a good challenge!

And if this was the wish of his people, he'll hear out their call! All his life was tied down with responsibility, but maybe now, moments before his own end, he could let himself be free. He deserved at least that one short moment of freedom.

So be it then!

He gave his people a mischievous smile as his old fighting spirit was rekindled in his green eyes. The crowd had noticed and held their breath with excitement. But the guards, who didn't see his face, didn't notice. And so he striked!

In one fast moment, quick as the strike of lightning and just as deadly, he'd butted the head of a soldier next to him with his forehead. The soldier shrieked out with pain as his nose broke and sprayed him with shower of blood. Before the other soldier had even time to notice what happened, Vlad had already managed to slam with full force into his belly with his shoulder, effectively bringing the soldier to the ground. The crowd cheered loudly. Seeing Vlad fighting was a symphony to behold. Vlad was always an excellent fighter, there wasn't anyone who could've bested him in one to one combat. Even here, overwhelmed, his moves were lightning fast, and his hits powerful and resourceful too. When he couldn't use his arms - as they were tied behind his back - he used his feet instead, kicking with deadly precision at the weakest points in the soldiers defences, who weren't prepared for such an unorthodox attack from below. While they were trying to grab him, he'd kicked them out of balance, toppling them to the ground before they could even use their weapons. Vlad had moved with the swift elegance of a deadly dancer, dancing between their pole arms and using his legs, head and shoulders to carry out strikes. He even managed to make use of his elbows, restricted that they were. And at one moment he made a soldier run away while only using his fierce expression, he was proud of that one!

No less than eleven soldiers were out before one managed to hit Vlad in the back of his head with the pommel of a sword, bringing him to his knees. Another five soldiers clasped him, taking a hold of every inch of his body should he find a way to use that in a fight somehow. The crowd shouted with disappointment. Vlad gave them one last look, an apologetic smile across his face, as if he was saying "I did the best I could, but the odds weren't in my favour. Forgive me.

But thank you. It was fun."

With the corner of his eye he saw the massive blade of the executioner's sword swing. He bowed his head in reverence, accepting his fate with grace.

And then, just a moment before the sword fell and severed his head from his body, one single tear dropped from his eye. It had the vivid colour of blood - a condition he was affected by since childhood. The scarlet tear contrasted brightly with his pale face as it made its way across his cheek, found a way through his beard, until it reached his chin and from there dripped on the soil of his kingdom.

It wasn't a tear spilled over a sadness of his life, or the cruelty of his fate.

It was a tear mourning what could've been but wasn't to be anymore.

And as his enemy has grasped his raven black hair and lifted his severed head for all the people to see, the face of Vlad Draculea had for one last time looked down at his people. And on his face has been clearly strewn his last expression, now etched there for the rest of eternity. It showed his people kind smile, yet his brow was full of courage, his fighting spirit staying alive even while his own soul has left the mortal plane.

Because his face told to his people this last message:

"We have lived. We have fought. And it was worth it!"

And his people have never forgotten this. Outside of his realm he became known as the sadistic tyrant from the woodcut-printed stories. But his OWN people have never forgotten who he really was. Even as the dent of time has stripped down every living memory of him, deep down they remembered.

Even 550 years later.

~°~°~°~°~°~°~°~°~°~°~°~°~°~°~°~°~

Made in thank you to the marvelous community around the real Vlad Draculea. The illustrious Corpus Draculianum, working tirelessly on finding new knowledge about Vlad, buried in old documents and archaeological sites. For their dedication in clearing Vlad’s name in the eye of the public, fighting against vampiric monsters and child-eating tyrants, however impossible a task that seems to be. And also as thank you to the Vlandom, the amazing community which celebrates what could Vlad teach us still, and in their works, be it written stories or memes, make him live once again.

… And last but not least:

Mulțumesc, Măria Ta.

.

[damn-stark]

Chapter 32 The demon and me

Chapter 32 of Moonlight

A/N- :)))))

Warning- talks of postpartum depression, PTSD, ANGST, swearing, violence, blood, and DEATH. SPOILERS!! FOR FUTURE EVENTS OF HOTD, USING FIRE AND BLOOD, long chapter.

Pairing- Aemond Targaryen x Velaryon!fem-reader, Cregan Stark x Velaryon!fem-reader

Episode/Pages- 539-549

(If you want to be tagged let me know)

————

And there it is…the change in the way they look at you the moment the word coup fell from your lips. As if attempting a rebellion is a far greater sin than burning part of the city.

What if it had been one of the two men sitting around the table who had suggested the same plan? Would they have looked completely horrified then? Would they have thought of that man as the world's great savior? As if he had come up with the plan to bring peace to the world?

“A coup?” Your grandfather questions you and leans toward you to look at you with pity before he continues to speak softer as if he is speaking to some sickly person who couldn’t understand. “Do you know what you’re suggesting? Peace is at last closer than ever. With your marriage to Aegon, the feud between the Targaryen family has come to an end and with some tactical words the line drawn between the kingdoms can at last lift and we can all become one again…”

His mouth keeps running, words laced with deep pity keep spilling but you stop listening as you try to understand what he’s saying and where he’s coming from. After all, it’s been a year since the war started, and the losses have been significant, so maybe there’s some reasoning behind his words.

It’s just a falter within you, but you do start leaning towards understanding him and the need to embrace peace again.

However, in the silence created by you tuning out your grandfather, you then see her; your mother's ghost haunts the hall.

You see her broken body across the room and her dead eyes fixated on you before you hear the faint echoes of her crying out for help, causing you to snap out of your senses.

How could you possibly abandon your fight and your plan for revenge? How could you possibly forget about her?

If you stop now, who keeps fighting for her?

So no, you can’t stop, nor can you falter again.

“Don't tell me you haven’t thought of it?” You cut off whatever your grandfather had been saying and narrow your gaze on him to try and uncover his answer, but he masks himself well, so you look at Lord Larys next and raise your eyebrow to press your rhetorical question.

“How good of a King can Aegon truly be?” You continue and sit back against your seat. “He’s never had the mind for politics or diplomacy. I doubt he learned a thing about how to rule a realm while he was away. And this will be inappropriate, but,” you pause and clear your throat. “Our marriage hasn’t been consummated because he can’t get. It. Up,” you whisper and see your grandfather and Lord Larys squirm in their seat while Baela drops her head to hide her teasing smile.

“So tell me how fruitful can a broken man be in our greatest time of need?” You query as you loll your head to the side. “Aerion is but one boy, if something were to happen to him what do we do then, hm? With Aegon the younger at The Wall, who continues our line then?”

Lord Larys and your grandfather share the same knowing look, but neither of them interject with an argument that can possibly outmatch yours.

“It’s true that a rule under Aegon brings no fruitful future,” Lord Larys cuts in this time. “But who do you suggest we put in his stead? Prince Aerion?”

You sit up straight and in your silence the three of them figure out your answer to their question; you. You want them to implant you as the ruler. And why shouldn’t it be you? You’re already Queen, you were your mother's chosen heir, and you, unlike Aegon, know how to rule.

“Need I remind you that you set fire to part of the city,” your grandfather protests without so much as thinking about it. It’s like he was prepared to argue against the idea. “The moment we implement you as the ruling Queen, the people will demand your head. Riots will be spread over the atrocity you committed,” his voice gets louder and meaner, and your face starts to harden as your patience wears out.

“You are lucky they are not asking for your head now,” he continues to argue with more anger. “It was completely—”

“Mind your tongue Lord Corlys,” Ser Cane cuts your grandfather off. “She is your Queen.”

You put your hand up and peer over to offer him a nod that tells him he can stand down. “Go on,” you urge your grandfather, and he doesn’t hesitate.

“It was completely stupid,” he spats and leans forward once again. “I thought you had sense. You were level-headed and now that you have gone and done that you have dug yourself in a hole that we may not be able to help you out of.”

You hold his gaze with your eyes slowly starting to fill with tears while your throat starts to sting even though you expected his response. You knew that your actions were going to be brought up and used against you, but even still, hearing your grandfather scold you rattles you for a small moment in time.

“What would you have had me done instead, huh?” You don’t fail to counter with your eyes still glossy and your throat still stinging. “They killed our dragons and ran my mother out of town!” You raise your own voice as you slam your hands on the tabletop and push yourself to your feet—“Would you have them go unchecked?!”

“The people who rose up their own false kings against—”

“But that's not it!” You cut him off. “They killed our dragons!” You throw at him again with your face twisting with your quick-rising rage. “Our power. The symbol of our house! Our connection! If they went unchecked they would have stopped fearing us, and anytime they disagree with the crown they won’t think twice to rise up against us because there’s nothing to stop them, nothing looming over their lives because we are no longer close to the gods in their eyes without our dragons. We are just like them. And now...I fixed it,” you scoff. “Now they won’t dare and think of arguing against the crown because they know that there are consequences. We are not the same. We are still gods…” you trail off and catch the sound of your heavy breathing as your grandfather challenges your hardened glare still brimming with unshed tears.

“Her grace,” Lord Larys pauses and draws in a deep breath, pulling your gaze away from your grandfather to now look at him and wait.

“…could have served the Smallfolks' punishment differently,” Lord Larys continues without daring to look you in the eyes. “But alas she is right, they should fear the crown if we are to continue peacefully, but,” he pauses and sighs before he steals a glimpse at you and continues. “Why should we consider your coup? Besides the points you already gave, why should we risk our lives to continue this war when we have the chance to finally end it at the tip of our fingers?”

You narrow your gaze further, making him once again avert his gaze. You don’t answer right away, choosing to let him think of reasons you might give to him specifically. Maybe he’ll even get a hint as to why you choose to trust him out of all people.

“Why?” You interject and step away from your seat to start stalking toward Lord Larys. “Why should you risk your life? Well,” you sigh, and when you reach his seat you stop beside him and pierce your glare at him. He doesn’t peer over at you even though he feels your stare burning through him. He just watches the tabletop with his nose flaring with every breath, and his fists clenched tightly.

“Need I remind you that you sent assassins to come kill me and my son here in the Red Keep,” you reveal and finally gain Baela’s wavered attention while your grandfather starts to look disgusted.

“While I was with child at that—”

“No—” he cuts you off to argue but you slam your hand on his shoulder and squeeze it tightly as you now interrupt him.

“There’s no need to deny it. My mother would have never tried to kill me, and I do admit I had been getting back at Aegon before by revealing my ability to him, and well…I had my ways to figure it out,” you roll out and lift your hand off his shoulder, but don’t move right away, you continue to watch as he grows tense and scared rather than nervous.

“That’s why you’ll help me,” you continue and start to walk with your hands clasped behind you and your nose pointing to the air. “Because if you don’t, well, I’ll reveal your secret and execute you.”

Lord Larys clears his throat and nods stiffly without attempting to add anything in his defense or attempting to argue against you because everything you said was true, and how can he deny it when you somehow found out?

“Another reason, the main reason as to why we need to keep fighting is because…” you trail off and slowly and unknowingly lower your head, losing the cockiness and the confidence you had mustered to keep your nose pointed high as your mind is invaded by your mother.

“…just because my mother is dead doesn’t mean her fight is. Not as long as I live, and…” your voice falters and your throat starts to sting again. “…Remember she died fighting for what rightfully belonged to her before Aegon killed her. I saw her burn to death and then torn apart because she fought for what was rightfully hers,” you pause and come to a stop at the other end of the short wooden table and clench your jaw and your fists as the corner imbued by the shadows of the hall taunt your mind by making you think she’s dying there again and again.

“I see her die in the darkness every time I close my eyes. In my sleep. And in every corner touched by darkness,” your voice slowly grows quiet with every word coming out of your mouth, but it doesn’t break this time. You speak smoothly yet there’s this eeriness haunting your every word as you speak, making the silence in the hall deafening.

“I even see her in places touched by the light…I see her in my brother who is not really my brother. Not anymore.” You shake your head and let your tears well up as you refuse to let them break out of your eyes. “Because now as he gets older he’ll look at me the same way my children look at me…A mother. There’s no telling if he’ll remember our mother. Even if he does I…will still be his mother because…”

Your grandfather utters your name with pity laced in his voice as he tries to get you to stop, but you ignore him and turn to face them as you continue in the same eerie and soft voice that haunts the hall and brings chills to the back of their necks.

“…His own mother. Our mother…won’t be here for him anymore because…she’s dead…she’s dead!” Your voice suddenly booms, breaking the silence of the room and startling Baela and making your grandfather huff—“That’s why we will continue to fight this war until her blood is on that throne, Lord Larys. Grandfather, and every single damn person who wants to ask me that same question! We will risk our lives because our fight did not end when she died! Her death brought the start of the end,” you say and walk back to your seat to sit back down and pull out scrolls you hid in your clock and throw them on the table, showing off the sigils that are marked on the broken wax.

“Lord Stark and all the Riverlords have agreed to continue fighting with me until the end,” you reveal, causing your grandfather to sit up to take the scrolls and read them for himself. “Rhaena has agreed to fight alongside me and Astraea with Morning, and with her, the Vale follow. The Greyjoys won’t turn down a bloodbath so they have also agreed if they win their fight against the Lannisters first. I need to send word to the Reach, and Alyn. I was hoping you could send word to Alyn, Lord Corlys, while I send word to The Reach.”

Your grandfather lowers the scroll in his hand, whilst Baela reaches for the scroll Rhaena sent.

“Tell him that we will continue to fight to put Aegon the younger on the throne,” you reveal, making the silence in the hall once again go deafening as they all now stare at you in disbelief.

“Not Aerion. Not me,” you pause and wait for an argument, for a word of encouragement that it should be you, but there’s nothing of the sort. Thus you continue. “But my mother and Daemon’s last living son. The realm won’t go up in arms when they hear he’ll take the throne, and peace could be long living with him married to Jaehaera. If you all agree with her being his betrothed that is?”

“You would rise up your brother as king?” Your grandfather questions you, causing you to drop your gaze and nod without hesitation.

“I would. With good advisors and his sisters at his side, he would be easily molded. He could be the best king this realm has ever had,” you say in your brother's defense. “I just need your help to make that vision a reality.”

“I’ll help,” Baela is the first one to interject, making you lift your gaze to find her.

Albeit she averts her own gaze when yours lands on her.

“I…will too,” Lord Larys chimes in after her as if he had a choice. “But how do you plan to get rid of King Aegon?”

You reach your hand back without uttering a word and right away Ser Cane walks over to give you the flask of poison Alys had sent you.

“You have his trust,” you direct at Larys. “I want you to put a drop of this in his wine, tea, or whatever the hell he drinks. It’s slow acting, it’s going to deteriorate him from the inside out.”

“Poison? That’s your plan?” Your grandfather asks with judgment.

You scoff and place the flask on the table so they can all see it. “For him? Yes,” you retort. “The armies at our side will get rid of Lord Baratheon’s army and whatever resistance is left here, but Aegon will be poisoned because it’s the smartest choice. It’s my choice and you will respect it,” you hiss and he once again challenges your pointed gaze, but can’t win so he backs down and nods.

“Don't give him the poison until Lord Baratheon is gone. Which shouldn’t be long, I’ll give it to you then.”

“You’re certain it will work?” Baela asks.

“Yes.” You nod. “Someone I trust made it. They wouldn’t betray me. It will work. We just have to trust each other. Peace is a guarantee after that.”

You raise your eyebrow to press them, and Baela and Larys both nod in comprehension while your grandfather lets out a deep breath and continues to pass doubt.

“And if I refuse? What will you do then? Poison me? Gut me here and now? Or burn me alive like you did those people?”

You don’t explode with anger like they all assumed. You don’t glare at him or clench your jaw. You look at him with the same look that’s been haunting your face since your mother died; with deep and agonizing sorrow.

“Not you,” you respond softly, and then in the flash of a second you raise your chin and your face hardens just a bit. “But I do hope you do not refuse and instead think about what my grandmother and my father would have wanted.”

It’s a low blow, but it’s what gets him to drop that judgment and doubt and finally give in.

“Very well. I will help you too.”

You let out a relieved sigh and nod lightly. “Thank you. All of you. You may go now. It’s late. I’ll send word when we need to reunite.”

With every argument voiced for now, both men head out whilst Baela gets out of her seat and walks to the door but hesitates leaving.

You sit up and hold your breath in hopes she’ll say something. You want her to say something, but she ends up leaving instead, leaving you with Ser Cane in your solitude where you drop your shoulders, draw out a deep and shaky breath, and let tears break out of your eyes at long last.

“Ser Cane?” Your voice quivers with vulnerability.

“Hm.”

You drop your head and drop your hands on your lap to fiddle with your rings. “Do you think they’ll ever look at me the same way they look at the men? Admiration rather than uneasiness? If I had been a man they would have looked at me like I was Aegon the conqueror, but I saw the way they looked at me…” you trail off to a whisper as you let your guard down and let your agony and insecurity take over. “They’re tolerating me. They look at me like I’m a mad, grief-stricken woman, and I am grief-stricken, but if I had been born a man they would think I’m strong for having so much fire left in me to continue fighting after losing so much.”

“Those men you fought with at Tumbleton respect you. They all look at you like a hero,” Ser Cane instantly tries to comfort you with positivity. “They all asked about your well-being when your dragon took you.”

You nod softly. “Yes, I know, but the men that support the crown will they ever look at me like that?” You ask and stop fiddling with your rings to catch every sound that comes out of his mouth.

“You want the truth?” Ser Cane makes sure to ask.

“Please,” you press, making him sigh deeply and walk closer to give your question an honest response.

“I think that having a female ruler scares them because it makes them feel small. So no I don’t think so. But you have the fire to make them feel otherwise if that’s what you want,” he says in a sweet and soft voice, making more tears run down your cheeks.

“I’m tired,” you say in a broken whisper. “Waking up is a chore, taking in breaths to keep myself alive is exhausting, and now I have to muster the energy to keep myself on top of these men…and the truth is I don’t know if I have the strength to hold my place on top of them. I just want to burn them all and start over again.”

“But fire won’t fix that now will it?”

You shake your head as a response and leave a heavy silence before you stand up and interject. “I’m going to see Astraea before I go to bed.”

Ser Cane sighs deeply as he’s tempted to argue against you and force you to go to bed instead, but alas you are his Queen so he just goes with you instead, because otherwise you would sneak off and he would rather have his eyes on you than have you go behind his back.

“<Hello girl>,” you coo at your dragon when you find her in her usual spot, and run your hand along your dragon's scales.

Astraea growls softly as she pushes her head toward you so you can press your hand on her snout quicker.

“<How are you feeling>?” You ask her as you examine her wounds not so raw and red anymore, but still deep and visible, and still hurting her. “<I know I haven’t been able to tell you, but you’ve done good>.”

Astraea closes her eyes as you stroke her snout so you then bend down and press your forehead against her flesh and close your own eyes to bask in the serene silence between you and your beloved dragon.

“<It's just me and you>,” you whisper against her scaled snout before you pull back and offer her a faint smile. You then proceed to sit down beside her head and lean your side against her as you watch the starry horizon reflecting peacefully over the sea water's surface like a mirror reflects your figure.

You’re tempted to express every thought that’s running through your head. After all, she won’t talk back, she can’t express her opinion, nor can she watch you with beady judgy eyes. Astraea will remain silent, she’ll look at you like you’re all that matters in the world, and she’ll listen.

Albeit as tempted as you are to let out what weighs you down, you find serenity in the silence where even the waves crashing a few feet away from the cove are quiet.

The thought of your mother doesn’t make an appearance, your hatred for Aegon is in the back of your mind, and the meeting you just had is forgotten for now. The one thing you have in your mind is a yearning for the past.

“<It's times like these where I miss Aemond the most,” you tell your dragon resting her head near your lap. “Not because he would’ve been much of a support for what needs to be done. The truth is he wouldn’t have been a big fan of anything I’m doing now, but I miss…having him. Having someone to hold me and share my pain.>”

Sharing your thoughts with someone who can’t give you any response makes you look a bit mad, but you can’t keep it all inside. You need to talk to someone. Besides, it feels relieving to have someone to talk to.

“<He…wouldn’t have judged what I did. He would agree that it needed to be done. And I’m not looking for praise. Just…someone to be there, and he would have been there. My Aemond…>” you trail off to a pause and drop your head to let out a deep sigh. “<I'm afraid of what Cregan might think. His morals aren’t like mine, he…hasn’t lost—he just wouldn’t know and the one person I could fall back on with guarantee is gone along with everyone else.>”

Astraea breathes out and you scoff softly and pat her side before raising your head and looking out with a sense of longing for what used to be. And it’s while you’re in your silence that you catch the sound of the rickety door opening before multiple steps walk out.

You don’t look back right away, you drift your gaze to the corner of your eyes and listen.

“Princess,” someone calls after a deep labored breath. “I mean, My Queen.”

Just by the sound of their voice, you know who it is, but you hesitate to stand up and give them your attention. You’re disgusted by the mere sound of their voice so it costs you even acknowledging their presence.

“He was persistent,” Ser Cane interjects. “But say the word and I’ll drag him out.”

You sigh deeply and share a glance with Astraea before you push yourself to your feet and then slowly turn to face none other than Ser Jason in the flesh and out of his cell.

“My Queen,” Ser Jason greets before he falls on one knee and bows his head, letting you pierce your gaze into the back of his head before you snap your head up and avert your gaze to avoid looking at your sworn protector whatsoever after he betrayed you.

“Please,” he throws out and then falls on both knees. “Forgive me. My intention was never to turn against you. All I have ever wanted to do was keep you safe, and that’s what—”

“You could have fought against them,” you cut off his pathetic rambling. “You could have saved my mother by raising your sword against them, but instead,” you growl as you speak. “You pointed your sword against me like a pathetic coward and watched my mother die.”

Ser Jason shakes his head. You don’t see it because you don’t look at him, but he shakes his head while his eyes peel back wider as he becomes more insistent.

“No, no, I couldn’t have fought against the entire party. I would have died the same way the Kingsguard did. I—”

“But you could’ve tried!” You blurt and ball your hands into fists. “But instead you cowered. You could have tried! You…” you trail off and clench your jaw before you swallow back a thick lump of emotions that build up and threaten to make you weep at the mere thought of that day.

“…you let me down. You betrayed me that day just to save your own skin like a pathetic. Coward,” you spat and try glancing down, but even the thought of looking at him hurts more than it angers you.

“I was,” Ser Jason cries and falls on his hands. “I was a coward. I saw my mistake, but I swear I just wanted to save you because I know you, and I know you would have risked your life to save your mother and I…I couldn’t let it happen. That’s why I had to turn my sword against you, but my heart. My heart never turned against you…” he trails off into a whisper and you find yourself looking down and catching his gaze glimmering as the stars light point out his tears clinging in the corner of his eyes.

“My mother,” You whisper as your lips twist to a scowl. “My mother is dead because of you,” you press with your gaze reflecting your usual grief and ache that paints your face. “If your heart was with me you would have died trying, but you turned against me…and now you’re free and what? Working for Aegon? The man who killed my mother in front of me?”

Ser Jason parts his lips but nothing comes out but a breath of air because it is true, he’s free and now in Aegon’s court as his protector because he turned against you that day.

“It's a real shame that you carry Daemon's blood in your veins,” you say with melancholy now that your mother resurfaces and takes her usual place in your mind. “Because you are a real disappointment. I'm glad he never got to know you.”

Ser Jason’s pained look falters as he feels wounded by your words, but he still remains apologetic, hoping that you will have mercy and take him back.

“The only reason I don’t kill you or out you to Aegon is because I want you to live,” you mutter and crouch down to be at his level and look at him with agony and rage alike. “So you may always remember that you will always be nothing. No matter what titles you don, you will always be the bastard boy from Flea Bottom who’s father could care less about.” You nod softly and study him before you press your face closer to him. “I hope you live the rest of your life remembering how big of a failure and a coward you are. Anywhere you may find yourself and at every stage of your life.”

You swallow back thickly and then stand up to shove past him and return inside without another word or even a look back. He’s not forgotten, but for now, you want nothing to do with him.

——

*THE NEXT DAY*

“Her Grace, the Queen!” The knight announces to the small crowd that consists of people awaiting their judgment, and a small selected court that can’t measure to the power it once was before the war

However, even if the court and the Smallfolk awaiting their fate are leagues away in social standing and basically everything else, they all currently share a common factor as they all stand under the same roof, and that is looking at you like you personally wounded them.

They carry that disgust and resentment. Aegon is front and center, and the one responsible for all the misery that has befallen your realm, but in a room with traitors and dragon killers you are the worst, and why? Doing what you know was right?

Whatever, they can shoot you all daggers they want, half of them will die today, and the others will never live to be you or anything similar, so you just keep your nose in the air, and keep your face melancholy whilst you take your place behind Aegon. Not beside him where you’re meant to be since you are now his Queen, but behind him like a shadow meant to be seen but completely ignored.

That’s what you are, a shadow. Nothing. Before, you were something, but you took it for granted.

Which is funny to think about really. For so long you craved being someone much more than what you were without realizing that you in fact were bigger and illuminating, but now?

Now you stand behind Aegon completely forgotten and having to look at him the same way Aemond did when Aegon was crowned for the first time. You don't realize it, but Alicent does as she stands nearby watching the death sentences be passed—she sees the envy in your eyes the same way it darkened Aemond’s eye that day. And even if Aegon isn’t half the man that he was then, you still look at him with resentment because he still holds the same power, and the power you have fought so long and hard to obtain just like Aemond once did.

If looks could kill or actually burn, yours would the same way Aemond’s would have, so it leaves Alicent with one thought, should she do something to stop you? She couldn’t stop Aemond, but she can stop you, so should she?

“You stand in the presence of King Aegon of House Targaryen, Second of his name, and his Lady Wife, the Queen of House Velaryon.”

You tilt your chin up to get a better view of the boy who is brought up first to face his judgment. A young boy who was once brave from what you have heard because he was the one who took the Red Keep and sat the Iron Throne after your mother fled. Alas, what good is his bravery and great achievements now that he’s on his knees awaiting death?

“For crimes against the crown and rising up against your King, you Trystane Waters are sentenced to death,” Ser Alfred Broome announces without prolonging the matter. He gets right down to business because it’s all clear. Nothing needs to be brought up or argued.

“Any last words? Do you wish to challenge your sentence?” The traitorous man asks only out of courtesy not because he respects the boy's rights.

“No,” the boy Trystane mutters as he refuses to let his head hang low in defeat. There was a change in his eyes from only moments ago, but he seems to hold onto his pride—“I just request one thing…May I die as a knight? That’s all I wish for. I won’t protest my sentence, I just request that one thing.”

You drift your eyes to your side expecting to meet someone’s gaze to share speechless comments on the matter, but alas, no one stands by your side. You can’t even attempt to meet Aegon in the eye because he’s in front of you, so you’re left just shifting your gaze ahead and finding the request interesting.

“What say you, Your Grace?” Ser Alfred asks Aegon as he passes the attention to him.

“Well,” Aegon sighs and taps the armrest of his wooden throne with his palm. “What harm can it bring?”

He looks to the man standing beside him; a man called Ser Perkin the Flea, and passes him a quick nod that makes the man step forward and bestow the boy with his request of knighthood, and donning him with a new title and name to follow.

“Rise Ser Trystane Truefyre,” the man proclaims, and so the boy does, but the moment he stands on his feet, Ser Alfred approaches with too much excitement and your Valyrian sword, Blackfyre in hand, and with no more time to waste, he swings the mighty thing across the boy's neck and slices his head clean off.

When the head hits the floor as if the sound of the flesh thumping against the ground, and his blood squirting out over the ground hurt you, you gasp in response and take a big step back. Not because you were suddenly affected by the boy's death, because that’s far from the truth. You go stiff with fear, and all the color flushes from your cheeks because you’re struck with violent flashes of your own mother's death; of her single limb being all that remained of her in a pile of blood and burn marks.

You’re overwhelmed by the echoing sound of her shrieking, and of her crying out for help even though she never did such a thing that day. Your mind plays cruel tricks on you by making you believe so and in doing so burying you deeper in your paralyzing panic to the point you forget where you are and think you’re back in that traumatic day living the same moment over and over again.

You don’t breathe, but you do. You take in quick and heavy hyperventilated breaths, but it’s not like anyone cares to notice except for Ser Cane who drags you aside and shakes your shoulder to snap you out of your stupor and force you to start breathing calmly once again.

“Your Grace, it's okay. You’re here. You’re okay,” he whispers gently and cups your shoulder with a soft and almost ghostly touch. “Look at me. You’re okay.”

You let out a shudder and slowly find his eyes, finding a sense of serenity in the depths of his gentle soul while also slowly grasping that your mother is in fact not yelling out for help. She never did. And she’s not dying because she’s already dead, and you’re trapped here in the Red Keep as Aegon’s wife.

“I am…okay,” you murmur and pat Ser Cane’s arm before you walk away and return to your spot, noticing at that moment as you’re walking back that Alicent is watching your every move. This time she doesn’t carry disgust or horror. She’s not being judgemental and she’s not looking down at you. Her big brown eyes are filled with concern after unbeknownst to you, she also noticed your panic. She just did nothing about it but stand and watch.

In any case, you don’t pass her any speechless gestures to let her know you’re okay. You just briefly hold her worried gaze before you yank your eyes away and return to your spot, catching as a little boy no older than five is taken away by servants, while the people who seemed to have supported his short reign are all dragged out of the throne room, leaving only one man left to hear his sentence; the same one-armed old man who claimed to be a prophet.

The man with bare feet is yanked in front of Aegon, and he, like the boy turned knight from before, doesn’t beg or ask for forgiveness or mercy. He stands at his given height with a more prideful air around him than that of Ser Trystane. It seems that the old man hadn’t let go of his delusions nor regretted his actions that brought the end to the dragons and your brother and mother.

And that enrages you more than the sight of Aegon and Ser Jason. You hate that he’s so calm and unaffected by what awaits him. He seems defiant and confident even though he’s looking at death in the eyes.

“I know the fate that awaits me, false king,” the old man spats. “It’s a fate that awaits us all. That’s why I don’t fear it. Nor should any of you once you stop kissing the feet of these sinners!” The old man proclaims and then throws his stump at Aegon. “We shall meet in hell before the year is done!”

Aegon scoffs and slaps his hands on the armrests of the wooden throne to push himself forward and be closer to the old man spitting out madness.

“Except you!” The old man then points at you before Aegon can interject. “There’s a special place in the Seven Hells for you Fire Demon! You shall rot there with the woman you called mother!”

Without warning you set off after him in a quick and stomping stride after being triggered by his boldness.

“I should have killed you when I had the chance,” you hiss and manage to reach him and slap your hands around his throat since your hands are the only things you can use as a weapon. Anything potentially dangerous was out of your reach out of fear you’d just kill Aegon—which they’re right to be cautious, but you also aren’t that dumb to kill him in front of the audience.

“Perhaps…you should…have,” the man strains to say. “You would have shown the world the real monster that was born to Rhaenyra Targaryen.”

You squeeze tighter and shove him back. “Don't you dare speak her name!” You bark and tighten your grip with the attempt to end his life here and there, but hands grab your arms and overpower you, yanking you off the man and causing you to let out an animalistic grunt before you snap around and face none other than Ser Jason stopping you once again.

However, you ignore him and shove past him to stomp back to your spot.

Yet, before you can return to being a shadow, you’re stopped by Aegon. “Why don’t you return to your chambers? It’s clear that you can’t handle your emotions toward this man.”

You squint your eyes to look at him baffled by what’s coming out of his mouth. “As Queen,” he interjects the moment you parted your lips to argue. “I wouldn’t want you to create another scene and embarrass the crown.”

“What will you do with the man and what’s left of his followers?” You ask between gritted teeth.

“I have it handled. This business shouldn’t worry you anyhow. Go.” He lets out so easily as if talking to fragile Helaena, and besides that, he’s also using this…almost taunting tone

“Your Grace,” you say mockingly and storm out with your army of ladies-in-waiting, handmaidens, and your own guards. Do you return to your quarters like the king wanted? Hell no.

You head to a part of a castle that overlooks the sea that sits behind the Red Keep. A place where Helaena and you used to like going to admire the horizon from inside.

Nevertheless, a while later another pair of footsteps join your solitude. A pair that is too heavy for you to confuse them as the late Helaena.

“Your Grace.”

“I’m your granddaughter too, you know,” you mutter to your grandfather without having to peer over to see that it is him. You recognized his footsteps and once he got close you recognized his scent.

“That should come first when there’s no prying eyes “ you add and then slowly turn around to give him your attention.

“If that’s what you wish to claim,” he says and proves you right to keep your guard up.

“Am I not your granddaughter the same way Baela and Rhaena are?” You press and take a step toward him with your eyes slowly narrowing. “Am I not your son's only daughter? Am I not your wife’s granddaughter?”

Without shying away or turning small like someone else would, he challenges your glare and shrugs. “I look into the eyes of a girl I know, but I’m not sure that the person you claim is still there.”

You swallow thickly and feel your entire being falter before you quickly rebuttal in High Valyrian. “<What would you have had me done?! What do you want me to do? Sit idly by as my mother's killer and his traitorous allies still breathe air?! Huh?! Tell me! Because every time we’re in the same room you always bite your tongue. So tell me,” you spat out as you push your head forward. “<The guilty party had been apprehended,” he argues without needing to be told twice. “I would have had you done nothing! I wouldn’t have let you burn down all—>”

“It always comes back to that!” You cut him off abruptly and take a step closer to continue throwing out your incoming thoughts. “I did what was necessary! Why can’t you see it?! It had to be done! I am not a monster! I am not a monster,” you repeat in a shaky whisper. “Now there’s only a handful of the old man’s followers left to kill. The numbers were greater before, but I helped.”

“By killing a hundred other innocents in the meanwhile,” your grandfather retorts as he keeps holding your gaze.

“Okay,” you whisper and nod in comprehension without having anything to counter with because deep inside you know what you did and the tragic result of it. You don’t regret it but you do admit that something else could’ve been done.

“<So what, you're going to have me not kill Aegon? Is that not right?>” You bring up instead with spite clinging on to your every word.

“<No,” your grandfather responds in Valyrian. “It needs to be done. I understand your reasoning. I too would want the same.>”

“<Then?>” You quip. “<Would you have me be nicer to you and the other Lords? Do I need to be the perfect wife? Is that what you want me to be in this game?>” You add a questioning hum as you tilt your head and take the last step forward to try and be more intimidating.

“<Because I know that I don’t want to sit by and let this injustice go unchecked. I will do something. I will play my part in this game. That’s what I want. That's how I stay alive, so tell me now what you want. Do you want to be a part of this? Or stand against me and do nothing? Because if that’s your answer then I will make sure you don’t see the tomorrow we build.>

Your grandfather looks you up and down and then scoffs before he steps back. “Seeing an enemy in everyone you lay your eyes on will get you killed,” he says softly. “Your father would be disappointed.”

Your anger falters and a wave of agonizing sorrow hits you, but you don’t show your defeat to your grandfather. You keep your eyes narrowed and your lips in a scowl.

“<Borro’s is sending his men against the Crownlands along with some of the king's men. And the lords who give up their fealty to your mother will be brought to swear their new loyalty to Aegon…That’s what I came to tell you while you were alone. I wanted to come check on you too. That was my plan, but alas,>,” he sighs, making you blink repeatedly and keep your eyes on him for a lingering moment before you nod softly and then whisper in return.

“Okay.”

Your grandfather watches you, but you pull your eyes away and stride away without sharing another word. You leave the tension as it was after being defeated by his hurtful words.

Why does he have to be against you too? Growing up he wasn’t as affectionate as your grandfather Viserys was toward you, but he still showed you kindness and affection in his own way. Now after everyone has died and so few members of your family remain, you should stay united, you should support each other and show each other kindness and love, but alas, he’s determined to be against you. He protests against every single thing and nothing you do satisfies him. He’s so cold and only lectures you or scolds you when you want him to…just support your choices so you can know you have someone to rely on.

Alas, he along with everyone else has drawn a line and stands at the other side…

Nevertheless, rather than sinking deeper into those dark thoughts and falling deeper into the deep abyss, you end up making your way to your children’s quarters to avoid retreating to the solitude of your chambers.

You would say that on a surface level, you don’t know why you make your way to see your children after avoiding them since you returned to Kings Landing, but the honest to god’s truth is that you do know why you finally drift toward them. That’s not saying that you’re ready to be their mother because you’re not ready in any shape or form to be the mother they need. Not yet. Not until you have rid this realm of Aegon and all the traitors that still breathe air, but you find yourself lifting your black veil fallen over by grief, and let your eyes fall on them without any ill feeling muddying your vision.

Albeit when you finally walk into your children’s quarters you don’t find Aerion anywhere, and Daenys’ cradle is empty. The only one in the room is Daenerys—you can see the shadows of her little balled-up hands through the white curtains that surround her cradle.

She’s there unaware of your presence, and standing on neither side of any line. She, like her siblings, is oblivious to any of your doings—well, for certain the twins are just unaware of your presence whatsoever since you don’t show your face. However, that’s not what makes you take slow and careful steps towards her as if she was a great threat.

You’re reluctant because you fear looking at her and seeing your own failure at saving their grandmother. You also know that in her eyes and the eyes of her sister, she’ll see a stranger, and you’re not one really. You haven’t abandoned them completely, you love them, but they deserve the world that they’re going to live in to be corrected so they may know peace. And at least if you don’t face them you can live with the delusion that they somehow know you and that you’re never far from them. However, right now you stand with your choice to keep your veil lifted and reach the cradle despite your insecurities.

As your shadow casts on the curtains, Daenerys doesn’t pay it any mind. She keeps moving her legs and her arms, but you begin to breathe heavily and grab the edge of the curtain, but hesitate in pulling it back. You just stand there heaving with great effort and trying to muster a smile or at least a softened look. There’s even a second in time where you almost turn around and run to your quarters, but you tell yourself that this is your babe and you need to at least see her and let her see you at least once.

Thus you roll your shoulders back and blink repeatedly before you put on a faint softened look and then pull the curtain back. The moment you do Daenerys’ grey eyes find you immediately and her fiddling arms and legs come to a stop as her eyes take in the sight of you, a stranger? An estranged mother? Or that whom she cherishes the most?

You don’t know what thoughts run behind her pretty little eyes. She simply looks at you and you see the answer to your question there in her eyes because it’s eyes you have gotten lost in hundreds of times before.

As Daenerys holds your gaze and you look back at her you know that she is Cregan’s own daughter. She carries the same storm in her eyes that Cregan does, and she also seems to sport the same butt chin he does. There’s no mistaking it, even if she's still young and growing.

And the truth is seeing at least some glimpse of him in your daughter is a relief. You actually muster a genuine smile

Albeit Daenerys doesn’t share your relief nor your joy. She doesn’t know you, your eyes are the eyes of a stranger so she begins to cry and that gets rid of the bit of bliss that had broken through the storm that are your current feelings.

“No, no.” You shake your head and your face twists with utter confusion as if you hadn’t taken care of Aerion before. “Daenerys,” you whisper slightly sharply and look around for help, but neither her wet nurse nor her caretaker is in the room. You’re alone with her and she doesn’t stop crying, she only grows louder as she’s more distraught by your presence.

“Please,” you plead and clutch onto your chest as echoes of your brother's cries from when your mother was killed play in your mind; tormenting you and pushing you toward panic.

“Daenerys,” you plead and look around again. When you don’t find anyone you reach down and pick her up from her cradle in an attempt to silence her cries. However, she cries louder, so tears of your own form in your eyes and fall at the same time hers roll down her cheeks.

Her sharp cries push you closer toward panicking and completely breaking down, and you know you don’t want to do that in front of your daughter, no matter how young she is, so you press her against your chest and rock her like you would Aerion when he was as young as her.

At first, it takes her a minute to calm down, but your attempts at shushing her end up working as she recognizes your scent and your warmth that she had been familiar with because of all those months you carried her in your belly.

“That’s right,” you whisper against the crown of her head and sniffle as her own weight and her warmth end up being this unique comfort you can only find in holding your children.

You remember how much you miss being close to your children, and how deeply and truly love them.

You think about the mother you’ve been and the mother you want to be, and you can’t help but slide down and sit on your bottom as a stream of tears roll down the curve of your cheeks.

It’s truly such a chaotic moment, but you don’t run away from it. You keep your babe close to your chest and bask in her presence until your tears stop coming, your breaths draw in and out in sync, and she’s in deep sleep. After that, and after Daenys and Aerion are returned you put Daenerys down in her cradle and walk around with the intention of grabbing Daenys, alas, the doors open and Vanessa walks in with a serious look on her face that chases away your greeting smile.

“The King requests your presence in his chambers,” she announces without delaying the news a second longer, causing the coldness to return to your heart, and your bliss to vanish completely.

You would ask what it is he wanted, but you know Aegon wouldn’t divulge that information so as to keep an ambiance of mystery and amusement. So you don’t waste your breath. You simply walk over to your son playing with his toys and stroke his cheek. You then walk to Daenys and steal a lingering glance at her father's blue eyes before you grab her fisted hand and press a gentle kiss on her knuckles before you leave the room that you struggled to walk into and drag your feet toward Aegon’s chambers.

Once you stand outside his door you rap your knuckles on the wooden surface of the door, and you’re welcomed inside without a minute to waste. Right away you’re greeted with the sight of Aegon being helped out of his chair and him seeming to take wobbly steps.

“Husband,” you greet stiffly, making his eyes drift over to you coming to a stop a few feet away.

“Oh, wife! You made it. Here I thought you would get lost,” he teases with the corner of his lips twitching to a teasing smile.

“You summoned me so I came.” You say and don’t try to entertain him. Not even if there's an audience with Maester Orwyle and one other maester. “So what is it that you need? I’m surprised you asked for me.”

Aegon scoffs. “Can’t I see my wife? You are of my own choosing, so I will admit I am more eager to see you than I was to see my sister.”

Your frown deepens and you dig your nails in your palm as you bite your tongue from blurting a rebuttal in Helaena’s defense.

“You should know that the Smallfolk truly want your head,” Aegon shares without shame as he looks over at his path ahead and continues to try and keep on his own two feet. “I went to set the Shepard and his followers—those few that remained, ablaze, and they demanded your head more than they cared about the people I killed.”

You scoff and your eyes flicker down whilst the corner of your lips twitch to a frown as you feel hurt by the news.

“Will you give it to them?” You ask as you let out a small breath and push away the shame that began to seep in. “Will you tell me that what I did was wrong?”

Aegon stays quiet as he struggles to turn on his twisted legs, but once he’s facing his chair again he gives you a sincere response. “No, because it wasn’t. I would have done the same thing. The act itself was just…unlike you.”

You roll your eyes and make your way to the cushioned bench at the end of his bed to sit down and then retort. “Unlike me?” You huff. “It seems, husband that you don’t know me at all because I would do it, and I would do it again.”

The maester glances over at you with concern, but you ignore him and lay on your side with your arm propped and your eyes carefully following Aegon’s every move.

“Then I meant that the act itself just…seemed to be something Aemond would have done,” he interjects, making you drop your gaze and swallow thickly.

“Yes…well…he was right to do it. Some of it anyway. He was just fighting a war…for you.”

Aegon scoffs and sits down. He then lets out a deep breath and waves away the maesters that kept you company. “Leave us,” he commands.

The maesters hesitate to leave him alone in his chambers with you, but Aegon presses his demand.

“I shouldn’t repeat myself.”

This time the maesters file out, leaving you and Aegon alone in an awkward silence he fills. “Was my brother truly fighting the war for me? Or was it for his own ambition?”

You glance at the sapphire ring around your finger. “Does it matter now that he’s dead,” you avoid answering his question and keep your eyes on your ring that reminds you of Aemond to avoid looking at Aegon.

“I suppose it doesn’t,” he says with a sigh before you hear the wheels on his chair roll toward you, but stop at a distance. “Do you…Miss him?” His question catches you by surprise, but it’s not one you ignore.

“He was stupid in his final moments,” you mutter and with your other hand graze your finger over the sapphire. “He would still be alive if he had heeded my warning, but alas, he didn’t, and now…” you trail off in a whisper and slowly lift your gaze, catching Aegon pushing his wheels forward so he can move toward you before he pushes himself off his seat and sits beside you on the bench.

“Both of your brothers were stupid,” you don’t shy away from saying. “They would still be alive if they had played smarter and not given into their own ego, but it seems you outlived them.”

“Should I be offended?” He quips lightheartedly, and you flash the ghost of a smile.

“Prideful perhaps?” You retort and meet his gaze. “You were smart.”

Aegon raises his eyebrow in surprise but doesn’t add anything. He leaves your comment alone mostly because he thinks you’ll take it back if he does respond. Thus instead, he drifts his gaze away and lingers in the silence that was quick to grow and tense up. After a while, he parts his lips and mutters.

“How have you gotten over my brother's death?”

Whether it’s genuine interest to deal with his own grief or just curiosity, you don’t know, you just blink in surprise and when you steal a glance at Aegon, you catch the flicker of his sorrowful gaze.

“Who says I got over it?” You quip and look back at your sapphire ring. “I just know that if I sit and give into my grief, I won’t get back up. After losing so many people. People…I truly and deeply loved and cherished, I learned to navigate my emotions. Turning grief to do better. And then turning grief into anger. That’s how I manage it without letting it drown me. I get angry.”

Aegon nods faintly and you dig your nails in the cushion your palm is pressed against.

“Is that why…you sacrificed who you used to be? Is that why you’re now the person you shamed me for being? A monster?”

Your breath catches in your throat and your entire body freezes as his words register in your head and echo, hitting you like cold water every single time you hear it.

Did he really just insinuate that you’re alike? Him and you? Him, the man who killed your mother? Him, who…hurt all those innocent girls? Him?

You grow disgusted and furious all at the same, but before you can think of something to counter with, Aegon’s head falls on your lap and his hand wraps around your knee.

“It makes me glad that we now have something in common. It’s a comforting fact.”

You scrunch your nose and curl your lip in disgust, but don’t shove him off, or tell him off. You grow stiff and stay that way as he keeps his head on your lap.

A tear formed by disbelief and utter shock rolls down your cheeks, but you keep still as he closes his eyes and fails to see the anger that clenches your jaw and narrows your gaze with a new burning anger as he dares to relate you to him.

How dare he?

Why would he think you and him are the same kind of monster?

You’re not the same kind of monster. You…You are everything you didn't want to be, but you are not the same.

No.

No.

More thick tears trail down the curve of your cheeks as your rage only burns hotter, but in between your horror and anger, you raise your hand and let the tip of your fingers kiss the side of his scarred face.

Aegon is startled by your touch. He snaps his eyes open, but he doesn’t comment on the sudden touch. He welcomes the touch thinking it’s a form of comfort after finding something in common, but that’s far from the truth.

He doesn’t know that though, just like he doesn’t know you.

——

*SOMETIME LATER*

“The Dowager Queen has requested an audience with you at the gardens,” your lady-in-waiting shares, making this what?

Well, you’ve lost count of how many times Alicent has asked to speak with you. And the good thing about being Queen is that you don’t have to suffer through a load of apologies, pitiful looks, and an attempt at reconciliation. You can ignore her and no one can do anything about it.

“Tell her the same as yesterday and the day before that,” you tell your lady-in-waiting over your shoulder. “Thank you.”

You turn away and return your eyes to Astraea in the distance happily flying over the cold waters of the sea. “She’s flying a lot stronger, don’t you think?” You ask Vanessa as she tries to fix your hair against the icy winter breeze that rushes through the balcony.

“It seems so. Her wounds must not hurt as much,” she mentions, making the corner of your lips twitch to a smile.

No matter what is transcending or what plagues you, you can always count on Astraea to bring a smile to your face. At least for a little while anyway.

A knock proceeds to rap on your door and your smile completely falls from your face.

“Come,” you welcome the visitor and hope—no, pray it’s not Aegon.

Luckily, when the door opens and you turn around you don’t see the broken man. You just see Lord Larys.

“Your Grace,” he greets with a bow.

Vanessa lets your hair go and steps away, letting you walk inside your chambers and point to the couches by the fireplace. “My Lord, welcome. Tea? Wine?”

The man shakes his head. “No, thank you. I just came for a quick visit.” He pauses and looks at the doors over his shoulder to make sure they’re closed. He then examines your quarters making sure that no one besides Vanessa and you are inside.

“What is it?” You probe as he piques your curiosity.

Lord Larys lets out a deep breath and then finally faces you to share what brought him to your chambers. “It’s Lord Borros, he is going to leave with his men and the men of Duskendale, Stokeworth, Hayford, and Rosby to face the Rivermen.”

They’ve been getting closer and closer by the day. Just yesterday they were a seven-day ride from Kings Landing. You were beginning to think that Lord Borros wouldn’t have the balls to go face them considering most of his strength is made up of men from houses who were forced to give their loyalty toward the king and then were made to pay a ransom and give the crown a hostage. And that doesn’t really aspire blind loyalty, but alas, Lord Borros is as dumb as he looks.

“Finally,” you scoff and flash lord Larys a smile before you stride to the small table and pour yourself some wine. “I thought he would never leave. Hm.” You chuckle and turn to face your visitor. “I assume you remember your part that follows?” You ask as you lift your brow and look at him over the rim of your cup.

Lord Larys offers you a nod before parting his lips to respond. “I remember. Which is why I came to deliver you the news as quickly as I could.”

You hum and grab the poison flask from your pocket so as to keep it with you at all times so you don’t lose it, or risk having it found by the many servants that come into your quarters throughout the day. You then take a drink from your wine before you approach him and press the flask on his palm.

“I’m trusting you, Lord Strong,” you interject as you wrap your hand around his to keep him close. “If you betray me…well…I don’t need to remind you what will happen do I?” You probe with your lips slowly pulling to a smirk as you look at him with a threatening glare rather than with a questioning look, making him gulp before he nods stiffly.

“I will do it. Starting today.”

You slip your hand off his and step back to take another big drink of your wine before you push it toward him. “To the King,” you mock before you give him your back and walk back toward the balcony, knowing he doesn’t need to be told to leave.

“At last the war is coming to an end,” you tell Vanessa once you return to the balcony and find Astraea still flying over the waters. “I never thought I’d work with Lord Larys though. As tactical as I admit he is.”

Vanessa’s footsteps echo against the floor as she makes herself to your side rather than continuing to fix your hair. “Shouldn’t you perhaps wait until Lord Stark is closer to the city to continue with the rest of your plan?” She asks.

You finish the rest of your wine and drift your gaze to the corner of your eyes to retort. “No. If I wait that could potentially spoil all of it. I have to act now. We…can reunite when he arrives in the city.”

Vanessa hums in comprehension and you sigh and look back at Astraea, letting a wicked smile come play on your lips as you think about your plan finally coming to motion. At long last.

Of course, you do have to wait for the poison to do its job since it is slow-acting, but oh, you take joy in watching Aegon slowly succumb to Alys’ concoction. First, he starts to wear out more than usual, his appetite is smaller, his legs stop working, and he has fever dreams that freak him out.

Slowly he starts to unravel and you feel proud with every symptom and every passing day. Finally, the melancholy and agony that painted your face vanishes and in its place, a sinister joy takes place and returns a rather ethereal glow to your face.

Yet nothing compares to the day. The moment when you can finally come out of the shadows and act out the plan in all its glory.

It brings a pep to your stride and a bright twinkle in your eyes that makes you look more terrifying and intimidating than anything else.

“Your Grace,” you recognize your grandfather blurt as he barges into your quarters. “It’s happening.”

You turn around and flash him a faint playful smirk before you probe seriously. “The kids and Baela?”

“Men are on their way toward them now. You best hurry before Ser Alfred reaches Aegon’s chambers and finds it empty.” He suggests something that hasn't slipped from your mind. After all, you went to sleep, woke up, and ate breakfast, lunch, and dinner, thinking about the plan to kill Aegon. Nothing and you mean nothing will slip past you.

“I’m already on my way,” you say jokingly as you break into a cocky stride and leave your chambers with Ser Cane, and the men Lord Larys appointed to help you; Ser Perkin the Flea and knights he trusted. After all, you had already assumed that Aegon would back down in his promise and send men after your brother Aegon. You assumed he wouldn’t be able to handle that he’s still alive, or the threat of the Rivermen, the Vale, and the North all not backing down and drawing closer with every passing day. Especially after Lord Borros was betrayed by the men of the Crownsland, and lost his battle. Just as you predicted he would.

Perhaps Aegon should have taken the time to truly get to know you. You would have ended up dead if he did try, but that’s the only way you could be stopped. Now you will bring an end to his tyranny. Now you are death.

Can Ser Alfred Broome see that as you slowly turn the corner and bring him to a stop on top of the drawbridge that leads to Maegor’s holdfast where your brother was kept.

“Ser,” you greet in a honey-laced voice and a sweet smile to accompany your greeting.

“Your Grace,” he throws out his greeting and bows his head without any care. “If you’ll excuse me I have duties to do for the King.”

You hum in comprehension and step to the side, causing Ser Cane to do the same so Ser Alfred can pass by.

However, as the heel of his boots starts to tap against the wooden bridge, Ser Perkin and three of his men come out of the shadows to block his path.

“What’s the meaning of this?” Ser Alfred demands to know. “Move in the name of your king!” He exclaims and then turns to face you and have you move them, but when he turns three more men walk out from the corridor he just came from and block that path too.

“What—”

He cuts himself off whilst his breath catches as you strut forward to be in front of him and he catches the gleam of your silver chest plate shaped in the form of bones hiding behind your cloak.

“Long. Live. The. King,” you roll out of your tongue before you grab his shoulder and then slap your other hand on his chest.

Ser Perkin and his men stomp their feet on the ground and chant the same thing. “Long live the king.”

The realization that Ser Alfred is facing death hits him, but before he can utter another word, or even figure out what to do next, you shove him off the drawbridge.

You then step toward the edge of the bridge, and your piercing and threatening glare is the last thing he sees as you watch him fall to his death on the iron spikes below.

“Very well then,” you huff and pull off your cloak to let your armor and intentions shine. “Onto the next.”

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A/N- Be prepared!

Tagged- @namelesslosers @stargaryenx @chainsawsangel @lauftivy @winxschester @cloudroomblog @llarue @padsdarlg @sofietargaryen @gracielikegrapes @dreaming-of-the-reality @itzelpeyton @patdsinner33 @mrsdominickstark @elaena-aerrin @todoroki-slut @snh96 @urmomsgirlfriend1 @nifujiswhore @sweethoneyblossom1 @kaetastic @lightdragonrayne @squidscottjeans @oh-you-mean-me @wallacewillow0773638 @icefrye19 @thescottpack @fiction-fanfic-reader @crazymusicgirl104 @r-3dlips @strangersunghoon @just-pure-trash @ethereal-athalia @missyviolet123 @callsignwidow @xunquish-blog @tabathastan @weepingfashionwritingplaid @answer-the-sirens @silverlightsaber @rosey1981 @amortentiaaaa

[currentfandomkick]

Skulker, unwilling witness to a halfa custody battle

Masterlist Here

Hi. It took forever to get back to this as work upped my hours and i was exhausted. Enjoy the crazy building for my personal blend of how the Ghost Zone works with the DC afterlives (minor spoiler: if afterlife divinities don’t want anything to do with you, they just. Make you the Ghost Zone’s problem)

—

Skulker couldn’t help but wonder when the issues regarding the Unshed Whelp would end.

Sampson grew more nervous as the doctors and nurses prodded him.

“And are you sure this isn’t further down his reincarnation line, just a second life not a fifth or one in the hundreds?” Amira repeated.

childHurt?Sampson inquired, still holding her ghostling.

“Now, its just to know how bad the hurt is—further back a soul goes, worse the cause of regression and higher on the priorities list we get for IRFP.”

At Sampson’s ? Skulker clarified.

“Infinite Realms Fright Protections, they specialize in younger ghosts, disabled ghosts, and liminals like you and specialty cases like the whelp.”

Sampson frowned.

“Think a lot of healers, protectors and parents working together to help uh,” he switched gears as Sampson moved to her full height. “think your zookeepers but they listen to you.”

That settled her down at least. For the moment.

“Well, it looks like maybe a second life, which may be why he’s been difficult to skin on top of his halfa status. Liminals tend to flee too—honestly they need a good scrub now and then to take out the dirty layers—Speaking of which, Sampson, are you still using the scrubs to help with the excess aggression?”

Sampson nodded, offering her arm for inspection if needed.

“Great, we may need something like that or a bit stronger to help your son lessen his reversions.”

“But not stop,” Skulker noted.

“Until we got the stressor down and managed? Not a way to do that even if he’s skinned properly. And liminals tend to take to attempts poorly—Carbon side has Opinions on it and the Ecto is all for it. Best not to confuse the poor dear more than he is.”

Sampson shuffled in place.

The whelp kept hiding in her fur, tail flailing or flaring out with his other fins on occasion.

“Now, is he still in contact with any relatives from any other lifetimes of his?” The doctor asked while checking the whelps’s scales, grabbing a sample from what flaked off.

“Not that myself or Sampson have identified,” he translated.

“Well, give us a bit and we can have this,” the doctor gestured to the plastic container with the scale samples. “Run for a any familial matches in our systems and see if any of the other lives can give some insight into his actions.”

“He did die young both times,” Skulker admitted, examining the merform more now. There are countless subspecies and variations for adult merfolk, but the whelp had an infant’s face, build and lack of a sternum and proper elbows.

He… he had a feeling that if the whelp’s death was not accidental, and the perpetrator was alive… it would not be impossible to let the more wrathful, rage riddled protector spirits have a go at them. Especially if he just. Pointed them in the right direction.

The nurse shrugged. “Could have been an auto-reincarnation.”

Sampson grumbled something at that.

The whelp stayed quiet and rested as they waited for the results.

With any luck, he’d have relatives in the Realms rather than the End Points… The rulers there were vexing on a good day without stakes.

With stakes they made it a point to be as insufferable as possible.

“Okay, there’s only one direct match in the Realms, a former king of something or other named Deildi of Atlantis… I think? He’s using his grave name, rather than his death name.”

Skulker looked to the ceiling, as Sampson continued to soothe the fussy whelp.

He would demand pelting rights for this—Sampson would hardly oppose the treatment once the whelp’s stress lowered. Just in sections on his primary ghost form, nothing deeper than the surface layer… probably a good idea to see if he has ecto-preferences outside of the Far Frozen’s for his recovery…

A royal. Likely assassinated young enough to qualify for automatic reincarnation, sans cultural attachments.

…he’d offer the whelp a shark-like blob ghost as a support. If his… semi-stray dog got along with them…

Or make the pain that is Cujo choose the small shark-blob for the whelp.

Sampson would accept it easily enough as additional protection from the overeager ectopus.

babyOldfamilyHelp?

“Not his old parents, relatives to them, a ‘leader’ it seems.”

Sampson’s scrunched face told them all her opinion loud and clear.

“Its not uncommon for them to watch over the living, hopefully he can be helpful,” one of the newer nurses suggested while trying (and failing) to convince Sampson to The whelp in a tank.

—

Deildi threw open the door to examine his descendant. One not brought to him upon death like the others.

Silvers and blacks made up the bulk of the tail and fins, while the babe’s human flesh handled the rest of his coloring. Craftsmanship and strength made sense for one of his kin. Artistic leaning probably, and if the boy had time to grow into it, he didnt doubt a knack for magic with shifting states of matter would have been on the table. Death draping its colors on him made equal sense. Perhaps it was because his descendants’ strength lay in his spirit rather than body that even death didnt truly beat this one the second time around?

“And he chose Danny Phantom?” Deildi repeated, eyeing the merchild warily. Why the guppy would choose to emphasize his death as a spirit, he couldn’t fathom.

Even moreso, how the child destined to be such a successful sorcerer king died as an infant was beyond him. Were his abilities sealed before? Had that blasted portal unlocked them?

“Yes,” the sentient automaton answered. “The whelp enjoys word play.”

Why the merchild chose a liminal gorilla as his ghost parent further perplexed him—however he was growing to understand the babe as a living paradox.

ChildmineSafewithME and helpExplainillnessInquiryslewed off the gorilla to an alarming degree.

“I tend to watch them after their first sparks of magic emerge,” he began absently. “He’s still got a strong soul for sorcery when he’s ready.”

“That doesn’t explain the soul regression, sir,” the medic interrupted.

Deildi slowly exhaled at the interruption. “And this is merely his second life. All reversions will end with him in this form. He is likely seeking safety and comfort given the uphill battle this life has proven.”

He waved a finger before the guppy, and smiled as the child chased the shimmers in his wake.

“Uphill battle?” The medic prompted uncertainly.

Deildi pressed his lips together as his jaw tightened recalling how often his young descendant nearly became another automatic reincarnation.

“He has almost died around saturnalia every year. Often during harvest festivals as well. This red coated figure? Causes far too many and too involved arguments. He almost died last year when the noodles he tried to make from scratch hit ecto-infused water and spouted their own sentience and desire to end him. I presume his parents haven’t dismantled their fortress’ traps and they’ve begun to spring on him, correct?”

The automaton nodded mutely, eyeing his descendant more than he’d prefer.

The gorilla grumped UpsetAngry and ChildRefusesToStayHere/Home wafting off her cloyingly.

Deildi wrinkled his nose at sensation.

“If permitted, I can see to it he is given a proper childhood as a Neverborn or act as a foster parent for his times in the Realms. Naturally his door will be moved to my palace and accommodations made for his chosen parent.”

The medics shared a look with the automaton and the gorilla.

“He’s a halfa,” one medic began.

Deildi hated how only the slur survived in texts outside his kingdom. So many of his subjects began as Veilborn and only the Purger’s propaganda and slander remained of their origin.

“the situation is…” the other medic trailed off, staring at the automaton.

“Delicate,” the metal man stated. “He refuses a proper pelting.”

Deildi hummed, gently offering his fingers for the boy to nip at while running a more clawed hand gently against a spotty patch long since ready for peeling.

The babe giggled while he did.

“Scale sheddings are more effective for ecto-carbons,” Deildi murmured, grntly scrapping the excess, old and illness-inducing ecto off the babe where the child allowed.

The automaton scowled at him.

“I predate Pariah’s Purge. Veilborn and their care was as common as greens and blues back then.”

The medics looked at him with newfound interest.

“The records were kept at the Far Frozen. I believe they still have untouched copies if you need more information… has he been given a proper memorial yet? I haven’t seen anything in the times I checked in.”

The silence was damning.

“… do inform the mortals aware of his condition that a memorial will help anchor him to his current death form, not leave him listless to his prior form.”

The automaton nodded along.

The gorilla was lost for a proper response.

—

Okay was in drafts for forever (Deildi was not having it until I worked out the ilness or let him take over treatments so #*%@) but done. Also not nearly as many former atlantian kings as i figured there would be, so congrats you get an OC.

Let me know if you want me to pick this series back up, and if you want videos of mer danny to be leaked (possibly with Deildi hovering on the night cameras and playing with him as a more semi-transparent DC ghost (man is not here for an obsession he’s here to Step Up on parenting this apparent descendant that continues to get the short end of the stick. possibly co-mentor with Frostbite as Magic kicks in)

Tags: @skulld3mort-1fan @theizzyof3malec3 @brattysleepyreader @sebas-nights @elidaweirdotaku0520 @bianca-hooks123 @the-autistic-spider @laurcad123 @just-lurking-here-dont-mind-meh @atinygracie @stars-obsession-pit t @wanderwithwings @aibhilin-atibeka @lovelesslittleloser @shadowkatt99 @pastelpigeonparadise @gloriousporpois

[kiame-sama]

For those angry about Malleus' temper and behavior in my AU and are bombarding my ask box about it and even trying to threaten me that it is isn't cannon (except Malleus has a shit ton of canonical yandere tendencies and this is a fucking AU WHICH IS NOT CANON), read the below statements. For those that want the HAE AU intricacies slowly brought up in the story itself, don't read because it may spoil some things I haven't written yet.

Spoilers for chapter 8, 11, and others of the HAE AU

Okay, I'm going to say this as clearly as possible because either I haven't done well enough job hinting at the truth/ it is too early in the story to really get into the meat/ or people really just don't suspend their disbelief to look past surface level and deep-dive into text anymore;

HAE MALLEUS IS YANDERE AND ACTS LIKE IT. All Dragons have yandere tendencies and in my AU they are all canonical yanderes. They have Hoards for a reason and those in the Hoard don't fight for that same reason. Malleus' Hoard is beholden to Malleus because 'Survival of the Fittest' is the main ruler of the HAE AU. Malleus is barely into adulthood in terms of Dragons and is already leaps and bounds above the rest in terms of skill, strength, and ability. He IS the fittest as far as NRC and the Hoard are concerned, there is a reason only those stronger than him or those he values can direct him to do anything without direct retaliation. They all have their primary animalistic instincts despite claiming to be above them because they all evolved hand in hand with their instincts and magic.

Malleus is instinctually programed to be yandere and that includes being yandere over his Hoard as well. Silver, Sebek, and Lilia all know the rules of the Hoard because they have all been in Malleus' Hoard for an extended period of time, that is why they go straight to Malleus when they are presented with certain behavior from the Human.

The Human is new to the Hoard and knows next to none of the inherent rules that come with being in a Hoard to a Dragon like Malleus. This is why the Human won't go straight to Malleus if propositioned by any of the NRC guys because they have no idea that is a rule Hoard members need to follow. They are learning the rules slowly and beginning to realize the rules are for the Hoard's safety from the inherent yandere behavior as well as the Dragon's safety of staying sane. The Human is only JUST NOW realizing that these monster men are unhealthy in their growing obsessions and that there is a genuine obsessive drive to behave this way BECAUSE OF THE HUMAN. Now, this is by no fault of the Human- it is a result of their own natural ability among monsters- but their simple presence among these monster-men is making it worse.

Overblot is a result of magic waste and negative emotions, in my AU, the yandere emotions and tendencies they feel are a direct contributor to Overblotting.

Riddle- who was NOT yandere before meeting the Human- was quickly consumed by the yandere behavior because he was not used to the feeling of such poisonous possessiveness and it overtook him the moment he thought he was losing what was never his.

Malleus got closest to Overblotting when he thought Leona killed the Human. Grim interrupting and revealing the Human is still alive was enough to break through that rage and make Malleus take the reigns once more over his behavior. His yandere tendencies were reaching a fever pitch because he believed he lost what he sees as his most precious belonging; the Human. He is instinctually programed to view others as belongings, he is a Dragon, he has no choice. The only way Malleus can Overblot in this AU is the genuine belief his Human, Lilia, or the entirety of his Hoard is dead. His Hoard is who he has chosen to obsess over, because instinct dictates that he needs to obsess. The Hoard allows him to let these yandere tendencies breathe in a way that- isn't really healthy for anyone, but healthier for him- prevents a catastrophic meltdown response from Malleus. He could theoretically lose Silver or Sebek from the Hoard because his two crown jewels- The Human and Lilia- are still there. Sebek and Silver are Jewels, but not the Crown Jewels of the Hoard. Losing Lilia would be devastating to Malleus, but he could pull through without an Overblot so long as he has the Human and his two retainers to calm him and soothe that yandere ache. Losing the Human will invariably result in an Overblot even with Lilia, Sebek, and Silver still present because the Human is Malleus' chosen greatest treasure. The coup de grâce for his Hoard and his chosen Crown Jewel that embodies his Hoard is the Human. Lilia is a Jewel in the crown, but not the main Jewel.

Many of the NRC guys are not inherently yandere, they are becoming yandere. Through a mixture of scarcity (only one Human) and literal addiction (Humans are more addictive to the monster men than Meth), the NRC guys are unwillingly falling into yandere patterns without realizing it. Malleus was already Yandere before the addiction to the Human set in, he can parlay with his Yandere behavior better than the others because he is used to it. He is used to it becuase the yandere behavior is already a core part of his instincts.

Those who are not yandere and have no yandere tendencies are more susceptible to overblotting because of that yandere factor slowly consuming them. Riddle crashed out after a few days under the stress of his newly formed addiction. Kalim is in big trouble because he is a genuinely good guy and doesn't naturally have those yandere instincts. Those who are new to these yandere tendencies are doomed to be consumed by them if they aren't able to keep themselves above their own primal hunger and addiction.

Those who are turning yandere are doing so based on the time they spend with the Human. The more time spent, the further they fall. Those who were already yandere can play their yandere behavior because they are mostly used to it, but the more time they spend with the Human, the worse it gets.

Silver and Sebek were not yandere from the start, they are getting there and they understand now why Malleus is the way he is. Lilia already had those tendencies long before he even got to hold a baby Malleus on top of having already spent time among Humans, he is willingly sauntering downwards into his addiction and obsession. By staying with Malleus, Lilia knows he is more likely to get his hands on the Human Malleus has claimed as a Hoard member. Malleus won't fight sharing, but he refuses to be cut out entirely. Lilia is playing him for this reason and because he ultimately cares about Malleus.

[outofangband]

Gardens of Lórien headcanons

The Gardens of Lórirn are the realm of Irmo and Estë in Valinor. Canon details are sparse though the book of lost tales has some lovely descriptions

Reposting from yesterday because of a few mistakes!

I might make a follow up with more cultural headcanons and I will be updating my elven states of consciousness and sleep and dream thoughts

Awhile ago I wrote a collection of quick descriptions of the realms of the Valar! I want to make a longer series of posts and ever since I made a board for Lórien I wanted to make a collection! Let me know where you’d want to see next!

I headcanon Lórien as a sprawling, labyrinthine realm of mazes, glades, springs and forests. There are similar disorienting effects throughout as around the borders of Melian's realm. It is incredibly difficult to navigate Lórien without the aid of a Maia and elven devotees to Irmo can spend centuries or longer learning the cartography of the realm. No in depth, accurate maps exist for Lórien.

The temperature is mild and warm with an average 24 degrees Celsius (around 75 degrees Fahrenheit) though like many of the Valar’s realms it can shift and change at the behest of the rulers. Caves, sides of streams and strange spots in the forest might be ten or twenty degrees cooler.

Parts of Lórien are dark and parts are dim, like twilight. This has been true even before the rising of the sun and moon. There are glades that can induce sleep to non Ainur within minutes or even seconds of entering

In the book of lost tales, we learn that Yavanna gifted cedars and yew trees and pines and a huge cypress tree. I really love this and think there’s no reason it couldn’t be true in canon as well. Cedars and pine are likely the most common trees with willows, alders and birch.

I talked about this being true in general in Valinor here in some places but in Lórien there are turns, glens, and clearings that seem shift and change, being there one day and not the next. Time and space can stretch Even while walking known paths, there is always the possibility of ending up in a hidden clearing, covered in hanging mosses and with strange lights of glow worms all around.

While Lórien and especially Estë’s island are a place of refuge and rest, wandering them without aid can have strange and disorienting effects for most elves especially those unused to the realm.

The gardens of Lórien do indeed contain many formal gardens. These places are somewhat more neutral and can be endured without mind altering effects for longer. They are vibrant, with hummingbirds, dragonflies, tree frogs, salamanders, and a variety of butterflies and moths.

Paths are often sheltered by a crisscrossing canopy of flowering trees and vines; lilacs, wisteria, phlox, honeysuckle, Viburnum and rhododendron for just some examples

Irmo enjoys the elves and interacting with them. Though his typical form and countenance can be unsettling, even dangerous to elves, he very much likes to spend time among them. He has a slightly larger number of devotees in Valinor than the other Fëanturi and Estë has a number of students though who mostly learn from her Maiar rather than from her. There is a feast in Lórien held occasionally and without a patterned schedule. Attendees will wind their way through the mazes to join Irmo and his Maiar in a secluded area where the soft scent of flowers is itself hypnotic. These celebrations are not without risks. One or more guests are likely to fall into states of vivid dreams of hallucinations and many intentionally invoke altered states under the guidance of the Maiar.

Estë has no large celebrations and like Námo, most of her traditions are conducted only among her students and followers. There are occasional small events where offerings of herbal plants are brought to Lórien though these are arranged by the Vanyar and Teleri and not by Estë herself

In Beleriand, luna moths are highly associated with Melian and with Lórien (the place and the Vala). They symbolize night, dream, and desire and appear as motifs in a lot of later Sindar poetry and art

[randomizer971]

Wakfu The Great Wave - Chapter 12

Hic sunt dracones...

... and beware of spoilers, amphibians, Trypophobia and overuse of gif.

Me, watching some NPC blame Yugo & his people for the "sins of the Mother" for the nth time :

Grougalorasalar is so out of line in this chapter! Even that luscious hair and those defined abs don't blind me to his faults!

The audacity of Rasalar to imply those artefacts don't belong to Yugo, Adamaï and co. I'll admit that the Eliasphere and Eliacube are from the Mechasms (stolen, given, rented or whatever the current canon says) but the DOFUS ?! The Dofus Eliatropes are literally those kids' spawn points ! What are they supposed to do when their siblings are still incubating?

Here's your daily reminder that Yugo is living his best Explicit Married Life with his baby siblings stuck on his chest and at least two of them will remember all they could perceive from their Dofus once they're out... but who's judging?

Rasalar has no mercy. Everyone is catching strays today! Let Qilby rest in peace, he's back in his Dofus now. That reptile is so rude! Did he even know any other Dofus Eliatrope to talk about this family like that? I would have loved to see a verbal battle between Qilby and Rasalar. The sass would have been 📈📈

My, this dragon really said "I hate you and your entire bloodline" in 10k words or more. He had been preparing his diss track since Ogrest spat out his Dofus. You know Mewing Lizard was just waiting for Yugo to grow up just to trash him without being accused of bullying kids. Bro had so much resentment toward Yugo and the eliatropes, you'd think he'd taken lessons from Oropo, the poster boy for daddy issues. Is it Rasalar's Euphoria era or something? Was his name Lamar all along ?

In all fairness, it makes sense for a Twelvian to be so against the eliatropes being on the planet. These artefacts and some Eliatropes caused chaos all over the World of Twelve for centuries. Yugo's edgy alter ego had some involvement in Ogrest's Chaos and Nox's vain project to use the Eliacube. Then, there was the whole mess with the necromes and now, it's almost confirmed that Goddess Eliatrope had a hand in the death(?) of all the Twelvian gods. Not that they were much involved to begin with, apart from creating half-gods. How very Olympian of them!

I might get hate for this but, the Twelvian rulers were right to demand the Eliatropes and all their inventions leave the World of Twelve (Seasons 2 and 4).

The monarchs had more to lose keeping the Eliatropes on the planet. Ignoring the more peculiar concerns like where to put all those kids (back when there were thousands of them in S2), who would pay for all this and such, national security would have been the top argument to kick the Eliatropes out. The Twelvian Council had "proof" that the Eliatropes were a threat to the local population, and that was without knowing Oropo's origins and his involvement in Ogrest's Chaos. As rulers, they are accountable for the lives of thousands (current and future generations). Their duty would call for those rulers to deal with the problem asap. Because, if they didn't, the population would be sure to remind them of said duty (riots, vigilantism, civil unrest, coup...).

Apart from late King Oakheart, the monarchs had no deep involvement with the Eliatropes, no positive interaction not tainted by a bad first impression. All they knew was that their respective kingdoms were put in danger because some "wakfu-powered alien children" and their "long-lost, overbearing, self-righteous and possibly unstable" Goddess Mother had decided to crash-land there and open the door to the Necrome menace.

Since the Eliatropes cannot leave the planet without draining it of Wakfu (Season 2, Qilby), keeping the artefacts out of reach from both the Eliatropes themselves and the Twelvians would be the next best thing. It seems Rasalar might be justifying his actions with this thought.

HOWEVER, I disagree with the idea of giving away the Eliatrope collectables to Rasalar. So far, no one has proven worthy of properly using the Elia-artefacts or even keeping them safe.

On one hand, the Twelvians are easily manipulated or tempted into misusing any powerful artefact like they already did with the Primordial Dofus, the Eliacube or Shushu weapons (e.g. Nox, Ogrest, Toross on his planet, Pinpin and other Shushu Guardians). The Primordial Dragons and their Guardians would lose these items, like they often do with their own Dofus (Grougalorasalar & his siblings). Master Joris helped in hiding those treasures away (OAVs) but failed because of Oropo's brotherhood. Regardless, he is currently the ambassador of Bonta, whose queen dislikes Eliatropes. What would he do, should the Bonta queen and queen consort command him to hand over the items?

On the other hand, the Eliatropes, the rightful owners of most if not all these Eliatrope collectables, don't have the cleanest track record either. Qilby is out of commission for some time, but nothing says for sure he won't try to use the Eliacube again, even with his last-minute "redeeming arc". With some Eliatropes living among a population with mixed opinions about them, who is to say one of the Eliatropes won't turn into the next Qilby, Oropo or Bouillon in a few years or in a few generations?

Adamai seems to have good decision-making skills but most of it lies with his fear - fear of losing control, of making the wrong decision. He is so unsure that he'd rather not act because he also fears what Yugo would do with the powerful items (e.g. OAVs and Season 3).

Yugo is...Yugo. He has matured a lot since Season 1, but, he mostly thinks with his heart. From this, he would act on what he believes is right, while pushing aside the very real and often negative consequences of his choices and actions. He is a brave warrior and overall a kind person...but his very dichotomic view on right and wrong could make him a questionable ruler when political acumen is preferred over sheer might.

Right now, Yugo is still reeling from his confrontation with Oropo and the fight against the Necromes. With the tasks of caring for two kingdoms, maybe we'll see him make those hard decisions. However, as he is now, I cannot imagine Yugo not using the Eliasphere & Eliacube to try and "be a hero", if push comes to shove. The webtoon made that PG-13 plot armour disappear, opening the door to not only some Yumalia fun but potentially to explicit death and gore. This means that, in the webtoon, Yugo with his current mindset could try to "save everyone" only to fail miserably.

Yet, the webtoon has just begun. There is still time for some kind of evolution for his character development. Although, given the title "The Great Wave" and the state of the world in Waven, I'm not holding my breath.

As long as he doesn't end up alone on a planet destroyed by his own hubris, Yugo is good to go!

What I don't understand is…why now? It's been months (?) since the Battle against the necromes. Why does Rasalar want to talk, scheme and let out his grievances now that everything is relatively quiet? Is it because it took time to reunite all the Primordial Dofus? Was he spying on Yugo and the others to gauge their strength before attacking? Was he on his training arc to master the Primordial Dofus before confronting the Eliatrope twins?

Rasalar demanding those Eliatrope limited edition items be like

The audacity of this walking crocodile bag! Who does he think he is ? I know Spicy Lizard didn't just demand those sacred Elia-McGuffins! I know the genius who lost his Dofus, not once but twice, didn't just ask the Eliatrope artefacts and even added a tight deadline and a menacing debt collector (goth queen Julith 🖤).

That guy?! Who would give anything so dangerous to the very dragon who couldn't keep his Dofus safe from fusing with a baby (Maître Joris) and later could only watch as a crying toddler (Ogrest) gobbled the egg down? Be for real !

And now Rasalar is threatening people ?! This guy needs to disappear TODAY ! I'm saying this as a totally unbiased person who has no favourite at all. If this dried-up reptile hurts my beloved child Amalia or little Grougal and Chibi !

One too many people have been talking big just because they got some Kinder eggs stuck on their back !

How are they so loud, when they look like this?!

Tell me this is not what dark!Adamaï, Toross and Rasalar looked like? Embarrassing!

On a side note, Rasalar sacrificed all these villagers to revive The Butcher of Brakmar only to use her as his Uber driver?

Heretic!

Anyway, as usual, the art is fantastic and the pace is great. All those cameos from the animated seasons, making me all teary-eyed and stuff. My boy Nox ! ����😭😭

I'm looking forward to this new wave of drama! Hopefully, more character development will come for the non-Iop cast. 😒

*End of my rambling*