#the false prince fanfic

[ascendantking]

;; The Royal Roast

Pairing: Jaron/Tobias, Amarinda of Bultain/Imogen Words: 1045 Chapter: 1/? Summary: A modern college au set in a coffee shop between two rival universities. While the Carthyan Patriots and the Avenian Dragons clash, a quiet courtship begins between Tobias, an overworked med student, and Jaron, a young entrepreneur with a penchant for trouble.

Baggy eyes and a hunched back marked the man who came in every morning like clockwork, stealing a table hidden away in the recesses of the cafe–barely lit by the only window that wasn’t taking it upon itself to blind the patrons at this hour. His order was always the same: a coffee with way too many shots of espresso, a cream cheese bagel, and, if he was feeling daring, an eclair that they had to assume he took with him to whatever classes were breaking his back because he definitely didn’t touch it when he was here.

The red eye staff had their bets placed on if he actually ate it after it had, inevitably, been squished in his bag or if he only ordered it to prove to himself that he could order something else. Most of them were leaning towards the latter, of course, with the way he stumbled through his words whenever he did decide to vary it.

But Jaron had thrown his hat in the ring on another, more far-fetched idea–one Imogen and Roden hadn’t cared for much at all. He was of the notion that since he had happened to be the only one to convince him to try something different then it was only logical to assume that he liked him. 

Continue reading below or on AO3! ( Link on blog. )

Right. That’s what this was. Imogen couldn’t let this fantasy go on any longer as she rolled her eyes. “Or you make him nervous.”

“Because he likes me,” Jaron insisted as he emphasized his teasing with a smolder.

”Or, get this,” she said, smiling as she shook her hands in front of herself, her grin immediately falling, “he may not like being put on the spot.”

Jaron laughed, stacking the cups off to the side. “I dunno, I think you’re just jealous that–” Imogen cocked her hip, putting her hand on her side, snorting herself. “Sure. If that’s the rabbit you want to chase today, just make sure it doesn’t get in the way of your job. Why don’t you help organize the back once you’re done there?”

“You don’t want my pretty face up front today?”

Imogen tilted her head at him, fluttering her eyelashes innocently. “Are you asking me if I want customers today?” She paused, putting a finger on her lip. “Hm.” She let a moment pass as if her question held any of the significance that warranted such a lengthy pause. “You know, Jaron,” she said, nodding slowly, “you should be up front. Give the door your best smile.”

He snorted, waving her off. “It’s like you have no faith in me.”

“Is it that obvious?” Imogen asked with a grin. She nudged him as she passed. “Just make sure you’re ready to go. We open in five.”

Jaron rolled his eyes. “I know, I know. It can’t be any worse than yesterday, can it?”

Imogen stopped abruptly. Her eyes flicked back to him with faux seriousness. “Do you like testing god?”

“When it suits me,” he said with a wink. Imogen took in a breath, shaking her head as she finished cleaning off one of the machines on the back wall. Jaron leaned down on the counter, crossing his legs behind him as he watched the streets slowly come to life, cars lazily drifting by as the street lights went off one by one, each one taking a bow as the morning sun took its rightful place on stage.

“Do you think he’ll be here today?” he asked barely above a whisper.

Imogen looked back at him, raising an eyebrow. She rolled her eyes. “I’m beginning to think you’re the one that likes him. Careful, wouldn’t want people thinking you can catch feelings.” She held her nose as if the concept itself stunk before snickering to herself. 

Jaron snorted, looking back out towards the door, a slight tinge of red on his face. Sure, maybe he wanted to get to know the guy, but that was all it was. He let out a sigh, pushing himself up off the counter to flip the sign to Open. He wasn’t one to pine over someone, he thought to himself as he peeked his head out to look down the sidewalk. No sign of him–oh, no, he meant anyone yet, yeah.

He closed the door again, brushing off his hands before he cracked them in front of himself. “Time to get down to business,” Jaron said to no one in particular as he hopped the counter.

Just because he had noticed that Tobias had come in almost every day for the past two weeks since he started working these early shifts meant nothing. He had a unique look to him! Wiry and tall, with perceptively kind eyes, as if he could read someone like a book but without even a crease or dog-ear on the pages as he went through their life story. It seemed silly now, Jaron realized, comparing him to an old librarian type when Jaron was the one attempting to judge a book by a cover himself. 

But he just couldn’t help it! Tobias carried himself like he had the weight of the world on his shoulders–like if he stopped for one minute, it would all collapse in a messy heap at his feet. Jaron sighed, furrowing his brows as he leaned against the counter again. It wasn’t fair for a man to carry the world alone–what a lonely thing that was, the heaviness of a responsibility only one man knows. If only he could do something to help–then maybe Tobias’ face might not wrinkle up as much as it did in the few moments Jaron saw of him a day. Jaron stood back, looking up at the ceiling with a sigh–maybe he’d get him that eclair for free today. Sure, it wasn’t much, but sometimes even little things could make a big deal, even if they seemed insignificant in the grand scheme of things.

A nervous energy ate at him as he rocked back and forth on his heels. God, he hoped he came in today–maybe they could say more than just the usual pleasantries, maybe he could even get a how’s the weather out there started.

A guy could dream, couldn’t he?

[the-common-cowgirl]

Chapter 1 - Intro

Pairings: Aemond Targaryen x OFC (Anikyra Targaryen)

Summary: The Peaceful King Viserys hears word of a Targaryen Princess that resides in the broken stronghold of Valyria; which has since become an immature kingdom after of the doom befell their land. Feeling the tension between his house and believing the long night may soon come, Viserys proposes a betrothal between the Valyrian Princess and his second son, Aemond Targaryen, believing his daughter’s prophetic dream that the child born of this union will become the prince that was promised.

Warnings (Ch. specific): Mentions of murder and usurpation.

Word Count: 1600

A/N: AHA! First chapter of this rework done! Probably going to work on finishing The Lost Children after this unless this gets a lot of attention lol.

Masterlist

Dawn awakened over the vast land that once was the great stronghold of Valyria; now an emerging kingdom over the broken land. The red, hot sun greeted her on the east side of her balcony and the beautiful, bright rays danced along the pale, blue water of the sea that faced her to the south. The large, shiny, black castle, mounted on the side of a great mount of stone and soot, stood tall above the city. She could see the hustle of morning coming and goings of the smallfolk below her who now resembled crawling ants. She often sat high above them on warm dawns with her tea, wondering if, although their lives were harsh and rough, were they simpler? Were those people below her free in the choices they made or were they too, confined to a blind duty born of their station? Did they have autonomy over their beating hearts or were they too a prisoner in their own personal hell? 

She doubted it.

 She heard a door open in the distance behind her and knew her handmaiden was coming to ready her; she also knew the handmaiden would be bearing news in which she dreaded. News of the scheming of the King of Valyria and another King of a distant land. News that would be comparable to news of her own execution; at least, in her mind. She did not want to hear it but she knew it would come regardless of her wishes. So, she decided to muster up her courage, to take her cup with now cool tea and walk into her bedchambers to hear if this was the news her handmaiden would be bearing.

“Princess, a messenger has sent word that the Targaryens of Westeros have embarked on their journey here.”

The ‘False Targaryens’ you mean. 

She all but slammed her cup on a table, nearly breaking the fragile porcelain, angered by the audacity of these Westerosi to come here and believe they have any sort of claim to what was once their homeland. A homeland they were exiled from when Aenar defiled the name “Targaryen '' by gambling his riches awash then trying to make good on his debts by stealing his elder brother’s, Aelys Targaryen, dragon eggs. Aelys should have not only exiled him, but executed him. No, her ancestor, Aelys, allowed his brother to be exiled comfortably with his family, a dragon and a handful of eggs. After the doom befell Valyria,  all the dragons fell from the sky, burning from the outside in, and Aelys’ only daughter requested help from the Westerosi. She asked for Aenar to bring his dragons and help what remained of the dragonlords escape the wrecked ruins of what was their home. Aenar responded with a simple “Nyke ivestragon Aelys hen bisa vejes” [I tell Aelys of this doom].  So, desperate for help and to save the remains of her people, she took it upon herself as the last highborn blood of the dragonlords alive, she turned to head to Asshai…and the Taragryens rose from the ashes…without the help of the last of their kin.

“Princess?” Her handmaiden approached lightly and slowly; holding out her hand as if she were approaching a deadly beast that needed to sniff her first to know she’s not a threat.

“Yes, Tiah. I understand the words you spoke. I know they are coming. I’d be more content today if you chose to not speak of it. Is that understood?” She snapped with an edge to her voice she wasn’t intending upon. Realizing she was staring harshly toward her handmaiden, she softened her stance slightly and turned away to hide the outburst; lip twitching with residual anger.

 Tiah, she thought, only a year older than I but such a meek and foolish girl still. 

Her handmaiden took two steps back briskly. She held her head down and hands clasped behind her back. “Yes, your Grace. I will not speak further about them.” Like an obedient dog. 

The Princess, overcome with emotion of anger she did not want to process nor dim, yet also, feeling the need to apologize to her poor handmaiden who was only doing her duty in informing Princess of the updates that the walls of the castle echoed, decided to walk out to the balcony again instead of apologizing for her misdirected anger. 

Tiah is not the enemy here. Keep your head clear. Breathe. 

 After some time, the Princess decided to walk back into her bedchambers yet again, call upon her handmaiden, and ask for help dressing in a gown. She did not care which gown her handmaiden decided to pick, as long as it was light in this warming daylight and allowed her to breathe unrestrictedly. The day was hot and will grow hotter as the sun crawls higher into the sky. Tiah picked a thin silken gown that would allow her to stroll the castle on this day of summer without becoming faint. Emerald green silk with gold filigree embroidered on the sleeves and either side of her torso. It showed off a hint of her collarbone and she decided that it was an acceptable amount of skin to show to court. The Princess’ left hand slid along her exposed collarbone. Slender fingers caressing her soft skin. 

I will not become some broodmare for a false dragon. She reminded herself in the mirror. I am the true daughter of Valyria. The last true dragon of Valyria and I will not let the false Targaryens of Westeros feast upon my body with their eyes. I will not bend, nor will I break. 

 She thought of her mother and how she did not bend, nor break to her father’s whims. The beautiful “Light of Valyria” remained gentle but firm in her hold of power. How her mother loved her father deeply but it was her who sat the throne. How her father helped raise Valyria from the ruins and strengthened their fledgling kingdom, his duty born purely out of the love he held for her mother. Despite all of their love, duty, and power, they only produced a single child. One daughter. 

Naturally, being the “First Child of Valyria,” she would be the heir uncontended; free to marry whomever she wanted, regardless of status or power. If only the natural order of things were so easy to abide by. 

The day they revolted against her father, the King Consort, she had viewed her mother’s face for the first time for who she truly was: a monster. Only a monster would sentence their true love to death. Only a monster would marry the man who usurped her father’s place and allow him to stand beside her throne as her new King Consort. Only a monster would lie with the man who murdered her only child’s father and only a monster would give birth to the most precious being in this world. 

Her younger sister. Only four years younger but still so very wise and kind. The only person in this world whom Anikyra has ever had to love and cherish. The only one who had ever claimed to love her and didn’t abandon her for the sweet taste of death. The young Princess Scilia was the very image of their mother. Pale hair, purple eyes, touched by the dawn and the light above. She always wore light colors as well; an homage to her mother. The elder sister sometimes even thought that Scilia was the Sun itself; especially when times were dark and cruel. Many referred to the young Princess as “The Light Princess.” 

Those very people had a similar name for the elder Princess. A name she did not care to refute as she knew the truth in it. When she was born, in the month of the Sapphire, her father was so happy his child would carry a reminder of him, regardless how small. The midwives called it “touch of dark.” Her mother called it “soul of the dragon.” But the people of the great castle called her “The Dark Princess,” for the small patch of black hair on the right side of her head, intertwined in her long, thick silver locks.

Those names, those whispers as she walked the slick, black floors of the castle, they gave life to the fire burning within her. Gave life to the rage she felt. Gave life and all that is unholy to the plan she had laid before herself once she heard the news, fourteen years ago, that her mother had been taken out of the castle a month after the birth of the Usurper King’s first child, the child that sealed his place on the throne, and executed in secret by the that very man. By the Usurper, her Father-by-law. She may be the heir to her parent’s murder’s kingdom, but this kingdom will bend the knee to her and her alone. She will take her realm back by blood. 

She found herself in front of the massive iron double doors to the throne room. As they opened, the large crowd of the court turned all eyes toward her and dared not look away for even a moment, as they always had done. The masses watched the predator in the eyes of the Dark Princess at all times for sign of a threat, waiting anxiously for the day she finally snaps and ends the man who murdered the very couple who gave her life.

She began ascending into the throne room, straight toward the Valyrian Throne where the now-King sat and a voice called out before her. 

”Princess Anikyra of the great House Targaryen. First child of Valyria, Heir to the Valyrian throne.”

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[ascendanceseriesveteran]

'I am Prince Jaron' - Short Fanfic 👑

*Set at the end of TFP with an alternate ending*

What if Imogen found out slightly earlier than in the books? What if she didn't wait for Tobias and the crown? What if Imogen was there to support Jaron when he confronts his past for the first time in years?

Even though I actually felt some inspiration, I feel like this cut off abruptly. Ran out of ideas. Sorry for any spelling mistakes as always

⚔️⚔️⚔️

I looked directly at Mott. “Go now.”

Mott nodded and took Conner’s arm. “Sir, Prince Jaron will be there. Let’s go.”

“I will get there in time,” I told Conner. “Have Mott secure the kitchen for us.”

They ran ahead and Imogen knelt beside me, asking, “You knew about Roden and Cregan. How?”

“It was their last chance to make Roden the prince.”

She reached for the hem of her skirt, intending to tear off strips for bandages. “Where are you hurt?" 

“Nowhere. Everything is fine. Really.” I smiled and held out my arms to prove it to her. “I just needed a reason to get separated from Conner. Do you think Mott has secured the kitchen yet?”

“I don’t know. I don’t understand — you faked that injury?”

“Yes.” It was the first time her confusion could have been mistaken for distrust. I stretched out my hand to help her up, “I’ll explain on the way.”

“But what about Tobias? What about the crown?” Even though nobody could hear us, she still whispered the word.

“The crown will gain him entry, and I won’t need it.”

“Sage—” She tugged me back as I started walking, searching my eyes desperately.

I squeezed her hand, “Trust me.”

Although she didn’t seem all that convinced, she allowed me to lead her until we saw light pouring  into the tunnel and a figure taking up too much space to be anyone but Mott. I let her climb the ladder first and followed soon after.

“How bad is it?” 

He was obviously asking about my injury, so I just grinned at both of them, “Practically nonexistent.”

Imogen’s frown deepened just as Mott understood, “Unbelievable.”

“I thought it was rather clever.”

“You think everything you do is clever,” This time it was Imogen, still looking as though I was some puzzle that had been scattered and she had to put together again.

“And since when can you talk?”

She gave Mott a pointed look just as I spotted Cook, my favourite chef who always kept silent about my midnight escapes through the trapdoor and into the world. And suddenly, I felt very hollow. I was home. I was prince. And yet I felt like neither. I longed for my family, but they weren’t here. Only Cook. Still, as if drawn to her like a echo from the past, I needed to see her. I needed someone to know I had come home before the entire kingdom knew it. I tapped her on the shoulder before Mott could stop me.

“Did you get the potatoes I asked—” The plate she held shattered at our feet and her mouth hung open. She was looking at a ghost, I realised. It was best to act as though nothing out of the ordinary was happening. So I just grabbed a pastry from behind her and winked. For the first time in what seemed like forever, I knew the tears I had caused weren’t out of grief. 

I strode back to my friends with a grin, “Time to come back to life.”

Mott just shook his head with a smile but promised to remain at the sewer entrance to wait for Tobias, nodding once at me as though he knew my plan without my telling him. Perhaps also in good luck. I generously left him the rest of my partly-bitten pastry and exited through the staff door.

Imogen followed me in silence. Up the curving stairs I hadn’t stepped on for half a decade as I ran my hand along the stone walls, each bump and crevice unearthing memories from deep within me. And dread, and sadness. I pushed the last two emotions aside and dared to glance back at Imogen.

She no longer looked suspicious, only nervous.

“I have something I need to tell you.” I said as I stopped and pushed our backs against the wall. A guard was walking by, armed heavily in anticipation of the coronation. My old room was almost in sight. I knew how to get there unnoticed. 

“Yes?” She whispered.

“I—” She looked at me with such trust in her eyes. Trust that would be broken in an instant when she found out who I truly was. “I’m sorry.”

“Sorry? You don’t have to be. I know why you’re doing this now. I understand.”

“No, you don’t. Not until I tell you everything.” I gently ushered her across the walkway and into the royal quarters. And with a wave of nausea, I realised nobody would be here. 

She noticed my distress apparently, “Sage, what’s wrong?”

“I don’t know. I—” The door to my parents room. I gasped, seeing myself caught by them sneaking around. But that wasn’t real, of course. Just my own ghosts. “I need to tell you something.”

“Tell me.” This time she squeezed my hand.

And quietly, because the words seemed to seek refuge in my throat, “I am prince Jaron.”

“Yes, I know.”

“No,” I looked directly at her, “I am him.”

“Sage, I understand if you want me to call you that, and I will. But what’s really going on?”

It’s better to show than to try convince her of the impossible. I nudged open the door to my old room and walked in. The smell of pine and dust thick in the air. Everything was just as I had left it. 

Imogen froze as the door shut behind her, hissing, “Sage, why are we in a royal’s bedroom?”

I took exactly three steps, knowing which floorboard I needed but still waiting for it to creak and then knelt down to tear it free. 

“Sage!”

There, sandwiched between two loose pieces of wood, was the inspiration for Conner's prized replica. I lifted my up my sword and watched it glimmer in the moonlight. The leather warming in my palm. Rubies sparkling. 

It was like the world quietened around me. Enough that Imogen's sharp inhale was just as loud as her back hitting the door. “No.”

“I’m sorry.”

“No. No. Stop talking,” her eyes widened, “Wait, no. Forget I said that.”

She looked impossibly small when I stood back up, and suddenly she bowed low.

“Please rise,” I said. “It’s still me.”

She obeyed but shook her head, avoiding my eyes. “No, I don’t think it is, your Highness.”

I frowned at my sword as if it had personally ruined everything. “I’m sorry.”

“You have nothing to apologise for.” Her voice was almost imperceptible. 

“I have everything to apologise for.” I allowed myself to really look around. A melted wax candle on my bedside table. The sheets tucked carefully into the bed like a treasured memory. Blue and yellow drapes canvasing the bedposts and pot of rotted flower stems, the petals long disintegrated. Forgotten, much like I was. 

“Are you alright?” The words seemed to take on a new meaning.

“No.” I swallowed. Throat burning with unshed tears. But I had a job to do. “I don’t think I ever will be.”

I didn’t notice her walking up to me until she touched my wrist, getting my attention, “I understand.”

That was all I needed to hear. I was breathing again. Where Cook saw a ghost Imogen must have seen a complete stranger. And the thought of my closest friend no longer sharing that sentiment was a nice addition to the pain that was already crippling me from inside out.

"How much time do you have?" She was speaking quietly now. And, to my surprise, studying my face.

"The regents would have started their proceeding. Connor would have made it just about now. I expect another ten minutes until I have to make a grand entrance."

She giggled, "I'm not the least bit surprised you want it to be grand."

"I want Conner to think he's won."

"I forgot about that part. He has no idea, does he?"

"And he won't know until I have him arrested," I looked at her through blurry eyes, "He killed them Imogen. He murdered them all."

Her eyes widened and a look of horror flickered in her expression. "What?"

"It was him. I figured it out."

"You're saying--"

"He murdered my family."

I hoped that darkness made the tears invisible. Though I suspected the tremor in my voice didn't help me be inconspicuous. For days I had been filled with such unbridled rage, such resentment. Briefly I thought that I should poison him with the same vial myself. But an emotion I hoped I could withstand was haunting me. Loss. I lost my family once again... only this time permanently.

And then, like a bandage holding me together, Imogen wrapped her arms around me and placed her ear above my pounding heart. "I can't pretend to know what you're going though. But I want you to know that even though your life is about to change, I will be here if you need me to be."

"As a subject or a friend?" I sniffed.

"You don't have to order me to be your friend, Jaron."

I sighed. My name sounded so nice when she said it. I was longing to hear someone say it and know it was real. So I couldn't help myself, "Imogen?"

"Hmm?"

"Can you say that again?"

She chuckled slightly and looked up at me, her own brown eyes a bit glassy, "What? Your name?" When I nodded she smiled and repeated it almost reverently, "Jaron."

I tightened our embrace slightly. "Thank you. It has been years since I heard that."

"You should prepare to hear it more often. Or Your Majesty."

"As long as you don't end up calling me that."

"What, by your title?"

I raised my eyebrows and leaned in, "Yes. Or else I'll start calling you Lady Imogen."

She threw her head back and laughed, "That would be a sight. You'll have nobles turning over in their graves."

"Well they better start turning. Because when I'm crowned, it will be my first decree."

She stepped away, "What do you mean?"

"I already planned it, back at Fathernwood. As a thanks for all you did for me."

She was silent for far too long, "Jaron, I can't repay that."

"You already have. Several times over." I stepped close to her, "I would be dead without you, Imogen. Of that I am almost certain."

"It was just some cleaning alcohol, anyone could have done it."

"I'm not just taking about my wounds, Imogen."

And it was almost a whisper when she replied, "Thank you."

I cleared my throat, and with it, reined in my emotions, "Well..." I re-gripped my sword, "I think I should probably go. But I'm going to miss this. Being Sage was one of the best things that ever happened to me, and also the worst."

"You've lived the life of a royal and the life of a peasant. You know your people more that any ruler before you. And from what I know of you already, you are going to be the greatest King that Carthya has ever seen. I can't wait to see who you'll become." She bowed her head once more and looked up with a smile, "Now go and take your kingdom back.”

I kissed her cheek and headed off to take my throne, feeling, for the first time in my life, like I was where I was destined to be.

- The End

[acidmeringue]

Jarogen - valentines day

me suddenly remembering tumblr exists once every few months.

This is a day late BUT i wanted to share the valentines day fic i wrote in a two hour frenzy. Jarogen hurt/comfort. Please enjoy <3

If you like it check out my other tas fics!!

let me take care of you

[ascendantloser]

TAS Server motivated me to create a TBOSAS (Snowbaird) crossover with Jarogen, and here is the finished product! I usually never post my fanfics here, but I am proud of this one and Tumblr is really lacking TAS content right now!! Stay alive guys! Enjoy. <3

[jaronxlordashcombe]

You know what would be cool? if Imogan and Fink and Mott, Roden, Tobias, Queen Erin, maybe King Eckbert, Conner, Harlowe and all those other people got their own books.

Also a book in Jaron's or Queen Erin's point of view of Jaron growing up would be funny too.

[itssweetiedarling]

Winter Whispers

Day 6 of @12daysofchristmas - "Sorry! I didn't mean to throw that snowball so hard."

Fandom: The Ascendance Series

Characters: Jaron Artolius Eckbert III/Imogen

Word Count: 830

A/N: AH! This is such a blast of the past for me! I used to write fanfics for this series under a different account two years ago. When I was sitting down at my laptop thinking of ideas for today's prompt Ascendance came into my head. This one is short but I'm getting back in the groove. I forgot how much I love this series! <3

The sun dipped below the horizon, casting a soft golden glow over the snow-covered landscape. Jaron and Imogen ventured outside the walls of Drylliad Castle, seeking a moment of respite from the courtly duties that bound them. The crisp winter air filled their lungs as they walked side by side, their breath visible in the chilly twilight.

Ever the restless soul, Jaron kicked at the snow with his boots, sending flurries into the air. Imogen laughed at the sound of tinkling bells on the frosty breeze. They found a quiet spot, away from the prying eyes of the castle, where a grove of trees stood against the night sky.

Imogen brushed off a snow-covered log, inviting Jaron to sit beside her. The cold seeped through their layers of clothing, but neither minded. The quiet beauty of the winter evening held them captive.

Jaron stole a glance at Imogen, her cheeks rosy from the cold, her eyes reflecting the shimmering stars above. The moon, a pale sliver in the darkening sky, cast its ethereal glow upon the snowy landscape. For a moment, time seemed to stand still.

Imogen broke the silence, her voice a soft melody in the quietude. "Do you ever wonder about the secrets these winter nights hold, Jaron?"

He raised an eyebrow, intrigued. "Secrets?"

Imogen nodded, her eyes sparkling with a mischievous light. "They say that during winter, the world sleeps, and magic stirs beneath the frost. Whispers of old tales echo through the trees, carried by the wind."

Jaron smirked, not one to easily succumb to fanciful notions. "Magic, Imogen? I thought you were the practical one."

She nudged him playfully. "Even practical minds need a touch of enchantment now and then. Besides, there's something magical about the way the snow covers everything.”

“Well, it’s not covering everything yet is it?”

“Hm?”

Suddenly, Jaron threw a snowball at Imogen.

Imogen's eyes widened in surprise as the snowball hit her shoulder. She blinked, momentarily stunned, and then a mischievous glint appeared in her eyes.

Jaron waved his hands, “Oops, Sorry! I didn’t mean to throw that snowball so hard!” He smirked.

"Oh, it's on now," Imogen declared, gathering a handful of snow and swiftly retaliating. Her aim was true, and the snowball found its mark, hitting Jaron square in the chest. Laughter echoed through the grove as the two engaged in a playful snowball fight, forgetting about the weight of their responsibilities for a precious moment.

Jaron, agile and quick, dodged and weaved through the trees, using the natural landscape to his advantage. Imogen, determined, kept running after him.

As the snowball fight escalated, the air filled with the sounds of laughter, the sound of feet on snow, and the occasional thud of snow meeting its target. The tension that often came their roles at the castle melted away.

Eventually, they found themselves breathless and covered in snow and collapsed onto the cold ground. Imogen gazed at Jaron, her eyes sparkling with a warmth that matched the glow of the moon above. Jaron, couldn't help but smile.

"Maybe there's some magic in this winter night after all," Imogen mused, catching her breath.

Jaron chuckled, his fingers tracing a pattern on the snow. "Perhaps there is. Or maybe the magic is simply in sharing moments like these with someone special."

Imogen's cheeks tinged with a faint blush, and she looked away for a moment before meeting Jaron's gaze. "Maybe," she said softly, her words carrying a depth that hinted at unspoken feelings. The quiet between them held a warmth that surpassed the winter chill.

Jaron reached over and brushed a snowflake from Imogen's hair, his touch gentle against the wintry backdrop. "Imogen," he began, his voice taking on a more serious tone, "these moments make me realize how meaningful time can be. We get so caught up in the duties and expectations, and we forget to appreciate the simple joys."

Imogen met his gaze, her eyes reflecting a vulnerability that matched his own. "I know what you mean. I’m glad you’ve slowed down enough to realize that."

He nodded. "Perhaps we need more moments like these," he suggested, his eyes searching hers for an answer.

Imogen smiled a soft and genuine expression that spoke volumes. "Yes, Jaron. More moments like these."

They rose from the snowy ground, brushing off the remnants of their snowball fight. The journey back to Drylliad Castle felt different, lighter.

As they approached the castle walls, Jaron turned to Imogen, a question lingering in his eyes. "Imogen, would you join me for a walk again sometime? Perhaps not just under the moonlight, but whenever the weight of our roles becomes too much to bear."

Imogen smiled, her eyes reflecting a mixture of gratitude and affection. "I would like that. Sometimes, the simplest moments become the most cherished ones."

And so, beneath the watchful eyes of the stars, Jaron and Imogen walked back into Drylliad Castle, the echoes of their laughter still dancing in the air.

[fancifulscrawl]

In the past in the very very distant past, I had hinted at the arrival of an Ascendance series fanfic I had been creating, but my inspiration had shriveled into nothingness and I made very little progress on it. Now, shockingly, an entire plot rewrite is in the works, I'm still hoping to share it with the fandom!

Since I'm so incredibly rusty, I was curious whether any of you had any requests/things you'd love to see in a full length Ascendance fanfic, as I'm trying to build my inspiration up to full strength and was thinking maybe other fan ideas would be a fantastic catalyst! So I'm open to any all ideas, and I may put them into my story!

Hope the fandom is alive and well, I know it's been a while, but I'm still a very very crippled disheveled member, perhaps not that well, but still alive! XD

[thebatrodenused]

Okay but what would it be like if Cregan were still alive, just hiding? (Or stalking roden, who knows what he'd be doing tbh)

Like, would roden be worried or not care? I feel like he'd be worried, especially because of his loyalty to Jaron, who, by the way, Cregan would think is sage, and would probably refuse to believe Sage is anything but a fraud.

Like, would Cregan try to kill both him and tobias? Cuz that was his original job, right???

Like genuinely, i feel like Roden would actually be worried, not only because "but i thought he died???? I watched a knife go through him??? Who would want to save him???", but because (at least im pretty sure) Cregan manipulated Roden (and i feel like someone got that through his skull), and Cregan hates jaron, and would probably kill him the SECOND he gets the chance-

I swear if i make a jaroden au fanfic, i might just make Cregan the villain

Fuck you Cregen 😀🖕

[empressgeekt]

Trolls - Amnesia-Rock-Prince!Branch in an Arranged marriage AU Idea

Or alternate title, I have now been sucked down the sudden black hole that is this fandom and now the troll plot bunnies are running ramped around my Fanfic farm, because the creators of this franchise has added my weakness...Sibling relationships... Now I have plans for a two story saga in this fandom of which I wouldn't have glanced at with interest at all a month ago.

Well, that's enough rambling, Time to get into the meat of the fic plot.

So, while browsing on Ao3 I noticed that there was this Rock!Branch au, where Branch is separated from the pop-trolls as a kid and ends up being raised by Barb and Thrash of the Rock Trolls. I love this concept, more then some relatives of mine. But I want to put a little spin on it. I've been a big fan of amnesia/memory loss fics, and I noticed there was a lack of them in this fandom.

Brozone breaks up and Grandma dies like in canon, same old same old. However, in this AU Branch is forced to leave the Troll Tree as a kid, because there is a larger sigmatism about trolls who went grey. The Trolls are very clear that they want nothing to do with Branch. They are all already living with death at their door step and they don't need a grey child to constantly break the false image of happy paradise that the adults try to maintain in the Tree to keep themselves sane. Branch, with nothing else left for him in the tree, packs up and tries to leave to find his brothers, though he does worry if they would even want him now that he was grey.

After successfully escaping the town, (the bergens don't notice if a small troll vanishes in the middle of the night, they didn't notice the whole village packing up), Branch spends a terrifying night in the woods. Running away from what are "predator's" in the eyes of a small child. Until he accidentally, stumbles in the a wormhole. The wormhole sucks Branch away from, Pop territory to the outskirts of the Rock badlands. But in this new hot volcanic he is still far from safe. (I'm adding that their are harsh powerful dragons that roam around the Rock trolls territory, as there has to be some type of reason behind they turned their own music and instruments in the to energy weapons while the other tribes didn't. Not to mention the active volcanic activity everywhere!) While running away from some of these actual predators and dangerous lava pools, Branch gets shoved over a cliffside, and falls into one of the few rivers nearby. In the raging rapids, the little troll strikes his head against the rocky river bed. Knocking him out.

Meanwhile, Still-King Thrash is leading an expedition to the river to fetch water for the people of Volcano Rock City. Being the very soft and caring Father he is, once he sees a small child floating in the river he jumps in without a second thought, and pulls the child to the shore. He leaves the expedition in the hands of another Troll and brings the some how still alive child back to the City and into the care of a capable doctor. While waiting to hear if Branch will live, Thrash goes through the little sack the kid had with him. There's enough evidence for the king of rock to come to the conclusion that Branch was running away, and needless to say Thrash is furious. Who would be so cruel that dared to make a child in his kingdom feel so scared and unwelcomed that they would run away! (at this point due to Branch's greyness and the high emotions of the situation Thrash hasn't realized Branch is from Pop yet, not that it would matter in the long run he's still ticked off).

Eventually, the doctor (an old friend of Thrash's whom they have a deep trust between, I haven't named them yet), calls Thrash in. Thrash finds Branch unconscious on the medical bed with his head bandaged. The doctor tells Thrash that's its a miracle that Branch is even alive, but it would take a bigger one for the child to wake up. The underneath the blood of the wound was a skull fracture and possible brain damage. Then he mentions it would probably be better if Branch never woke up, and further explains Branch's nature as a pop troll, and his greyness. Thrash takes this information in with a sad heart. Stigma against pop was still running high in the Rock kingdom, despite Thrash wanting to believe his people could spare their bias to care for a wounded child, he knows that no foster family would take a pop troll in. He asks the Doctor to keep quiet about Branch, and that if the boy would wake up Thrash would take him in himself. He goes home and hugs Barb after an exhausting day, and asks her if she was open to having a little brother.

After a few weeks, Branch wakes up, but he has no memory of anything. Not his name. Not where he's from. Not how he got there. At this point the medical staff that were allowed to know about him, have taken to calling him Charcoal, or Char, after his perfectly black and shiny hair, and it just kind of stuck after that. Thrash has taken to visiting Branch, even before the boy was conscious, quickly growing fond over the boy and until he'd recovered enough to be taken to the royal cavern. Barb takes to having Char around very well. Having a younger sibling, gives her something to put her protectiveness towards. Thrash makes and announcement, claiming Char as his own to Rock, and putting the boy as second in-line for the throne.

Still it isn't all cupcakes and rainbows with Char in his new home. He has lasting effected form his head injury in the form of migraines and fainting spells. The child is plagued by nightmares, of Giants coming to eat him and old ladies. They frighten him so much he draws and designs traps and bunkers to keep himself safe. Some of the designs Thrash actually considers building in case of emergency. Music brings him to tears if it's too loud or sudden, or if Barb asked him to sing-along. His room is sound proofed, and he has a pair of headphones to block things out if needed. Thrash also finds that his new adoptive son, is far more book-smart then him or Barb, the rarely used Rock library becomes Char's second home. The child become well educated in History, engineering, math, sciences and politics.

It would take two years before, Barb managed to talk Char into coming to her music practice, where the kid learns that music is more then just noise that makes him feel scared/unsafe. Seeing the weapon music can be, something he can learn to protect himself with, Char becomes hooked on the idea of learning it. Too everyone's surprise, it comes to boy like second nature, and his voice is like that of an angel's.

Eighteen years pass, and Branch grows up to be, Prince Char, second born son to Thrash King of Rock. He's a known expert with a guitar, both as an instrument and a weapon, his reputation is that of a eerily smart and organized strategist, who is loyal to his family and people to a fault and ruthlessly protective. With Thrash's health, both physical and mental, in rapid decline, Barb is forced to take on the mantel of Queen earlier then she wanted, but this time she has a brother to lean on as an advisor. Which is a good thing, because between the two of them Char is a much better planner.

Pressure is turned up on the royal rock siblings, when an unexpected earthquake destroys the farmlands that feeds the city. Sure, volcanic soil can been great for growing plants, but rivers of lava and giant fresh trenches don't help at all. Barb flies off the handle, and begins to panic in quiet about what she needs to do to protect the people of Rock, while Char looks into historical records to see if the past king ever had to deal with issues like this. Eventually he stumbles on the knowledge that during ancient times if one of the tribes was in trouble they would call upon their sister tribes for aid.

"Oh that's great advise your books have, let's ask for help from our sworn enemies!" Barb would exclaim, "Wait...the other tribes! If they lasted as long as we did, then they must have resources! But they wouldn't help us...not unless they were just like us. We could use our string to convert..."

"Barb! I'm going to stop you right now. First one our string isn't powerful enough to over-write someone's genre, believe me I looked into it-"

"But if we get all the strings..."

"You mean steal them?"

"Yah!"

"No, if we were to fail that would only sour relations between genres further and our people would still be starving. We'd be better off forging an alliance with a tribe, rather then wasting already limited resources conquering one."

"URGH! Why are you always right....So, alliance...that's our best plan?"

"Currently yes."

"With people that hate us! Are we sure we can't conquer them?"

"Barb, were trying to make a harmony. You can't make harmony with everyone using the same voice. They all need to be different, and they all can't be forced into something they they aren't or it all falls apart."

"Whoa, that's deep. Where'd ya learn that?"

"I-I don't know...but the point still stands we need to befriend another tribe not conquer one!"

"Okay, so how do we do that?"

"Well, apparently theirs more ways then one, all of them include paper work, so leave that to me, but one of them we actually have a unique opportunity to ally with."

"Oh? And how do we take advantage of this unique opportunity?"

"You're not going to like this...but we use me..."

Branch would go on to explain his plan to ally the Rock kingdom with the Pop trolls...through an Arranged Marriage between him and the Pop princess. Barb hates it, especially after all the pop trolls did to her brother when he was young, but she can't argue the logic. The pop trolls live in a forest rich with food and plant life, and water sources. However, they have zero defenses other then how deep they live in the forest. (how he knows all of this Branch has no idea) If the alliance managed to go through, the Rock trolls could get the needed food supplies, and the Pop trolls could gain the knowledge of how to use musical weaponry.

Barb still hates it, it feels like her little brother is throwing away his future. But Char assures her that he's okay with it, and that it's his turn to take on the burden of the crown he supposed to wear. As a bio-pop troll the possibility of an heir from the alliance marriage is higher then if they use a random Rock citizen, and as Rock Prince that will give more creditably to the pleads of their people to Pop. He tells Barb to just take care of Dad when he's gone and that they always have debbie to talk to each other through letters.

So they send a message to Pop Village...requesting to consider the marriage.

At Pop village, Poppy is busy with her new duties as a fresh coronated Queen, caring for the village needs and further establishing peaceful relations with the Bergens after the fall of Chef. When the message reaches her, delivered Via Debbie and Biggie, Peppy tries to take it from her before she cane read it. And then she demands that he Explain why she just got a proposal in a letter from a Rock Prince?

Peppy reluctantly explains the history of the Tribes, and how some times they would form alliances between the genres by wedding members of the royal families together to ensure peace. He makes it very clear that He doesn't want Poppy to even think of answering the Rock trolls even if to decline the proposal, but she fights back saying hat this might be their only chance for peace between the genres for years to come if its taken this long for them to reach out this time. Peppy then tries to argue that if Poppy were to accept the proposal that she would have to marry this prince, this stranger, and he never wanted that to happen to her. He knows Poppy is queen now and he can't order her to do anything, but he asks her to think about this before making any kind of decision.

Poppy needless to say, deeply contemplates the proposal. She wants to help reunite the tribes, but bonding herself to a stranger she never met was a daunting thing. She talks with Cooper and Bridget who are surprisingly helpful with everything, and decides that she'll accept the proposal with the condition that she and her future groom have the chance to meet and get to know each other before the wedding.

Barb and Char readily accept the condition, and calculate that they can give one month of courtship before the Rock kingdom is without food. They respond back to Poppy, and tell them that Char and a few others would arrive in Pop Village a few days after she would receive the letter that confirmed the betrothal.

Char arrives at Pop Village with much fanfare from his travel companions, but shushes them quickly and addresses Poppy and Peppy in a polite manner. Poppy is kind of thrown off by how grey her future husband is, not that she shows it. Char is just as shocked about how bright and colorful she is.

The romance is awkward at first. The cultural differences get in the way sometimes. But eventually a connection is formed. Char learns to feed off of Poppy's energy and Poppy learns that there's more to this grey prince then gloom. With the wedding scheduled for the end of the month, Poppy decides to introduce Char to her BFF Bridget.

Needless to say, it doesn't go well.

Char's underlaying trauma comes back in a panic attack and flashback upon seeing the Troll Tree and bergens. The memory of his Grandmother's demise suddenly becoming clear as day in his mind. In the panic he accidently fires his guitar at Grisle and Bridget, with makes Poppy panic and angry at him. So he runs off into the woods.

Bridget and Poppy end up having a heart to heart where Bridget says that Char looked scared. Having heard about how Char was acutualy a pop-troll and was adopted into the royal family, Poppy connects the dots rather quickly. Realizing that Char used to live in the Troll Tree but didn't escape with the others. the whole visit was triggering for him.

She runs back to Pop Village looking forh im, only to find that Queen Barb had arrived to help set up the wedding, and she wants to know where her Brother is. Poppy blurts out what happened while trying to defuse the situation, and that only serves to rile Barb up further. Until Poppy snaps, yellling at Barb that they need to go looking for Char not fight here! This impresses Barb into agreeing.

Poppy finds him and they end up having a heart to heart, and confessing...

The wedding goes on as planned. On the neutral ground of the Troll Tree, allowing Char to visit his late Grandmother's home for the first time in twenty years.

All seems well...Until one John Dory screams, "Stop the Wedding!"

...

I will post part two in a separate post because this is long!

[ascendantking]

;; The Finer Things

Pairing: Jaron/Imogen, Amarinda of Bultain/Tobias Words: 1047 Chapter: 1 [ Complete ] Summary: Post-war peace after The Shadow Throne. – The kids enjoy a relatively quiet moment and some indulgences as the dust settles.

The three boys sat around the hearth as the flames happily crackled over the firewood it was fed. It danced and played in their eyes while they held their hot cider unflinchingly, waving its hand in front of the vacant stares taking in its performance. Tough crowd, it thought–if fire could think–but it would be remiss to turn away the attention, no matter how meaningless.

A shuffle of skirts brought life back into the still room as Amarinda dragged Imogen in. “Have you three not moved since we last left?” Amarinda asked, raising an eyebrow at those gathered. Her shoes clacked against the floor when she leaned her weight to the side.

Slowly but surely, three sets of eyes pulled themselves away from the captivating display in the fireplace. Tobias thought to save the group as he swallowed for the first time in what felt like months. “Well–the–”

Continue reading below or on AO3! ( Link on blog. )

“So, you haven’t,” Amarinda said with a quirked grin pulling at her lips. She went to haul Tobias up to his feet while he struggled to keep his drink from spilling, his knees creaking beneath him. 

Tobias blinked to himself, shaking out his foot that had fallen asleep as he leaned against Amarinda. She stole a sip from his cup, puckering her lips suddenly. “It’s only cider–”

“Was it supposed to be hot?”

“Well, it–”

Roden took a sip of his. He pursed his lips, nodding to himself slowly. “I’d say it’s still hot.”

“Hot enough,” Tobias finished, tipping his hand from side to side. 

Amarinda looked between the two of them and then at Jaron who didn’t bother with the argument; he sat his cup on the table, pushing himself up to join Imogen. His eyes never left her. “Is this a new dress?” he asked.

Amarinda clapped her hands together, smiling at him and then at Imogen. “I told you he’d notice!”

Imogen ducked her head down, chuckling into her hand before she pulled her braid over her shoulder. She twirled with the end of it. “It–is. Amarinda said that maybe I should splurge given… who I’m with now.” She smiled gently at Jaron who took her hand in his. 

He looked her over appreciatively, grinning back at her. “Gotta say, Drylliad looks good on you. You should do it more often,” Jaron said, nudging her side playfully. “I’ll put it in as a necessary expense.”

And she could only laugh, hitting his arm lightly. “Oh, don’t do that, you already fight with the regents enough–and after everything…”

Jaron put his hand to her cheek, tilting his head. “Imogen, the kingdom will heal itself in time, a few fancy dresses here and there won’t hurt Carthya, no matter how silly it may seem. It gives the tailor something to do! That’s one person helped!” He grinned at her, running the fabric on her sleeve between his fingers. “Besides, the regents wouldn’t be caught dead in last week’s fashion, even if the dust is still settling–and I think if they have a problem with it, we can enact a silk tax. I think they’ll love it. I have been getting bored.” Jaron caught Roden’s eye as his general grimaced, pushing himself up from the floor.

“If I find another assassin in the castle, I’ll kill you myself and they can take notes on how it’s properly done,” Roden grunted out at him.

Jaron laughed. “Great! Professional on the job training! We’ll save the job market one assassin at a time, won’t we?”

Roden hit him with his shoulder as he passed. “If that’s what we’re calling it these days.”

Imogen grinned, stepping back with Amarinda as Jaron continued to poke at Roden. “Thank you, really,” she said, looking up at her.

“What for?” Amarinda asked after blinking out of her thoughts.

“For one, you’re not like…” Imogen trailed off, gesturing broadly as she watched the two boys rough house while Tobias tried in vain to pull them apart, claiming outrageous things like don’t put pressure on a broken leg and if you don’t rest, you can’t heal. Right, like that meant anything. Imogen snorted, biting her smile back.

Amarinda cocked her hip, crossing her arms with a chuckle. “I mean, I can certainly make an effort…” 

Imogen laughed, leaning into her. “I think it’s nice to have someone reasonable around here that’s our age.”

“You don’t want to gossip with Mott?”

Imogen raised an eyebrow. “Amarinda, you have not gossiped till you’ve gossiped with Mott–overhearing even a little bit of what he knows would have the saints in a tizzy.” 

“Is that so?”

“Trust me. At Farthenwood…” Imogen trailed off, shaking her head–letting nostalgia mask over the uglier parts of her time there. “Let’s just say you wanted to keep your name out of his mouth.”

Amarinda laughed. “Him? I’d never guess!”

“He had to know everything going on there, it only made sense.” Imogen chuckled, taking in a breath as Tobias finally got Roden and Jaron to sit down once more. “But… it really is–nice to have a friend here–someone who likes these…” she paused, pulling at the dress with a snort, ”girly things. I can’t exactly go to one of them.”

“I don’t know… Tobias has taken pretty well to the finer things,” Amarinda said cheekily.

Imogen laughed. “Okay, let me rephrase, someone who already knows what they’re talking about.”

Amarinda smiled at her, sighing. She nodded slowly. “Then I should thank you too–because it’s been nice to talk about petticoats, blouses, and even shoes again rather than… war strategies and the memories of those we’ve lost.” She took in a breath, her expression evening out as her thoughts drifted for a second time.

Imogen put her hand on her arm, smiling at her. “Then let’s indulge. Jaron’s right. We can’t live in mourning forever or be scared to enjoy the life we fought for.” She chuckled. “You live so long conserving and protecting what you have, too scared to ask for more, but it… it is necessary, isn’t it?”

Amarinda took her hands, squeezing them. She grinned back. “Then let’s go make sure our sacrifices meant something.” She pulled her out of the room again, leaving the boys to their quips and lukewarm cider.

[tschulijulesjulie]

the amount of times i almost accidentally tagged something as 'damen of vere' instead of 'damen of akielos' is truly astonishing

(there is a fanfic in this, i feel it...

"the first time it happened, it was truly accidental. a nervous courier stumbling over his own words while delivering the message.

'To King Damianos of Vere', he recited, stopped, flushed and continued with a wavering voice.

'To King Damianos of Akielos and Prince Laurent of Vere'.

It was all so new yet, it happened.

The second time it was decidedly not an accident. It probably wasn't the second time either, only the second time, Damen heard.

The Kyroi were speaking in hushed voices, arguing. Not all of them were equally convinced of the alliance.

"The King", one said.

"Damianos of Vere", another one interrupted. He spit the false name out like it was an insult.

Damen didn’t feel like it was.

There was the sound of an open hand hitting a face, hard.

"The King of Akielos", the first voice said.

Damen memorized who had argued for him and who needed some convincing, then turned and departed without his presence ever been noticed.

The third time it was spoken as a joke.

The men of the Kings guard - the Veretian Kings guard, although it weren't all Veretians anymore - were cramped into one corner of the great hall of Makedons humble home.

At the other side there were Laurent and Makedon engrossed in conversation and drink.

Damen had stealthily exchanged a couple of Laurents goblets with water but there still was a heavy blush on his cheeks.

The wine was good and heady and Damen would probably still have to carry Laurent to their bed later that night.

'It's alright, I can handle it', Laurent had said, privately, to him earlier. And then more quietly, 'I trust you.'

It had made Damen want to punch something, someone.

Now Lazar invited him to sit with them. Pallas, next to him flushed even more. It was edging on improper to invite a king like this.

But Damen had fought with these men, listened to their gossip over a campfire and cheap wine.

Their conversation was bawdy and Damen listened with a smile playing around his lips. There was an easy companionship with these men, that he couldn't find with anyone else.

'They call you Damianos of Vere', Lazar proclaimed, "behind your back." It was with a curiosity in his eyes, daring.

Pallas flushed even more, looking scandalized, his tanned skin not enough to hide any of it.

Jord threw Lazar a heavy look.

Damen had heard these and other men often enough refer to Laurent as a stone-cold son of a bitch. He had thought they could come up with better.

The fourth time it again was an accident. The villagers had never seen royalty before and were openly staring at them, high on their horses.

A Child, not even reaching to their mothers hip yet, peaked up at them and asked, 'Are you the King of Vere?'

Their mother flushed, opened her mouth to apologise, or correct it.

Damen smiled openly at the child. 'No, that is Laurent, the King of Vere. I'm Damianos of Akielos. But we rule this country together. Is there anything we can do for you?'

The fifth time it was a messenger again, rushed and without noticing his mistake.

Damen looked at Laurent when he said 'King Damianos of Vere'. There was a smile in his eyes that he carefully kept from his mouth.

---

They lay sated in bed, the sheets tangled around their limbs and the sweat cooling on their skin.

In a moment Laurent would get up to get something to clean up. In a moment Damen would let him.

Right now he was holding onto him a little longer.

'I like it, when they call me that', he said. 'Makes me feel like I belong to you.'

'Don't you?', Laurent asked, his fingers slipping to the gold cuff around Damens wrist.

'Yes. But i like the way it sounds.'

Laurent made a content sound when Damen pulled him a little closer, a little up, so he could bury his face in his neck.

He kissed him there, then moved up to his ear, where he bit carefully.

Laurent breathed out a laugh.

When he finally lifted his head to gaze at him, Damens eyes were sparkling.

'There is a nice ring to it', he said, eyes crinkled. 'maybe I'll put it on my official signature. Damianos of Vere, King of Akielos and Vere, Husband of Laurent, King of Vere and Akielos."

[ascendanceseriesveteran]

Forever yours 🌹

At last! A short fic. Hurray.

Set immediately after The Shattered Castle.

*Swearing and slightly aged-up themes.*

*Based on their fight at the start of TSC.*

Synopsis: Imogen didn't think she was a cruel person. Far from it. She wouldn't hurt a fly on purpose, let alone the love of her life. But she had felt betrayed by the one person she thought would protect her from ever feeling that way, and said some things she deeply regretted. After all, something about Jaron had fundamentally changed, and she was afraid that it was all her fault.

As always, I didn't even do a bit of editing. So excuse the errors.

🌹🌹🌹

I had tried time and time again to comprehend the expression that twisted on his face so many nights ago. Though I suspected that I already knew the answer. Horror? Dread? Terror? I landed on Pain and felt a knife twist in my own gut. A second later I realised I had never seen him cry out of anything but happiness, and it was my own fault that I had torn him to shreds then. The tears that had made his green eyes shine brighter on more than one occasion seemed to only grow dull, lifeless when we fought.

I thought that was as awful as my life would ever get. You do place me in danger. Any more secrets? Then I met you. Danger. Awful. Mother was right. I thought that was as awful as my life would ever get. Then I met you. Then I met you. Then I met you.

In truth, I had never seen Jaron look as though he'd lost. Even on the brink of losing his country, the spark in his eyes never died. But it had been extinguished then. And I hoped that after it returns, to never see it go out again. But first I had to make it return.

I knew him better than anyone. And I knew he had the emotional intelligence of an infant. Not that he couldn't understand other peoples' emotions, but that he couldn't understand his own. I shouldn't have let myself push him so hard, but I was hurt. I let myself forget who he was, how much of his thoughts were consumed with a fear of abandonment. Now he was paying the price for my harshness.

Today was our wedding night. The best night of my life so far. And yet I had but one thought on my mind, that Jaron wasn't the same. He had become more apologetic, quieter, less- well... him. As if he was afraid of doing something wrong. There was no as if about it. My words had cut so deeply, that even after I professed my love for him in front of the entire world, he still convinced himself that I wanted to be anywhere else. And I had nobody to blame but myself.

My guilt would have to wait though.

Time for: operation breathe-life-back-into your-now-husband.

I kissed his chest, "Jaron?"

He hummed something like 'yes'. I liked to think he was at least happy now. He wore a satisfied smile all night. But it was tinged with sadness. As though he was savouring everything he could out of fear it won't last.

"You know I love you, right?"

He opened his eyes this time and looked down at me, at a loss for words.

I shimmied up against him, until we were nose to nose. "I think you forgot. Or I let you forget that."

"No, I know you do." I hated the emptiness of his response. He didn't believe a word he was saying, at least not with the conviction and passion he should. Time to try a different tactic.

"Do you love me less than what you did before?" I was baiting him. I knew the answer was no from the look in his eyes. The sentiment was never changed, only him. But even then, I couldn't help but be worried about the answer.

But his outrage was instant and vigorous. "Where the fuck did you get that idea?!"

He was wide awake now, sitting and taking me with him. Staring at me with the confusion of a doctor trying to find something wrong with his patient. And the desperation of trying to revive them. I could almost laugh, but I was on a mission now.

"Then why are you holding back? You would hardly touch me earlier without my instruction."

He paused, "I don't want to cross any lines."

"What lines?"

This time the pause grew longer, and he was getting agitated.

I kissed him gently and whispered, "There are no lines anymore, I hope."

Beneath my hand, his heart was pounding wildly. His eyes were wide and panicked. This wouldn't have ever happened before I snapped at him that night. These questions would never have triggered his flight or fight. I hated myself a little more.

"I need to ask you something and I want you to answer it honestly."

He swallowed.

I hated how much I ruined his self confidence. I hated the fact that my hands had begun to shake and eyes blurred. "Do you think that I don't love you as much as before." He froze under my touch. There was the flight response I feared. He was avoiding my eyes now, knuckles white on the sheets as he searched for a response. But the fact that he didn't have an immediate answer was enough of a response for me. I thought it was impossible to hate myself more.

"Please don't cry." His voice cracked a bit. He didn't know why I was crying. He didn't know a thing that was good for him.

"I'm not crying."

"Sorry."

"Please don't."

"Don't what?"

"Don't do that."

"Sorry," he let go of me in a hurry.

I felt tears drip down my cheeks, "Not that." I pulled him back to me and kissed him, losing track of time. Tasting the salt of my tears and savouring the noises he made.

When we parted I kissed his forehead and made sure he was paying attention to every word I said. Of course, he already was. "Please don't worry about doing something wrong. Don't say sorry for being who you are." More tears fell, "I hate that I let you believe that it's true, that I didn't love you as much. That is the furthest from the truth. I have never loved you more. You're my everything. It's impossible to love someone as much as I do you. And it's impossible to love you less when I don't care about anything or anyone else in the world. Please believe me."

I avoided his gaze, worried about what I might find there. It was only until a hand gently tilted my chin up that I dared to open my eyes. He was crying as well.

"I believe you." Then he broke into the biggest smile I had seen. One I had missed seeing the moment I broke his heart.

I sniffed, "And you know that I never stopped loving you? Promise?"

He smiled again, "I know. I know you were still head over heels in love with me. My charms are as irrestitable as my body," he swooned dramatically, "I saw you drool every time we made eye contact. I smelled the-"

I slapped him. Giggling. It was easier to get him back than I expected. "Are you sure? No joking this time. Tell me what I can do to fix it."

He pulled me into his lap. "Nothing needs fixing. You alreayd made me whole again. It was true though. That was the worst moment of my entire life, I thought I had lost you. Yes, for a long time I thought you no longer loved me. But when I told you my biggest secret and you kissed my cheek I felt the hope return. In truth it's not because I think you stopped loving me, it's because I think I don't deserve it."

"What?"

"I'm literally the only reason you were an indentured servant, Imogen."

"You're also the only reason that we met. And I would serve my whole life just to have you."

Tears rolled down his cheeks.

"What about my crimes?" I said, "I'm the reason you were almost killed. I was naive enough to trust that that treacherous snake would actually just exile you."

"Did you forget when I was the reason you were almost killed."

Right. I had actually forgotten that which did not help the point I was trying to make. But I didn't even care about it.

"Everything you had said was true," He continued, "At the time I thought it was because you stopped loving me. Then you made me realise how wrong I was. And now I give you my vow, that I will never keep anything from you again. Anything, and not ever. And I will use every moment to try to keep you out of danger if I can, keep us both out of danger if I can."

There was nothing stronger than a promise from King Jaron.

"Even so," I played with his hair. It had a type of calming effect on me, "I would do anything to be with you. Even die. And there's nothing you can do or say that would change that."

He pulled me flush against him, "Well let's hope there'll be no dying necessary since you already have me however you like."

"Mhmm, however I like?"

"I'm entirely yours to command, my Queen."

I waggled my finger at him, ring catching some light and glinting. "I was yours before I got this lovely little thing, so..."

"Are you making this into a competition?"

"It's not a competition if there's no worthy opponent," I tipped my head arrogantly, mocking him a bit.

His chuckle was wicked and he tightened his grip, "Do you want to know when I fell for you?"

"When?"

"When you came to Conner's dungeons, so I was yours much earlier."

I pouted exaggeratedly, "Only then? How dissapointing. I thought perhaps all that staring when we first met meant that I stirred something in you with my servant get-up."

He leered and waggled his brows, "Oh you stirred something alright."

"Jaron!"

He laughed and stole a kiss from me.

When we quietened down I asked, "Do you want to know when I fell in love with you?"

"More than anything."

"Also in the dungeons."

His breath caught, I couldn't help but echo his sentiment, "Really?"

"Yes. And now I'm yours forever."

"Forever. I'd love nothing more than to spend forever with you."

Then we kissed and fell into the night.

[quillthrillswriting]

has anyone ever wondered just how different aang and zuko's first battle would be if aang had been frozen at age 16...?

the following is an excerpt from my draft of ch2 of my new fanfic, "the teenager in the iceberg" on ao3. happy reading!!!

---

Because before she could speak, before Aang could speak, horns blared through the crisp air outside. Horns the entire village knew, horns that prompted screams from children. 

Another Fire Nation raid.

Aang didn’t pause, didn’t let himself hesitate. Katara didn’t blame him. She was sure that if he thought about it for more than a few moments, he’d crumble entirely, and considering the situation they were now in, they couldn’t afford for Aang to sort through everything.

Katara didn’t realise how dire a situation it was until the three of them had reached the gates to the village, and Katara watched as the hull broke through centuries old ice as if it were butter. Sokka ran ahead as the bow of the ship split open in a rush of steam and machinery. Katara felt the blood drain from her face as she saw who stepped out. The Fire Nation prince. The one who had been scarred by his own father. He was here, in her village. Terror began to set in.

Prince Zuko wrinkled his nose at Sokka as though he was nothing more than an inanimate obstacle in his way, and shoved him aside, his soldiers following suit. 

“I have come here for the Avatar. For my honour,” Zuko snarled, his words a sharp, lethal weapon. “I know he’s here. I saw his beacon. He should be an older man? Master of all four elements?” His eyes swept through the crowd, passing right over Aang as his gaze narrowed on Gran and the other village elders. Katara felt Aang tense beside her.

With no warning, Zuko and his soldiers blasted a wave of fire straight for the grandmothers and grandfathers who had huddled together. 

And their fire was met by a gust of wind so powerful that it sucked the very oxygen out of the air, extinguishing their flame before it got anywhere near their targets. 

Zuko whirled around, his voice contorting in anger at the sight of Aang, standing tall and proud with his staff in one hand and a constantly spinning sphere of wind in the other. 

“You?” Zuko spat, seething. “I’ve trained for years to face the Avatar. You’re just a teenager.”

Aang, somewhat caught off guard, leaned back, raising an eyebrow in confusion, a teasing grin on his face once he’d realised that he’d managed to bother the Fire Prince himself. 

“...S- so are you...?"

Zuko straightened, fire flaring in his eyes, his fists tightening as the air around them began to sizzle and steam. “A child. A child managed to outmanoeuvre me. A mere boy was running circles around the entire crew I command for years.”

“No, a teenager. C’mon, give me my credit, I had a whole growth spurt and everything, do I really still look like a child to you?” Aang put on a falsely sincere tone, venom behind his words as he bent his knees and tensed his body into a defensive stance. “You hurt this village, or its people, and you’ll see just how much more than ‘just a teenager’ I am.”

Zuko scoffed, fire again lighting up his palm. “Big talk for a pacifist monk.”

“Sure, as a monk, I won’t start a fight.” Aang grinned. “But I can finish them.”

---

♥ check out the first chapter of this (ongoing) fic & my ao3 here! ->

[princess-of-pearls-and-stars]

Miraculous Ladybug Writing Prompts for the fanfic writers here on Tumblr I've come up with that don't turn Miss Bustier's class into irredeemable bullies ( Please comment which prompt you use + please tag me once oneshot/fanfic is posted )

All the prompts below involve Adrienette

1.) Françoise Dupont gains a new student that moved to Paris, France from ( country of your choice that isn't France ) that gets put in Miss Bustier's class. Lila is not impressed since their arrival results in her ' sheep ' paying less attention to her. Bonus points if they either a.) Call Lila out on her bull, b.) Play the long con to lull Lila into a false sense of security while they gather info, or c.) Are a precious little cinnamon roll who's caring nature & obliviousness plays a part in Lila's downfall. Another set of bonus points if the new kid's rich ( up to you as to what carreer(s) their parent(s) have ) & if Lila tries to threaten the new kid [ If you choose to do this prompt, comment if you choose a, b, or c. Also you get free reign in terms of what they look like along with some of their personality ]

2.) Lila lies about knowing the lead actress of Solitude. Cue a crying Adrien, a very very VERY livid Marinette, Nino, & Chloé, & a VERY furious father. Oh, and two very furious Graham de Vanilys that are more than happy to blacklist & sue Lila. Up to you if someone gets akumatized ( Don't know who originally came up with the idea of Lila lying about Adrien's mom, but whoever it is is a genius cause if Lila actually lied about Adrien's mom in canon she would be oh so very screwed )

3.) Marinette enters a design contest run by a famous female fashion designer that Marinette is a huge fan of. Lila tries to sabotage/steal Marinette's outfit design for the contest. Lila forgets that security cameras exist

4.) Rose knows that Lila is lying about Prince Ali & tells Ali this during one of their video calls. Things don't end well for Lila

5.) Jagged Stone hears about Lila's lies. The rockstar is not happy for several reasons and he & Penny plan a little suprise

6.) The sibling/cousin/best friend of one of Lila's previous victims or a cousin of Lila's enrolls in Françoise Dupont with the intent of bringing all of Lila's past deeds to light ( you get free reign in terms of their appearance, personality, and what their parents do for a living ). Bonus points if Lila tries to threaten them

7.) Félix cares about his cousin, so when Adrien tells him about a certain liar getting all handsy with him during school & modeling, Félix concocts a little scheme to get said liar fired and blacklisted and have a restraining order against her ( and he might also be playing wingman because it's clear as day that Adrien has romantic feelings for the bakers daughter - Marinette )

[jaronxlordashcombe]

this can be Jaron to Roden if they broke up (its also one of the songs I'm basing my fic on