#trick or treason

[helldivers-2]

On this day, we want to remind you that there’s nothing scarier than treason, Helldivers. Loyalty is not a choice; it’s a duty.

[bakk-25]

[dollopole]

We deserved more of just Merlin

The little head tilt, the sweet voice and the tiny smile, the moment he asked Arthur:

“Don’t you?”

To Merlin, magic had always been there for everyone to see, to feel.

He is magic, after all.

For all those years, Merlin had believed what he felt was obvious, and that everyone else felt the same way. It was strange to Merlin that Arthur couldn’t understand that the forest, the animals, even the smallest, living in it, were sacred. Because life is sacred. He couldn’t grasp the reason why the knights couldn’t feel that the old Druids’ camp was haunted, and therefore didn’t believe him. He had literally heard death, and cried because of it.

“As if everything is much more than itself.”

The phrase could refer to him too. Merlin is much more than… Him.

That’s what brought his doom. He had never had the chance to truly know himself. He was either a servant, or the sorcerer of a prophecy, or a Dragonlord.

Never just him.

And in this moment we see he had missed being one with nature, breathing in the animals’ lives. He was himself again.

He was vibrating, much like anything else there living with him.

They never went deep into Merlin’s powers, they were just there for Arthur. Merlin had lost sight of what he wanted to do with them, he even forgot he was so powerful he could have overthrown Arthur himself, if he really wished to.

Merlin was the only man alive able to see Avalon.

During the knights and the king’s quest to save Gwen, Merlin met the Queen of a Queendom no one had ever even seen.

He could have killed Morgana (and did try) multiple times, although she was an High Priestess, and simply decided not to, but he had more than just the power to do so.

The Catha, the Druids bowed to him, met him in the woods, called to him.

Merlin created a telepathic connection with Arthur the first days he was in Camelot.

He survived death multiple times.

His immortality forbid him to die.

Merlin hated hunting because he could feel the animals being scared, followed; he had recognised Gwen when Morgana transformed her into a deer; he could hear the magic around him, inside objects and inside people, like a whisper, as if it was nothing; he could call lightning from the sky.

He could stop the time, or at least slow it down.

Every magical being knew him by name only. But he was not a leader, he was just different.

“Is she like me?” “No one is like you, Merlin.”

After everything he had witnessed, even Gaius knew Merlin was special and did nothing to help him understand why he was.

Merlin was the reason Aithusa was born, why Kilgharrah was free, and we were robbed of him getting to really know his powers, both as a Dragonlord and as the most powerful sorcerer to ever walk the earth.

He literally deleted himself just to be at Arthur’ side, and it hurt him. We saw it constantly. He was sad not only because everyone and everything was against him, or because he couldn’t use magic for simple tricks, but because he couldn’t really know what he could do, both as a magical being and as just Merlin.

To study his powers meant treason and death, and Merlin forbid himself to go beyond what he already knew.

His incapacity to understand, his lack of will to know, and his indecision about who he was, literally helped the fall of the great destiny he was a part of.

Merlin’s decisions, whatever he wanted them to happen or not, helped Arthur die.

Merlin’s real enemy was himself.

[mayaree-darling]

who's to say what's real or fake// Genshin SAGAU

from aree: impostor au but you actually are the impostor? but ofcourse theres a twist. I think i'll call this FakeGrace!Reader. This was just going to be a headcannon post but ended up a whole fic plot

warnings: themes that all come with the sagau tag (yandere, lots of religious talk, cult, etc.)

word count: 2k~

You end up on Teyvat and immediately the characters recognize you as their Creator; of course you're their Creator - you have the same face, name, and voice. You go through the ordeal of getting to know all the characters all over again and they in turn love you as the god they’ve been waiting for all this time.

You decide that well, this is the world and characters I spent blood, sweat, and tears building (even if it was behind a screen) so might as well help out and do what needs to be done. The people come to you for their problems and you find that they're not as difficult as when you were simply a player. Maybe a minor dispute here and there between the NPCs, but now the vision holders and the Archons ask for your thoughts on how to go about political matters concerning their nations. Even Snezhnaya has signed a peace treaty with the other nations as a show of good faith to the Creator (even if you know for a fact its a temporary one).

All has never been better.

Until another Creator appears in Teyvat, and this one bleeds gold the way their stories foretold. In a way you do not.

The vision holders are torn. Yes, you are an impostor, and they want to hate you for tricking them, but at the same time haven’t you only shown them love? Haven’t you been patient with them and understanding despite being thrown into a world you’re unfamiliar with?

But with careful coercion from the other god, they have to choose to follow their true Creator. You decide to take pity on them and step down from your position yourself, choosing to live with the Aranara who have gladly taken you under their wing (fake god you may be, you are still a friend of the forest, and the forest always remembers its friends).

The Archons tell their new Creator that you are no more. They pretend to not hear when the Creator says they should have brought your head with them, maybe just a bitter reaction for finding out that they have been serving an impostor all this time (the Archons are lying when they say they do not feel sickened at the idea of hurting you, and disgusted at this new God's words)

It soon becomes clear to the people of Teyvat that this new Creator is not you - none of the patience or kindness you had showed them. This new one thinks helping their people is below them, even laughs at some of their problems. They chuck their duties as a god to the vision holders and spend their days leisurely, wining and dining on the best food, expecting to be waited on hand and foot. And at first it was fine, the characters understood. Maybe their Creator was just enjoying the fruits of their labor for once (although in the back of their mind, they can't help but compare you - you who worked tirelessly to attend to everyone even when they’d almost beg you to take a break). The characters tell themselves that they just need to get used to this new god, their true Creator. It will all right itself in time. Even as the Creator acted more like a child by the day, calling for the punishment of characters for the simplest of things. It’s fine. It’s fine.

It didn't take long for their will to break.

The God of Wisdom is called as such for a reason. Nahida may be younger compared to the rest, but she is braver than most. She simply tried to impart a fraction of her wisdom, softly suggesting to the Creator to show mercy for their people who were gravely punished for things they did not do.

This Creator was not you. They did not have a drop of patience that you had, nor any love for their creations. Their god saw this as nothing but an act of treason. How dare a mere Archon tell them what to do? She dares to question who the Creator can and cannot punish?

The silence is deafening in the throne room as the Creator calls for the death of Lesser Lord Kusanali and the destruction of Sumeru. If it is mercy she asks for then it is the last thing she and her people will receive. The other Archons agree past gritted teeth, the sin of Khaenri’ah weighing heavy over their shoulders still.

Nahida had been banished to Sumeru before the order was given, so the Archons make their way to the Nation of Wisdom to tell her of her sentencing, hoping to beg her to ask the Creator for their forgiveness.

This can't be how it ends. Are they to spend their lives in fear of the god they so revered?

They enter a forest emitting divine energy in search of their friend, hearts heavy, but they found something else.

They found you. They found the Creator they loved once upon a time.

They seemed to have caught you mid-conversation with Nahida, and to their surprise (and resentment) the Tsaritsa; they can only assume that the god of Snezhnaya has informed you first of Nahida's fate. The Wanderer catches sight of them and stands in front of you in protection. You don't even bat an eye. You swallow hard and stand, Nahida's hand enveloped in yours, and the other gods would be lying if they say they did not feel jealousy strangling their lungs.

With a steady voice, you tell them that should they take one step against Nahida, you will meet them halfway. If they decide to send Sumeru to hell, they will have to go through you first. You will do everything you can to stop them, and if Sumeru falls then you fall with them.

They don't have to look at the others to make up their mind. There's a beat of silence but first it's Morax, and Beelzebul and Barbatos and then Focalor, and they are on their knees, heads bowed low.

It is only right to show respect to their god, after all. How could they be so blind?

Validation of their actions comes soon after as you let go of Nahida's hand and tell the Wanderer to stand aside. You do something that tyrant of a Creator that sits on a glass throne would never - you kneel before them and hold out your hand.

"Why are you all kneeling? Stand up. I am no longer your god. But I hope you will have me as a friend. Will that be alright?"

There are tears in their eyes as they let out stuttering laughter. Yes, this is their god. Their god with so much love and compassion and a heart that does nothing but bleed for them. A heart that does not ask for them to bleed.

You are their god. You are their true Creator. Golden blood be damned. All that gold has done nothing but blind them.

Eventually, you all end up on the forest floor. You accept the role of a friend as promised, and catch up with them. The Archons are almost in tears as you listen to their stories earnestly, squeezing their hands in sympathy as you listen to the pain they've been through under the rule of their so called Creator (they really should find a new title for you, the god that sits on your throne has sullied your rightful name). At one point they stop telling you stories of their mistreatment, unable to see your face be any sadder than it already was. They take to retelling your stories together, reminiscing better days - because is that not what they have done all this time? Think about the lovely you for every wrongdoing the other god had done in your name?

As you laugh and smile with them and their stories and their company, the idea burrows through their mind without your knowledge, taking root, and they refuse to let it go. Wouldn't it be so much better if it was always like this? Seeing your smiling face with them, a person that deserves to be called a god even more so than all of them combined. Knowing you were safe from harm, not having to defend yourself, especially from them under orders from a tyrant. Knowing you loved them the way they loved you.

It was all better with you.

When you weren't looking, the Archons gave each other knowing looks and curt nods in understanding.

You are their beloved Creator.

As a peaceful silence falls over you, they watch as you smile sadly, their hearts breaking to see such an expression on your face. In a soft voice, you apologize for not being able to do much to help them. When you lift your head, golden resolute eyes meet yours.

"You’ve done enough, Your Grace. Let us handle the rest."

You may have laughed at the old title, but the Archons are hell bent in returning it to you. Although it hurts them to say goodbye, they know it’s only for the moment. Soon, you will be with them. Back in your rightful throne, as you have always deserved.

Nahida is the youngest, and so they decide to spare her the carnage. The rest know she is no fool, they don't need to tell her what they had planned for her to know what happens next. She does not fully agree in the others' decision, yet she stays in Sumeru, promising to make sure you do not find out. Word travels fast to the other vision holders in the form of a breeze from Barbatos. Barely anyone had disagreed with the notion of removing the rejected god from the throne, and those who were hesitant at first changed their mind after hearing how you were ready to go down with Sumeru. Morax and the Tsaritsa lead the rebellion.

A god is only as powerful as the people who worship them. By the time the Archons arrived in the throne room, the Creator had no one to hide behind.

They made it a spectacle. They spin a tale for the people that the god they so worshiped was an impostor who had switched bodies with their rightful god, which explains the gold blood that should be yours. They say you were patiently waiting for them all to come back to you, to remove this impostor from your throne. You were ready to accept them all, they just needed to get rid of this filth that dared destroy your name. The Creator - no, the Impostor - is horrified when the people accept this story so easily, but they only have themselves to blame. Who cares what they have to say to defend themselves, although it’s not like they can anyway - how can they when their tongue was cut off?

Teyvat was silent as gold painted the streets of Liyue Harbor. Teyvat no longer cares for golden blood, not after all the blood and tears it had taken from its people. After all, a golden soul stands ready to take back their rightful place.

Your followers thought it had all been worth it - the pain, the hardships, the blood - to see you smile the first time you set foot outside Sumeru after what felt like years to them. And yet, despite the joyous occasion, you hesitantly turn to them and ask a question not even Irminsul would answer you.

"What happened to the Creator?"

You would be lying if you said the soft smiles each of them gave did not unnerve you as they all said the same thing, like a joke everyone knew all except you.

"We simply removed the Impostor from Your Grace's presence."

They are thankful that you are blinded by your love for them to see the gold shine on their hands. You do not ask about the shimmering streets either. Liyue was the city of gold after all, was it not?

For now, their biggest concern is your acceptance that they are your equal, but that can easily be fixed. You are their friend now, but someday you’ll be their god again. Slowly but surely. They will sit you back in your throne. They will kneel before you again. They will give you the reverence you so deserved.

It will all be yours.

You're their wonderful Creator, after all. Maybe not to you right now. But you always have been for them.

They’ll start from calling you Your Grace. You’d be too kind to tell them off over and over.

You always had been good at adapting.

You had gotten used to it then, you’ll get used to it again.

✨ Masterlist ✨ 

Taglist: 💛@anime-allover  💛@faeriessky  💛 @prksolon 💛 @dai-tsukki-desu

Disclaimer: Characters are not mine and belong to their respective creators. Their portrayal is merely my own interpretation of them and may not be accurate to their intended characterization. I stake no claim to the original works, only to the ideas and plot of the fictitious stories I’ve written them into.

[lady-arcane]

How the Mighty Fall :(Quietly)

Gojo Satoru met her on a day so ordinary, he almost didn’t notice her.

Almost.

She was standing by a cracked vending machine outside a jujutsu conference hall, jamming the return button like it had personally insulted her.

Her uniform was rumpled, sleeves half-rolled, phone balanced on her shoulder as she muttered into it.

When she hung up, she let the phone fall into her pocket without ceremony, kicked the vending machine once (precisely, as if she’d calculated it), and grabbed the stubborn can of coffee that tumbled out.

When their eyes met, she gave him the same look she might’ve given a mildly interesting cloud.

He wasn’t used to that.

Gojo Satoru was used to stares that held awe, fear, lust, envy.

He wasn’t used to being dismissed.

He told himself he didn’t care.

(Later, he would realize that was the first lie.)

-----

Inside, introductions were made. "Gojo Satoru," the principal said, almost with a bow. "The strongest."

He flashed his trademark smile. The room tensed the way rooms always did around him — shifting in awe, or jealousy, or terror.

Except for her.

She glanced up from her can of coffee, blinked slowly, and said, "Congratulations," in a tone so dry it might’ve been sarcasm or exhaustion or both.

Gojo actually missed a step.

It was like tripping on a stair you hadn’t noticed.

Ridiculous. Forgettable.

Except the body remembers how it fell.

And the pride remembers harder.

-----

He found out her name later — a relic name from a once-great family.

Fallen into disgrace. Neutral.

Neutral in a world where neutrality was treason.

She hadn't come here for prestige. Or power.

She hadn't come to heal the broken system or tear it down.

She had come because, somehow, life had shoved her into it, and she hadn't found a way to shove back.

There was something about her that infuriated him.

The way she didn't try.

The way she didn’t look at him like a miracle or a weapon or a god.

He tried, subtly at first, to impress her.

(The strongman tricks. The lazy jokes. The almost-accidental flashes of power.)

She sipped her bitter coffee and said things like:

"You're flashy. That’s not the same as important."

Or worse:

"Sometimes I think the world doesn't want saving. It just wants witnesses."

He laughed it off, of course.

Loudly. Carelessly.

(And hated how much he thought about it later.)

-----

One night, after a mission gone sideways, they ended up on the same train platform.

She sat two benches down, damp with rain, bleeding slightly from a cut on her forehead.

She looked small, but not fragile. Just very, very tired.

He sat beside her without asking.

After a long silence, she said, "You don't have to sit here."

"I know," he said. "But maybe I want to."

She gave a dry, almost-smile. "Your charity is overwhelming."

Gojo tilted his head back and stared up at the grey sky, feeling the ache of bruises under his jacket, the throb of exhaustion deep in his bones.

"You ever think," he said, "that saving people is worth it even if it’s selfish?"

She didn’t answer for a long time.

When she did, her voice was very soft:

"Wanting to be needed isn’t the same as being good."

The train rattled by. Neither of them moved.

He didn’t know how to answer her.

He didn’t know how to stop wanting her to believe in him.

He didn’t know when wanting her belief started to feel more important than winning.

-----

Weeks passed.

Gojo Satoru, who had outrun every emotion in his life by being faster, louder, brighter,

found himself slowing down around her.

Not because she asked him to.

But because she didn't even notice when he sped up.

Because around her, there was nothing to prove.

No war to win. No audience to perform for.

Just the terrifying idea that maybe being "The Strongest" meant nothing if nobody was watching.

And maybe that was okay.

Or maybe it wasn't.

He wasn’t sure which scared him more.

-----

The fight, when it happened, was stupid.

A cursed spirit too small for his attention, too slippery to ignore.

She fought it first, knives flashing, blood wetting her sleeves.

She fought like someone who didn’t expect to survive, but would be damned if she made it easy for death.

When he stepped in — easy, graceful, efficient — she didn’t even thank him.

Just leaned against a wall, breathing hard, looking annoyed more than anything else.

"You didn't have to," she said.

"I wanted to," he said, before he could stop himself.

She wiped blood from her mouth and smiled, thin and crooked.

"Of course you did."

As if kindness was another form of violence.

As if saving her only proved her point.

-----

They sat on the curb afterward, side by side, rain seeping into their clothes.

He pulled down his blindfold, let his eyes roam the ruined street, the broken lamplight.

Everything was grey and wet and stupidly, achingly beautiful.

"You know," she said, conversational,

"all stars burn out."

He looked at her. Really looked at her.

Not as a mission.

Not as a critic.

Not as a fantasy.

Just — a tired girl, soaked in rainwater and blood, laughing at how the universe devours everything eventually.

"Maybe," he said, "some are just slow enough to light the way for a while."

She didn't respond.

Maybe she didn’t believe him.

Maybe she didn't need to.

Maybe it was enough that he believed it for both of them, for once.

-----

He would never tell her that she ruined him a little.

That she made him gentler, angrier, sadder, more human.

That she made the invincible feel a little more mortal.

That she made the strongest sorcerer alive wonder what strength was even for.

He would never tell her.

Because she already knew.

Because she didn’t care.

And that, somehow, was the most beautiful thing about her.

-----

[madwomansapologist]

stay soft, get eaten | tanjiro kamado x hashira!reader

tanjiro was accused of treason, and there was more than enought proof for you to cut his head and damn his existence. that was your duty as a hashira. but as a friend, you couldn't. you could never.

cw: angst. hurt/barely any comfort. childhood friends to strangers to lovers. kny level of violence. death and gore. more than one character actively trying to kill nezuko.

an: messing around with the idea of an oc. can anyone rec an artist that accepts commissions? another chapter of me finding a way to put a undertale reference on my fics.

A ghost stood before you, forcing you to face your past.

Once more you were that innocent girl unaware of how your life would change. Focused on the basket between your hands, making sure to protect the bread inside it from the snow, you had no real worries.

You didn't saw the blood. You didn't smell the putrid stench. It was right in front of you, and still you noticed nothing. How you despise that clueless girl. She knew the world was a kind place. She didn't believed that, she knew that: nothing bad has ever happened for her to think otherwise.

How dumb you were. To only notice the blood after stepping on it.

You never truly understood what it meant to be a person until that very moment. To be alive is to have a body, and to have a body is to suffer. A layer of skin, a layer of fat, a layer of muscles, a layer of bones. Nothing can change that.

And blood. So much blood. You threw up on the snow, and continued until your throat burned. With the scarlet red carved on your eyes, you saw the graves. That made you remember exactly where you were.

Kie Kamado. Takeo Kamado. Hanako Kamado. Shigeru Kamado. Rokuta Kamado. Nezuko Kamado. Tanjiro Kamado.

All dead.

You were shaking when he came. Was it because of the snow falling on your skin for hours on end, the empty on your stomach, or the violent cries taking over your body? When you left with Giyu Tomioka, you knew why: you were enraged.

From then on, you trained. You almost died, then did it all again. Until you reached perfection. Every movement, every breath, every muscle of your body. You made yourself excelent. You protected those that couldn't, killed oni after oni, slayed a kizuki without hesitation.

That innocent girl you despise died because of what you saw that night. That girl you envy, that had silly dreams and could afford not to learn it was already time to grow for a few more years died that night. So why you're looking at Tanjiro's sleeping face?

Unaware of the string muzzling your heart as if it was a beast in need of taming, the Pillars argued around you. You couldn't quite catch their words, all meaning lost in the air around you.

You pinched yourself, as if you didn't already knew it wasn't a nightmare. Life taugh you a funny trick: when you don't know what's happening, all you had to do is to imagine the worst possible scenario and accept it as reality.

And so you knew: you were late that night. More than you could ever imagine. Late so you couldn't see they alive, couldn't help Tanjiro, couldn't save Nezuko. And Giyu lied to you. If not, he at least omit the truth from you.

"Tomioka", you interrupted Tengen, just now realizing the voice you heard belong to him. You have never been so upset, and still your concentration on your breathing technique never shattered. "You knew from the start, didn't you?"

"I believe Shinobu said-", Mitsuri thought you had misunderstood Shinobu's report, but decided to remain silent when she noticed your clenched fists. She observed you, more carefully now, and saw the truth.

After all, when someone does their best not to cry the only decent thing is to pretend they're doing a good job.

Giyu didn't return your gaze. You were almost grateful for it. You don't know if you could endure his coldness now. "You found me mourning his family, and knowing he was alive you chose to say nothing."

How loud the silence that came after it was. Not a single breath was heard by your attentive ears. In the absence of an response, you found one: your trick never fails you.

Kyojuro turned to you, his smile brighter than the sun. "All slayers involved in this case shall face punishment", Kyojuro's energy had no effect on you. "We'll find a way to punish the Water Hashira."

Instead of moving forward, you looked back. "Tomioka", your calm voice made him look at you. This time, you were ready for what you would face. Even know, he was so aloof. What a nice act.

Giyu Tomioka gave you no comfort when he found you that night, only the truth. Giyu Tomioka told you a tale of demons and slayers, of blood and ashes. Giyu Tomioka gave you a reason to get up, clean the vomit on your face, and pray one last time for the family that always treated with care.

"What I do now?", the wind shoved your tired words towards ears. "How can I stop then?"

Giyu thought about your questions for a while. Just when he decided it was best to turn his back on you, something on your eyes stopped him. They burned. "There is a cultivator a few cities away."

You smiled.

Mitsuri gasped. She can still smile at him even now, her dreamy eyes gazed upon you. Sweet like sakuramochi. And as pretty too.

You thought about hiding yourself behing Gyomei when Tanjiro started to wake up. You didn't, you couldn't move. As he tried with sleepy words to protect his sister, you stood as quiet as you could. But his eyes found you, and for a second the world around you faded away.

⋆✦⋆

Tanjiro was dreaming again.

As the Pillars argued about his future execution, Tanjiro couldn't quite believe it all was really happening. Broken bones, exhausted mind, sore muscles. He must be hallucinating from the pain. That's the only possible explanation.

Because you're right in front of him, and that only happens when he dreams.

And still, even so sure it was just a fantasy from his tired mind, Tanjiro could do nothing but to stare at your sweet eyes and pretend it was reality.

How he wish to go back in time and be that boy who worried if you would look at him at during his daily walks throught the village. He could almost feel the softness of your hair against his once scarless palm, hear the poems you declamed with such a passion, see the careful way you treated your siblings.

Tanjiro isn't that boy anymore, and your perfume reminds him of apple and cinnamon. You smell like exhaustion and regret. Like hopes and dreams. Kindness and duty.

"Were you happy?" He interrupted one of the Pillars, not that he ever heard about them before, and in response to his disrespect Tanjiro was shoved on the ground. He contorced his body to look at you, ignoring everything else. "Was life good to you?"

Your smile burned your cheeks, so big it showed a bit of your gums. Usually you tried to keep it cover, but not this time. This time you could afford to smile without a care. "No, it wasn't", you answered with a voice covered in honey. "But I made it good."

Tanjiro smiled. The pain, the loneliness, the fear: it all disappeared. Smelling joy, Tanjiro was glad it wasn't a dream. But of course that meant the execution discussed was real too.

"That won't be a problem, right?" Shinobu questioned. "As a Pillar, we expect you to do what must be done."

Looking into his eyes, a stare so strong you felt hazy, you didn't hesitate. "The only mercy a demon deserves is a of a quick death." You turned to Shinobu, so she could see you meant it. "It's our duty to do so."

"And the boy?" Shinobu smiled, but it was so emotionless. It felt like a performance, but to what audience? Who Shinobu was trying to fool? You can't imagine.

You could feel his gaze burning your temples. "I won't pretend to be our Master and decide his fate", you wondered if your eyes were emotionless too. Were you trying to fool someone? "I know my place."

As Rengoku reenforced Tanjiro was to be killed by his act of treason, you looked at him again. Hoping to see disgust on his eyes, you saw something you couldn't really comprehend. Something warm and soft.

You saw your Tanjiro again. That sweet boy who would protect you from the snow, even if he would get sick because of it. You wondered if he saw that girl you once were. If he could remember your tales and desires.

You hope that girl is still alive somewhere safe. It would be enough for her to be alive on his mind.

She would've protected Tanjiro now. Don't matter the size of the threat, she would fail but would never give up. Now you're bigger than most threats out there in the world, but nothing could change the fact Tanjiro protected a demon.

You stood quiet, dreaming about a world were demons were still just tales. You smelled like defeat.

⋆✦⋆

And still, despite your desire to never speak again, you couldn't ignore it.

"Nezuko glowed, Master", you gather all your strenght to disagree. It pierced your very soul to do so, but how could you agree with that? "She was the jewelof our village. A dear friend, my Flower, so kind and generous."

You felt the weight of his gaze on you, knowing that Tanjiro would never look at you again. You love him, you really do, but if he really wanted to protect Nezuko he would let her go. You would be kind. You would do it swiftly, and endure the weight of her death for him.

"She doesn't deserve to be remembered as one of them", you said. "If her body won't be respected, then let her soul be. Allow me to free her, please."

Mitsuri would do anything Master asked for, but that made her desire he would want something else. That's a sort of strenght I didn't knew you had, Mitsuri thought to herself. Am I strong like that?

Looking into Tanjiro's eyes, you didn't noticed as Sanemi moved. You only understood when he screamed, and Iguro decided to put him down on the ground. Again and again, Sanemi pierced the box, offending Nezuko.

"Master, forgive me for this", you raised your voice. You would never do that in front of your Master, but he was the one to start this. In a instant, you were besides him with your sword on your hands. "But if Sanemi will be cruel, I will be fast."

But before you could cut off her head, Nezuko looked away.

"Flower?" You asked, sword falling down on the ground. "Are you in there?"

Nezuko hugged you, and once again a Kamado shattered your world.

if you enjoyed, please reblog! i promise it makes a difference ♡

general taglist: @lovelyy-moonlight

@ madwomansapologist.tumblr.

[syndrossi]

Regret AU: Part 6b

In which Ser Willam discovers that somehow, things can continue to get worse....

x~x~x

It was a grim task that Willam had set himself to tonight, ignoring his evening meal entirely. Avaricious though Lord Grafton may be, his suspicions had immediately gone to treason after hearing Willam’s account of the past few days, and Prince Daemon was far less likely to extend Willam or his house any measure of trust.

I may be dead tomorrow. The truth of it had set in with the passing of the hours, heavy on his spirit. He would gladly give his life to protect his charges, to die that they may live. This would be no valiant death, however. It would be the executioner’s blade—or the flaming maw of a dragon. A traitor’s death. One that might claim the rest of his house.

It is they who I have betrayed. His liege lady. His father. His brother, his niece. The cousins he had chased as a child throughout Runestone, shrieking with abandon. Elys was always the quickest.

So he found himself at the table in his chamber tonight scribbling furiously onto parchment, filling it with tales of his youth and all that he could remember about Elys and Rhea both. Prince Daemon will erase all that he can of our house, of their mother, but they are also Royce. His little cousins deserved to know their heritage. They deserved to know that Elys had loved them.

Leaving such letters behind would all but ensure that Prince Daemon destroyed them, so he enclosed them within another, addressed to Lady Arryn, requesting that they be entrusted to the boys when they were older. Perhaps she would turn them over to the king regardless, but there was no other house that he dared risk bringing Prince Daemon’s wrath upon.

He rolled up the stack of letters, securing it with a ribbon before sealing it with wax, pressing his ring down upon it. Once the wax had cooled, he traced his finger over his house’s sigil, heart heavy in his chest. He shook off the gloom as best he could, rising to his feet to knock upon the door to alert the guard outside.

“I wish to take a letter to the rookery,” he said.

No reply came. He knocked again and waited half a minute before creaking the door open, peering past it to the slumped figure of the man-at-arms across the hall. Willam hurried to the man’s side, dropping to a knee to check for any obvious mark or wound, only to find none. A hand to his neck found it warm, his pulse sluggish.

Drugged. For a wild moment, he found himself wondering if Lord Grafton sought to construct evidence of Willam scheming to escape, but a far more obvious explanation followed swiftly. The children.

He ran back into his chamber to grab his helmet and Lamentation, then took off down the halls, retracing the now-familiar path to the boys’ chamber and encountering limp guardsman after limp guardsman right up to their door, where a pair of knights were sprawled upon the ground.

Willam burst through the door, looking about frantically to find the boys’ new nurse, Fredda, seemingly asleep on the couch. His gaze locked upon their bed, where the blankets dangled off the side. Empty.

“Jon!” he called, dropping to his knees to look beneath. “Raymar!”

The answering silence made the pounding in his ears all the louder. Willam all but tore the room apart, unable to relinquish that sliver of hope until the truth could no longer be denied. Gone. Gone, and their hatchlings with them.

He heard a light groan from where Fredda lay and dashed to her side, shaking her until her eyes cracked open. She stared blankly at him, her gaze unfocused.

“What happened?” Willam demanded. “Who took them?” Her eyes fluttered shut, and he shook her again. “Fredda, where are the children?”

“The babes,” she mumbled. “They wanted to play with the fireflies.”

Fireflies? It is not late enough in spring for— Willam released her, stepping back with a jolt of comprehension. The Volantene’s magic trick with the orbs of fire. He ran to the nearest window, peering throughout the yard, but every flicker of flame was that of a torch.

Despair sought to rise in him, but Willam forced back down. Neither despair nor panic would serve his little cousins. Instead, he took a moment to gather his thoughts.

He had read to them two hours before, at the boys’ bedtime. Shortly after, supper had been brought to him, which he had ignored in favor of his letters. Given the timing, it seemed obvious that the food itself had been drugged, and the household of the castle along with it.

It could not have been one that acted immediately, or someone would have raised an alarm. The fallen guardsmen puzzled him, as they would not have partaken at the same time as the Graftons, their guests, and their servants. Perhaps they were offered drink?

It could not have been more than an hour, he concluded. Possibly less. And however the kidnappers had slipped away with the children and their hatchlings, there could be only one destination: Gulltown’s large port. The castle had been rife with gossip about Prince Daemon’s impending arrival; only a fool would try to flee over land with the stolen children of a man with a dragon.

I will be blamed. That thought would have come with dread once, but with his letters written, even if they never made it to the rookery, Willam had reached a certain peace with it. He knew that he could return to his chamber at this very moment and likely save himself. The blame for the kidnapping would fall upon Lord Grafton, and Willam’s warnings about the threat posed by the Volantene merchants vindicated.

And yet it was no choice at all.

Willam trotted down the halls once more, eerie in their silence. He met no resistance on his way to the stables, nor even any conscious men, even at the gates themselves. It was as though a shroud of sleep had fallen over the castle. The horses were unaffected, at least, which had left him with his pick of the stables.

The streets at this hour were less clogged than during the day, with stumbling drunks his primary obstacle as Willam raced toward the port. As he drew nearer, however, the sheer impossibility of his task dawned upon him. Dozens of ships were docked at the harbor, with sailors still busily loading and unloading cargo or swarming upon the many taverns that littered the edge of the port.

Willam tried to spot either of the Volantene merchants in the crowd, to no avail, so he broke for the tall, stately building that housed the harbormaster and his clerks, weaving around drunken gaggles of sailors. The man had retired for the day already, but was roused at Willam’s insistence, especially once he named it a matter of the Crown itself.

“I must know every Volantene ship in port,” Willam said.

But there were none, nor had there been any for several weeks, leaving him with nothing but a growing sense of hopelessness. They could secure berth on any vessel heading toward Essos. Or perhaps they disguised their port of origin.

The men who could have been called upon to help him lock down the port itself were senseless back at the castle, but Willam recalled a watchhouse not far from the port. He mounted his horse once more. They had not gone more than a few paces, however, when a familiar high-pitched shriek pierced through the crowded din.

Raymar. Willam spun atop his horse, frantically trying to pinpoint its source through the throng of people. It had come from closer to the docks themselves. He dismounted, weaving through the crowd on foot. Again, he begged. Please cry.

He was halfway to the docks when it came again, as earsplitting as before, and Willam shoved men out of his way in his haste, uncaring of the startled shouts and cursing. His armor and arms silenced most of them quickly, and Willam finally emerged onto the dock where the shriek had come from. There were two ships docked. One was in the process of unloading its cargo, but the other—

Willam broke into a run and sprinted up the gangway onto the other, heedless of the shouts breaking out ahead of him. His sword was clear of its sheath by the time he reached the ship’s deck, where a cluster of men stood guard around a pair of toddlers that were squirming in the arms of the men holding them. Two other men held a pair of cages, and Willam could hear the cries of confused hatchlings.

He met the eyes of the man who held Jon, recognizing him at once as the merchant who had turned the stones to fire: Denyno. The merchant shouted something in Valyrian, and the men on deck sprang into action.

Willam did not speak; he had seen his death in the Volantene’s eyes, and he knew that they would neither surrender nor harm the children. He cut down the first two men who descended upon him in two powerful swings of Lamentation, moving out of the way of a third that he made quick work of before turning to face the next onslaught.

The descending Volantenes were armed with curved blades, just larger than a shortsword, leaving him with the advantage in reach. He could hear his little cousins crying all the louder, calling for him, and it gave him the strength to ignore the first strike to make it through his guard, blunted by the chain beneath his breastplate.

Willam kicked the man away, then had to dodge out of an arc that would have sliced clean through his neck. He struck another down, then another, the clarity of purpose that had come over him granting him a focus that seemed to slow the melee around him.

But the Volantenes kept coming, and a blow to his helmet sent him staggering, unbalancing him enough for one of them to drive a shoulder into him and topple him over. Within seconds, Willam was swarmed.

Denyno called something out, and Willam knew enough Valyrian to recognize the word for “death.” He locked eyes with Jon, and then Raymar, despair numbing him to what he knew would follow. Raymar screamed once more, so loudly that he thought his ears might split, and something bright flickered in the corner of his vision, to startled shouts from the Volantenes still guarding the children.

He could hear Jon calling his name repeatedly through sobs as heartbreaking as they had been for Rhea. Willam blinked away tears of his own, waiting for the death blow.

But it did not come. Whatever chaos had unfolded around the children had given the men pause. Finally, Denyno called out again. Willam’s sword, which had already been stamped out of his grip, was kicked aside, and he was hauled to his feet. Blood trickled down his forehead, forcing him to blink it out of his left eye.

“Who else comes?” Denyno asked.

Willam glanced numbly at the receding port; he had not even noticed the ship raising anchor. He met the Volantene’s gaze. “Their father.”

A few heads turned nervously to the sky, though Denyno’s gaze remained upon him as the children continued to cry out for Willam. He was marched closer at a command, his helmet removed, and the children cried all the louder at blood streaming from the wound on his forehead.

Willam kept his bearing straight, awaiting his death, but the Volantene merchant approached him instead, still carrying Jon. Denyno held his little cousin out toward him, as though in offering, and Willam did not even hesitate. He snatched him to his chest, and Jon buried his face in Willam’s neck, his sobs quieting. Willam rocked him back and forth, uncertain of the Volantene’s intent.

“You are their nurse, Westerosi—for now.”

x~x~x

*whistles innocently* I'm just giving the people what they wanted! Let's not reflect on how the Volantenes somehow made Willam look even guiltier.

[anarcoqueer1994]

He guesses maybe he's not too good at being... good.

It hasn't been particularly nice for Kallus since landing on Yavin 4. Being Fulcrum was easier, sorta. As Fulcrum, sure he was always at risk of being caught and executed on the spot for treason, but he only had to face the rebels, the people he steadily worked to thwart for years, when sharing information to help them.

But now, he was here, and half the base actively hated him, letting him know that whenever they could, while the other half the base had an uncomfortable civility towards him. He doesn't blame them, not at all, especially after everything he has done in the name of the Empire...especially after his own stupidity as Fulcrum got Chopper base destroyed. He led to a battle that lost so many lives.

Some days he questions why he is here. No, he doesn't regret defecting, not after learning the truth about the Empire he was tricked into loving. But maybe he should go...run away like the coward he is. He ran away to the empire to escape his home, and now he wants to run away from the rebellion to escape the daily reminders that no matter how hard he works, he will always be the ex-imp that no one could...or should trust.

Somehow though this isn't the worst part; the worst part was that Zeb didn't hate him when he had more reason than anybody to do so. He doesn't deserve the kind way Zeb talks to him, he doesn't deserve the way Zeb will playfully banter with him, the way he'll spar with him, the way Zeb will seek him out just to spend time together.

And Zeb doesn't deserve the judgemental stares from other rebels. He doesn't deserve the little comments they make about him being an imp sympathizer. He doesn't deserve to be pulled down by Kallus. He deserves to be treated like the most honorable man Kallus has ever met.

The blonde knows he should tell Zeb as much, to tell him to keep his distance. But he can't, he's too selfish. He wants to be part of Zeb's orbit, being drawn by his light. Zeb meant everything to him, and he doesn't think...no, he knows...he can't do this without him.He'll continue to drag him down just so he isn't alone, just so he isn't without Zeb's light.

So like every morning, he brushes his teeth with a couple shots of whiskey, giving him the strength to face the base that hates him, face Zeb, the man that shouldn't love him, all so he can try to become an honorable one, become something Zeb can be proud of. But he knows he is barely holding on; barely keeping it together; it's getting harder every day. He guesses maybe he's not too good at being... good.

[rise-my-angel]

"Bastards are no different then trueborn children and don't deserve to be looked down on."

Can actually coexist with the following:

"Bastards cannot be legally trueborn, unless by official royal decree of the King himself, and tricking the realm into thinking your children are trueborn when you have never publically declared them as bastards, so they can inherit over their non bastard relatives, is treason."

The fan discussed moral argument about bastards in this universe are not the same as the in universe legal argument. Stop mistaking these two things and realize both discussions can co exist at the same time and both be correct.

[averillaratargaryen]

‘The Bitter Bond.’

Chapter XXVIII

After many confessions taking place, and with Daemon’s open mind to his daughter’s freedom, the family had returned to the Red Keep, once again.

…

“It is.. weird. Being back here again” Daerlyssa’s eyes circled around her chamber. Just as it was before.

“I added on some flowers. I thought it would make it look much more.. pleasing?” Helena responds.

“It is great. Thank you” Daerlyssa smiled in response.

“I will say, it had been quiet since you left. Aemond had gone back to his usual self. As did Aegon. Although, I suppose Aegon’s actions were more due to guilt” Helena responds.

“I have already forgiven him for his mistake” Daerlyssa responds.

“Then perhaps you should tell him yourself” Helena responds.

As Daerlyssa looked up, she noticed Aegon stood at the door.

“Can I-?” He asks.

“I will leave you two to talk” Helena helps herself out, closing the door behind her as Aegon made his way in.

“Hello” Aegon gave Daerlyssa an awkward wave.

“You do not have to be so awkward with me, Aegon” Daerlyssa chuckled, turning back to her clothes that she continued to unfold.

“I am not sure how else to.. speak with you” Aegon responds.

“Like my friend” Daerlyssa responds, “we are friends, after all.”

“After what I had done, I don’t-?”

“Aegon” Daerlyssa held her head up, to look at him, placing her clothes down on the bed, “I wish to leave all the bad stuff in the past. I have already forgiven you. Now you must forgive yourself.”

“But how? How can i, after what i did to you? I can’t-? I don’t think i even know how-!” Aegon felt himself confused and out of headspace.

“Do you know the reason I have forgiven you?” Daerlyssa asks.

Aegon shook his head no, as he found it absurd for her to have forgiven such a grave sin he had committed.

“Because I know you, Aegon. For the time I have stayed with you, I have seen the real you. Sober you. Not one that is heavily influenced but one that is kind and loving. You have been nothing but that” Daerlyssa had assured him.

Aegon looks down to her hand that held his, before looking up to her softened gaze, “that day was not you, Aegon. It was your grandfather. That is who I can not ever forgive. But you? I can. Because I know you. Now you must find it in yourself to forgive, and move on.”

“I am sorry” Aegon whispered.

“I know” Daerlyssa responded back with a nod, before the two had embraced each other with a friendly hug.

It seemed to have let Aegon’s tensed body fall loose, as he then held her back, the two accepting each other as friends, once again.

…

Daerlyssa had bathed and found herself ready for bed, before finding Aemond welcoming himself in, closing the door behind him.

“Did no one not see you coming here?” Daerlyssa asks.

“Your parents have occupied my mother, and everyone else is in their own chambers, leaving me free, to come to you” Aemond gave Daerlyssa a grin, as he sat at the chair beside her bed.

“Just give me a moment” Daerlyssa was seen to be struggling in getting her night dress tied, the lace continuously slipping out her fingers.

“Do you need any help?” Aemond tilted his head, his grin never escaping him.

“Do you wish to help?” Daerlyssa then turns her head up to face him, “or perhaps you wish to do the complete opposite.”

With an exaggerated gasp, Aemond held his hand against his chest, “you accuse me of such things. The highest acts of treason!”

Daerlyssa chuckled, shaking her head in disapproval before looking back down to the lace that now slipped out of her hands again.

“In fact, I think I will take all the help I can get” she sighed out of frustration, as she stood up, Aemond following after, as he stood in front.

Delicately, he held the lace of her dress, as he began to tie it, yet had another trick up his sleeve.

“There is one thing that you are right about” he whispered, pulling both laces towards him, as Daerlyssa’s body had tumbled into his arms, “I do the opposite of help.”

“I would not doubt it” she chuckled, as Aemond held her firmly from her waist.

“But-! I will not do anything. Not until you are ready” Aemond responds, “and patience is key.”

“It is” Daerlyssa nods in response, her palms against his chest as she tilted her head with an appreciative expression, “but thank you, for understanding me.”

“I would not have it any other way” Aemond whispered back, kissing her softly against her head.

-

“It is.. nice, to have you back” Alicent let out a bitter smile.

“It is, isn’t it” Daemon tilted his head, with a grin.

“After everything that had happened, I have not had the chance to apologise about what my father had done” Alicent nods in guilt.

“He sold our daughter to become a sex slave, an apology will not make up to it” Daemon scoffed, “but given that I had his head bitten off, your apology can be taken into account.”

“How is he? My father?” Rhaenyra asks.

“King Viserys’ condition has worsened, since you had last saw him” Alicent spoke softly yet Daemon could only let out a light chuckle, having her stop her words.

She looks briefly between the two, before continuing on, “this subjects him through considerable pain. On the advice of the maesters-”

“Ah, the maesters” Rhaenyra nods back as she mocks the telling, “of course. Because it is they, who keep him addled on milk of the poppy whilst the Hightowers warm his throne.”

“I do not know what you speak of” Alicent responds.

“I know my father’s reasons, to why he had manipulated my daughter into her marriage with Aegon. As im sure you know it to” Rhaenyra explains, “he could not longer trust neither you, or your father. So why should I trust you?”

“Because the only thing I care of now is my children” Alicent responds, “whether you chose to believe me or not, it is the truth.”

“If you care so much for them, why have Aemond ruin his friendship with our daughter. What good had that done him?” Daemon asks.

“I did what was best for them. Her marriage to Aegon is still valued and can not be undone” Alicent responds, “so it is shameful-!”

“What is shameful, is that you did not seem to let us know what it was, my father had said to Daerlyssa. You knew of his plans and yet you kept it hidden” Rhaenyra found herself disappointed.

“Aegon is perfectly suited to Daerlyssa, which is why I had let it happen” Alicent explains.

“You knew Aegon is gay, and yet still-!” Rhaenyra held back her anger, as she spoke calmly towards her, “you alone make virtue your banner and yet you can not see your faults.”

“What would you have me do?” Alicent asks.

“To no longer meddle in our daughters life, is what we ask” Rhaenyra responds, “if your son has fallen in love with her, you can not stop that, given the sacrifices you made. It was not easy for you, I know this. But that does not mean you must put these sacrifices to our children.”

“I did not try to” Alicent shook her head.

“Your sacrifices should be a lesson, of what not to do with our children. In the end, we know the feeling it gives us, so why must we make our children suffer too?” Rhaenyra asks.

-

“Your mother must dislike me” Daerlyssa was laid beside Aemond, her head resting above his arm.

“She does not dislike you” Aemond responds, “she just wishes that the two of us did not do what we did.”

“I guess I could not fault her for that. But I love you, and I can not fault myself for that either” Daerlyssa responded.

Aemond turned to look at her, Daerlyssa looking up as the two realised what she had just said.

“Did I just-?” Daerlyssa held her palm against her mouth.

“That is the first time you have told me you love me” Aemond let out a soft chuckle.

“It is, isn’t it” Daerlyssa clamped her eyes shut in embarrassment.

“It is alright. I will just pretend to have never heard it” Aemond responds.

“N-no. No” Daerlyssa shook her head as she sat up, facing him, “it is time that you must know it.”

Aemond continued to lay back, his hand resting under his head, “what must i know?”

With a playful smile he waited.

Daerlyssa let out a heavy sigh, her eyes shut as she processed her words, “Aemond Targaryen.”

“She states a full name” Aemond whispered with a gasp.

Letting down a big gulp, Daerlyssa had looked him in the eye, her shoulders falling back and herself feeling relaxed before naturally responding, “i love you.”

Aemond let out a soft smile, his hand cupping against her cheek as he rubbed against her temple tenderly, with his thumb.

“I love you too” He responded, before finding himself in a posture of sitting up, leaning forward as did Daerlyssa.

Aemond would not go any further to kiss her lips. Not unless she had given him permission to.

Staring down at them, Aemond licked his lips to satisfy its need for the feeling of wet saliva.

With her lips agape, Daerlyssa shuffled her head, burying her cheek further into his palm, her eyes doing exactly the same.

“Can i-? Kiss you” Aemond whispered, continuously holding himself back, their lips quivering against one another.

“Y-yes….” She answered quietly, her whisper low and tender, as her voice drifted away due to the distraction of his lips.

Daerlyssa’s nose had pressed gently against his, their lips joining forces, as they give each other a gentle peck.

Before it had become another.

And another.

With no patience, Aemond had lifted Daerlyssa above him, sitting himself up fully, with now an arm around her waist and a hand cradling her cheek.

Her hands laid behind his head, pushing his tongue further down her throat, as their kiss was no longer tender.

It was hot.

Sticky.

Sweaty.

A kiss that tended to last a while, proving just how much they missed each other.

-

The night had ended with Daerlyssa asleep, her head against Aemond’s chest, and then the softened pillows of her bed, as he left her to rest.

…

Daerlyssa had spend her afternoon in the garden.

If Daerlyssa loved one thing, for sure, it had to be the winter.

The snow that fell admist the once grassy ground, iced ponds, and snow flakes resting against frosted leaves.

“You will catch a cold, Daerlyssa” Rhaenyra called out.

“Oh, mother” Daerlyssa turned after hearing Rhaenyra’s voice, finding her stood with her hands behind her back.

“Do you have a moment?” Rhaenyra asks, tilting her head in question.

…

The two were stood opposite one another, beside the fireplace, within the drawing room, as Rhaenyra held out a white cloak.

“You must have this” Rhaenyra hands it in her daughter’s hands, “it belonged to Ser Harrold.”

Daerlyssa nodded, staring at it silently, knowing it was his, given the slight stains of blood.

“He loved you, Daerlyssa. He would want you to keep it, in his memory” Rhaenyra whispered.

“Thank you, mother” Daerlyssa smiled softly, as she nodded, looking up at her mother once again.

“I thought we should discuss.. your future” Rhaenyra responds, “your grandfather, he.. there is no counting the days he will live. It is not long before..”

Rhaenyra could not finish the sentence, but Daerlyssa had understood her meaning.

“Once he has passed, the succession shall be passed on to you, mother” Daerlyssa responded.

“I am not sure how the realm will see it” Rhaenyra responded.

“You are well loved with the realm, mother. Oaths were sworn, they can not turn against it” Daerlyssa responded, “father would make sure of it, i know.”

Rhaenyra smiled with a nod, “after i become Queen, Jacerys will become the next heir.”

“Rightfully so. And as of Lucerys he has already been chosen, to become heir, to Driftmark” Daerlyssa responded.

“Yes” Rhaenyra responded, “as of you, Daerlyssa, you will have a responsibility of your own.”

Daerlyssa looked to her mother, confused by what she had meant.

“Dragonstone will be passed to you” Rhaenyra explains.

“Me?” Daerlyssa asks, “what of Joffery?”

“Joffery is in line to inherit the iron throne after your brother, Jace. This decision was made by both, me and Daemon” Rhaenyra responds.

Daerlyssa stared blankly, still unsure if her mother truly meant what she had said.

“You will move forward to Dragonstone, and continue your future there. Whether that be with Aemond, or anyone else you wish for it to be” Rhaenyra chuckled, “but after i become Queen, you will be named Princess of Dragonstone.”

“But this has always been Aemond’s home. What if-? What if he does not wish to come with me?” Daerlyssa asks.

“I suppose you discuss it with him. From what i know, i do not think him to turn away the offer” Rhaenyra encourages her with a firm hand hold, “you are fit, to take this responsibility.”

“I’m not sure i am” Daerlyssa shook her head.

“You are Daemon’s daughter, just as much mine. Dragon blood runs through you completely. You are fire and blood. Dragonstone will be yours, and passed to your children” Rhaenyra placed her hand against her cheek with comfort, placing the strands of hair behind her daughter’s ears.

She admired Daerlyssa, knowing she would do well for herself, with now a dragon, skills her father had taught her, and a man like Aemond, who is a dragon rider to the one of the largest dragons known.

-

As Daerlyssa stood in her chamber, staring out the window to the snowy air, she soon found company in Aemond, who she had called on a while ago.

“You called for me?” Aemond asks, his head popping in first, and then the rest of him, before closing the door behind him, “is everything alright?”

Daerlyssa turns to face him, a slight pain in her smile, as she nods, “i am fine.”

Looking down to her hands, Aemond witnesses her holding tightly, onto the white cloak.

“It is Ser Harrold’s. My mother had kept it, to give back to me and keep his name in memory” Daerlyssa responds, “once i return to Dragonstone, i shall take this with me.”

“You are returning? So soon?” Aemond asks.

“Not soon. Not until my mother is crowned Queen” Daerlyssa laid the cloak on her bed, as Aemond had approached her.

Looking up, she sighed with a smile, “my parents have chose to pass down Dragonstone, to me.”

“Oh-! That is great” Aemond nods, “but you do not seem happy about it.”

“It is a lot of responsibility. I do not know if I can hold Dragonstone. Not on my own, at least” Daerlyssa responds, “when my mother is crowned, war will follow. She is a woman, many will not be happy.”

Aemond nods in response.

“Despite me believing all the oath’s being sworn, it is not what puts one on a throne” Daerlyssa shook her head, “if i am to take Dragonstone, i must take great care of it. I can not let it ruin due to a war.”

“Daerlyssa, you have a dragon” Aemond responded, “you have the skills of a knight, as your father has taught you. You have.. you have me.”

Clearing her throat, Daerlyssa looked up in plea, “would you?.. be willing to be alongside me?”

“Of course” Aemond responds, “i will follow you through it all. I have sworn to your father, to protect you. I shall follow wherever you go.”

“But this is your home. Your mother, sister-?”

“This is my home, yes” Aemond nods, looking around the chamber before averting his attention back to her, “but you are much more than that. I am willing to leave this all behind. For you.”

════ ⋆★⋆ ════

chapter 29

[ohohoho-nyohohoho]

lxc after lwj loses his gradeschool crush and commits treason: argues lwj's sentence down from literal execution, continuously supports lwj during lwj's recovery process, wholeheartedly wishes for lwj's happiness and supports his endeavors

lwj after lxc finds out he was tricked into helping kill one friend and then is tricked into killing another friend/potential lover: Actually Goodbye Xiongzhang I Need To Go Bone This Hot Man Now.

[alexanderlightweight]

Hi!

Can I ask for more the stronger of claims?

finally I can provide!! here is a link to the first part of the stronger of claims since its been a while and i'm sure most people don't know what it is

i hope you enjoy <3

~ lumine

—

Magnus doesn’t bother being petty. 

He also doesn’t bother playing around. Not with Alexander unconscious in his bed, held under by potions and magic until Magnus can get back and make sure he doesn’t need to summon Catarina.

It’s easy to stand before the Clave — after making his vows on the soulsword — and make his points clear that while Isabelle did break a few rules, she is not actually involved in the treason committed. It takes a little bit of wrangling, some very intense and carefully worded questions as well as Magnus calling in a favor to ask Jem’s help to ensure Imogen can’t pull too many tricks with the presence of a Silent Brother.

Thankfully Imogen thinks Jem arrived because of the cup.  Not because Magnus promised him a supply of his favorite tea and a portal to Tessa for an afternoon of Jem's choice.

In the end Isabelle will be disciplined, monitored for a little while and temporarily stripped of her ranks, but she won’t be exiled or deruned. 

It’s a win as far as Magnus is concerned and knowing Alexander, he will consider it as well... and then just as everything is over Clarissa and Jace crash into the room.

Jem makes a small telepathic comment, something that lingers in Magnus’ mind and he stretches out his magic, curious for a moment and then he cackles silently to himself.

He has the perfect distraction to ensure no one realizes Alexander is missing. 

Something Isabelle thankfully hasn’t asked about since Magnus told her Alec sent him, but with no other explanation for his new consort’s lack of presence.  

“Really Imogen, is this Clave really so imbalanced that the ones actually committing the crimes go free? Even if they did return.”

Magnus knows from the way Imogen’s face pinches that Jem has agreed with him and ensured she knows it. He’s also probably reprimanding her since Jace and Clary were the ones who endangered the Cup in the first place and the Silent Brother’s don’t appreciate it.

It also means that Jem is taking the Cup before anyone else even blinks, moving it to some pocket of his robe where it disappears.

“They’ll both be reprimanded as well.  Since they endangered it in the first place.”  Imogen is spitting mad even as the orders are directly processed, Lydia tapping them into a tablet as they speak before handing it over for a thumbprint. “The Silent Brother has approved a demotion in rank from the active shadowhunter involved and a year probation before Clary Fray is allowed to be an active shadowhunter.”

“I’m relieved to see that nepotism hasn’t rotted its way to your core just yet.” Magnus tuts, making sure to use his best sneer to raise her hackles back up.

“What—?” Imogden starts and Magnus simply tuts and gestures to Jace.

“You think I can't recognize family magics, even those of a nephilim? I don’t need to have been properly introduced to him to tell he’s a Herondale.  I’m glad to see you uphold honor, for once.”

Imogen is paler than he’s ever seen her, shock and hope and disbelief warring as Magnus turns and walks out, quietly chuckling as he hears her demand a blood test from a confused Jace.

It means no one stops him as he slips away, content in the knowledge that all will be busy while he whisks Alexander away on their honeymoon.

After all, Magnus has a payment to finish collecting.

[be-it-so]

I really don't like how people view Palamedes as a totally bad guy, while viewing Odysseus as maybe not completely but mostly good guy. Because, I think, the point is that they are very similar in their methods and that's what it is about.

I really like to think that Odysseus' hatred towards Palamedes was not motivated only by the fact that he put Telemachus in danger and forced Odysseus to leave his family. Don't get me wrong, it was motivated by this, but not only.

Odysseus hated Palamedes this much because Palamedes defeated him in his own field. He outwitted him, made him reveal his lies. And let's be honest, he did exactly the thing Odysseus would do if the positions were reversed.

That's also the reason why I prefer the version with Odysseus framing Palamedes for treason and not the version with drowning. Because framing Palamedes for treason was one of those Odysseus' grand plans, his big lie. He managed to trick all of the achaean camp, make them fall for his trickery, and in the end, Odysseus not only had Palamedes killed (in one of the most disgraceful, inglorious and painful ways possible) but also did it in a way of proving himself better at planning and scheming.

Odysseus did not simply kill Palamedes, but also did it in the way that is the straight-up revansh for their first meeting.

[littlenahsstuff]

That’s Not You

Bridget x Reader x Daughter!Red

Based off of @agggtmggbbagad ‘s request.

Synopsis: Bridget looks through the looking glass and sees how awful she could become. She confronts Red back in the present. A lot of doubt comes up and you both want Red to know just how much you both love her.

Warning: angst again 😭. Fluff tho! Lots of feels. Not proofread.

2.2k words

Bridget stood there in shock with the looking glass in her hand. She had typically been so sure of herself. Something about how earnest Red had been for her to open the mirror put her off. She had rationalized that it was a quick peak and that even though she loved surprises, she needed to look. She opened it to see a terrified Red sentence what looked to be Ella as an older woman to treason, and her own face staring back maliciously. She slammed it shut. She thought Red looked like they could be related. And when Chloe called Ella mom, she did find it weird.

Red was her daughter it seems the duel red hair all but confirmed it. She would have to confront Red about it… Except she couldn’t. She didn’t get to Red before she left for her own time. The day haunted her for a long time and she didn’t tell anyone, not even you.

The introduction ceremony was beautiful. She had worn her favorite pink and red gown and everything was going alright. Other than Red disappearing right before the speech started. She worried Red would miss it.

You caught the look in her eyes and rest a hand on her thigh. You were worried for Red too. Bridget took out her deck of cards and nervously starting shuffling.

“Do you mind?” Principal Uma asked and Bridget blushed and stood up. She knew doing a card trick for all these people was silly but she knows it’s a fantastic one.

“Mom no, stop!” She here’s Red yell. She tenses and turns around but continues.

“I’m just playing my favorite game; hearts!” The cards burst into lovely pink hearts. She saw a tear leave Reds eyes but something was a little off about her. She decided to apologize and rap up with an extremely quick speech about her not-so- little Red. Everyone burst into dance and congratulations for the new year.

Something was off about Red the entire celebration. She looked shocked to see you there, her own mother and was quieter than normal. She was usually giggling with Chloe but Reds girlfriend was clinging to her mother.

You also picked up on this and took Bridget to the side.

“Um, Bridgy, can I have a quick word with you?” You ask, guiding her to the corner of the room. You asked Red to go get some punch.

“Yes, of course” Bridget nodded.

“Um, have you noticed anything off with Red? She seems a little madder than usual but not in the normal mad way. I just, I know we have to let our little girl go out by herself but… is there a chance she might be taking this transition just as difficult as we are?” You finished, a worried frown etched on your brow. Bridget thought for a second be for it hit her. That was the same outfit Red wore when she saw her all those years ago. You saw Red but sometimes had the memory of a pickle so it just seemed like a funny coincidence to you. More bizarre things have happened in wonderland.

“Oh no.” Bridget muttered and you grasped her hands in yours.

“What, what is it?” You question.

“I- I don’t know how to say this without sounding completely crazy. Um, so did you ever remember when we were just a little older than she is now, we met those transfers that left so quickly? You were sick that week but you saw them briefly the day Uliana got flamingoed. Well, they were Red and Chloe.” She says and you froze.

“I- what- I, that’s impossible” you pale.

“Nothing is, and I know for a fact it’s Red because- well I looked in the looking glass.” She admitted.

“But you love-“

“Surprises. I know, but I’m glad I did. I think the Bridget Red remembers somehow became completely evil. I don’t know how. But it was true,” Bridget explains. You start shaking a little.

“So I- I’ve met Red before, before she was Red?!” You gasp when you hear Red sigh. She comes over and puts the punch on the table next to Bridget and you.

“So, you do remember,” she whispers.

“Uh-“ you say panicked. You didn’t, and now you do. You need to sit down you’re so confused. You can’t, so you lean against the table.

“Yes my sweets,” Bridget lovingly answers. “I know that you aren’t the same Red from before. I know that I’m not the same as your mother from before.” Bridget smiles sadly.

“That’s for sure,” Red scoffs sadly, “but since you know now. Why is Y/n here?” She asks and it’s like a cosmic joke just punchlines through your heart.

“What?” You say, eyes widening.

“Who was she to you originally?” Bridget asks, now worried about another thing too.

“She was the head maid,” Red cautiously continues, “who is she now?”

You choke back your shock, “I am your mother, adoptive but- were we close? Please tell me we’re close.” Red turns sheepish.

“You were nice to me” is all Red says. She feels bad. As awful as Bridget feels for you, she needs to get to the bottom of the original problem.

“Red, after you left I did take a look at the looking glass and I know I was… rotten. Did- was that why you went back in time? Why?” As soon as Bridget says it Reds eyes grow, ever so slightly, harder.

“Yes, you staged a coup today and killed Queen Ella. On the original castlecoming day, Uliana turned to into a monster. No one helped you and it made you twisted, vengeful, and cruel in every way imaginable. Chloe and I stopped Uliana before you got pranked and we came back. Though, we still don’t seem to know anything from this new timeline.” Red admits and Bridget is brought to tears.

“Oh my, I was awful wasnt I? I remember you talking about your mother- me. I am so sorry, I don’t know what could have happened to make me do those things to anyone but especially you. You are my most precious one. I love you for infinity. I realize you will have a very difficult time believing this but truly I love you so much and- and mother and I will try to prove it every day forward” Bridget finishes with tears streaming down her face, “I know you aren’t a hugger, but could I at least hold your hands for now. I love you so much!”

Red nods, still not used to that. It was one thing when young Bridget was being so nice but this now that she actually was her mom it felt even more insane and dreamlike. She wanted to have this so bad. Red gives her hands to Bridget and smiles softly.

“I’m glad your you again.” She says.

***

Since it’s the weekend Red is supposed to be visiting her mother… well mothers. She is still getting used to the whole going from no good moms to two good moms thing. The messages she got daily as well as the magic mail sent cookies were fantastic and love filled. But this would be this first actual ‘family bonding’.

Bridget and you were a bit of a reck. You were trying to make this visit as welcoming as possible. The two of you stayed up the night prior having an entire stress bake-athon. Bridget got Red a couple of gifts and you made her a fun little photo book and journal of her life to help her catch up on things. It was bittersweet seeing all the photos.

In a sense you both lost the Red you knew. She was withdrawn now and sheltered. She still made an effort to get to know you two and would reply with honest answers. She even opened up about how she liked Chloe and how it was shocking to find out they had been dating for months.

You all tried very very hard. Maybe too hard. You were panicky tidying up the main lounge room, while Bridget made sure Reds Room was perfect. It shouldn’t have been taking her this long. You went to go find her when you heard soft crying from Reds room.

You knock and enter, “Honey, are you alright?”

She looks up at you through bleary eyes. “No.” She whimpers. You immediately go and embrace her.

“It’s gonna be okay. Talk to me.” You urge. She exhaled shakily and it takes everything in you not to start crying with her.

“How could I treat her that way? I just, if I am truly capable of hurting her that badly on purpose what kind of mother am I. I’m an awful person,” she sobs into your hair and you caress hers.

“Shh shh, no of course not. You aren’t her and you never will be. Red said so herself that something awful happened to you. It must’ve altered your brain because you would never do those things willingly no matter how beaten or bruised you are. That’s not you. You’re the Bridget that would read stories to her every day and made sure to go to all of her dance classes. You’re the one who had movie nights with her and happily watched the same movie over and over because it was her favorite. You are the same woman that proposed with a cheesy card trick while dancing to music. I love you and I’m sure Red loves you still and will grow to love you more and more as she sees how kind you really are!” You finish with exhale, now you’ve started crying too. She just holds onto you tighter.

She whispers a soft, “thank you,” before the comforting moment is interrupted by Maddox who has a soft smile.

“Your majesties, Princess Red has arrived.” You both break the embrace. You straighten your top.

“Thank you, Maddox.” You turn to Bridget, “Now come on, we have a daughter to love.”

When Bridget sees her daughter come in she grabs the cookies on the table and immediately offers Red one.

“Chipper chuckle chocolate chip!” She says excitedly. You all grab one and take a bite. The three of you moan in contention at the sweet flavor.

“Red, sweetie, do sit down!” Bridget says and sits next to her but at a respectable distance. She sets the platter down on the table.

“So, first of all. We got a little insight from your messages on how school is going but, please do tell us anything about it. What’s your favorite subject so far?” Bridget continues.

Red hums, “well I’m always one for a good art class. The teacher is pretty nice and we will get to work with our favorite medias for the most part this year!” She starts off, surprising herself with how excited she is to talk about herself for once with her mom.

“Spray paint still?” You ask, leaning against Bridget’s side of the sofa.

“Yes… did I also…”

She starts but you cut her off, “Spray paint funny mustaches on our family portraits around the kingdom? Don’t worry, it was pretty funny actually and the whole town got a good laugh. They were so bushy,” you giggle. The fact that the two of you aren’t mad at her for that speaks volumes to Red already. She smiles.

“Good, but I’m now going beyond just a ‘stache and have moved on to pretty symbols and portraits themselves.” Red says somewhat proudly. Bridget coos.

“I’m glad you’re developing such a wonderful skill! Do you have any photos of your works?” Bridget asks. Red nods and pulls out her phone. She scrolls past a selfie of her with Chloe that she blushes for and shows her painting of a gorgeous white rose dripping into red and a very detailed portrait of the family friend, the White Rabbit.

“Ooh!” You say, “such beautiful shading!”

“Oh this is absolutely stunning work Red,” Bridget adds.

Red grins and puts the phone down. “Thank you Y/n, thank you Mom.” She says in a little awe.

“This does remind me though. Y/n and I have some gifts for you! One second” Bridget stands and grabs two decorated boxes from behind the couch and hands it to Red.

Red rips the first box open with haste, immediately pulling out a couple of new high-end spray paints. “This is totally awesome thank you!” She holds them closer for a second and rips open the second package to reveal a massive book with a picture of little her on the cover and a title reading, ‘Red’s story’. She starts to tear up a little and flips through the first pages.

“We wanted to make it easier for you to keep up with everything that may be different in your own life. This is a picture book that outlines every major and or sweet moment of your life,” you say, dropping your head a little. She stands up and immediately hugs the two of you.

“Thank you moms, this is everything I ever wanted.” She cries softly. You internally squeal that she called you Mom again and Bridget internally squeals because she felt comfortable enough to hug her again. The hug was short but it was a major step, one to be remembered. Maddox certainly thought that way as he took a photo of you three. It was definitely going into the book. After all, it had so many blank pages to fill

[literary-illuminati]

2025 Book Review #12 – Pale Lights Book 2: Good Treasons by ErraticErrata

Pale Lights has been, for the last few years, the only serial fiction I have been consistently reading week-to-week as each chapter drops. So I’m truly not sure if I can give any sort of objective recommendation on whether you should read it, both because I have long since lost all perspective and because reading this as a complete work is almost certainly an entirely different experience from inhaling each chapter as it comes out. That said: it’s really good! If you like janky epic fantasy webfics I would even say it’s actually the best out there (note that I hate most janky epic fantasy webfics).

Set in the subterranean, god-haunted, repeatedly post-apocalyptic and roughly early modern fantasy world of Vesper, Book 2 of Pale Lights picks up pretty quickly after Book 1 finished – though now with twice as many protagonists. Along with Tristan (alley rat, unrepentant thief, sole follower of a very involved and often unhelpful goddess of luck) and Angharad (noblewoman fleeing her family’s purge and massacre, masterful duellist, swore her soul to an ancient eldritch god for the strength to take vengeance) from the first book, the story now gives equal time to the POVs to their minders from the last trials: Song (expert sharpshooter, aspiring officer, heir to literally the most cursed and hated family name in the world) and Maryam (‘Navigator’ (sorceress), technically princess and first witch of a now-conquered and enslaved people, recipient of a ritual that was supposed to fill her with generations of occult knowledge and might which inexplicably failed). Together they form a cabal at the newly reopened Scholomance, the incredibly cursed and actively malevolent but otherwise extremely useful university used by the god-hunting Watch to train the next generation of their officer corps.

The book follows the four of them through their first year of studies, first at the Scholomance itself and then on a practical exam where the four of them are sent to the troubled principality of Asphodel to fulfill a contract for its ruling Lord Rector. As might be expected, nothing at any point goes according to plan, and all four of them are hounded at every turn by the ghosts of their past. Also scheming gods, titanic monsters, and incredibly unwise romantic entanglements.

Now this is serialized web fiction, and has both the strengths and the weaknesses typical of the medium. You spend an immense amount of time just existing in all four protagonists’ brains, and every one of them is by the end intensely nuanced, interesting and compelling (likeable, even!) after getting their own richly detailed character arc through the book (The friends reading along with me week-to-week basically all disagreed, but for me at least the story managed the rare trick of not having a single POV I sighed in disappointment to realize was the focus of an update). The worldbuilding is also full of fun details and extraneous little complications that don’t serve any particular purpose in the story, but do an incredible job of making Vesper feel like an actual place with a real history and not just dark fantasy set dressing. On the other hand, the pacing is...let’s be nice and say unhurried. Some of those fun tangents outstay their welcome, and I literally needed a reference page to keep track of all the supporting characters at points. It was also written in pretty much real time across nearly two years, and you can definitely feel that it took some time to decide just what the defining arcs and conflicts of the main cast were going to be – not to even mention the number of plot hooks or details that were basically forgotten about as things progressed.

The plot is divided fairly sharply into two sections – first at the Scholomance and then on mission in Ashpodel. The break is sharp enough I wondered for a while why this wasn’t just broken into two books instead of one (it’s certainly long enough), but having actually finished it all four character arcs really do run through both sections and only get really satisfying thematic resolutions at the very end. Of the two, I vastly preferred the second half – but then, that’s at least mostly just because my tolerance for magical school/university plots has worn incredibly thin these days. (Even the Asphodel plot verged a bit too close to ‘this is all the protagonists running through their teacher’s rat maze and everything is going according to plan’ at times, especially with a couple late revelations that irked me for entirely petty and subjective reasons). But even the true university sections thankfully only spend a bare minimum of time on expository lectures and stressing about exams in favour of politics, vendettas, and kidnapping or murder attempts.

I really can’t figure out quite how to phrase this without sounding dismissive, but the overall shape of the story is basically about the power of friendship, and learning to implicitly trust and rely on (and risk and sacrifice for) your friends instead of trying to control or manage everything yourself. But it really genuinely works! In large part I think because all four protagonists have arcs that approach and reflect it in their own distinct ways and end up reinforcing each other (the big climax cutting between all of them as they culminated was incredibly well done) – but also just because the sheer length the medium enables let the story really dwell on the 2nd act where they’re all wounded and resentful and keeping increasingly dangerous secrets from each other. Entertaining, compelling dysfunction that almost convinced you they really were just going to fall apart.

The worldbuilding is – well, hardly groundbreaking (the historical inspirations of every cultural are entirely transparent, though there’s at least a little twist on each), but a fantasy world that’s early modern rather than medieval in inspiration is honestly still refreshing enough to buy more goodwill than it’s ever needed from me. And the execution of how it’s portrayed does an immense amount to make the place feel lived in and just compelling – the different cultures and states all cohere and are full of enough bigotry, hypocrisy and petty vendettas to be believable, mostly. The gods, monsters, and magic is all genuinely eerie and on occasion awesome in the literal sense. The aesthetics of the whole series are just incredible, really - just don��t think too much about the whole ‘everything is a giant underground cavern’ thing when picturing scenes.

It helps that sheer constant, unrelenting practice have left Erratic really quite good on the level of prose. The banter and little slice of life moments are endearing and both heart-warming and funny as they’re supposed to be, and the dire ruminations and real drama almost always lands like it’s supposed to. Not always in either case, but honestly far more consistently than a great many traditionally published (and edited) authors seem to manage.

It’s impossible to really recommend sprawling web serials like this to 90% of people, but if you are in the market for a secondary world fantasy epic I really don’t think you can do better than this one.

[lovedreamer11]

How can you not notice that the Usurper was supported exclusively by misogynists or ambitious people who saw their own benefit in Aegon's rise?

Black characters who were loyal to the rightful queen to the end - these are the ones I respect.

Gormon Massey was loyal enough to Rhaenyra to risk his life trying to ride Vermithor.

Steffon Darklyn fled the capital, thereby refusing to recognize the Usurper as the rightful king, and brought Rhaenyra her father's crown. And Ser Steffon died trying to ride Seasmoke.

Lord Hayford, Lord Buckler, Lord Caswell, Lady Fell, Lord Harte, Lord Merryweather. All these people were given the opportunity to make a choice. To recognize Aegon as their king or to die, but keep the oath of fealty to the Queen. I have great respect for these people, because they were some of the ones who were true to their oaths, and didn't say all sorts of nonsense like how a woman can't rule, how it wasn't them who swore allegiance to Rhaenyra, but their fathers, brothers, and grandfathers, or how so many years have passed that they don't even remember how they swore their oaths (or whatever the green traitors justified themselves with). These lords and ladies chose to die as men of honor rather than live as traitors.

Addam Velaryon was accused of treason by Rhaenyra, but he didn't hold a grudge against the queen, and instead fought for the rightful ruler until his death. And Addam was a real brave man because he stormed Tumbleton with an army, knowing that the Greens had the advantage in numbers in dragons, and Vermithor and Silverwing were older and bigger than Seasmoke, but Addam was not going to hide or come up with tricks like the Greens usually did.

Rhaenys Targaryen literally died for Rhaenyra. She knew she couldn't stand against two dragons at once, but she didn't even try to run and tried to end the war by killing the Usurper.

There's also Roderick Dustin. I love this man. "We have come to die for the dragon queen".

Petyr Piper. This old man went into battle for Rhaenyra despite his old age. He was a cool grandpa. "I swore her my sword. Im older now, but not so old that Ive forgotten the words I said, and it happens I still have the sword"

Lyman Beesbury. The only decent man on Viserys's small council. "I am nn old man, but not so old that I will sit here meekly whilst the likes of you plot to steal her crown"