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acey-wacey · 18 days

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HIHI!!! I LOVED YOUR CHARACTER IS JEALOUS OF TSUM FIC!! (please I'm begging write more, it's too good)

Of course! I'm glad everyone liked them so much :)))

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Jealous of Their Tsum

Feat Lilia, Rook, Kalim

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🦇 Lilia Vanrouge 🦇

You're honestly used to Lilia popping out to scare you around campus.

Ever since you'd seen that Lilia had gotten an adorable doppelganger, you knew it would come to find you, just like the seemingly young boy always did.

It wasn't entirely unexpected when a little plushie landed on your head.

You were monetarily startled by the sudden ambush but you soon realized it was Lilia's tsum.

You laughed as the tsum blinked it's little dot eyes at you expectantly.

"You got me so good, Lilia-tsum," you praised the little bean while it hopped into your head and shoulders in glee. "Very scary."

You grabbed the tsum from where it was bouncing on your head and held it to your chest.

"You are just so adorable! I can't handle it!"

The tsum wiggled happily in your grasp and you pressed kisses to it's fabric forehead.

"How come I never get this when I scare you?"

You turned around to find Lilia hovering upside down behind you.

He did that to you so often you weren't even startled anymore.

You just smiled and flicked his forehead, earning a shocked stare from the boyish fae.

"Try being cuter next time."

Lilia frowned and dropped to the ground, landing gracefully on his feet.

"Is this face not cute enough for you?"

Lilia pouted at you with his best sad puppy dog eyes.

You, now immune to Lilia's antics, went right back to pressing smooches to his adorable tsum.

Lilia narrowed his eyes at the smug plush.

"Traitor," he whispered under his breath.

He could've sworn the tsum winked at him.

"If you want some affection, Lilia, you should try asking," you said nonchalantly while nuzzling your face into the tsum's.

Lilia vaguely sensed a trap but he would rather die than lose the object of his affections to a stuffed version of himself.

"Well then, my darling," he batted his eyelashes at you, making you smile. "Please?"

...

🏹 Rook Hunt 🏹

Rook left his tsum alone for 5 seconds and it was already gone.

Of course he couldn't expect anything less.

Curiosity was in his nature so of course his plush doppelganger would run away to explore a new world.

The tsum happily explored the NRC campus pausing often to appreciate the beauty of the unfamiliar world.

However, when you walked by on your way to class, the tsum was immediately entranced by your beauty.

It bounced after you and followed you around with hearts in its eyes.

After a while alone, you had begun to wonder what the strange noise from behind you was.

You turned around only to find an adorable round plushie hopping up and down on the ground.

It looked suspiciously like Rook so you narrowed your eyes at it.

"Have you been following me?"

The tsum squinted its eyes happily.

You laughed and bent down to look closer at the little creature.

"If I tell you to stop, will you?"

The tsum shook its body in what you assume to be a no.

"Just like the real Rook then," you groaned lovingly and unbuttoned the breast pocket of your jacket, opening it to the tsum.

"If you're gonna be here for a while, might as well get comfy, eh?"

The tsum eagerly hopped into your pocket and squirmed around with glee.

"You're actually kinda cute, you know that?"

You said to the tsum with a faint smile, scratching its head with one finger.

The plushie nuzzled into you and you patted it back affectionately.

"I must say, prefect, I am awfully jealous."

You smiled at the familiar sound of Rook's voice and paused, waiting for him to show himself.

You never looked around for him because you knew seeing you startled and frantic was just what he wanted.

Little did you know it was what he loved most about you.

"The great Rook Hunt, jealous of a tiny plushie," you said with a smug smile in your voice. "How low you have fallen."

Rook almost instantly appeared beside you with a sly smile.

"Not nearly as far as I intend to for you, mon chou." Rook clutched his chest dramatically. "But to see your affection passed on to one so similar to me and yet so different, oh, it breaks my fragile heart."

"Then I'm sorry, Rook, but your heart will have to stay broken as long as my adorable little pocket pal is around," you patted the tsum again, earning a joyful bounce.

Rook only sighed in response.

"There may yet be a day when I replace my fiendish friend as the object of your affections but until then, may you know my heart waits for you, my love."

You were frustratingly flustered by the sudden confession.

Rook always said sappy stuff like that but for some reason, it hit different this time.

You didn't say anything until he began to walk away.

"Hey, wait!"

Rook shopped to look over his shoulder at you.

"Come on, Rook," you groaned with a blush dusting your cheeks. You lifted the tsum out of your pocket, much to its dismay, and set it gently on the ground. "You don't get to say something like that and then walk away without kissing me!"

Rook smiled and ran to wrap you in his arms.

"If this is my reward, I should get jealous more often."

...

Kalim Al-Asim

Kalim and his tsum are inseparable, much to Jamil's chagrin.

It's hard to find one without the other especially when it comes to you.

Both Kalims flock to you as soon as they see you.

On one notable occasion, Kalim-tsum was a bit faster to bounce after you.

The plush launched into your arms, causing you to drop the notebooks you were holding.

You scowled lightheartedly at the adorable tsum in your arms.

"I don't suppose you're going to help me clean this up?"

You raised an eyebrow at the tsum but it just cocked its head at you.

You sighed and set the tsum onto your shoulder as you bent down to pick up your books.

"It seems every version of Kalim is determined to cause me trouble," you sighed, booping the little critter on the nose.

It wiggled its little button nose and hopped backwards on what you assumed was a sneeze.

You laughed and took the plushie back into your hands, tucking your books under your arm.

"I can't stay mad at you, you're too cute!"

You looked at the tsum helplessly susceptible to its charms.

"Hi, Y/N!"

You looked up to see Kalim running toward you.

He saw the tsum in your arms and beamed at you.

"I see you found my doppelganger! Pretty cool, right?"

"Yeah, he's pretty adorable," you cooed as you pinched the little things cheeks.

Kalim pouted and set his head on your hands right next to where you were holding his tsum.

"Why does he get to be adorable and not me?"

You held back a laugh at the puppy-like glint in Kalim's eyes.

The tsum hopped up onto Kalim's head and you took the opportunity to grab Kalim's cheeks and bring your face close to his.

"You're a whole different kind of adorable."

At that, Kalim beamed, automatically squishing his face into your hands.

That did earn a laugh from you and you couldn't help but kiss his nose.

"You are the absolute cutest, Kalim. No tsum can top that."

#twisted wonderland #twisted wonderland x reader #twst #twst x reader #disneytw #lilia vanrouge #lilia vanrouge x reader #rook hunt #rook hunt x reader #kalim al asim #kalim al asim x reader

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vorestarr · 5 months

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ascended astarion and vampire spouses

so I've been reading the dnd 2e manual "Van Richten's Guide to Vampires" for fic/game inspiration, and there's this really interesting chapter on vampire brides and grooms. after reading it, it's very clear to me that Astarion didn't turn Tav into a typical spawn, but into a vampire spouse, which are two very different rituals with very different outcomes.

the typical vampire spawn creation process is exactly what Astarion describes happening to him: a painful death, a painful rebirth into undeath, fighting his way out of his own coffin, and Cazador's complete control over him. this is described pretty clearly in the guide to vampires:

According to most related tales, a vampire can create another simply by killing a mortal either with its life-energy draining power (draining all the character's experience leveIs) or by exhausting the mortal of his or her blood supply. If the victim's body is not properly destroyed, it arises as a vampire, under the control of the creature who killed it, on the second night following the burial. [...] Most vampires remember the instant of their death and the nature of their killer, and understand immediately their new nature. Certainly their new hunger gives them a good idea of what they have become. They must immediately free themselves from their grave. either by breaking it open from within or by assuming gaseous form and diffusing out.

so that's definitely what happened to Astarion, but that's not what happens to Tav. after ascended Astarion turns Tav into a vampire, they can ask him what happened, and he describes the following:

Astarion: You are so beautiful... And you will be beautiful forever. Thank you for trusting me. Player: What exactly happened? Astarion: You were drained dry, and at the height of your delirium, I granted you one drop of my own blood. Things will be a touch different for you than they were for me when I was a spawn. I'm imbibed with unfathomable new talents. I am fairly certain I can extend Mephistopheles' blessings unto you. Player: Does that mean I need not fear the sun? Astarion: You need not fear anything. You will be stronger, swifter, sharper, but you won't be different. You were already perfect before. It's hard to improve.

for reference, this is how the guide to vampires describes the ritual for vampire spouses:

To actually create the bride, the vampire bestows what is known as the "Dark Kiss". lt samples the blood of its mortal paramour—once, twice, thrice—draining her almost to the point of death. This process causes the subject no pain; in fact, it has been described as the most euphoric, ecstatic experience, in comparison to which all ether pleasures fade into insignificance. Just as the subject is about to slip into the terminal coma from which there is no awakening, the vampire opens a gash in its own flesh—often in its throat—and holds the subject's mouth to the wound, As the burning draught that is the vampire’s blood gushes into the subject's mouth, the primitive feeding instinct is triggered, and she sucks hungrily at the wound, enraptured. With the first taste of the blood, the subject is possessed of great and frenzied strength (Str 18, if the character’s Str isn't already higher), and will use it to prevent the vampire from separating her from the fountain of wonder that is its bleeding wound. lt is at this point that the creator-vampire's strength is most sorely tested. He is weakened by his own blood loss, and also by his own rapture as the "victim" of a dark kiss. Overcoming the sudden loss of strength and the inclinations of lust, the vampire must pull her away from its own throat, hopefully without harming her, before she has overfed. Should the subject be allowed to feed for too long (more than 2 rounds), she is driven totally and incurably insane, and will die in agony within 24 hours. Once the subject has stopped feeding, she falls into a coma that lasts minutes or hours (2dl2 turns), at the end of which time she dies. Several (1 d3) hours later, she arises as a Fledgling vampire—and her creator's bride.

this to me sounds like what Astarion describes. he drains Tav almost dry, and at the very last moment, gives them a single drop of his blood. (also interesting reading this guide, the single drop avoids the problem of the vampire spouse being driven ravenous with hunger for the vampire creator's blood and attacking them. did Astarion know this and give them one drop on purpose to avoid that and Tav potentially being driven mad by it? or was he being selfish and this is just a nice but unanticipated outcome?)

i kept reading and there's a lot more interesting information about vampire spouses, but the most interesting thing I found related to the game was this:

Although there are some folk tales that describe the bride of a vampire as its slave, in much the same way that offspring are slaves, a bride is free-willed from the moment of her creation. The creator vampire does have great influence over the bride. however although this control is totally nonmagical. When a vampire is created in the traditional manner—that is, when a victim's life energy is completely drained away—the new fledgling instinctively understands much about the vampiric way of unlife, and about its own strengths, weaknesses* and needs. Not so the bride.

so basically, the vampire spouse is not tied to the vampire creator in the same way as a spawn (i.e., not able to be fully controlled) but is still extremely reliant on the vampire creator to teach them how to live as a vampire. the guide goes on to describe that some vampire creators may lie to their vampire spouse about the control or powers they have, in order to exert more control over them.

interestingly, if you ask Astarion if he can compel you the way Cazador compelled him, he doesn't give a straight answer, he just says this:

Player: Cazador could compel you - can you compel me? Astarion: Why would I need to? You're going to be wonderfully obedient.

to me, all of this says that Astarion was telling the truth when he told Tav that they would be different from him as a spawn, and also in emphasizing that they are not a spawn but a consort. he didn't create a spawn, he created a vampire spouse. he married Tav, and because of this Tav also retains their free will.

of course, Astarion doesn't say this. if he knows, he withholds this information in much the way that this guide describes, as a way for the creator to maintain more control over their spouse. but still, extremely interesting implications for the ascended Astarion romance, imo.

other interesting facts about vampire spouses from the guide to vampires:

the married couple has telepathic communication that can span miles -- so Tav and Astarion can potentially have a telepathic bond even after the tadpoles are gone. (another note, this communication has to be consensual both ways for it to work, so you can't just dig around someone's mind if they don't want it.)

the vampire creator is extremely jealous and possessive. (yeah lol)

their life forces are linked, so one suffering a great deal is felt by the other.

the bond can be broken, but the ritual to do so has to be initiated by the creator. to break it, they both spill their blood on the ground and allow it to mix. this dissolves all aspects of the bond (i.e., telepathy and linked life forces), but the spouse stays a vampire.

#forgive me if this is already posted somewhere #i went looking for a post like this but tumblr's search system is so abysmal i couldn't find anything #so i'm just posting for my own reference and then tagging it for others in case :)#astarion #ascended astarion #astarion ancunin #astarion romance #for reference #meta #baldur's gate 3

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physalian · 2 months

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What No one Tells You about Writing Fantasy, #2!

I did this list about 7 annoyances about fantasy, but I write in this genre for a reason! Fantasy knows no bounds, it can encompass all other genres within it. You can write a fantastical murder mystery, fantasy horror, fantasy romance, political drama, slice-of-life, comedy, whatever you’d like!

Whether it’s urban or high fantasy, supernatural or scientific, here’s seven great benefits of writing in this genre:

1. No modern means of communication

Unless you’re writing a world with phones or phone-adjacent devices. Phones and instant communication seriously inhibits the plausibility of dramatic irony and tension when you have to keep coming up with reasons to keep your characters from calling or texting each other everything they know. It’s exhausting, I tell you, and such a relief when phones aren’t a factor.

With that said, without phones, you have complete freedom to design your own magical channels of supernatural FaceTime, as weird and zany as you want. But without instant connections? Your character who knew too much can’t pass on the intel before they die. Your hero team can’t call for backup in their darkest hour. Otherwise easily preventable tragedies and deadly miscommunications are now very real.

2. The Monster Allegory

Fantasy and sci-fi tend to overlap more than they’re set apart, and in that overlap sits the monster allegory. Everything from werewolves to vampires to witches, reapers, demons, angels, goblins, trolls, wraiths, fairies, mermaids, ghosts, to Eldritch horrors and your classic Hollywood cast of mummies, creatures from the black lagoon, and Frankenstein.

Most of the time, the monsters aren’t just monsters, they represent a monstrous aspect of society the author wants to challenge and caricaturize in a fun and entertaining way. Or, the monsters are the good guys and the humans are the real terrors. Or, you’ve got two kinds of monsters to allegory two human sides. Sometimes they represent metaphorical demons, like vampires often representing addiction and werewolves repressed identities.

What all of this boils down to is the hyperbolic nature of science fantasy that allows you to go over-the-top with your metaphor and allegory in a way that a book grounded in reality just can’t.

3. Magic Systems!

Do you love world building? Do you love filling pages upon pages with your cool and unique set of superpowers you want your characters to have? Do you dream about your fight scenes and dramatic slow-mo shots?

Then Fantasy is for you!

There are zero limits to how you want to define your magic system. You can go classic with the familiar archetypes of elemental magic, wizards, sorcerers, and witches. Or you can step off the beaten path and design a whole new funky system of power sets. Best part? Your readers will have an awesome time imagining themselves with those powers, and debating endlessly about how it works.

4. Real-World Politics, who?

Amazon’s Rings of Power was twice-doomed when they only got the rights to adapt the appendices of The Silmarillion and when they decided to inject current political problems into a timeless story written purposefully to be divorced from those politics. You *can* write about human politics, but in fantasy, you don’t have to. You *can* interpret Lord of the Rings to be an allegory about the World Wars, but no matter how hard you argue, it wasn’t written with that intent.

Which means: Even if your story is set in the reality-adjacent fantasy version of 1543, you are free from the following: Racism, homophobia, sexism, religious bigotry, mental health bigotry, gender norms, anti-feminism, toxic masculinity, and more. “But that’s how it was-”

Nope. This is fantasy. You built this world, you decided to keep in the discrimination. Or… You can fill your fantasy world with a rainbow of gays, POCs in power, women in power, men unafraid to be compassionate and caring, a religion that doesn’t foster hate and division, the list goes on. You. Are. Free.

5. Nothing is too “unrealistic”

Both that you will always have people whining about how X would never happen so write the book you want to read, but also because fantasy is fake. Fairies aren’t real. Mermaids aren’t real. There are no rules for how they must be written and that’s how we have so much variety with so much room for interpretation by so many creators. Twilight made how much money writing about vampires that sparkle like diamonds in sunlight and crack like marble?

This is fantasy, it’s supposed to be unrealistic. Yes, your plot should make sense, but don’t be afraid to get weird. Write at least some of your story dependant on those fantasy elements. Write a story that can’t just be told in the real world minus the spectacle. Don’t be afraid to be sincerely fantastical and weird. People love weird. People love loving weird.

6. You are in complete control

But you do still need to research, unfortunately. Unless this is urban fantasy that depends at least a little on the human world, yours is completely your own to govern like a god tweezing weeds from their garden. You get to design your own geography and weather patterns and seasons. Your own countries and kingdoms and politicians. Your epic pre-canon fantasy war and the stakes that it was fought over. Your species, races, and ethnicities.

It’s a shame that a movie like Avatar (2009) set out to be this wholly unique take on aliens with music completely divorced from earthly bonds, new languages and a visually and culturally distinct alien species… and ended up a largely generic blue Pocahontas in space. It forgot that it was fantasy and didn’t go weird enough. They have horses, monkeys, wolves, rhinos, and deer just re-skinned with some extra limbs and colors. It’s pretty but it’s so, so shallow.

It could have become a cult classic like many a positively *weird* 80s off-beat fantasies, and now it just… exists. It makes a whole lot of money but its impact on the cultural zeitgeist is negligible. I’m the only person I know that can name every major character in the movie, and I’m no Avatar obsessor. They had complete creative control, and this is what they did with it. Don’t be Avatar. Take your creative freedom and run.

7. Even if it has been done before, do it again

You can say this about any genre, particularly romance, but fantasy and sci-fi, by the gatekeep-y nature of their fans, can be a lot less forgiving when it comes to claims of “unoriginality”. No one hates Star Wars more than Star Wars fans. Fans of these genres can get… concerningly attached to their favorite stories (mostly because the people who like them had only their fictional heroes to protect them from very real bullies).

But Game of Thrones exists because the author likes Lord of the Rings and went “yes, but what if it was an R-rated parade of misery?” Dungeons and Dragons exists because people wanted to roleplay in an LotR-esque world. Legolas and Gimli single-handedly defined what a badass elf and dwarf looks like in high fantasy. And people still gobble up media ripping shamelessly, or even good-naturedly, from this one story.

So on my other list, I argued that the sum of your parts is still original, even if the components aren’t. On this list, I implore you this: It’s not stealing or appropriating to write another Legolas if you love Legolas. Everyone loves Legolas. How many generic buff action heroes do we have and love? How many Hallmark romances tread the same predictable path? Who gives a damn if it’s unoriginal? Just make it entertaining and have something fresh to say in the end (or don’t, that’s fine too), and people will read it.

And when people say “Oh, you mean like Legolas”, take it as a compliment, not an insult. Yes, exactly like Legolas. Here’s my new elf because I adore this other book, now watch him go on a new adventure that I wrote for him.

#writing advice #writing resources #writing tips #writing tools #writing a book #fantasy #scifi #writeblr #writing

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luxlightly · 7 months

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Each of the "bad" endings for the bg3 companions is them getting what they think they want, but only because of a deep insecurity instilled in them from the unbalanced relationship they were in before the events of the game.

Gale tries to become a god because he has been made to feel by Mystra that he could never be enough the way he is.

Astarion becomes a carbon copy of his abuser because of the fear he instilled in him that makes him believe he can only be safe through power.

Shadowheart gives herself entirely to the very goddess who stole her whole life from her because she was made to believe she owed it to her and that she could only regain her lost memory through her.

Lae'zel is killed and consumed by the queen who enslaved her people because she was made to believe that she could only exist and be known through her devotion to her.

Wyll swears eternal servitude to the hells because he was made to feel by Mizora that anything short of total and complete sacrifice for his father was tantamount to killing him himself and his only worth was what he could do for others.

Karlach burns up and dies because she's been made to feel that her life can never be her own and that the only way to keep hold of her autonomy is through death.

And the great irony is that, in getting what they want, they ensure they get what they most fear.

Gale will never feel like he is enough.

Astarion will never stop being afraid.

Shadowheart will never know who she is.

Lae'zel will die in obscurity, never known by her people.

Wyll will never truly be able to reconsile with his father or devote himself fully to the people he wants to help most.

Karlach still doesn't get to live her life free of the hells. Zariel still gets the last laugh.

It's by overcoming their insecurities and fears that they come to understand what they truly want and find happiness.

I far prefer this style of "what you want may not be what you need" kind of story to the "the most healthy thing in life is acceptance of not being happy" style that's so popular. When what you want isn't what you need, it's not generally because you were meant to be humbled or because you needed to accept a level of unhappiness in order to be "healthy".

It's because what you think you want is often based on fears and insecurities. Each character's good ending is not them realizing "you can't get what you want", it's realizing they never really wanted it in the first place. And the thing they thought they'd get from it : acceptance, safety, family, renown, etc, they DO get, because of the support your character gives them. And they are so much happier for it.

I like that a lot.

#bg3 #bg3 spoilers #baldur's gate 3 #baldur's gate 3 spoilers #spoilers #long post

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totisviribus · 2 months

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My kind, innocent, logic-brained engineer boyfriend: “How’s your writing for your book coming along today?”

Me, cursing at the imaginary people in my head who are currently wrestling in a coat closet instead of solving the mystery, meanwhile my laptop is at 10% battery with 10 tabs open about the structural integrity of a parking garage in Boston, what it feels like to be elbowed in the nuts, Regan’s economic theories, and a Reddit post about why the teacup grip is bad when firing a gun. I haven’t seen the sun in 3 days and if I stop listening to one of my painstakingly curated playlists I might die. I’ve written a handbook for a cultish organized crime company and often have to refer to it like a real handbook because I forgot what I’ve written. The coat closet scene is now 3,000 words and these goddamn characters just need to trust each other for Christ sake-

“Its going great thanks for asking honey🤗💕✨”

#writing #writer #creative writing #writblr #writeblr #writers community #writers of tumblr #writing problems #writing a novel #writing memes

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fandomapocalypse · 2 months

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Love and relationships in Hazbin Hotel

Episode 7 has something interesting and in the song that is called "Out for love" is sung by a character that is referring to a type of love different from a romantic or sexual one, Carmilla is openly talking about familial love. Vaggie of course relates this to her romantic feelings towards Charlie and how she wants to help her. But something else interesting happens in episode 7, Rosie is properly introduced as Alastor's bestie. This leads to showing another type of love: platonic love.

Now to the main point of this post: Alastor. It's canon that he is aroace and as an ace myself (I'm still questioning whether I'm aromantic or demiromantic but this post isn't about me lol) I'm extremely happy to see myself through him. Plus, the fact that the perfect Tumblr sexyman is aroace is genius and hilarious, you can't possibly top this type of humor.

Alastor for me has been a great ace representation and I've seen myself mainly in how he acts around his friends or other people.

When it comes to Niffty it looks more like a relationship between someone with their feral cat or their crazy little sister. But it's still a genuine connection and a fun chaotic one at that, he even lets her touch his hair and climb on him. In regards to Mimzy, he has shown he cares about her and welcomes her with open arms. He openly hugs her, which shocks everyone in the cast. This is extremely important because Alastor usually only starts physical contact to mock others or to pretend physical closeness as a manipulation tactic (like he often does with Charlie). When it comes to people he hates Alastor may touch them but will quickly wipe his hand on his clothes, like what he did with Lucifer. Personally, I don't like personal contact and only accept it if I start it and usually I use it as a way to show affection with close friends. Also, they have known each other since they were alive, so Mimzy probably knows a lot about Alastor that the rest of the cast doesn't. Mimzy also says that they used to dance together. But that doesn't exclude the fact that she uses Alastor's friendship and affection to save her own ass and taking into account how Husk reacted to Mimzy, this isn't the first time she does this. Also, the relationship between the two starts to crumble after what happened in episode 6 and Mimzy seems to be the kind of friend who will pretend that they are still on good terms and still ask Alastor for favors in the future.

Now jumping back to Alastor's true bestie: Rosie. They probably bonded at first over their cannibalistic natures but it's clear that it evolved beyond that. Personally, I don't ship Alastor with anyone, but when it comes to Rosie I headcanon they are in a QPR.

There are various reasons why this relationship is so great and wholesome, the first one being that there is no power imbalance, they are equals. Both are cannibalistic overlords and are on equal footing in terms of power. When Rosie first sees Alastor she is genuinely happy which is something new because most people react badly to him out of fear or hatred.

Alastor respects Rosie, he even compliments her, in her introduction he says she is "the most darling, delightful, and dangerous Overlord of this side of the pentagram". Considering how self-centered and narcissistic he can be, it means a lot. Alastor would rather die again than compliment another Overlord who isn't Zestial, which he respects but out of fear. Alastor respects Rosie as his close friend. When they stand next to each other they give an air of equals, something that never happens thanks to Alastor's ego and sadism towering over everyone else. With Rosie it's different and Rosie can openly tease Alastor with the "Look at you, so polite! Alastor you can learn a thing or two" when comparing him to Charlie when meeting her, or "I'm just kidding, I know you're an ace in the hole" to tease him about his asexuality. This is something that not a lot of people can do because Alastor is obsessed with control and respect. After all, we see how badly he reacted when Husk insulted him.

He also harmonizes with her, he willingly makes a duet with her in "Ready for this". He isn't interrupting her, instead, he agrees with her and they sing together in unison. This is the first time he doesn't openly hijack a song or fight for control over it, like he did with Vox and Lucifer (although this also happened because this is Charlie's song, but who cares the point still stands). Also, this is the first time we see him dance with someone, instead of forcing them to join his musical number (like he does with Charlie on various occasions). Alastor and Rosie are in perfect sync and it's so wholesome and precious to see him being so openly happy with her. Many have pointed out that the only times Alastor is genuinely smiling is when he is with Rosie and it shows by his expression in his eyes.

Finally, Rosie is the only one capable of bringing the most human emotions out of him, the most obvious one being confusion. In the scene of "ace in the hole" Rosie manages to confuse and surprise Alastor for a solid second, which is a huge change of his persona around everyone else of control and manipulation. Also, it's hilarious that Alastor doesn't know what being aroace is, he probably thinks he is above all that.

He is openly relaxed around Rosie and lets her touch him in an affectionate way, something that not even Mimzy can do. It may be because of the height difference but Mimzy only touches Alastor to hug him and to emphasize he is a "heartless son of a bitch" and Alastor clearly gets irritated by her touching him that way and even moves her finger away from him. This never happens with Rosie and he even welcomes her touching him by not having any walls with her. It's Rosie the one starting the physical contact and Alastor doesn't seem to mind and he never tries to use physical contact to take advantage of her like he does with other characters. Rosie is one of the few people who can touch Alastor without losing an arm and instead have a positive reaction out of him.

The most genuine relationship Alastor has is with Rosie, he even has the confidence and comfort to stop his elegant and reserved persona of not swearing. Which he only does when he is truly angry, like what happened with Lucifer. Or when he is threatening someone like he did with Adam. Or when he is shocked when his microphone breaks. He swears to insult Susan, which is someone they both despise equally. Something that you would only do with your closest bestie.

Finally, let's talk about Alastor's breakdown in the last episode. We've already seen that Alastor is capable of having friendships that aren't based on an end goal. Alastor knows this but he rejects it because he is at the hotel originally for selfish goals and doesn't want his emotions to get in the way. He is terrified of ruining his reputation as a sadistic killer and becoming an altruistic who cares about his friends. Alastor wants to stop himself from starting to care about the crew the same way he cares about Rosie, Mimzy, or Nifty to some degree. This is confirmed by his conversation with Niffty, where he admits he has grown accustomed to the main crew and perhaps he is growing feelings of affection towards them in his own way.

In regards to shipping him with Rosie, I see it as a platonic ship or a QPR. Some people have a headcanon that if they had known each other when they were alive they would have married for tax benefits and to avoid the social stigma, which is the only right answer. When they first met in hell they probably had dates in cannibal town where they ate human flesh while gossiping and trash-talked about the other overlords. Which is exactly what an ace person like myself wants from a close friendship.

As an ace, I really like Alastor not because he is the ultimate Tumblr sexyman or see him as hot but because he is an extremely fun character that I can relate to. I'm grateful for the crew and VA that take into account he is aroace and take seriously that aspect of his character. I don't mind that the aroace representation in Hazbn Hotel is a narcissistic psychopath, if you want a more wholesome ace representation you can check Todd in Bojack Horseman or Saiki in The Disastrous Life of Saiki K.

I don't mind people shipping Alastor, after all, it's just people having fun, but you can't ignore that he is aroace and how this affects his relationships. So yeah have fun and respect and aroace community :)

ok thanks for hearing my rant bye

#hazbin hotel #alastor #rosie #hazbin hotel rosie #asexual #aromantic #aroace #aspec #radiorose

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adragonprinceswhore · 2 months

Text

Colour My Mind, Bring Me Back

Chapter V: The Kinslayer King I Series Masterlist Aemond Targaryen x Lannister!wife

Summary: Prince Regent Aemond Targaryen returns to King’s Landing victorious after besting his uncle during The Battle Above the Gods Eye, securing his withering brother's claim to the Iron Throne. Upon his arrival, he learns that his wife was a casualty of a Black ambush, suffering a severe blow to her skull.

Warnings: 18+, MDNI. AFAB reader, she/her pronouns (3rd person), angst, canon divergence (Aemond survives), war trauma, depictions of violence, head injury, amnesia, ableism, medieval medicinal practices, longing, yearning, major character death, smut (loss of virginity, P in V, erectile dysfunction), allusions to Aemond’s 13th name day

Word Count: 4000

A/N: Dreams, thoughts, and letters are in italics.

Alys places his hand in her palm, slicing into the prince’s calloused skin. The cut stings, and Aemond winces as her fingers press meanly into the sides of his palm, forcing more blood to flood from the wound.

She hums in satisfaction, catching the prince’s blood on a piece of fabric. Bringing the red-stained cloth to her lips, she whispers something unintelligible before throwing it into the fire before their eyes.

She’d ordered his men to build a fire three times larger than what they usually made do with. After, they had all been dismissed, leaving the prince and the witch alone.

The fire roars, shifting from orange to green before his eyes. Alys continues to mumble words he cannot understand, grabbing his hand, still leaking fresh blood, and holds it for him in front of the fire.

“Look”

In the green flames soot dances, forming shapes before his eyes.

He sees himself on Vhagar, plummeting down from the sky, breaking the surface of God’s Eye with such force the water ripples to the sides and crashes around them like the waves of Blackwater Bay.

He can clearly see the cause of his death, Dark Sister penetrating the socket where the eye he was robbed of used to be.

“Now you know”

The soot from the fire travels to his face, infiltrating his lungs.

It’s hard to breathe, each inhale burning.

Air cannot reach his lungs.

Overcome with panic, he breathes in deeper, more forcefully, but he’s still suffocating.

Just as Aemond thinks he’s dying from lack of air, his lungs fill up. He loudly inhales, waking himself from the memory that had felt just as vivid as the day he’d asked Alys to show him how he’d die.

His study is still dark. As his seeing eye adjusts to the lack of light, he rises from the settee he finds infrequent sleep on.

He scarcely remembers how it feels to sleep uninterruptedly. How it feels to have dreams. Instead, when his mind is too tired to stay awake, it chooses to remind him of the battle wounds he still carries.

It started after Rook’s Rest. He woke most nights in panic, heart racing in his chest as visions of Aegon’s burning body flashed before him. Seeing his brother’s armour melt against his body, hearing his screams of agony, begging for futile help no one could grant him as he was stuck on Sunfyre’s back, the beast echoing his rider’s roars of pain.

As a child, he’d found solace in sleep, preferably by Alicent’s side. After he lost his eye, he learned that sleep is a privilege not granted to those who fought for their birthright.

Still, his night terrors had eased as his wife began to share his bed, allowing him to anchor himself to her soft flesh as they drifted off to sleep together.

A short time after Rook’s Rest, he’d asked for the Maesters help in finding uninterrupted sleep. They’d simply suggested he drinks enough wine to quiet his mind before retiring to bed. Aemond did not enjoy the loss of control, or the unexplainable sadness that often made itself known whenever he indulged in too much wine, and therefore dismissed the advice.

When the pain of losing his eye grew too great to disregard, his younger self used to soothe the ache by picturing the man he is today; a feared and skilled swordsman who rides the largest dragon in the world. A man worthy of respect; someone who instil fear in the weak-minded.

He’d taken up the habit once more, only now it was her his mind’s eye visualised whenever he felt disoriented. In war, a good night’s rest was invaluable to the wellbeing of a man embarking on battle. Away from his wife, he’d ease his constant fretfulness by imagining their reunion.

How she’d look at him with adoration and admiration as he returned victorious to King’s Landing. How she’d cordially greet him in front of masses roaring in excited delight, only to lean in and make her desire for him known in whispered High Valyrian.

Sometimes, he’d even imagine telling her he was to be crowned king, imagining how her eyes would shimmer with contentment as he tells her she’ll be his queen. Wishing for his own brother’s demise is equal parts foolish and juvenile, but in the seclusion of his imagination, he’s allowed to indulge in any scenario able to calm his inner turmoil.

Thinking about what’s to come doesn’t work anymore.

She did not greet him when he came back from Harrenhal. She did not whisper any High Valyrian confessions. She was not delighted to reunite with him.

Now, recollecting his own fantasies makes him wince with humiliation.

How could I have been so foolish?

His chest contracts painfully whenever he reminisces about their youth, yet that sensation is still better than the aversion he feels for his previous naive ways.

Laying his head back on the settee, Aemond breathes slowly through his nose, reminding his body that it can still draw breath.

He visualises one of their first meetings, only a short time after he’d returned from Driftmark, gaining a dragon and losing an eye.

His head seemed to be in a constant state of anguish then, always pounding so loudly he was sure even the Maesters could hear it.

All he had wanted was to escape the pain, hurtling himself head-first into reading, desperate to study any subject which could one day make him into the feared prince he knew he was destined to become.

One day she’d just been there, waiting by the side of his bed until he awoke.

“Were you having a bad dream?”

“Who are you?”

“You know how I am! How did you find the tome? My Septa told me to ask for it back”

“It belongs to me. Besides, it’s in High Valyrian, hardly legible to you or your Septa”

“Oh, come now, Aemond! Your sister told me your High Valyrian is far superior to that of your siblings. You could teach me!”

“You’re not of Valyrian blood”

“Yet I am a diligent student!”

“Perhaps I could teach you a few simple words. Your tongue is probably not able to pronounce the more demanding ones”

“Excellent! In return, I could teach you some manners befitting a prince”

The playful bickering they’d indulged in as children was a fond remnant of a time when they were free from the shackles of duty, teaching and teasing each other endlessly. Now, a bitter feeling spreads within the prince, tainting the memory.

Remembering merely serves to intensify his loneliness. A memory is like a bolt of lightning, kept alive because it is bouncing between those who recollect it. A shared effort.

Being left alone with remnants of the past serves no one. It only feeds the bottomless pit of lonesome despair remaining.

Dawn brings light into Aemond’s quarters, illuminating the dust-covered books, half-written correspondences, and pots of ink adorning his writing desk.

He usually begins his duties towards the realm in the early morning, attempting routine in the hopes it will encourage normalcy to enter his life and ease his mind.

This morning however, he feels far more disoriented than usual. He’s guided by his urges; unwilling and unable to carry out his monotonous morning routine.

Instead, he allows himself to sink further into indulgence, slaking his unabated yearning.

He reaches into the top drawer of his desk, just as he’d done the night before. The worn letter greets him again, his fingers careful not to ruin it further. His weak mind last night had done enough damage.

Foolishly, he had only kept three of the letters his wife had sent him when he was away fighting for his brother’s cause. He’d made sure that each of their correspondences was hand-delivered, keeping their exchange away from the prying eyes of the Blacks. They’d also written exclusively in High Valyrian, to ensure that the young messenger boy did not steal a peek. And when he read whatever it was she needed him to know, he promptly burned the paper, ensuring that it would not end up in the hands of their enemies.

This letter was his most treasured one, a small remnant of a loving wife no longer by his side. She’d sent it mere days before the Blacks seized King’s Landing, perhaps even the morning of the ambush.

“My Aemond,

I bring joyous tidings.

Your seed has quickened. I am with child.

Do not plan your festivities yet, dear husband.

It is still early and I have yet to tell the maesters.

But I can feel him.

If his claws are those of a lion or dragon, I do not know.

They scratch me from the inside, making me aware of his presence.

When I miss you dearly, I lay a hand on my belly and feel the warmth of our child inside of me.

Reminding me that I will never be without you, my love.

We’re waiting for you”

When Aemond returned home, he found that neither was waiting for him.

Before melancholy bests him, there’s a loud thud against the prince’s door, followed by the harsh echoing of wood slapping against his wall. Ser Perkin the Flea looks bewildered as he rushedly pants,

“Your grace, forgive my intrusion. Your presence is needed. Urgently”

When he enters the small council and sees Aegon’s chair empty, Aemond knows why he’s been summoned.

The King is dead.

His mother is also absent, surely succumbing with grief yet again. This was the third child she’d outlived, each loss pushing her further and further towards madness.

We’re all slowly losing our senses.

He moves to his usual seat, to the right of the empty chair reserved for the King. After returning victorious to King’s Landing, Aemond had assumed his brother would appoint him Hand of the King, a fitting transition from Prince Regent. Yet, his brother had stalled the task, causing Westeros to drift further away from normality.

The meeting commences swiftly, Grand Maester Orwyle taking the lead and confirming what they all already suspect,

“The King is dead. I have examined his body and cannot be sure what caused his demise, though his weakened state needs to be acknowledged”, he says, inhaling deeply before continuing, “It would not have taken much for him to perish”

The room is eerily quiet, no one willing to make the first assumption of what the King’s untimely death entails.

A few silent moments pass before Lord Corlys Velaryon clears his throat, the rustling of his robes breaking the silence, “King Aegon did not leave any heirs”

Aemond tries to meet his eye, but the Sea Snake looks away.

“Except for his younger brother”

In the corner of his eye, the prince watches a smile break out across Lord Larys Strong features.

“A Kinslayer King?”, the Clubfoot mumbles gleefully. Corlys ignores him, finally shifting to meet Aemond’s gaze,

“Two Targaryen men remain; you and the young Prince Aegon. If the boy were to be appointed, the Seven Kingdoms would still not know stability. Eleven is far too young for a regent”

Corlys voice grows louder, “The realm needs a strong leader; someone who instils respect in his subjects. Someone who is fearsome, yet fair”

The cautious eyes of the small council members move to observe the prince.

Aemond hums, pondering his reply. He’s dreamt of being crowned king more than once, yet he must consider the perils still lurking in the Seven Kingdoms. Would his coronation cause an uproar, or prompt the cheers that had greeted him when he and Vhagar returned from the battle above God’s Eye?

The Lord Commander of the King’s Guard breaks the tense silence this time,

“The armies that had set sight on King’s Landing quickly surrendered when word of His Grace besting Prince Daemon reached the capital. I do not think many would dare to question his reign”

The room vibrates with low hums of agreement rumbling from the lips of the small council members.

“Still, we’ll need to convince former Black allies-”, Corlys says impatiently,

“Traitors”, Larys corrects him.

“Yes-”, the Sea Snake bites back, “-They need to be convinced that peace is once again secured in the realm”

Aemond hums, “They may protest a Kinslayer sitting on the Iron throne”

“All Targaryens are kinslayers”, Larys chimes in, his tell-tale unsettling voice sending a shiver of unpleasantness down the prince’s spine.

‘Tis true. Though Aemond slaying Prince Lucerys had instigated the Dance, war had turned each Targaryen into a murderer of kinsfolk. Only the children were spared of the ill-famed title, too young to wield a knife, or ride a dragon into battle.

“Spare young Prince Aegon”, the Master of Ships suggests, eyes solely on Aemond, “A simple act of kindness the realm needs. Make him and Princess Jaehaera your wards. Stand before your Kingdom with your wife by your side; show them you were spared with the grace of The Seven. Chosen to survive and rule”

The room is quiet again, every member present observing the prince’s reaction.

Corlys’ eyes are kinder than Aemond remembers them; perhaps tired from the violence they’d spent years enduring. The adventure he’d chased as a restless, young man seemed to finally have bested the weary Lord of the Tides.

“A strong, united front with an undisputed King and his Queen. If we secure that, we have enough ammunition to convince the rest of the realm to bend the knee”

Aemond lowers his head once, agreeing with Lord Velaryon’s assessment. He feels a rush go through his body, a mixture of fear and excitement running in his blood. He sets to leave the small council, head already overflowing with matters that need to be sorted before his coronation.

Grand Maester Orwyle rests a hand on his shoulder, asking the Prince to stay and discuss one final matter before retreating.

He’s left with Orwyle, Corlys and Larys, the latter still faintly smirking as if the realm’s insecure succession amuses him greatly.

“One of your greatest strengths is your wife, your grace”, the Grand Maester says, “She’s been loyal to you throughout the war and survived a fierce ambush”

Aemond feels unease spread inside his chest at the mention of his wife. He had only briefly discussed her with Orwyle since returning from Harrenhal, not keen on allowing his uncertainty of her to be known.

“Showing the realm her fondness for you might sway the public's perception of you as a… insensitive man”, he continues, evidently choosing his words carefully.

Larys breathes out a low snicker, “They say your heart is as black as the night you slew Prince Lucerys”

Corlys looks at the Master of Whispers with disdain, “Your grace”, he says, demanding Aemond’s attention, “One of the quickest ways to ensure stability is for your marriage to reflect the strength you will have as a leader”

Now it is the Sea Snake’s eyes that search for the prince’s, begging for understanding,

“The princess needs to act the part of a queen; round with babe, hand in hand with her husband. It is up to you to ensure the realm has an heir, Aemond”

The Seven must mock him.

Cordially leading his wife towards their seats in the Great Hall, Aemond places his hand by the small of her back like he’s done countless times before. Each time his hand grazes the fabric of her golden gown, her back goes rigid.

The coronation had been quick, a simple summoning of Lords and Ladies residing in the Red Keep together with a handful of delegates from the smallfolk. After they’d been informed that King Aegon II had perished due to the numerous injuries he’d suffered through the Dance, the coronation began. Corlys Velaryon announced Aemond, first of his name, as King of the Andals, the Rhoynar and the First Men, Lord of the Seven Kingdoms and Protector of the Realm.

The Lord of the Tides had also paid his wife special attention, proclaiming the “comely Lady Lannister now Queen of the Seven Kingdoms and Mother of the Realm”. The addition to her title hadn’t been consulted with Aemond prior to the coronation, and the young king wondered if it was a last-minute addition to appeal to the masses. They ardently cheered, seemingly pleased with their new regents. Still, ‘twas the Lords outside of King’s Landing that needed to be persuaded into supporting Aemond as king.

The freshly appointed Queen appears disoriented, surely exhausted from the tumultuous day. Aemond takes it upon himself to guide her, pulling out her chair and whispering for her to take a seat since the celebratory feast will soon commence. She says a quiet “thank you”, mindlessly following his instructions. She seems lost.

Or empty.

The irony of thirsting for the Iron Throne, for the title of King, for so long and now dispassionately seizing it, is not lost upon him.

He does not feel changed. He is still the same man; mind left in battle and with a broken wife by his side. Only now with the Conqueror's crown above his brow. A crown he’s worn before.

Aemond steals a glance at her. How many times had she told him he’s the one who deserves the crown. That he was a far better choice to rule the Seven Kingdoms, instead of his drunken brother. This was the unattainable fantasy they’d whispered into each other's ears late at night, shielded by the private comfort of the other’s embrace.

This was supposed to be a victorious occasion.

When he’d consulted Grand Maester Orwyle on his wife’s condition, the old man said “You have to teach her how to be herself again”

The task feels impossible.

He did not construct her. How was he expected to put her back together again?

Neither of them eat much, both consumed by the thoughts fighting for space inside their restless minds. He knows she’s far too exhausted to stay awake much longer, yet she makes no attempt to excuse herself, or ask him to pardon her.

“Shall we retreat?”, he leans in to ask quietly next to her ear. She jumps at the sudden sound of his voice, pulling her from her thoughts, and unsurely nods in accordance.

They walk back to their chambers in silence.

“Teach her how to be herself again”

Aemond swallows the ball on unease in his throat, “If you feel weary, do not hesitate to tell me”

She doesn’t look at him, “Of course, your grace”

He opens the door to their chambers and gestures for her to enter. She rushes inside, going to the vanity to remove the lavish gold and red necklace around her neck, followed by the ruby-adorned rings in her ears.

“Good night”, he says stiffly, cursing himself for being so utterly inept in her presence.

“Will you not spend the night here?”, she asks, fingers moving behind her to undo the lacing of her shimmering gown.

He does not know what to answer.

“I-, I apologise deeply for my indiscretion last night, lord husband. I know we need an heir to placate the realm”

She tugs at her dress, pulling it down her shoulders, leaving it on the ground as she steps out of it.

For a moment he recognises her.

The determined look in her eyes, the assured steps she takes towards the bed.

But as he approaches, she’s lost again.

She’s lying on her back, clad only in her shift. Through it, he can see the contours of her thighs as the fabric gathers between her legs.

Her heaving breasts as she takes deep breaths.

Her plump lips.

None of it causes arousal to stir within him.

Offering herself to him, she resembles prey; drained of life and ready to sacrifice herself to her predator.

“Teach her how to be herself again”

“Can I kiss you?”, he asks, voice quiet yet deafening in the silent room.

“Whatever you desire”

He places one knee on the bed, hands balancing on each side next to her head so that he may lower himself over her, and presses a careful kiss to her lips.

She’s cold. Her body is still stiff. She doesn’t kiss him back.

Wounded, he retreats, observing her face. Her eyes are closed and when she opens them, he cannot disregard their sadness.

“Perhaps tomorrow-”

“-No!’, she interrupts him, voice desperate, “I want to! Please, your grace”

On his 13th nameday, Aemond has also feigned bravery. He’d told the whore on the Street of Silk that he wanted to, even when his body did not comply.

His body does not obey him now either, distress amplified by the giggles and cackles echoing in his mind, bringing him back to the overcrowded whorehouse he was humiliated in.

He ducks his face again, now moving to press his lips to the tender skin of her throat. He burrows his nose in her hair, inhaling her scent and thinks of the first time they laid together, when he’d been afraid of sullying her, tainted by the brothel he was forced to visit.

He’d been afraid of not being able to please her; not being able to show her how much he loved her, memories of spectators laughing at the one-eyed, impotent prince still burned into his mind’s eye.

Removing each of her garments, his love had slipped under the furs of the bed, beckoning him over gently.

Under the furs, surrounded by darkness, Aemond had only felt the soft warmth of her skin touching his, freed from the internal heckling cursing him for years, and finally finding home as he sheathed himself inside of her.

Coming together as one felt natural; like they’d been parted in a previous life and finally brought together again.

Everything with her had always been self-evident.

Growing bolder, he presses more kisses down her collarbones and towards her chest. With each movement of his lips, she flinches.

Still stiff.

Her reluctance quenches any arousal bubbling in his belly. It only reminds him of how pitiful his life has become; a king detested by his people. By his wife.

Left with the memory of her, forbidden from grieving her.

Cursed to remember.

He persists, moving down her belly to reach the tuft of hair between her legs, obscured by her chemise.

He brings one hand lower to caress her leg, letting it travel up under the fabric towards her centre.

She’s even stiffer now, breathing rapidly in anticipation.

I cannot.

He removes his hand from her thigh, sighs and moves back to observe her. He cannot bear the look in her eyes.

Fear.

If he thought that seeing disgust reflect in her eyes pricked his heart, fear broke it into two.

Exhaustion, grief and loneliness consumes him, causing his throat to close up.

He cannot see her like this; take her like this.

He moves to stand, gaze avoiding her spread out silhouette. “I have a matter to attend to”, he mutters in panic, mind not vigorous enough to produce a proper excuse.

“Please, let us not stall the inevitable any further”, she interjects, voice no different from a plea, “I-, I want you to take me”

“P-, please. I am yours, Lord Husband”

Liar.

“AEMOND!”, he roars, unable to take her exclusion any longer. His outburst startles both himself and his wife, who twitches in fright on the bed, “You call me Aemond!”

Spinning around, he walks towards the door in long, quick steps. His hands are tingling with bloodthirst; itching to wield a sword, preferably stabbing something with such force it falls apart.

Just like he just did.

Everything taglist: @humanpurposes @theoneeyedprince @valeskafics

Aemond taglist: @moonlightfoxx @iloveallmyboys @violetletovi @ietss

HotD taglist: @xcinnamonmalfoyx