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houseofhyde · 1 year

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ii. a game of westerosi chess.

pairing. daemon targaryen x fem!reader

synopsis. the six chess pieces in the king’s game and how your uncle calls checkmate. read the first part here !

warnings. niece!reader, targcest, possessiveness, themes of sexual/romantic ownership, alicent slander (im sorry, i love her, but this is daemon’s pov and we all know that man wakes up every morning and makes the conscious decision to be a hater), daemon being a filthy pervert (affectionate), smut ( masturbation, breeding kink, voyeurism, dacriphilia, virgin kink- if that's even a thing-, implied bi!daemon )

word count. 11.3k

taglist. @nyctophilic0vitnir

hyde’s input. yes, i could have just made them get married after the events in part one. no, that wouldn’t be as fun as watching daemon suffer. i went and fucked myself over a little though because i never realised how much i’d struggle to write from his point of view without the fear of making him too out of character or his behaviour feel, idk, fake? empty? idk what the right word is but yeah. i caught the flu and have had sick-brain the whole time while writing this so who knows if the writing is even comprehensible lmao :)

disclaimer: i’ve never played chess (i'm too dumb for that) so pretend any incorrect comparisons are simply because there’s different rules for chess in westeros <3

when daemon targaryen was five years old, no more than a mischievous little babe who haunted the halls of the red keep, there was no one greater in his eyes than his older brother.

his older brother who bonded with the largest dragon; who snuck wine into his cup when the adults were occupied with their political indiscretions; who stood up for him even in times where he was the culprit.

his older brother who had the longest winning streak in the whole of the red keep when it came to chess.

from maesters to the king, and ladies in waiting down to his own mother, there was not a single person within the castle who could face viserys targaryen in the game of strategic moves and walk away undefeated.

it was an understood fact: viserys targaryen was a master at chess.

one day, after catching his younger brother, moon-eyed and fresh-faced from wondering the dragonpit in search of a dragon to claim, and now spying upon his winnings against a pretty maiden, viserys had called the boy over. with daemon captivated by the sight of the chess board, the older of the two felt the cogs in his brain turning, an idea spawning.

you see, when one becomes the best at something, there is no more challenge. no fun to be found when you’re no longer sat at the edge of your seat wondering if this person will finally be the one to best you. and, so, viserys thought if no one else was good enough to beat him, he’d need to create a worthy opponent.

enter onto the scene, daemon targaryen.

with him being but a child still, viserys began his teaching with what captivated the little boy most: the figures which sat atop the checkered board.

“this, brother, is the pawn. it’s the least worthy piece, but do not let that fool you into thinking it is weak, for anyone may wield power if they work hard enough. a pawn may become a queen, just as a fool may become a lord.”

the rogue prince, now a man of three and thirty, awakes with one thing on his mind: his niece.

he’s always been a restless sleeper, not even in dreams would he escape the havoc of his own head and the inner-workings of it. and, though he’d scarcely recall the images his sleeping mind would conjure, the evidence comes in the state he’d find himself in: sprawled diagonally across the bed, the pillows which had once provided rest for his head now scattered along the floor and the bedsheets- which scratched uncomfortably on his skin, a slick of sweat oozing from his pores and leaving him looking glazed, like a freshly cooked hog at a feast- now a wrinkled tangle around his waist, trapping his legs in the cotton confines.

he spies the familiar lick of sunlight casting through the closed curtains, affirming that dawn has indeed passed and a new day is upon him.

running a hand over his face, a disgruntled sound escapes him, sluggishly moving himself to sit up right, that familiar yet new ache in his back flaring up and begging for release in the form of stretching limbs and extended muscles. age has begun to sneak up on him, grabbing him in it’s clutches and reminding the egotistical man that he is just that: a man, not a god, much to his own displeasure.

the hand departs from his face only to pause midair. a smell, heady and musk infused, reaches his nostrils. it’s dirty and grimey in every way yet enticing him to seek it out again, to sniff out wherever the odour is coming from and bury himself in it till he suffocates.

tentatively, he retraces his movements till his fingers dance over his face once again and realisation kicks him like the hoof of a horse, hard and with a lingering pounding.

only, the pounding comes from his crotch rather than his skull.

the smell is you, in all your dribbling, soaking, honeysuckle glory, stained on his skin like the slaves of volantis are stained with ink.

another inhale floods his senses with the memories from last night, replaying the feel of your bodies pressed together in dance, and your hand squeezing his almost painfully tight as he leads the way to your chambers, and the eager spreading of your legs as he at last satisfies his hunger for you- a hunger which had started sometime after you’d first began to present the figure of a woman, all supple breasts and pouting lips and silhouettes made of dresses that hid from view the naughty parts of you your uncle’s cock ached to see.

the voice in his head, which more often than not drives him to behave erratically, this time is but a whisper, a seduction of craving and curiosity that has him slipping his hand further down, brushing over the fine line of his lips and awaiting entrance as he parts his mouth open, brushing his stained digits over his tongue.

a jolt of heat burns down his spine while the sweet tang of your taste invades his senses. like biting through a lemon, the taste should repel him in every way, flood his soul with shame and leave him disgusted in himself.

instead, he licks his tongue in a silent plea for more.

the thought of never bathing again crosses daemon’s mind, unwilling to wash away the evidence of the peak he’d driven you to with nothing but his fingers. gods help the world when he finally gets his cock in you, for he’s likely to become a deranged, dirty shell of a man too busy getting fill after fill of your pulsing cunny to ever plunder himself into the oil-infused waters of a bath.

you’d be so sweet for him, a little harlet for him to mold and bend and break into every which-way he desires you. and it’s that thought, plus the taste of your dried essence, which has the rogue prince’s cock stirring beneath the tangled sheets.

desire awakens much like a dragon would: slowly and, then, all at once, eyes wide, chest huffing and puffing, and body arising from the ground.

the prince kicks the tangled sheets off, no thought given to whatever corner in the chambers he tosses them towards, eyes and hand and mind too focused on the once flacid organ between his leg growing more solid and red in the tip as the moments pass.

“fuck...” he means to only think it, yet speaks it aloud into the solace of the room as the warmth of his hand makes itself familiar with his cock.

he gives himself a tug, dry hand meeting the movement with resistance yet the layer of skin which conceals his soon-to-be seed soaked slit retracts enough to allow the blushing head of his cock to poke through. while he’d typically prefer to wet it with a whore’s cunt, or slicken it with whatever mindless ointment he could find laying around, daemon finds himself gathering his own saliva and spitting a fat drop of it into the palm of his hand.

the glide of his digits over the organ becomes easier, allowing him to work himself into full-blown hardness, cock taking over the use of his brain and sending him into a state of restless lust, demanding to be fed and satiated with the emptying of his stones, preferably into the warm, pulsating, tight cunt of his little dove.

while the prince does debate his ability to throw on a robe- or, even, roam the halls in his nude glory- and seek out your likely sleeping form, to watch as you startle awake with the breaking of your maidenhead and cry out for your uncle to fill you with his spend till you’re swelling with his bastard, he decides he prefers the thought of making you wait a little longer, see how much he can test the limits of your impatient desires.

after all, a maiden always feels best when her cunt’s as soaked as her crying eyes and her mouth’s spewing plead after plead, begging for his cock.

while one hand works over himself, the other sneaks it’s way back into his mouth, lust bursting into bright colours as he licks over the taste of you, soaking it into his bloodstream and making you part of his genetics- just as he is part of yours.

daemon allows his eyes to slip shut, sinking into sweet fantasies and mental pictures of bouncing tits and blood stained sheets, only to reopen them within an instant at the sound of his chamber door slamming against the solid wall.

“oh my!” a young girl dressed in rags turns her back on him as quickly as she notices his naked form, as if allowing him to compose himself and make himself presentable. “i’m so sorry, my prince! i would have knocked but he said i should simply let myself in!”

daemon makes no attempt to find cover.

“do whatever it is you need to do.” he speaks with a tone far too relaxed for a man who’s still got a grip on his cock. if anything, the raggedness in his breaths comes from his frustrations of losing the flavour of you on his tongue. “don’t stop on my account.”

she hesitates upon facing him again, eyes clearly wandering off from her own commands and glancing down at his exposed crotch more times than he imagines she’s comfortable with. from the look of her, she’s young in age- likely only recently blossomed into a woman- and, at the thought of his being the first cock she’s ever seen, he feels himself grow closer to his peak, a sick and twisted satisfaction buzzing through his veins at the possibility of giving the sweet girl her first sense of visual arousal.

when the shock passes, yet still lingers in her features like a harsh cough irritates the throat, she makes her way fully into the room. in her arms, a tray with a mass of food, enough to feed a lord and his men for several nights. without a word, she lays the assortment out on the large table within his chambers, hands shaking under her own nerves.

meanwhile, daemon slows the flick of his own wrist, teasing his cock with the impending satisfaction. a smile, too faint to be seen yet present enough that he feels the slight stretch of his lips, births itself as he considers who this offering of a feast may be from.

“what’s this about, girl?” he throws the question out into the air, clear amusement in his tone.

“the king, my prince.” just as he expected. “he’s ordered this be sent to you.”

and so it begins, he thinks.

his brother is buttering him up, showing a sign of good-will to have daemon in his good graces when he orders the rogue prince betroths himself to the king’s pretty daughter, her supposed virtue now a pile of crumbled ruins in the eyes of the court. as if he needs convincing to take such a sweet young thing to wife, the perfect little bird made of blonde hair, valyrian blood, sugar-coated cum and the sweetest song of whimpers and pleas.

“then make sure you let my brother know how eager i am to receive his feast.” he can feel himself reaching the edge of his peak, tethering off the edge and seconds away from painting his hand white with wasted seed.

perhaps the serving girl will lick it clean for him.

“of course, my prince.” once finished with the arranging of the feast, the maiden straightens out some wrinkles in her skirt- though it does nothing to clean up her looks- and begins to make her way back toward the entry to his chambers. “the king will be surprised to see you so agreeable, though it will help soothe his unease, my lord.”

“his... unease?” daemon’s movements stop, the air runs dry and the girl visibly stiffens, hand curling around the door handle and clenching it as if it is the only thing giving her support.

clearly, she’s said something she shouldn’t have.

“i must go, my lord.”

“unease over what, girl?”

“you... you don’t know, do you?” she’s beginning to irritate him, speaking in riddles and shaking like a leaf in the winds of winter.

“answer me clearly or i’ll have your tongue.” the girl can not see the way he moves off the bed, nor the way he spies his eyes towards his trusted sword propped against a wall, but she certainly hears the loud thud of his feet meeting the floor, feels the darker shift of energy in the room as the rogue prince makes a threatening advance towards her.

“ser gerold royce, my prince...” he’s near certain she lets out a pathetic whimper, like a wounded doe. “he’s proclaimed himself as lord of runestone.”

the world comes to a stand still as her words flood over him.

while the prince is frozen in his spot, face an empty canvas devoid of emotion, the young girl makes a swift exit, wise enough to not wish to stick around long enough to bare witness to the hot-headed prince’s reaction. the slamming of the door on her way out seems to startle him back into motion, naked limbs striding across the room and grabbing at the door. he twists the handle and gives a harsh tug, strong enough to have the wood smash as it collides against the wall.

the door does not open.

he attempts again, and again, and again, and is met with the same resistance each time. only then does it dawn on him- the feast, the unease- this was never about his brother keeping him in his good graces.

this was about the king keeping him locked away in his chambers.

“next, you’ve got your knight. while still not a very point-worthy piece, this holds power in the way it moves, jumping over pawns like a real knight slices through his enemies with the point of his sword.”

four days pass by slowly within the confines of his chambers.

at first, he rages. pacing the floor till the plush carpeting runs thin, hacking away at hand-crafted furniture his ancestors had sat upon and broken fast at, mouth dropped open in a bellow of impassioned words of all the things he plans to do once he gets his hands on his older brother, most of which start and end with his grip on the king’s neck.

then, he tries rest.

it’s a hopeless attempt, though, as the thoughts are running far too rampant for him to ignore the fact he’s confined within his room, not a clue of what his brother has done in regards to runestone’s rebellion. then come the thoughts of you, his little dove, likely hurt, and confused, and needing your dear uncle’s guidance on how to continue onward, how to outsmart the wretched ladies within your father’s court, how to ensure you do not wind up married off to some boring oaf of a lord, with not a drop of valyrian blood in his veins.

after sleep evades him, and rage consumes him once more, he switches to pleasuring himself, hand squeezed tight around his cock and working over the sex organ till he’s completely spent, his sack drained and nothing but pathetic droplets of seed painting his skin by the eight, ninth, tenth peak he drives himself too, fuelling the fire of his lust with past rendevouz- the pentoshi whore he’d fucked in front of her own husband, the nights he’d spent in the streets of silk in rooms where cups and cunts were shared amongst the crowd, the young knight who’d sought him out after a tourney and cried out as daemon stretched the tight pink hole of his arse- and with future desires- the slapping of his stones against your pearl as he takes you from behind, your pretty eyes struggling back tears the first time he fucks his cock into your silky wet hole, the sick, and nasty, and down-right degenerate want to bend you over the small council table and shoot his seed into your womb for all those wrinkled cunts to bare witness to.

ultimately, it’s the memory of how you taste that sends him spiralling for a tenth time.

the rogue prince is a sexual deviant, that was the very first whisper that had flooded the keep about him. and oh how he’s worn it with pride over the years, a twisted joy found in watching their outrage each time he speaks of crass and acts on sin.

even so, there is only so much he can take until he reaches his limit. and, thus, with his cock feeling like it may fall off if he does not give it some recovery time, the prince returns to raging.

that is how the king finds him, sword in hand and the expensive fabrics that once made up the curtains leading onto a balcony now nothing but tattered rags on the floor.

“i must say, daemon, this takes me back.” viserys’ tone carries amusement, which licks at daemon’s ire and coaxes it back to life, hand gripping the hilt of his sword as the prince reminds himself- despite how infuriating the king may be- that he cares deeply for his older brother. “me entering your chambers and finding you amidst a temper tantrum.”

the prince is quick on his feet, turning on his ankle till he finds himself gazing upon the face of his brother. he’s dressed in his finest robes, a mixture of reds and blacks, yet daemon does not miss the green jewel on one of his fingers. the crown upon viserys’ head reflects the sun, shining offensively in the prince’s face as if to more harshly remind him of the inheritance he’ll never claim, the throne he’ll never sit.

“what is the meaning of this?” daemon bellows and instinctively raises dark sister, the tip of the blade pointed directly at his brother.

the sound of kingsguards drawing their own weapons floods the room yet the raise of viserys’ hand halts them all in their defence, calling his brother’s bluff.

“i had some business to attend to.” the king speaks so casually, as though he’s discussing the recent weather or what he’d eaten for his supper the evening before.

“so you imprison me in my chambers as if i am some ill-behaved child!” daemon means to question him yet his words come out as more of a statement, an acceptance of the matter at hand.

“yes, well, what kind of idiot would i be to let my brother wander free in my castle while i’m grasping at straws to prevent a war?” the room grows more tense with every exchanged word between the two brothers, a feat which doesn’t go unnoticed by the guards who stand by the king nor the maidens who had rushed in after the reopening of daemon’s chambers, scrambling around to tidy the place up. “a war which you started in the first place.”

it irks something in daemon, the way viserys remains level headed whilst he’s pacing the room, and gripping his sword, and releasing his frustrations in bursts of loud voices and disgruntled grunts. condescending in every way, it sends daemon into a headspace where he’s no longer a man-grown and, instead, a tear-stained child being reprimanded by his king and grandsire.

he liked to torture young daemon who, despite his best efforts, was always prone to outbursts of emotion- outbursts the old man liked to meet with calmed expressions and tired words of disappointment, dismissing his grandson to bed.

it seems to be a commonality shared among kings, antagonising daemon.

“a war i started?!” and yet he falls for the trap every time, meeting viserys’ passive with his aggressive, striding those few steps closer till he’s a hair away from touching the king with his blade. still, his brother holds off his guards. “and how do you suppose i done such a thing while being imprisoned!?”

“cool it with the theatrics, brother,” viserys punctuates his exhaustion with an eye roll and gives a single nod of his head, giving the kingsguards the go-ahead to swarm around daemon.

a pair of them, both young in their knighthood and matching in face, grab at the rogue prince’s arms and hold him in a stand-still while another guard plucks the weapon from his hand. daemon shoves against their hold and is met with more resistance.

dark sister is passed among the guards, each hand that touches it being added to a tally of people on daemon’s list of men to disembowel. finally, viserys holds the weapon, examining it like it is the very first time he’s seen it.

“daemon, it brings me no joy to do this,” the king starts up again, eyes meeting the glaring amethysts of his brother. “but with the tensions arising and war creeping over the horizon, i can not afford to risk anything going amiss.”

“get to the point, brother. you’re speaking in rhyme as if you were some bard.”

“very well. from now until i decide you are not a threat to this kingdom, your confinement will be stretched from your chambers to the red keep. you are to carry no weapon and you will step no foot out of this castle.”

“you’re a fool if you think i’ll agree to this.”

“it is an order from your king!” viserys lets the mask slip, intentionally or not, and his irritation shines through like the stars paint themself across the dark sky. “and if that’s not enough to keep you in line, you will also be monitored at all hours of the day, every move you make within these walls will be shadowed by that of a knight of my choosing.”

daemon targaryen considers murdering his brother.

“and i see no man more fit for the job than ser criston cole.”

for the first time in his life, daemon targaryen may just go through with it.

“the bishop may be similar to the knight in it’s point count, yet it moves differently. while a knight can not move three times in the same direction, a bishop must stay within the colour it started in. think of a bishop like a maester: chained to an oath it can never break”

he’d rather be forced to endure a lifetime of self-flagellation than another moment of this conversation.

“it is in your best interest, your grace, to cut this state of anarchy out from it’s roots before any other houses chose to follow in the footsteps of runestone.” the new hand of the king is certainly an improvement from the hightower cunt, daemon can’t deny it. yet a part of him feels the knife of betrayal twist deeper into his back upon realising his brother had not only ignored his own warnings of the green lord till rhaenyra brought them up too, but he’d once again given the role to a random lord in his court rather than his own brother. “we have cause to believe that the dandarrions may be next to follow, given the less than kind words your daughter had for them during her tour for a marriage.”

“then there is the matter with the lannisters and, of course, the never ending tensions with the dornish folk. they’re more weary than ever, since someone,” maester mellos has never been a subtle man, despite all his supposed wits and knowledge, and so it flies over no one’s head when he takes a glance at the rogue prince and his standing guard, the insufferable man who’s made himself daemon’s shadow. “went to war with the triarchy.”

“my apologies for riding you all of that tyrant crabfeeder!” daemon speaks for the first time since he’d been forced to sit at the small council. “i’ll be sure to stand by and allow the next one to rip you all to pieces.”

daemon drowns out the rest of the meeting, uninterested in hearing his brother grovel at ways to keep his subjects at bay, as though they are the ones that rule over him.

gifts of gold for the dandarrion, a knighting for the lannisters’ youngest lords, peace-offerings in the forms of poetic words, and sweetened fruits, and lavish silks for the dornish. each gift more empty than the last.

it’s the mention of your name that brings him back into the room.

“were she here, we could have used her as a bargaining plea for one of these stronger houses,” ser lyman beesbury is the one who speaks and, with each word, the rest of the councilmen grow wider in the eyes and stiffer in their seats.

daemon explains their otherwise odd reactions away with them simply feeling uncomfortable discussing you in his presence, everything changed and nothing the same since sometime between the night he had you pressed against your door and his confinement within the keep.

upon release back into the castle, he’d searched for you first of all, paying no mind to criston cole as the knight struggled to keep up with his rushed footfall, mind too focused on the renewed anger he wished to placate with his cock in your mouth and the further destruction of your purity, all in the name of spiting your father.

when he’d reached your chambers, however, he’d found nothing but a mess of emptied trunks and an unkept bed.

“the princess is not here.” ser criston had spoken between gasps of air, chest heaving beneath the unnecessary layers of chainmail and armor his position forces him to wear.

daemon had demanded an answer for your whereabouts, only to quickly realise the knight was none-the-wiser. it was the new hand, ultimately, that clued him in, over sips of wine and looks of caution from other council-men amid a private feast.

“driftmark, prince daemon.” he’d dabbed at the corners of his mouth with poise and composure, everything about the man seemingly perfected for politics, serving only to irritate the prince further. “the princess has accompanied her older sister and her new husband on their trip to laenor velaryon’s home.”

that was the last daemon had heard of you.

a near moon later and you were still out of reach, likely turning your nose at the smell of salt that coated the walls of the velaryon household and wondering why a certain red-speckled dragon had yet to swoop in on the island, carrying the cause and answer to all your problems upon it’s back.

“dare i say i agree, your grace,” another of the men chimes in, his words barely a whisper at first, glancing nervously toward the king. “perhaps we may write for her return and see to it that a betrothal be made.”

daemon chooses to observe viserys in this moment, eyes trailing over his features and taking note of every wrinkle in his brow, every greyed hair within his unshaven face, every upturn and scorn of his lip. there’s a wave of unease that’s fallen over his brother, and it only grows with every moment that the lords speak of you in the rogue prince’s presence, the air thick with the discussion the two brother’s had yet to have regarding the rumours of your deflowering.

“and, tell me, my lords, what you suggest we tell the princess’ current betrothed?” maester mellos, ever incapable of holding his tongue, barks across the table, deathly unaware of the looks that befall the council nor the tensing of daemon’s shoulders. “the king is trying to avoid war, not further instigate one by implying her current betrothal is not good enough, that house-”

“that’s enough!” the king rises from his chair all at once, slamming his hand down on the table and commanding the attention of everyone in the room, more so when he recoils in pain. all at once, the rumours of his declining health and the effect it’s had on his body feel all too true. “there will be no further discussions of my daughter nor the prospect of a new betrothal. what’s done is done and i will not go back on my word to appease your fear-mongering speculations. we will continue our diplomatic relationship with these houses and ensure they do good to remember who sits the iron throne.”

the men obey like sheep, each bowing their head and mumbling false reconciliations.

one by one, they all take their leave.

first, lyman beesbury, who with pale face and solemn eyes lays apologies at visery’s feet. next, the master of laws and maester mellos, neither of them wasting time with niceties and opting for a mere bow towards their king. when all the chairs lay empty, save for daemon’s and the king, silence runs thick through the room. neither brother moving, each testing their unnamed opponent and awaiting the first blow through the tension to be made.

daemon grows impatient.

“unless corlys velaryon fucked a new son into our lady cousin and had the babe birthed in a matter of days, i do wonder who you’ve betrothed my niece to on driftmark.”

“do you know what your problem is, daemon?” though viserys’ words come out with inquisitory tones, he leaves no space for the prince to answer. “you’re so busy with your own schemes and plans that you fail to see when you’re the one being played.”

daemon feels small.

for a moment, he’s no longer a man grown into a soldier, with a mighty sword and a fearsome dragon. instead, he’s frail and weak, and staring across at his older brother as he beats him once more in the game of knights and checkered spaces, a taunting look on his face as he knocks over the little boy’s king piece and declares himself victor.

when the moment passes, he straightens his posture and rises from his seat, and reminds himself of the words his mother would comfort her crying babe with each time he failed to win, whispers of how there’s always something to be gained in any loss he finds.

he settles with leading his brother further into the trap of rumours him and his niece have conjured up together.

“i hear your new wife is fond of the seven, brother.” the prince reaches to grip the hilt of his sword, only to find an empty space and the reminder that he carries no weapon as of late. “ask her to pray for your daughter, i don’t believe she tasted the bitterness of moon tea after our evening together.”

the king does not call daemon’s bluff.

“this right here? the rook, worth more than the bishop or knight, yet less than the king or queen, it is an allusive piece. play the game wisely and your rook may trap the king, leaving it with nowhere to run.”

with the passing of another moon, daemon plunders deeper into insanity.

he’s always been a man of possession, the kind who owns and conquers and takes. objects, lands, people. they’re all the same in daemon’s chequebook of ownership. and, while living a rather messy and unkept life, he enjoys the pleasantness of having his possessions in his line of sight, like the sword he’s worn at his hip since the old king bestowed it upon him, or the seating he takes at every royal feast, chair angled perfectly to keep his eyes on the brother, nieces, family he possesses.

with dark sister out of reach and his most recent favoured family member out of sight- the pretty niece he’s silently layed his claim on-, destruction is imminent.

no longer does he debate with his own inner-turmoil over if he will go against the king’s orders but, rather, he questions when.

when will he redeem his previous loss against ser criston cole, beat the knight to the ground and steal his weapon as he lays unconscious?

when will he slip through the cracks in the castle walls, making use of the secretive halls built by maegor the cruel himself and slice through any guard who may attempt to get in his way?

when will he take the skies atop his fire-breathing mount, fleeing the city of whispering cunts and chees-playing fools?

the answer to each questions comes back to one thing, one person, one possession he needs to locate first.

you.

the events to follow the council meeting had lead him to several conclusions.

the first, and most obvious one, was that you clearly were not on driftmark, as lord strong had so boldly claimed. the second took him a few sleeps to fully decide upon but, remembering the words spoken of your betrothal among the council men and the apparent greater houses they could have given your hand to, daemon crossed off the possibility of you being in winterfell, the young stark lord likely too prideful to entertain the king’s earlier propositions of marriage after the way you’d left him amid a feast to go and- falsely rumoured- fuck your uncle.

with the dandarrions, the lannisters and the dornish folk already ruled off the list, it left daemon with few options.

his strongest lead is the baratheons, a long-standing connection between the two houses and a recently widowed lord who’s previous wife had gifted nothing but girls from her womb, it took no genius to assume a targaryen bride would serve him well.

daemon will soon find out he's wrong.

there’s an unease that takes over someone’s chambers the moment they notice something has been tampered with, whether it be as silly as a glass moved a few inches across a table or something as significant as a chest of drawers laying open when they’d clearly been left shut.

it tickles the back of the prince’s neck this very evening, skin rising to mimic that of a goose as he trails his eyes over his surroundings.

he’d returned to his chambers later than usual this evening, the day spent cornering council-men and threatening them- daemon had quickly discovered they feared him less with no blade to slice through them and his own personal minder at his back, that ridiculous kingsguard armour reflecting every ray of sun and every burn of candlelight.

daemon had taken to tormenting the poor ser crispin only a matter of days into their forced companionship. he figured that, if he may no longer seek joy in the streets of silk or the bloodshed of his enemies, let him at least take pleasure in the squirming discomfort of a man he loathes entirely.

“my niece,” he’d spoke as the two sat through their usual quiet supper together. “did you enjoy fucking her?”

“i did not fuck princess y/n.”

“well, of course not,” daemon pushed his spoon back and forth, passing time while he thought up his next taunt. “my younger niece has always had the more refined taste out of the two of them. rhaenyra, on the other hand, well she’d fuck a hound if it licked her the right way.”

“all this from a man who preys on his own blood for his sexual deviance. you and i both know what you done to your niece, how you seduced such a-”

“my nieces have always seemed so alike. both pale haired, both sharing the same smile, both wearing the same dresses.” the knight and the prince had long abandoned their food now, discussion heavy with daemon’s accusation of ser criston abandoning his own vows and committing what he can only imagine would be declared treason, deflowering a princess. perhaps soon the two will share something in common. “now i wonder if they feel the same. you must know, so tell me, did rhaenyra’s cunt grip your pathetic cock in a vice that threatened to ruin any other woman for you? or is that a trait only my youngest niece possesses?”

even now, hours into the late night and several more cups of wine drowning in his system, daemon can not bite back a dry laugh as he recalls the astound look upon the knight’s face, a mixture of disgust and discomfort.

he’s seated- more accurately speaking, he’s draped- upon a chaise, muscles tense and mind racing, in need of distraction. most of his nights end like this now, several emptied pitchers of wine along the floor, red staining his mouth and his own figure collapsed over whatever surface he finds first. occasionally, he’d attempt to have his way with a serving girl, ignoring the looks of ser criston as he stands guard outside his chambers and watches the prince enter with his partner for the evening, yet most were dismissed before daemon could satisfy himself, a mixture of his own drunken incontinence and their far too placid natures.

at least the whores of the silk street make him believe they want him.

letting out a groan, he sinks further into the seat, legs bent at the knee and feet planted firmly on the ground as he lets himself lay back fully. he’s contemplating taking rest here for the evening, and weighing the likely-hood of awakening with a new pain in his neck.

it would certainly be a more comfortable sleep than the would he’d taken last night, back slumped against a wall and body sat atop the cool marbled floor.

he makes his choice, limbs too tired to make the few paces to his bed, and resigns himself for the night, twisting once more to find the most comfortable position upon the chaise and closing his eyes.

only to reopen them instantly.

something rustles. that feeling of unease creeps in once again, slow like fog over the horizon, hazy and threatening, and cold in every sense of the word. someone has been in his chambers, is in his chambers, and they’ve left something askew.

his eyes dart over the room, trying to assess every nook and corner and crevice within it in hopes of spotting a pair of spying eyes or unsettled objects. struggling due to all the blind spots his position has created, daemon heaves himself back into the upright position, figure slouched and back curved uncomfortably.

the rustling happens again.

he shoots up from his seat, wondering if his inebriated state has begun to create delusions, or if the psychosis caused by staring at the same red walls of the keep nonstop has finally begun to take over. he must be going mad, he thinks, eyes scanning over the whole of his room as he turns in place, cursing the more he notices nothing out of the ordinary.

until he sees it.

there, placed exactly where his tired limbs had been mere moments ago, lays a note.

it’s folded over and sporting a strange yellow blotch in one of it’s corners while, in the centre, written in the blackest ink so delicately and flowery it near stirs his cock in his breeches, kepus.

he snatches at the paper, near tearing it in two with the speed he unfolds it, eyes racing over every scribble and every swirl of pretty inked words.

the rain is the only thing that brings me comfort these days.

the letter begins and, while the writer has still not identified themselves, the prince is more than certain he knows who is speaking.

i’ve never been a fan of change (i’m sure you recall my horrid tantrums as a child whenever my mother assigned me a new handmaiden), yet never have i faced one so large. where in the capital i spent my days with books and needles and rides upon dragon’s back, here i am told to sit quiet as a mouse, as though i am merely another ornament within the lord’s home. where i once spent nights rolling my eyes and wishing to be excused from public feasts, here i cry and ache for a morsel of socialising outside the lord’s inner circle. where once i slept sound over the small folk screaming and cheering into the late night, here i sit awake by the window and listen to each raindrop.

i am not built for the cold, both in weather and in people. they frighten me here, which is a thing i never thought i’d need admit to. there are no whispers here, only silence. but their eyes, they speak paragraphs of hatred and disdain and ill-intentions with a simple glance. i need not worry if they will eat me alive here, but rather whom will be the one to do so. in the capital i’ve always felt untouchable, first because i was my father’s daughter, a princess of the realm, and, when that began to lose effect, you stepped in and taught me safety can be found in another, with your advice and your combat training and your inability to let me fall asleep without you on my mind.

i’ve developed a sick obsession for you, uncle, and it is entirely your fault.

he’s sunk back onto the chaise, hand gripping the letter tighter as a mixture of worry and anger stirs up in his loins. worry over the tales you tell, anger for the possibility of this being a sick game, a note written by some pathetically bored serving wench aiming to ruffle some feathers.

he decides he must keep reading to uncover the truth.

and so, now, it is with heavy heart that i must admit i’m disappointed. don’t perceive me as foolish, for i am wiser than some maiden who believes the things i feel for you to be love. but i always believed there was understanding between us, two different souls yet so completely immersed and knowing of each other’s drives and needs. even when i was a child, you were always the first to notice once i was too tired to continue with the festivities or when i craved the thrill of sneaking down to the dragonpit to spy upon the great beasts. i thought you’d understand, too, that this is not the life i wishfor: a husband with the personality of a wet piece of parchment and a life of silence and gloom.

i am a dragon, just like my sister, and my father, and our ancestors. and a dragon can not grow in a cage, so why have you let them put me in one? you agreed to help me, to ruin me for any other lord so that my father would have no option to but to wed us, leaving us both to our own devices. you, gaining that valyrian wife you always wanted while not changing your whorish ways, and i, earning the freedom i would not find shackled to some low achieving, overbearing, egotistical man. yet i now have a betrothed who’s hair is brown and who’s house has no dragon.

i will risk writing this only once, for the spiders may not spin their thread here but they still bite, and ask this of you: speak sense into my father. tell him i’m with child, tell him i’m a threat to the realm, tell him i’m plotting my own death. tell him any lie you need to put a stop to this betrothal and bring me home, to where i belong.

or, outsmart him and simply come rescue me yourself, like some knight on his white stallion (caraxes would likely singe my hair off if i ever dared call him such a thing in his presence).

i’ll be awaiting your next move, uncle. be sure you play wisely and don’t lose both your princess and your king.

coldest regards,

your little dove.

p.s. i have cum to learn that, while my fingers are indeed skilled, they are nowhere near as good as yours were, kepus.

the intensity behind the stare he holds the note under may just set it alight.

no longer does he doubt who could have written such a thing, the mentions of your joint ploy to deceive the courtiers and the wording used to describe the connection shared between you both marking the undeniable truth of the letter’s author.

perversion brings him to reread the final sentence, mind fully registering them and flooding him with pink hued paintings of his pretty niece, as nude as the day you were born, now flushed skin and hardened nipples and honey dripping down your thighs as your dainty hands fail to fuck themselves as deeply as his had.

daemon can’t help but wonder what his little dove must think of in moments of self-pleasure, questions of whether you were depraved enough to think of men doing unspeakable things to you or if you merely blush over the memory of your uncle.

reading over the last part two more times, his eyes scatter back up the page- first, in an effort to avoid having to deal with his own impending arousal, and then because he feels compelled to read over the letter once more, eyes scanning over every detail.

it takes an unknown number of reads for him to notice a code among the words, a subtleness of ink layered to appear harsher, darker, more noticeable than the other words upon the parchment.

i’m, where, you, once, were.

i’m where you once were.

an inexplicable sense of pride comes over him, the fact his little dove has found a way to tell him something whilst, simultaneously, telling him nothing. were your worries true of spiders and the risk of one of them reading this letter in the time it took to reach him, he doubts any of them would be wise enough to notice the message, much less decipher it’s meaning.

and, while he applauds your display of wits, he despises his own inability to comprehend it. if you are where he once was, where had he been?

just about everywhere in the seven kingdoms, is the unfortunate truth.

by the time sleep at lasts takes over him, daemon has gained two things: the letter you’ve sent and the unbreakable will to move in on the king at last.

“the objective of chess is to protect your king while attacking your opponent’s. you must back the king into a corner, leave him with no way out, place him in check. only then will you be able to call checkmate and win.”

daemon nudges the knight with his foot.

as they’d sat for supper that evening, the prince had felt doubtful of the contents in the vial. he’d pinched it from the grand maester himself and, though he payed no real coins, the prince would argue he payed a grater price: feigning interest in conversing with old crone. a near three hours he’d sat, listening to the man drone on and on, till at last he’d excused himself to relieve his bladder and left daemon with a window of opportunity, his ointments and medicine all in a neat little display.

having little time, he’d grabbed at what he was sure to be milk of the poppy- a significantly smaller dose remaining within the vial compared to the rest- and tucked it in his trousers, at last excusing himself from the bore of a lifetime.

it wasn’t difficult to slip the liquid into a cup of wine, nor was it particularly hard to convince ser criston to drink from it, inviting the knight to join in on his empty toast towards the hightower queen and yet another pregnancy.

hours later and ser crispin lays slumped over outside his door.

daemon gives one more nudge for safety and, when the man merely slouches even closer to the ground, he grabs at the knight’s weapon and nestles it in his own scabbard, making use of it for the first time in two moons.

the hour is late and most of the keep have given in to the temptations of rest, yet the prince still travels the halls with caution, one eye looking over his shoulder. he half expects every guard he passes to seize him on sight, spewing some nonsense of his wrongful weapon or non-permitted solitude. with luck he reaches his destination, no one to spy upon the way he enters into the emptied library nor to witness as he shoves a bookcase aside and steps into the tunnel.

his memory serves him well, even after all these years, navigating himself through the interconnected secrets of the keep. he passes rooms of lords laid in bed with women they do not call wife, and ladies disrobing for the evening, and the still empty chambers of his little dove, till, at last, he reaches where he wants to be, not bothering with patience before barging his way out of the tunnel and into the regal chambers of the king.

“it took you longer than i expected.” daemon had counted on his brother being the one wearing shock upon his face, yet it is the prince who plays the fool, stepping into the room to find his older brother sat at a table, goblet in hand and a familiar checkered board in front of him.

it irks him to hear the king even imply he’d been expecting his arrival.

“don’t you have a wife to be bedding, brother?” he steps deeper into the chambers with caution, eyes on the empty bed and the lack of sight of his brother’s breeding mare.

“pregnancy, daemon. it works wonders on a woman’s body,” he takes a sip of his drink before reaching to pour a second cup meant for the prince. “it’s just a shame one of those wonders comes in the form of my wife snoring louder than a lion roars.”

it’s strange to hear his brother discuss details of his new bride.

daemon had never sought answers for their marriage, yet he’d forever questioned what had driven his brother to marry such a girl, childhood friend of his eldest daughter and so clearly lacking the backbone needed to stand up for herself against the injustices forced against her by her own father. were the prince a more gentle person at heart, perhaps he’d find it in him to pity her.

instead, he sees her as just another thorn in his brother’s side, waiting for the chance to poison his mind and seat one of her wretched babes upon the throne.

“come, come,” dragging him out of his thoughts is viserys once more, now half-hovering over the table and moving his limbs back and forth, hands carefully placing each piece upon it’s designated checker. “sit down! let us play!”

only as he’s seated across from viserys does he notice he’s been bestowed with playing the blacks on the board. never before was he allowed, the older of the two always insisting black was his lucky colour and refusing to play the whites.

in truth, daemon has always suspected his brother had been to fearful to play white, not knowing how to make a good first move and relying on his opponent to instead kickstart the game and give him places to move his pieces.

“isn’t it a beautiful board?” the elder must confuse his staring as a sign of fascination, gawking at the splendour of it. “it’s the very same one mother gifted me after i bested her for the first time.”

there it is, that familiar lick of envy, a sick and cruel twist in his guts as he stares down at an object viserys gets to remember their parents by, while all daemon ever got was disapproving looks and half-hearted embraces. perhaps the rumours are true and the prince has a complex which forces him to pity himself, to cast a shadow upon his own image and declare that it was a wrong forced upon him by others.

or, more likely, the consequences of watching his parents prop viserys up on a mantelpiece whilst leaving him in a corner to collect dust had lead him down the path to the destructive man he’s become.

even when he’d claimed caraxes, he could only imagine what his father’s reaction would have been, were he still alive to witness it.

impressive, but your brother claimed the greatest dragon to have ever lived, the one who the great conqueror rode upon and forged a throne under the black dread’s flames.

“‘tis exactly the same as any other chess board, brother.” he lets petty feelings spin lies on his tongue, rolling his eyes and disregarding the clear etherealness, the intricate carvings on each piece and the extravagant linings of the board, and each of it’s shimmering onyx and quartz squares.

daemon downs half his cup in one sip, eyes trained on his brother’s first move.

king’s pawn forward two spaces, a strong start and an immediate attack to the centre.

it’s fitting, daemon thinks, for this to be the first move his brother makes while leading a game. while a powerful start, it’s rather obvious, one he’d seen viserys defeat in a manner of mere seconds. perhaps age has taken away his astute mind and skill for the game.

daemon retaliates, moving one of his bishop’s pawns forward two spaces.

with the crease that forms in viserys’ brow, daemon delights. his brother was not expecting him to move in such a way, likely expecting him to do something erratic like bringing his queen’s pawn forward.

the pair continue to move in silence, sips of wine and scratching of pieces echoing around the chambers. it’s deceivingly peaceful, nothing like the confrontation the rogue prince had geared himself up to walk into. while he’d awaited bursts of anger and scathing accusations and marks of betrayal, the two sit like children once more, moving empty objects in an imitation of politics.

the only difference is daemon appears to have the upper hand, a growing collecting of white pieces stored to the right of his long-ago emptied and refilled cup.

as always, it’s daemon who takes the first bite.

“i’m afraid i must pay you your dues, brother.” his words slip through his own smirking lips, satisfaction rolling in by the hundreds as he spies the white king, slowly losing places to hide on the board. “it’s truly applaudable how you managed to not only secure one daughter a marriage amid questions of her virtue, but two! young helaena will follow in her half-sisters’ footsteps, surely.”

viserys’ hand pauses mid-air, his remaining bishop held in his grasp. his grip tightens with each passing second. the older has always been more level-headed, that no one can dispute, but the rogue prince will forever swear up and down, high and low, that it is his brother who carries the more foul temper.

viserys’ anger is just harder to weed out from behind false niceties and calmed breathing.

“if you mean to say that helaena will be so lucky as to marry a noble man, filled with honour,” he lays his bishop down at last, not managing to capture any of daemon’s blacks. “then yes, i should hope so. both the betrothal of my eldest daughter and my middle-born were to good men, faithful lords. my helaena will be lucky to do the same.”

“you never did quite tell me about y/n’s betrothal, brother.” the king chuckles at daemon’s words, empty amusement in the obvious statement the prince makes. still, he makes no attempt to stop him, letting him string the conversation along to the dreaded topic between them: the rumours of what daemon had done to you. “last i spoke with her, she was rather... occupied with something other than the prospect of marriage. when you announced her future union to her, did she drop on her knees and kiss your feet in gratitude? or did she spit at you and-”

“did she drop on her knees for you?” the raise in viserys’ voice is minimal yet enough to have daemon smirking over the rim of his cup, amused to see his brother being led into his trap for once.

he makes his next move on the board fist, plucking his knight and moving it over one of his own pawns. if he plays is cards right, messes with his brother’s head just the right amount, perhaps he won’t notice how he’s moving in on his king.

his only hope is to keep talking about his little dove.

“so that’s what you wish to discuss, brother? how it felt to fuck your young daughter?” for the first time he speaks the lie out loud, no hiding behind innuendos nor insinuations. they need to believe you’ve stolen my virtue, kepus, were the words you’d whispered to him, face still fresh from dried tears and teeth stained purple with the wine he’d let you sip from his glass late into the night as the rest of the world had slept, they need to think that you fucked me. he’d sworn an oath to you, to put on a show and ruin you beneath the judgement of others. he’ll be damned if viserys becomes an exception to this oath. “because i can go into detail, you needn’t beg. i can tell you of how it felt to have her squeeze around my cock, and how she arched that little back like a cat, spine curving deeper each time i pounded into her. i can tell you of how she begged for her uncle, her kepus, to shoot his spend into her aching womb and-”

a screech rings out as viserys’ chair flies backwards, the king rising to a stand and glaring down at his brother, who only sinks deeper into the velvet lined seat and allows himself another sip of his glass, face painted in pure amusement as viserys’ reflects that of an angered dragon.

“enough! i will not have you speak such atrocities about your own niece!”

“oh spear me the lecture of the seven, brother!” the hypocrisy to shun him for lusting after his own kin, it has to be the hightower cunt’s doing. feeding lies into her new husband’s head, any means to have his true-blooded targaryen daughters removed from the line to the throne. daemon at last feels himself begin to irk, a scowl engraving itself into his forehead. “your own beloved, your late wife, shared blood with you and you never once objected to bedding her. it is our family’s birthright to keep the blood of the dragon burning hot, not dampen it with that of lesser folk. i mean our parents, for gods’ sake, they were siblings! are you going to tell me it’s wrong?”

“this is not about you being her uncle, daemon. this is about you being you! and her being my sweet girl, one of the last pieces of aemma-”

daemon can’t help himself, flying out of his own seat with the slam of his hand on the table. the pieces rattle under the impact, the white queen toppling over and sending her pawn flying off the board.

“your sweet girl who you let be slandered by the same lords who break bread at your table and drink from your cups!” the prince stands taller than the king, shoulders straight and head held high as he flips positions, becoming the one staring down upon his older brother, who’s slouched and frailer than he once was, hands searching for the steadying hold of the oak table. “tell me, brother, where were you when she drank herself sick as they spoke on her fertility? what did you do when they mocked her for being scared after an attack on her life, in her own chambers!? did you even ask her what happened between us before you shipped her off like cattle to the slaughter, let her tell you it was she who asked it of me? she detested the thought of marrying some unknown lord so much she’d rather destroy her maidenhood and her honour, but you wouldn’t see that, too blinded by your own downfall into becoming a boot-licker for all these cunts who hold land in your realm.”

viserys can only stare, frozen where he stands and eyes widened in bewilderment at his brother’s own outburst, chest heaving in anger and hands shaking with adrenaline as he points towards the king.

“are you in love with her?”

no more than a whisper, so quiet the rogue prince is almost sure he imagines it.

till the king repeats himself.

"gods, don't be ridiculous!" it’s neither a yes nor a no, and daemon is so painfully aware of this, aware that he gives no real answer to your father nor himself.

the concept of love and all it entails has never appealed to the prince, at least in the way it’s presented in song and written of in history. all his life he’d heard of knights who’s lady love was a gem they sought to hold, to sing songs of faithfulness and dance around with hands entwined by marriage. of men who made themselves better, kinder, more gentle, all in the hopes of pleasing their lover and winning her hand. daemon had never experienced such a feeling.

while love is something most feel in their heart, daemon feels it in his loins.

it’s a hunger that consumes his very being, aching, and growling, and demanding to be fed with bursts of passion and shouts of anger. it’s a possession he needs to take, to mark someone as his, in every sense of the words. his to own, his to touch, his to drown in expensive gifts. his love is not kind, but brutal, and loud, and forceful, never leaving room for the rest of the world to doubt it. it makes him want to march into battle, to burn down cities, to spill the blood of any who dare harm the object of his obsession. his love is a fire that burns him from within, spilling out from his skin and scorching everything in it’s path.

the prince is not sure if he wants you to burn in its flames.

“but i could give her a greater life than any other man in this realm.” what he is certain of is that he will not stand by as your father let’s you be ruined by someone other than him. “a good man means nothing if he can not keep her safe, or even happy. at the very least, wedding her to me would mean her husband is someone familiar. she wouldn’t have to leave her home, or change her ways, or even bare a child if she does not wish to.”

viserys sighs, tired body dropping back into his chair and his mangled hand reaches up to brush over his face, pinching the bridge of his nose as his eyes squeeze shut. the prince almost believes he sees a flicker of resignation, winning his brother over at last or exhausting him so deeply he sees no choice but to accept his words as truth, if only to silence him.

instead, the king reaches for the board once more, an airy laugh escaping him as he examines the placement of each piece. leaning over, he sits his queen back up and drums his fingers on the table.

he laughs once more.

"after all these years, daemon, you still struggle to capture my queen."

“but your queen, daemon. the queen is where you hide all your power, look for where your opponent keeps their queen and there you shall find true victory.”

the words of years ago spin round and round in the prince’s head.

his eyes, glued to the board, watch as the king moves his queen out two spaces and captures daemon’s knight, snatching it off the board and tossing it over his shoulder. viserys looks up, awaiting for daemon to continue the match, to put an end to it at last.

but he’s too stuck on the phrasing his brother had used, stubborn in his belief that it’s meaning has little to do with the game upon the table and, rather, the one that’s being played with words and whispers and undisclosed betrothals.

the prince thinks of the queen, the hightower girl who parades around the courts in green silks and upon swollen ankles, face downtrodden each time she foolishly thinks no one is looking. if ever he believed viserys held true affection for her, he’d wonder if she was who the king refers to, if otto hightower had truly been sent back to oldtown empty handed or with a new bride on his arm.

but any fool with a set of eyes can see the king loves his second wife like he loves the iron throne: through duty and obligation.

it is, instead, the late queen aemma who viserys must speak of.

and, while her maiden home, house arryn, where she’d spent her girlhood in the days before she’d been betrothed to her cousin, possesses no lord nor man awaiting a wife, a neighbouring house had just recently named a new wifeless lord.

a house which remembers, especially those who wrong it.

“no…”

i'm where you once where.

“you have to understand, daemon, that the actions you take leave me with consequences to bare. after what happened to lady rhea… after what you done,” his brother, so clearly exhausted with the secrecy and the scheming, folds like a house of cards against a gentle breeze, collapsing further into his seat and shaking his head. he does not notice as daemon moves his own queen along the board. “the vale were at an unease. threatened, was the word they used. so when lord royce staked his claim over his house’s seat, demanding i compensate runestone for the marriage agreement you destroyed and the lady you took from them, i had to give them a show of good faith. i had to reassure them of the longstanding trust between our houses.”

“so you gave her to them, sold her like some slave!”

“i made a political deal!” he attempts to defend himself in both words and on the board. in both, he fails. “one where lord rhoyce gains a bride, i avoid war and my daughter gets to finally take on the duties bestowed upon her at birth.”

“you’re a fucking fool, viserys. you would have been better delivering her to the triarchy. least they would make her death a more swift one. that rhoyce twat’ll have her head on a pike, and her tits and cunt will be hand delivered to you. they’ll slaughter her, as payment for their-” daemon swallows every ill coloured word and expression of his despise that comes to mind at the memory of his bronze bitch, giving no out for his brother to twist this conversation into a matter of his own wrongdoings. “late lady.”

with no more hesitation, the rogue prince moves his queen one last time and delights in watching the white king fall into check.

he knocks the piece over, quietly declaring checkmate.

“brother, please,” the king’s words are as fragile as his health, failing and mute against daemon’s scowling features, which refuse to play nice any longer. “do you think this is what i wanted, for my daughter to be used as a bargaining tool for peace? but there’s no going back, what’s done is done.”

“then undo what is done!”

“how can i when they threaten violence and-”

“you’re the king! who gives a shit what they threaten, they have a dozen men to your thousands. you have dragons! if the threat of fire worked on the men of the vale once, it’ll do so again. so regain your pride and write to that cunt royce. tell him to have your daughter cleaned up and sent back to where she belongs, to find fulfilment in his new lordhood and to drop this notion that he even deserves to gaze upon a targaryen princess, much less stick his shrivelled cock within her. i urge you to send this letter post-haste,” that familiar blade of his sits neatly by the entrance of the chamber, attracting the prince over till he clutches it in his grasp at last, quickly returning dark sister to her rightful spot by his side and discarding the blade he’d stolen from ser criston. he glances back at the king, now risen once more, and twists the doorknob. “and pray, dear brother. pray that it reaches gerold royce before i do.”

with the slam of the door, daemon plunders into the halls of the keep, footsteps heavy and echoing with each one he takes. jaw clenched and hands fisted, he paints the image of a man enraged, sick and fed-up with the games being played.

by the time he reaches his chambers, shoving his way past the sleeping knight at it’s doors, there’s bound to be a flurry of gossiping fools who speak of the prince and his defiling of the king’s commands, but he cares little as he straps himself into leathers and steel, hell-bent on reaching the dragonpit before day breaks and the sun paints the sky alight.

daemon is done sitting idly by, waiting for the king to see reason.

because while at the age of five, naive and easily influenced, daemon targaryen had looked up to his chess-genius of a brother, it was at age five and ten that he realised why his brother kept winning, why pawns and knights and rooks would conveniently move to the places he needed them to be.

he cheated.

#daemon targaryen smut #house of the dragon smut #daemon targaryen x reader #daemon targaryen fluff #daemon targaryen fic #daemon targaryen oneshot #daemon targaryen imagine

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dropthedemiurge · 13 days

Text

Second part of my translation comments (and half meta) for Gray Shelter [Episode 5], you can find the first post here!

"You gave the choice/decision to me, didn't you? (reference to the earlier scene)" "So your decision is to give me some money and tell me to get out of your sight?"

꺼져 is quite a rude word, like 'get the hell away from me', Yoondae is clearly pissed rephrasing/interpreting Soohyuk's intentions, he's using informal tone too

"Because I live like this? Because I idle/fool around here and there without doing anything, not able to get myself together (cannot get a grip on myself and my life)? Because you still see me as a child?!" "Yes. That's why I'm confused. Because it doesn't matter who is by your side (anyone will do), right?" "And (what's the problem)? You can be by my side. Why is everything so complicated for you? Just... (in softest pleading voice) ...Watch me. I will live like all the other people. Then it'll all be good (it's solved), no? You can watch over me while being by my side. Mmhm? Don't care about the situation, once again I'm telling you, just look only right at me."

I actually really like the usage of 'focus on me' in all the sentences because the translator keeps the leitmotif and it works in all contexts, the entire conversation was translated nicely. Even "- What's the most difficult thing about me and this situation for you? - That I'm your home (the place you return to now)."

I just gave you more literal translation... idk, for fun xD Maybe you'll catch more nuances that I tried to put in here. It's just devastating. Soohyuk sees and feels that Yoondae is clinging to him like to a lifeline, and he doesn't want to be one, he's got enough of people burdening him, his life is hard enough.

He tried to think simply like Yoondae and just live in the moment, give in to his impulses as well, but he just can't. He's sinking on his own and he can't chain himself to another person because even if he's a safe place for Yoondae, he won't be able to save him in this situation, it means they'll both drown. Yoondae has to find his own ground to stand on, he has to get a grip and find a new home on his own so he won't circle his entire life and attention on Soohyuk. Only then it'll work.

"If I find another home, can I call you? You won't avoid me then?"

They don't kiss here – they can't. It won't work. But such short distance is a promise, it's a possible future happy ending hanging between them both like a life vest and a heavy rock.

I'm not sure he means it as 'we get together again'. More like

"If we meet again, will we become okay?"

Like, they agreed it won't work out now, they need some time, and Yoondae now will be holding onto that hope that Soohyuk might accept him and his feelings once Yoondae finds his own home, his own meaning in life. But he's still afraid it won't happen, that's why he needs to hear some affirmation. Will things between them become alright (and the fact that he doesn't really say 'better' or 'good', he uses 괜찮다 - fine, alright, okay and asks if they will be able to even reach that). Which means they both know their relationship is less than 'okay' now.

And in a very Gray Shelter melancholic satisfying-unsatisfying way, Soohyuk only replies: "It'd at least be better than now."

That's the only thing Yoondae is left with. This, and a daring request to pretend he didn't steal that goodbye kiss.

And we're getting a time skip which starts on a sound of a ringing telephone. ("If I find another home, can I call you? ) And surprisingly, it doesn't seem that Yoondae is the one calling this time, as he wanted to. It seems like Yoondae accepted the call but he wasn't holding it or answering, yet Soohyuk called him and invited him for a dinner and is waiting for the answer. Now, the decision is up to Yoondae.

There is a calendar on the wall but I honestly didn't track if there were any other calendars in the show so we can tell how long was the time skip.

"Alright. I'll be waiting."

To be honest, in the ending I wished they showed at least one scene of Yoongdae coming home in a work-like uniform or doing something to indicate he started sorting his life out before that call came through. Because even though the ending is hopeful – they lived separately for some time, Yoondae has his own place, Soohyuk is reaching out to spend time with him now and they both agreed their next meeting will be more hopeful – but will it be enough? Was the problem actually solved?

We all should think that yes, but I wish the ending supported it a little bit more confidently. After such a rollercoaster of emotions and complicated situation, I want to see them heading towards the truly happy ending Т_т (give me the second season!)

In any case, the acting is great and the melancholic atmosphere for a BL was so unusual, I loved the edgy dialogues and emotionally raw writing. For such a short story, Gray Shelter certainly will go under many people's radar but it still touched my soul.

And, well, now I understand the title. Soohyuk is a shelter, he shouldn't be a home. Shelter is a place they seek temporarily comfort in when they have nowhere else to go. And it's not a bright happy couple place, and it's not an abusive family house either, gray is neither black nor white. It's something in between, and it's up to Soohyuk and Yoondae to try and build an actual equal bond, have a place to return to and person to eat dinner with.

#gray shelter #gray current #gray shelter comments #dropthemeta #korean bl #kbl #soohyuk x yoondae #kdrama #bl series #dropthemeta kbl

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mizuseyebrows · 2 months

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even if you become a true oni or onryō —mizu x reader

warnings: not proofread. fluff. she/her pronouns for mizu. slight angst. insecurities.

includes: sweet and compasionate reader. 'weak' and vulnerable mizu. word count: 3.6k

summary: mizu has an anxiety attack after a mishap, but you're there for her

a/n: this is a sequel to this

You didn't understand what’s wrong. Only for a few minutes the two of you were separated and when you returned to Mizu's side, a whole gloomy and cold aura covered her. You could also see in her eyes that she was trying to hide something from herself. Anything happened? Did she have to face a battle? You didn't believe it, there were no traces of blood or sweat on her. What could be going on?

Now you found yourself with your head lying on her lap, staring at her face. You were trying to figure out what was underneath Mizu's stoic mask at that moment.

"I know what you see. Cut it." It sounded almost like an order as she growled, her gaze remaining staring straight ahead, as if she were studying the forest.

"And what do I see?" You asked in a soft voice, almost speaking softly.

"A half blood, half breed. Like a demon." She rolled her eyes as she spoke, making a disgusted expression with her mouth. "Not even a human, something worse."

"Is there anything worse than being a human?" You looked at her with surprise and curiosity.

"There is, being me." She spoke, but you could tell there was a hint of bitterness in her tone of voice. Then, she made a self-deprecating gesture. "Being something less than human, something no one can understand, something no one wants."

"Why are you saying something so ugly, Mizu? Do you really believe everything you're saying?” You knitted your eyebrows together to express concern.

"Why wouldn't I?" She scoffed, waving her hand dismissively. "They all called me a demon. Do you have any idea how it felt growing up? The way I was treated? People thought I was a freak, an abomination. Even my own mother... I could never live up to their standards, because I wasn't full blooded human.” Her voice is sharp and bitter, the usual edge that makes up her personality has sharpened into more than just annoyance. "They tried to kill me for being a girl. I have to pretend to be hideous man. And on top of all that, I am half blood. People have every reason to hate me, and I'll be a fool for not hating myself as well."

» "You want to know what the worst part is?" She spat, her hands curling into fists slowly as the words were practically dragged out of her. "People like you. People who seem to be so good, yet they still can't see behind my veil. You could easily hate me, despise me. I don't deserve to be happy."

» "I don't know why you're so nice to me... You're making me feel more human than I deserve to feel. It gives me a slight glimmer of hope that maybe I'm not a monster, but deep down, I know it's all a lie. I know that people will never accept me for who I am." She looked away; her fists clenched so tightly that they'd gone pale. "I don't deserve anything nice, and I don't deserve you. It's only a matter of time before you realize what a terrible, horrible, awful person I am."

» "I'm afraid one day, you'll come to dislike me. You'll call me a freak just like everyone else has my entire life..." her voice trailed off, and she let out a deep breath. "When that day comes... When you finally look at me as the monster I am... I won't blame you. It's what I deserve... but it would still hurt. So much." Despite her words, there wasn't a sign of emotion on her face, not even the slightest hint of sadness. "Just like a monster would, I'll get over it."

» "But I don't want to." She muttered, her breath catching in her throat. The coldness in her tone had melted, the usually stony expression replaced by a sad look. "I don't want to be treated like a monster. I don't want to be hated. The tears hadn't started rolling down her cheeks yet, but she was on the verge of crying. "No matter how much I hate myself, I don't want that. Even if I'm a monster, all I've ever wanted was to be loved..."

» "And I hate myself for that." She was trembling just a little bit, and tears were threatening to fall, but hadn't yet. "Every single day, I hate myself for still wanting to be loved and cared for, for even having any sort of desire. Because that's not how—I've got to be strong; I have to be... I have to be tough; I can't have a moment of weakness..."

Listening to Mizu's verbal display had you in mental limbo. You heard every word, every growl, every broken voice. You saw every frown, every snap of teeth, every grimace. But you couldn't process all that information. Your heart broke as she continued to express and degrade herself like that. You couldn't believe everything you heard.

You didn't even notice that you were crying, your face was completely soaked. It wasn't until Mizu stopped talking that she seemed to come back to reality. What could you say to all that? Where to start?

You shook your head, to fully alert yourself and to deny what she was saying about herself. "M-Mizu, there's nothing wrong with having a m-moment of weakness."

"There is when you're a monster..." she whispered. "Monsters don't feel pain... Monsters don't get weak... they can't. A-And besides, I'm not weak." She said, her voice coming out stronger than it had in quite a while. "I'm strong, much stronger than you could ever imagine."

You nodded several times, wanting to reassure what she was saying but you were interrupted by Mizu.

"I'm not weak." She repeated softly, the words echoing in the still atmosphere of the room. "I'm not weak, I'm not." She breathed in again, the strength and confidence she usually had was returning. "You think I'm some sad, pathetic creature that needs to be pities and cared for? Well, you're wrong."

"Mizu!" You got up from her lap and stood in front of her to grab her face and stop her. "Please stop destroying yourself like that. Just because you're half white doesn't mean you're any less human. You're not pathetic for having weaknesses and expecting affection. Please stop talking like that, you're hurting me."

She didn't respond, just froze when your touch was placed on her cheek. Her hands started trembling, and her breath seemed to get shakier with every passing comment you made. Still, she just stood there, barely managing to keep her expression relatively neutral as tears welled in her eyes.

She didn't say anything, there was no use in arguing with you. In her head, she called herself all those terrible things, but hearing you say she was wrong... It broke the last remaining sense of confidence and determination she had to keep herself upright, and she started sobbing.

"I'm so tired." Her quiet, shaky voice sounded on the verge of breaking as she choked back some more sobs. Her eyes were red as tears escaped and trickled down her face.

The cold, stony girl who always seemed confident and in control was now standing there, broken and defenseless. Her defenses cracked and fell, shattering to pieces as the emotional wall that she hid behind gave way to the flood of sadness that rushed in.

"I can't do this... I can't." She whispered, her voice starting to crack with the volume of her crying. "All I've ever wanted was to be loved... But no one would ever love me... If they...” She sniffled, trying her hardest not to cry again. "I'm tired of... being seen as some kind of freak... being thought of as a monster. I know no one would love me... I know that all too well."

When she looked up at you, the cold, sharp glint was gone. Replaced with a sad, pleading look that spoke of only one thing. "Just once... I want to be loved. Once... is that too much to ask for...?"

"I can love you, if you allow me. I want to be there for you in every moment. I want to hug you when you feel overwhelmed, I want to kiss your eyes, your lips, your tears... I know that you have been hurt all your life but, please let me show you that you deserve everything you want and expect."

She was so utterly stunned that she couldn't say a single thing... her mouth slightly agape, her eyes wide with disbelief as she processed your words. When she realized that you had been genuine... she broke down again.

The tears fell, and this time, she didn't do anything to stop them. She wrapped her arms around you, burying her head into your chest. "Please..." she asked quietly. "Love me... please show that you still love me even though I'm a monster..."

"You are not a monster, Mizu. You are not a demon or a freak or an abomination. You are an amazing person; you are an incredible woman. Let me help you change your perception of yourself." You stroked her hair lovingly and planted a kiss on the top of her head.

"B-But...” she mumbled, clinging to your torso. "Everything about me screams inhuman. Everything..."

She hung onto you tightly, almost as if she was afraid that if she let go, the harsh reality set in once more, and she would be sent back to the terrible realization that she was, indeed, a monster.

"What if I'm too much for you to handle?" She asked, the same small, fearful voice she used earlier coming back. "What if my problems are too big for you to deal with? You'll grow tired of me..."

"That won't happen, I already know your stubborn, obstinate, and headstrong persona." You laughed softly and gave her a kiss on the forehead. "I'll be able to handle this, I won't leave you alone at any time."

» "I'll help the pain go away." You cupped her face and gave her a soft kiss on the lips. "You know that I heal your physical wounds, right? That I always clean them, sew them and take care of them so that they don't get infected. Well, now I will help you heal the internal wounds, those that no one sees but that are the ones that hurt the most. But I will need you to let me do it, I won't be able to do it alone, we both have to work together, okay?"

"S-So you're going to help cure my internal wounds too?" She asked softly as tears threatened to come again. "And you swear you won't ever leave me... and you won't ever leave me and hate me... like everybody else?"

"How could I hate you if you have such a pretty face... What you hate the most about yourself is what I love the most. Your eyes are beautiful, Mizu." You leaned down to kiss her lips again, lovingly and a little slowly.

She was so taken off guard by the sudden action that she didn't react for a moment. But, by the second kiss, she was returning the gesture, her soft lips pressed against yours for a few seconds before she pulled slightly away to speak.

"You love my eyes?" She asked softly, with a hint of surprise in her voice. "Why?"

"What do you mean 'why'? It makes you unique, it adds exoticism to your face. Plus, it's the color of the sea and I love the sea." You gave her another short kiss and smiled at her. "And, I could swear your eyes shine. There's something about them that just makes them glow."

"People think that my eyes are demonic... a sign of my mixed heritage..." She murmured, a frown forming on her lips as she mentioned that word.

"No, don't think that your eyes are demonic. They are beautiful, they look like crystalline snowflakes." You kissed her lovingly again, taking a little longer and caressing her cheeks.

You could have stayed like that all day, letting your kiss never end... The feeling of her lips was like a drug, one you could get addicted to so easily...

Finally, after a few seconds, she pulled her face away from yours. She murmured your name softly, a blush slowly spreading across her face.

"Tell me..." You whispered against her lips and rubbed your nose with hers.

"Can we... do it again?" She asked softly. "That kiss..." Her eyes glanced to the side; her cheeks tinted with embarrassment as she struggled to find the right words. "Could we... please... do it again?"

"Of course we can." You nodded gently and gave her another slow, loving kiss, wanting you both to savor the moment.

She sighed softly and took in the feeling, the sensation of your lips pressed against hers. She could feel everything, the tenderness and love that was hidden behind the kiss, she could feel it all. This was everything she had always wanted but never had... Everything she had been denied by the world and fate... Every affection she felt like she so desperately needed. This was what she wanted. All she had ever wanted. To be loved.

After a few moments, you broke the kiss and looked into her eyes with a smile. You caressed her cheeks in circles and sighed softly. "You'll let me love you, right?"

She nodded, her cheeks flushing again. "Yes, I... I would love that, actually..." She murmured. She could practically feel her heart beating out of her chest, but as she looked into your loving eyes, she felt a little bit better. "Why... do you love me...? Why do you want me...? Do you not think I'm too dangerous? Too violent? Too much of a monster?" She muttered softly, her voice coming out hushed.

"Shh... None of that. You are very dangerous and violent but...I have to admit that that attracts me. You have a lot of passion inside you, but you are directing it towards your revenge and that is what makes you dangerous. Although, your passion is what attracts me the most."

She was stunned. Hearing those words, how her worst traits were what attracted you to her... made her feel odd. To know that her rage and hatred were somehow endearing and appealing to someone... it felt like she had been seeing a distorted reflection of herself all this time and finally saw the true her.

"Those... These are not good traits..." she murmured, then let out another small laugh. "I-Is that really what attracts you to me?"

"It makes you... an adventure, there is a lot of adrenaline. I know they are not good traits but that's who you are and I must accept you, although I will help you guide your passion to better goals. I promise."

"Thank you... I have to admit, I never thought anyone would ever find those traits of mine appealing." She murmured, a soft smile forming on her lips as her eyes started getting teary again. It was almost funny; how much she had hated herself for these very traits you were now praising and considering attractive.

"Maybe I'm the freak one." You laughed happily and stole another kiss from her. "Maybe I'm a little insane, but I love seeing you being dangerous—"

She leaned into the kiss almost immediately, eager to stop you from saying too much more. She knew exactly what you had meant, but there were just some things that she wasn't ready to acknowledge yet. She had thought that she would never find someone who would love her despite all her flaws, and here you were, finding even her most deplorable traits appealing.

"You love... that about me... don't you?" She murmured, just for a quick confirmation before she threw herself back into the kiss.

"I love almost everything about you." You responded to her between kisses, each time doing it with more intensity.

"H-Almost?" She asked meekly, but once again, her question was interrupted by a kiss. She was practically swimming in the sea of bliss that those tender lips were giving her, not even thinking or considering what she said as her mind got flooded with love and passion.

"There are still things I need to know about you, so I can't say I love everything about you." You whispered against her lips, tightening your grip on her face.

"Oh..." She muttered, her lips parting slightly as she took in a breath. "Will you still love me when you know every last little thing about me?" She murmured softly, her expression tinged with worry and a hint of hesitation.

"I will still love you even if you become a true oni or onryō." You sighed softly and looked into her eyes. "I'll be the mortal of those legends who tries to change the demon or the mortal that fell in love with the demon despite its nature."

The words you had just spoken made her feel warm inside. She had never expected such reassurance, such assurance from anyone. She was speechless, not knowing how to reply to your words otherwise. In the end, she let herself go back into another long, passionate kiss instead.

And you kissed her back with the same passion and clinged a little to her, caressing her scalp lovingly. But then you felt Mizu hug your neck longingly, which made you have to lower your hands to her lower back to bring her closer to you.

However, Mizu broke away from the kiss suddenly and looked away. You could see her doubt in her eyes, the uncertainty she felt at your words. You lovingly caressed her back and gave her a kiss on the cheek to get her attention.

"We'll take this slow, okay? I know that right now everything I told you won't erase what has tormented you your whole life, but we'll go slow, okay? At your own pace, if you feel like it's too much at some point, you can say so. If you want to do something different, we can do it. Is that okay?"

"I-It's okay..." she mumbled softly, her mind still trying to process everything you had said. "I just... I just don't know where to start..." She murmured, as tears started running down her cheeks again.

"Me neither, but let's let this flow, okay? Let's not rush anything, we'll just let everything go at the pace it should go." You caressed her cheeks and wiped away her tears.

"Thank you..." she whispered softly, her breathing starting to slow down again. She had never taken things slowly before, she had always been impulsive, always rushed to the next part without taking a moment to stop and think. "But... it's kind of hard to take it slow when you kiss me and do things like that so passionately..." She mumbled, her face getting red again.

"That's my mistake. If you want, I can stop doing it to go slower." You laughed softly, blushing too.

"Can we... keep on doing it... but just a little slower... a little less... intense..." She murmured softly, her eyelids slowly closing as she tried to think of the right words.

"We can do that. I like to kiss you slow and loving." You nodded several times, still smiling.

"Can we... um..." she muttered, not knowing how to ask for what she wanted. "Can we just... sit in silence for a while... while you hold me close and... just stroke my hair and stuff...?" She murmured, her face getting even more red when she realized just how needy and clingy she sounded.

You felt something inside you explode and stir at how cute Mizu had sounded. You couldn't help but bite your lower lip in excitement and nodded several times. "Of course, of course, of course." You sat behind her and made her lean against your chest to stroke her hair the way she wanted.

She gasped softly as she felt your arms wrap around her and pull her back against your chest. For a few moments, all she could do was enjoy the feeling of your gentle touch and the calm, steady rhythm of your heartbeat. She closed her eyes and took in a deep breath, relaxing as she felt your fingers move through her hair, as if she was some small, helpless animal being comforted by their parent.

The feeling was incredible and she savored every moment of it, letting out a soft, contented sigh as you kept stroking her hair.

"Thank you..." she murmured, her body leaning even further into you as she breathed a little slower. She felt so safe in your arms, so warm.

"You have nothing to thank." You whispered to her and kissed her temple, tightening your arms around her.

The kiss on her temple caught her by surprise and she gave a soft gasp, her eyes widening slightly, but she didn't care and simply leaned back against you even more. The sensation of your arms around her was indescribably comforting, something she didn't think she would ever experience but now all she wanted was to stay like that forever, to stay sheltered and protected and loved.

She let out a soft whimper, your kiss once again sending a shiver down her spine as she felt your tight embrace. She pressed herself even further against you, almost as if she wanted to bury herself in your arms, to melt into your embrace and become part of you. She didn't want to let go of your embrace, not yet, not any time soon, not until she had completely accepted the warmth and the affection that you were now showing her.

#mizu #mizu x reader #mizu x you #blue eye samurai #mizu blue eye samurai #mizu bes #bes mizu #blue eye samurai mizu #bes

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evanox · 3 months

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If you joined the fandom some time after Anisa's rewrite like I did, and you've yet to come across (formerly) Nix Hydra's official youtube channel, I cannot recommend enough that you go and watch the playthrough of Anisa's first two chapters. GOD they're just SO delightful; especially if you're interested in Astraea's worldbuilding (or at least a taste of it).

The little details such as the occasional line pointing to Mournfall folk making their living through fishing, or how it's common for mischievous kids to go to the abandoned temple to mess around with magic, or how there are wards implemented by the city during the war 5 years ago to detect and prevent magical disturbances---all of that contributes to breathing so much life into our setting, rather than it just serving the simple purpose of being A Place Where Things Happen.

Not only that, but Anisa's personality shines SO much brighter in this older version. She already surprised me in the old prologue when she pounced at Sage for a hug in the tavern. I know she gives him the cold shoulder in our current version because of the whole betrayal thing, but angst aside, I still couldn't imagine our stiff and uptight Anisa offering either of her friends physical affection (she's just so exasperated with them all the time that it's hard to believe they were friends at any point), so that moment in the older prologue was very endearing to me.

(Also the banter between the three Starsworn is chef's kiss in the older version.)

Anisa pointing out how MC deserves the right to choose a mentor since they had no choice in their predicament is consistent across both prologues, but in the first (old) chapter Anisa chides Felix for not being considerate of the Mournfall townspeople who already suffered enough during the war, and it really drives in the point of how thoughtful and empathetic Anisa is. It also contributes to my point about how the little details in this version breathe life into Astraea---the impact of the war on its citizens is acknowledged; it's not just an event that drives the plot/drives the protagonists' angst.

On top of that, Anisa is very passionate about her job, a total workaholic, and a very curious cat; so much so that she was willing to go investigate the city wards despite being on vacation. For as straightlaced as she may be, she's not above a little mischief, grinning at you when you point out she's going against the orders of her Captain. All of these traits immediately endeared her to me, and they're kind of lost/diminished in the rewrite when her primary motivation for her workaholic tendencies becomes "I need to prove I'm good and pure to distance myself from my evil father's shadow."

Also, Saaros is introduced halfway through chapter 2 so it gives Anisa the chance to breathe and establish herself as a character before she has to share the spotlight w/ a masc-presenting character who'll steal most of the fandom's attention, as is every fictif female LI's curse. Additionally, the elf's introduction is more impactful than that in the rewritten chapter. In the latter, they're first seen complaining about lotions (which establishes that Saaros is someone really picky about their beauty routine), whereas in the old chapter, Saaros is taunting a vendor peddling "spiritual-cleansing" potions (the Astraean equivalent of essential oils only this one's effects are even more dubious). They spill the bottle of potion onto the ground and turn their nose up at Anisa when she asserts her position as a knight, deliver a speech about how Porrimans pretend like they play by the rules while letting charlatans run loose, and then march off. This establishes that Saaros is not someone you can easily fool, and Saaros does not think highly of Porrima or its authority and is not afraid to state their opinion about either. That hints at just how difficult Anisa's spy mission will be, and only at the end of the chapter do we find out this bold elf is Anisa's spy target, assigned to her by Archmage Escell himself.

Now, I'm not saying that Anisa being rewritten to be the LOS daughter is necessarily bad, but God what would I give just to see Dev's vision for Anisa before Lulu came along because it seems SO interesting. Perhaps not as intense as having the main villain as your dad (tbh they kinda ruined it by revealing it from like... the first or second chapter, but that's neither here nor there), but given that Sage and Felix's routes are already packed with angst and secrecy, Anisa's would come as a fresh breath of air---while you have to play therapist for the two male LIs to help them unpack all that baggage, you get to be on equal footing with Anisa and play detectives/spies with her.

It's got the same vibe as what the Arcana team was going for with Portia, only this one's done SO much better. I could never quite put my finger on why I just wasn't feeling Portia's route, but I guess that might have to do with how disconnected she is from everything established by the other routes. Asra, Julian, and Nadia are former friends who plotted together to take down the self-absorbed and useless Count Lucio, and Muriel is Asra's friend whose life was entirely jeopardized by Lucio's tribe first and then Lucio himself second. Portia is Julian's sister who arrived in Vesuvia not too long ago and she's not really friends with any of these characters (besides maybe the romance she gets with Nadia in Julian's route), nor is she really affected by Lucio so the route gives her an entirely different villain to defeat. In a way, it has become its own story without space to grow as a story should because of the chapter limit. The other routes get away with the chapter limitation because they all complement each other--telling the same story from different perspectives.

That's not really the cause for Anisa because she is at the heart of the conflict as one of the three last surviving Starsworn, suffered in the war as they did and is very empathetic towards the people affected by it. Her lower social status makes it harder for her to climb up the ranks until Escell himself offers to sponsor her if she'll spy on Saaros for him. So, even without the LOS relationship, Anisa is very well-entangled in the plot to make her route relevant and engaging.

It's a shame there are only 2 chapters out and you can only see the choices that the person recording chose, but also it seems like this was recorded at a time when the chapter wasn't even completed because honey what is THIS

#last legacy #fictif last legacy #anisa anka #last legacy anisa #last legacy saaros

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batmanisagatewaydrug · 2 months

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i think you're onto something with the romance novels world and plot points needing to mirror the kind of outlandishness of the love story. bc the main characters are already inherently acting absurd just by falling madly in love in a month or whatever and then if you add in the contrivances of romance tropes, it starts to feel like whiplash trying to pretend the characters live in any sort of grounded "normal" world. Like when the author adds in a family conflict subplot where the MC is like in absolute shambles because her mom said something slightly passive aggressive at lunch. that reads as more jarring to me than like conflict being something ridiculous that her mom doesn't want her being a marine biologist bc they come from a long line of fishmongers. Give me absurd drama to match the over the top dialogue and character emotions, I knew it would be unrealistic it's a romance novel! I guess this applies more to romcoms, but the same would apply I think to an analogous serious scenario. Or at least that's my take on it

okay so having just finished genuinely the most boring romance novel I have ever read in my LIFE I'm going to expand on this a little so thank you for sending an ask that gives me such a great platform to do that

I personally generally prefer a romance that just gets fucking silly with it, like really outlandish. A Lady for the Duke (Alexis Hall) is obviously the dream, being a whole swoony historical trans-affirming fantasy, but contemporary fake relationship stories can also be fun in their sheer ridiculousness, like Love, Hate, and Clickbait (Liz Bowery), which I actually liked, and Unfortunately Yours (Tessa Bailey), which I did not like but was very funny. and let's not forget queen Helen Hoang's Bride Test, which has a premise that dances perilously close to human trafficking but all works out in the end!!!

BUT HAVING SAID THAT. I don't think that something needs to be totally implausible to be a good romance. two of my very favorites romance novels anywhere ever are Helen Hoang's Heart Principle (no one should be surprised Hoang is on her twice I adore her) and Akwaeke Emezi's You Made a Fool of Death with Your Beauty. both of these books are very grounded in reality but with very uncommon situations to heighten emotions and add urgency; in Hoang's case it's a character's adult autism diagnosis + death of a parent and in Emezi's case it's a very sudden and #problematic attraction coming out of absolutely nowhere. the stakes are very real, mostly centering around being true to yourself v disappointing your family, but the circumstances are still wild enough to make you say "god DAMN" and keep turning pages. hell, I'll even be extremely generous and include Mistakes Were Made (Meryl Wilsner) which is kind of a flop but does have the intriguing premise of "what if you were fucking a milf but her kid was YOUR BEST FRIEND and it was a secret?"

those are like the two sweet spots TO ME, and this book I just read (which was Thank You for Sharing by Rachel Runya Katz, I feel so bad putting it on blast but I know people are going to ask) really solidified it for me because TYFS didn't fall into either of those categories. I'm going to say something absolutely insane, which is that multiple times while I was reading it I found myself wishing that the book was fanfic, because on its own it just... didn't bring a lot to the table? it falls into the grounded category but doesn't really bring any of those heightened stakes to the story, it's just 330 pages of people in their late twenties complaining about dating and their office jobs. if I wanted that I could just ask my group chat! there's nothing particularly particularly gripping about watching made up strangers do it!

but then I was like oh hang on... if this was two fictional characters who are usually fighting with swords or throwing cars at each other or something this would be so gripping. it's literally the coffee shop AU principle, right? like seeing people in a very mundane setting having an office job and going to a bar is very shrimpteresting when they're normally defusing space bombs. I was explaining this to my housemates and I couldn't think of a straight couple to apply it to (the book is m/f) so I said Naruto and Sasuke, which is crazy because I've never seen a single episode of Naruto, but like. idk Naruto being a museum curator who has to work with Sasuke, a marketing specialist who he had beef with a summer camp 14 years ago, sounds kind of compelling, right? definitely more than just two people I don't know.

there's a post on here that I think about a lot that talks about why advertising a story with tropes doesn't work for original fiction as well as it does for fan fic because knowing the tropes is more helpful when you already have a sense of investment in the characters and their personalities, and I think this is related to that! I think sometimes you NEED to have a wider sense of scope for the characters for them to be interesting in a very mundane setting!

ANYWAY. much to consider, etc.

#bookblr

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archie-sunshine · 4 months

Note

Hi! Hello!! It's 5am and after reading the 1.5 Driftrod chapter I couldn't help myself by showing my appreciation for it- LIKE THANK YOU!!

My mean Drift apostle- I love how you characterise him! Thank you for sharing this! (Also, amazing how they both got send to horny jail, tho I doubt it would stop Drifty from being a mean teasing b-)

Anyways, a did question did pop up- two actually. But they don't really relate to each other. Kind off?

First, what are your thoughts on Hotlock? My heart, brain and evil horny half of me aches for both sides of Rodimus and Drift so I always have double brainrot about them (-size difference. it's the size difference.)

Second, I didn't find it anywhere on your info page(or maybe it's just me being blind, apologiesif it's the case) but do you have a Ko-fi or something similar? I'm a broke uni student but I still wanted to support you in some monetary way! (Also because I totally want to commission hotlock but felt guilty by just asking without paying hhh)

Sorry for the long ass ask! 5am me is ecstatic about what they just read and future me will feel shame and pass it down to at least three generations for making a fool out of myself.

Have an amazing day and keep being great!!

So do u guys ever get an ask that leaves u kinda sittin there like this?

*ahem* anyways!! Sorry, i got very carried away drawing sketches for this ask so if this is like- super overwhelming i apologize

THANK YOU!! FOR ENJOYING THE SECRET DRIFTROD FIC!! I have a lot of thoughts about drift and his sex life and libido and personal preferences. I won't go into heavy detail(unless someone sends an ask wanting to hear about my thoughts) but i fully agree that drift has a mean streak the size of the grand canyon, but also has so much internalized guilt that he REALLY tries to not do anything about it. Rodimus is oblivious to it- until Drift eventually snaps and makes his intentions very very clear. But there were some obvious warning signs, i.e. being a very persistent sex pest and getting way too revved up from bullying rodimus with the magnetizer on.

AS FOR HOTLOCK??? I genuinely hadn't thought about it- until i read an absolutely life changing brain shattering wip from a friend of mine. AND NOW!!!??? NOW ITS IN MY BRAIN. i cannot get it out of there. LOVE hotlock, lots of thoughts on hotlock. The tension, the hatesex, two pent up freaks with the libidos of rabbits. What's not to love right? (apologies, im not the best at drawing Hot Rod idw style but i think this gets the point across yea?)

I personally find it very compelling that they would start out hating each other, and hot rod would likely continue to consider their whole relationship more of a sexually charged rivalry. but deadlock I believe would become almost animalistically possessive of hot rod. Still hating him, still savoring the thrill of hunting him for sport for the express purpose of beating the brakes off him. but uh... not wanting anything to get between that.

I like to imagine that characterization for deadlock no matter who he ends up with, BECAUSE, I also really enjoy the idea that Drift would harbour a lot of guilt and shame for that part of his life? like i personally believe Drift would try to cover up as much of deadlocks remaining character traits as possible out of guilt, pretend they arent there and that he's a much more even tempered, normal person about the relationships he's in.

Now is that possessiveness or mean streak really gone?.... I mean...

drift would probably very much like you to think so.

NOW!! about commissions, first of all holy shit thank you? what? Don't spend your money on me good god- I USED to have a ko-fi, but i have not used it in a very long time!! I really appreciate the sentiment, but especially if youre hard for cash, I'd be happy to just draw requests because i think they're fun!! so feel free to suggest whatever you'd like to see(as long as its like- one of my hyperfixations bbgfdgfds-) I personally really love making people happy with my art, so like- praise, recognition, and knowing that my work made people happy(via comments or tags or inbox messages) is like fucking crack to me. I'd love to draw driftrod/hotlock for anyone, literally anytime, bc it would make them happy :] and that would make me happy :]

Like, see? I farted this drift out in under 10 minutes and it made me so happy to draw and i went 'omg the little people in my puter are gonna love this drawing' and it brought me infinitely more joy than the 25 bucks id get as payment for it.

IF!! I do open for commissions though, i'd likely be accepting payment via my paypal in CAD, and you'd likely see me open for them on my blog if you're following me!!

I know this post is already like exorbitantly long, for which i apologize, but i do want to say you should never apologize for the enjoyment you gain from someones work!!! This ask has made me so happy!! It makes me really glad to know that someone out there who i don't even know was brought joy by my very stupid fanfic at 5am somewhere. ALSO??? the fact that someone halfway across the world from me can see and love and enjoy something I made??? THE WORLD IS BEAUTIFUL WHAT?? The connection that fandom and creation can bring is beyond description and I am glad that my work reached you. any of you. all of you. thank you anon.

(jesus christ im getting emotional in this chilis today)

[Feeling nosy? Send me an ask or request in my inbox!!!]

[full sketchpage under the cut!]

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pascaloverx · 6 months

Text

Invisible Bonds: The Power of Destiny

Author's Note: This fanfic contains possible strong language and explores themes of unconventional love. The relationship between the protagonists will be handled with sensitivity, without explicit scenes.

preview chapter two

*pictures credits are not mine, credits belong to their owners

Chapter One

You woke up feeling discouraged, but with a hopeful feeling that things would get better. How could you not feel hopeful when the love of your life is about to marry an incredible woman?

"Darling, Taehyung called to let you know he'll be waiting for you at the beauty salon. He said you'd know which one. He also wanted to remind you that he remembered to pick up the tuxedo and the shoes. He asked you to call his friend about the wedding rings." Your mother shouted from downstairs, and you felt the urge to never leave your bed again. How could you be a bridesmaid in a wedding you theoretically should prevent? But then again, who are you to go against the dictates of destiny?

Your mother came to visit you this weekend because Taehyung considers her a second mother, and she's thrilled to see her heart's son getting married. She has already given up of the ideia of you getting married.

You shout back that you're already getting ready to meet the groom. Damn, you had forgotten to call Taehyung's childhood friend, Jungkook. You haven't met him in person, but you've heard the guys talk a lot about him. And by guys, you mean the college friends you met through Taehyung: Jin, Namjoon, Yoongi, Hoseok, and Jimin. The lilac dress that the bride has chosen for all the bridesmaids is so delicate that you feel like you shouldn't even take it out of the closet. You quickly slip into it and fix your hair within minutes. Why take your time when you're not the bride, right?

Finishing getting ready, you search for Jungkook's number on your phone. You wonder why you volunteered to help with this wedding and why, out of everyone, you ended up with the task of calling this guy. The phone rings and rings, but no one answers. When I call again, he finally picks up. His voice is hoarse; it feels like I just woke him up. Oops...

"There better be a good reason for calling me this early in the morning then..." He says in an almost rude tone. You wonder if there's a way to slap someone through the phone. Perhaps in the future, there will be.

"Good morning, Jungkook. I hate to break it to you, but as an adult, you should've been up hours ago. My name is (Y/N), and I'd like to know if the wedding rings and their bearer will be here on time for the wedding." You reply, trying to be as patient as possible, but honestly, you're furious. Always having to deal with other people's issues.

"Has anyone ever told you that you have a beautiful voice? Ever thought about becoming a singer or a voice actor?" He says while you can hear noises in the background, a woman murmuring something. He's too busy getting romantically involved with someone to remember to be a good friend, how wonderful.

"Instead of trying to flatter me, make sure you're here at the agreed time and with the rings. If you want to invite your company to come along, feel free. But know that if you mess something up today, I'll be your particular nightmare." You say as sternly as possible. You even slow down your speech in the last part to appear more intimidating.

"If this is your way of asking if I'll be accompanied today, the answer is no. As for the rest, I'll do exactly as you asked, if you promise to reward me at the end of the night." He says, trying to be seductive. You prefer to pretend you didn't hear that proposition.

"I'm sorry to burst your fantasies, but I don't plan on getting involved with anyone. You can pretend that I'm saving myself for my other half." You reply firmly, putting an end to any further advances.

"Believing in soulmates is for fools. I bet I can convince you otherwise at the wedding." You don't even know the guy, but you're already envious of his arrogance.

"Listen, I have things to do and can't waste time. I expect to see you in a few hours, appropriately dressed and with wedding rings in your pocket." You say firmly, ending the conversation and hanging up the phone.

You descend the stairs, seeing the table full of food that your mother is packing for you to freeze and eat during the week. You thank her and let her know you won't be able to have breakfast together. She says she doesn't want to inconvenience you, knowing that Taehyung needs you. You nod in agreement and give your mother a goodbye kiss. A few minutes later, you're finishing up the last details at the reception hall. Of course, you had already organized things at the church. Everything is going as planned. You arrive at the beauty salon where the bride and groom are getting their skin and hair done.

"I was starting to miss you. You look breathtaking." Taehyung says as he gets up from the chair where he was finishing his makeup. He looks so radiant, as if his smile could light up the world. It heals me even as it hurts. He isn't my soulmate; God knows he never thought of me romantically, but I simply love him.

"Look who's talking. Haewon is going to feel incredibly lucky when she sees you walking down the aisle like this. Although, she looks stunning. I sneakily peeked because I thought you'd want to know." You say as you adjust Taehyung's tie.

"I'm so nervous. It's worse than that time we were at a concert, and I got called up on stage to sing. I don't know how I'm going to walk down the aisle and wait for my future wife patiently." He says as you lock at each other. It's not romantic, but it's a moment of tenderness. After all, he is my best friend, and he's getting married.

""Taehyung, today you embark on a new chapter of your life, and I have no doubt that your love story with Haewon will be as magical as the bond that you guys already share. No nervousness in the world will ruin your moment." You say, trying to be as positive as possible.

"You always know what to say. I love you, you know that?" He says, hugging you.

"I love you too, now come on. We have a beautiful wedding waiting for you, and it's not nice to keep the bride waiting." You say as you send a message to the driver, letting them know Taehyung is ready to go. According to the schedule, Haewon will be making her grand entrance in about ten minutes.

The journey from the salon to the church takes about five minutes. Up until now, everything has been going perfectly. Right now, Taehyung is surrounded by friends and is nervous. Not because of the bride, but because Jungkook hasn't arrived yet. That idiot.

You knew you shouldn't have trusted him to get the rings. You can't believe he's going to mess everything up in the end. And just as you lose patience completely, Jungkook walks into the church. At least, you think he's Jungkook. I must admit he looks elegant, almost like he stepped out of a movie. He arrives with a smile, as if he's the main attraction.

And suddenly, you feel it—a suffocating sensation as if the air has been sucked out of the world. A pain in your chest so immense that it makes you stumble, clinging onto Taehyung for support. Then you notice Jungkook doesn't seem well either. Damn, this can only mean one thing. As your body collapses to the ground and your consciousness fades, amidst people shouting and lifting me to call for medical help, you feel something inside you that only soulmates feel for each other. You can't believe that out of all the people in the world, your other half is Jeon Jungkook.

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fandoms-rants · 5 months

Text

Andrew Minyard, Neil Josten & Andriel Quotes Part 3:

(Quotes that remind me of (and/or I think they would say in canon or fanfics which I hope someone will write) Andrew, Neil or both of them and/or therir relationship)

"Do you not understand? I will not settle for anything less than a soul-deep, electrifying connection." (Andriel to Everyone who doubts them)

“Hearts are wild creatures, that’s why are ribs are cages.” (Andrew)

“I have a very intelligent mind but a goddamn stupid heart.” (Andrew **gay panicking** before he kissed Neil the first time)

“Light is easy to love. Show me your darkness.” (Andrew to Neil)

“She’s a combination of sensitive and savage.” (Neil about Andrew)

“Underestimate me. That'll be fun.” (Andrew)

“She will rise. With a spine of steel, and a roar like thunder, she will rise.” (Andrew post-canon)

"According to Greek mythology, humans were originally created with four arms, four legs and a head with two faces. Fearing their power, Zeus split them into two separate parts, condemning them to spend their lives in search of their other halves." (Andriel)

“The initmacy of being understood.” (Andriel)

“If you don't want a sarcastic answer, don't ask a stupid question.” (Andrew)

“Why aren't you scared of me? Whyy do you care for me?” (Andrew to Neil and Neil to Andrew)

“The silent ones are the most observant ones.” (Andrew)

“He pretty cute for a Monster.” (Neil about Andrew)

“"I am coming for all the monsters that ever touched him, I am coming for all the ones who twisted his stars into shadows, They turned him into a nightmare, So I'm going to be theirs." (**Neil about Andrew**)

“"When a devil falls in love, it's the most hauntingly beautiful thing ever. And you should be terrified, for he will go to the depths of hell for her." (Andriel)(You choose who the devil is ;)

"Hold him gently in your hands. He has been cracked enough as it is, and his heart is more shattered than he lets on." (Neil about Andrew)

"I defy the stars; I defy Heaven and Hell. The laws of the universe say that the man I love is lost to me. I say: Watch me save him." (Andrew during Baltimore)

"Golden child, Lion boy; Tell me what it's like to conquer.” (Neil to Andrew) Fearless child, Broken boy; Tell me what it's like to burn." (Andrew to Neil)

“I will not have you without the darkness that hides within you. I will not let you have me without the madness that makes me. If our demons cannot dance, neither can we." (Andrew to Neil and Neil to Andrew)

“"Survivors have scars. Victims have graves.” (Andriel)

“I became good at pretending. I became so good that after a while the lines blurred between my truth and fiction. And sometimes, when I did a really good job of pretending, I even fooled myself." (Neil)

“I am eternally, devastatingly romantic, and I thought people would see it because 'romantic' doesn't mean 'sugary? It's dark and tormented — the furor of passion, the despair of an idealism that you can't attain.” (Andriel)

“I am almost never serious, and I'm always too serious. Too deep, too shallow. Too sensitive, too cold hearted. I'm like a collection of paradoxes." (Andrew)

“If only my heart were as cold as I pretend it is, maybe I could get over this." (Andrew)

“I became bitter and untouchable. I craved affection but even the mere thought of someone caring made my stomach turn." (Andrew)

“I like the scars because I like the stories. Bravery, stupidity, pain-none of them come free." (Andrew to Neil)

“You can tell how dangerous a person is by the way they hold their anger inside themselves quietly." (Neil about Andrew)

“I will love you as misfortune loves orphans, as fire loves innocence and as justice loves to sit and watch everything go wrong.” (Andriel)

“You and Atlas are one and the same my dear, cursed to hold a weight you can't bare and still standing not because you can but because you have to.” (Neil to Andrew)

“Lift with your knees, Atlas, the heavens are a burden but in the starlit ink of constellations you have written: Endure." (Andrew)

“"I'm someone who's mostly dead inside but still has a little hope for something extraordinary, which, as I said, is the worst breed of human, because it means I know everything is bullshit, but that I secretly hope for the day when it might not be." (Andrew)

“My abuse isn't poetic. it was not justice or necessary. The earth left me to die and there is no such thing as karma. The gods watched idly by as i was killed in that house and not a damn person tried to help me.” (Andrew)

“You are allowed to grieve over the child you could've been.” (Neil to Andrew)

“"I spent my childhood learning how to fear, and now I spend my adulthood learning how not to." (Andriel)

**Im imagining this in a butcher!Neil or mafia!Neil AU. As a courting gift Neil brings Andrew the heads of all the men who abused him.**

*WARNING: About copyright, Quotes come from various places(ie. FanFiction, Tv, Movies, Music, Pinterest) so use in your own fanfic stories at your own.. I can’t think of the word but you know what I mean.*

#aftg #andrew minyard #neil josten #andreil #quotes #my post

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chaoticdelinqueerwithglitter · 2 months

Text

I'll love you better when I'm dead

(chapter 206 from Sanzu's POV)

(tragic MuSan drabble)

(link to ao3 in case some one preferes to read it there)

First of all...I'm sorry for this (not really but yes a lot at the same time, but I did this to myself too). An evil snail shared with me this AMAZING AND BRUTAL essay on Sanzu & katana-chan and reading the last pages about Mucho, this fic happened. So first of all...

GO, READ THE ESSAY NOW!

Summary: "We are both dying here today, captain."

[or why Sanzu looses his grip]

Warnings: Manga Spoilers. Major Character Death (chapter 206, duh). Hurt/No Comfort. Like for real, comfort has been slashed with a katana and is sinking in the bottom of the ocean.

The title is from "Love you better" because I listened in a loop for two days while reading the essay and writing this.

Oh, I played with Sanzu name (again, yes) but this time doing a full Jinx, ooopsie!

(English is not my first language, so be nice please 🙈)

It’s been six months since the Kanto Incident. Six months of planning for this day, of imagining how he’s going to punish that damn traitor. Of pretending his whole body doesn’t ache at the idea of killing the only person that made him feel like he mattered.

Haruchiyo is good at that, at hiding his true feelings from the world, lying to himself as much as he needs as a way of achieving it. He’s good at rationalize the overwhelming whirlwind of emotions that threaten to flood his mind all the time. He’s used to repress the pain, keep his anxiety at bay, bury all of it next to the memories he can’t face without having the need to scream and break everything at his reach (including himself).

Six months that seem to crumble the second his captain’s eyes light up when he spots him outside the detention center.

The ride is dominated by silence, that only breaks with Muto’s simple questions about how he’s been doing during this time. Genuine concern plastered on the face he’s supposed to hate. Haruchiyo wants to laugh hysterically at this, the irony that even now the older boy is only worried about him. Instead, he just gives short answers, knowing the other won’t push his boundaries.

They are finally at the wharf and his resolve flatters for a moment, overwhelmed by a kindness that he forgot how warm it feels.

“I’ve been waiting for this day...”

Haruchiyo trails off, talking mostly to himself. His hands grip the hilt of the katana, steading his inner turmoil with the reminder of why he’s doing this. The tangible proof of his vow, of the promise that gives him purpose. Wielding it with years of practice, preparing himself to strike a fatal blow.

‘Is that it? Is that the only reason I’m doing this?’

He hesitates, consciously loosening his grip on one hand and landing a sloppy cut that buys him some precious seconds.

“You damned betrayer!”

‘Liar, you made me think I could trust you, made me feel safe, seen. How can you say you love me when you couldn’t tell your treason would rot everything we shared?’

“Sanzu...?”

Muto looks at him in shock, trying to stop the bleeding with his hand and falling on his knees. He’s the perfect image of bewilderment, like he can’t comprehend what is happening, why is happening.

“I’ve been fooling you all along.”

‘I’ve been fooling myself, pretending this never meant anything to me. Pretending you never meant anything to me.’

Haruchiyo keeps talking, winning some time in order to collect his thoughts, to understand his own feelings in order to let them go and fully put his heart on the second hit.

“Remember our conversation that day when we were playing shogi? I said it, right?”

‘Do you remember how you told me I also mattered? You made me yearn for more, you were the first person that taught me to be selfish, to listen to my own needs.’

It’s almost ironic, realizing killing Muto is a sick way of putting himself first. Realizing this is personal.

“Protecting the king is the priority. You betrayed Mikey, didn’t you?”

‘You betrayed me, didn’t you?’

He takes off his mask, the scars reminding him of his place, letting go the faint illusion it could ever be somewhere else. That it could be next to his captain. He can’t forget it again, can’t keep hiding his devotion behind his craving for affection.

A sadistic grin on his face. That’s the new mask he’s going to show to a world that will never be the same for him.

“Now it’s checkmate.”

This time the cut is fatal, slashing a lot more than flesh and bones and severing the ties between them.

‘We are both dying here today, captain.’

Somehow, Muto hears the words he never says. But his will be the only tears shed, no one else will mourn the Haruchiyo that knew genuine love.

Sanzu can’t allow himself to grieve. He can’t be weak again, these seconds that felt like ages will be the last entertaining the idea he could be more than a loyal knight to his beloved king.

He made a promise and Sanzu is willing to do anything in order to fulfill it. Even killing a part of himself forever. His weakness, the love that tempted him to break free of his sacred vow. In a twisted way, he can’t avoid thinking how fitting it feels burying it with his captain.

Haruchiyo is dead.

Only Sanzu prevails.

#tokyo revengers #tokyo revengers spoilers #me writing🌻#tokyo revengers fic #drabble #kanto manji timeline #bonten timeline #hurt/no comfort #comfort is not here anymore #angst #sanzu angst #sanzu haruchiyo #muto yasuhiro #musan #tragic as fuck musan #but what's new #tr chapter 206 #katana-chan is here again #canon complicit

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gerbiloftriumph · 28 days

Text

Floating Castle Liveblog (second read)

Turns out I just can't stay away from this book, or stop myself from doing live updates on Goodreads, probably to the irritation of my followers there and to the chagrin of the website itself, which is now overwriting old updates with newer ones, thus, my need to post them all here. For posterity.

And because I love Telgrin just that much.

March 17, 2019 –

page 0

I feel a sad reading funk coming on and the only way I can think to save it is with my boi, the greatest sassy villain ever, Telgrin. Awww yiss (I don't feel the mood for Princess Bride for once, so next step down it is). Feel free to follow along as I keysmash glee about this doofy lame villain and his impractical floating castle (usingthekqreddit's.pdfshackcoughahhhhkkk you didn't hear that from me.)

page 3

It just cracks me up to see a literal castle sailing by in the storm. Alex can pretend all he likes that it’s just a cloud formation—it’s still dang wacky and impractical.

page 8

Graham: Did you see anything weird out there? Alexander: Well, I mean. A literal floating castle, probably? Graham: Yes, that sounds sensible. Carry on. I’m grinning like a fool and I’m not even ten pages in. This book is my flavor of perfect delight, glossy purple prose and all.

page 11

The fact that Telgrin's castle is in a perpetual thundercloud? He's the sort of dude who would, in a modern au, just listen to the rainymood app constantly. I feel it deeeeeeep in my soul. The anticipation of the plot points has me positively grinning and I keep telling myself, "No, slow down and enjoy. The kelpie and troll and frog and tree wizard and all aren't going anywhere. It's okay."

page 14

I want to scoop Graham up in a big hug. He seems like a great person, such a strong king. Showing nothing but peace and respect to everyone, regardless of social status, who comes in talking about that Spooky Castle, and he's completely chill *until* he's alone with Alexander and can finally drop that mask and honestly show his fear. Even if you're unfamiliar with the source material, this is good character detail.

page 17

"A strange castle has intruded upon the peace of Daventry. I think it fair to assume that only a powerful magic could have transported it here." No, Graham, flying castles are perfectly normal things. Like birds. (here comes telgrin the sassmaster i'm so exciiiitedddd)

page 18

"While Graham occupied the throne, what misfortune could long hold sway over Daventry? What evil could prevail?" cough foreshadowing cough cough hack wheeze

page 19

I still believe with my whole heart that this bearded and blustery and large Sir Brian is a reference to Brian Blessed and I don't care what anyone else thinks.

page 21

Heeeeeeere's Telgrin! Struttin' in, debris from the door all in a cloud, swinging that stupid crystal staff in step with his walk, and freaking "pleased by the dumbfounded reaction his appearance had caused." My melodramatic diva. Let's do thiiiiis.

page 22

Graham, furious, demands to know why Telgrin's here. Telgrin flings back his head and cackles: "'Who am I? Why, I am your new neighbor! Have you not seen my castle there in the distance?' The man paused. He seemed to expect Graham to say something then, but the king simply stared at him. This seemed to unnerve the stranger somewhat" because how do you banter in silence? You can't be the sassmaster if no one plays! :3

page 23

Telgrin wouldn't come to the castle to announce himself as Ye Olde Villain until Graham had summoned a full contingent of knights. Telgrin, Sassmaster and Diva, requires a proper audience before strutting around. <3

page 23

"Do you seriously believe that simply declaring yourself king will make you king in truth?" "*Believe* it? I know it. It is a fact. Who can dispute it?" Graham rose slowly from his throne, straightened to his full height. Unblinking, his gaze was fixed upon Telgrin. "*I* can." "You dare defy me?" "I do." A twisted smile tugged briefly at the corners of Telgrin's mouth. "Good. I was rather hoping you would." Sassy.

page 25

Telgrin is so blissed out on his own sassy triumph that we could SO EASILY dropkick him and snap that stupid crystal staff in half and we'd win and the book would be over in a mere 30 pages. I swear, he's not watching his back at all. Alexander, take him out at the knees! ...or, don't. That's fine. We contracted a full novel from Sierra. I get it.

page 32

I want a Valanice book. I want this series to be a quartet instead of a trilogy. I want this so deep in my soul.

page 32

TREE WIZARD. I can't stop grinning; I love tree wizard. He's trying to nod and shrug and he doesn't have shoulders so he can't, because he's a TREE.

page 40

"Telgrin is a stealer of souls." "A stealer of souls? What's that?" Alexander, the name is on the tin. It isn't hard to figure out.

page 41

I know I should stop updating every few pages. I'm spoiling things and probably being annoying but it's been a long weekend and this is Exactly my flavor of comedy: tree wizard is offering Cyril to Alex, since he "'does all those things that I can no longer do for myself. And he is very good at keeping the woodpeckers away.' This did not sound like the sort of help that Alexander was looking for." Be polite, Alex. :3

page 45

Of all the things I remember from reading this book a year ago, Tree Wizard and his Tea is one of my top favorite mental images. Doesn't matter that we're slowly turning into a tree. Tea time is very important and we will Not miss it. There's even fanart of Tree Wizard and his tea on Tumblr, that's how important it is.

page 45

Alexander (paraphrased): "Sooo...do you know how to stop being a tree?" Morowyn: "Oh, yeah, totes figured that out. Could do it whenever I wanted. Kinda has a drawback, though." Alexander: "Yeah? What's that?" Morowyn: "I would immediately die." Alexander: "......yep, that's a drawback."

March 19, 2019

page 57

“Do you know where to look for a soul? Have you ever seen one?” One would assume it’s glowy and vaguely Graham-shaped.

page 64

I can not believe I forgot about this Literal Ringwraith character. It’s...just a Ringwraith. Pure and simple and obvious.

page 74

I did remember the Literal Lembas Bread, though. Fantasy tropes! *jazz hands*

page 78

One of the classic fantasy tropes is doing a long walk from point a to point b. I’ve got to give Mills credit: I don’t think I’ve read any other book that fills its protagonists up with magic bread that induces energetic power-walking before.

page 80

I remember being annoyed by this conversation the first time, but that was before I realized I held a Masterpiece of High Literature in my hands: “Good apple,” Cyril said. “Very good.” “Sweet.” “Mmm.”

page 87

“A rope, some apples,” Cyril said, frowning. “I still don’t see what you’re planning.” It’s called A Sierra Solution, Cyril, and they only make sense half the time, because this game series is haaaaard.

page 90

Kelpie rodeo. In what sensible fantasy novel would this be allowed? None, man. I love this book. [gerbil note: this scene also has fanart, because this book is amazing]

March 19, 2019

page 97

Alexander: Ho there! Sir Ogre! Ogre: /what did you call me/?! At least, that’s how it should go.

[gerbil note again: i did totally steal this very lame joke for captive crown later on and i'm not even sorry about it]

page 100

I didn’t quite realize how dorky this was the first time, but now I’m paying attention I’ve realized: Telgrin has exactly One lone storm cloud that occasionally spits out a lightning bolt, just hovering over the tower. In my head, this looks like a Winnie the Pooh cloud. Is that all the magic he could summon? One tiny cloud? Lame, and yet So On Brand for my sassmaster.

page 107

We've now entered the Road to El Dorado sequence of the book and I'm perfectly content. Barrel scene eheheheheeeee

page 112

Once again, the book stresses, it is but *one* cloud. One very black and lightning filled cloud, but a single cloud, nevertheless, providing all the ambient noise and mood. I find this bizarrely hilarious. It feels like Telgrin's equivalent of keeping his phone on low battery mode so he can keep using the Rainymood app.

page 120

The sassmaster's lair is just the most Extra thing. It's like he read a book on what villains are supposed to do, so he did it. He's got it all: high ceilings that vanish to dark, ludicrous amounts of moldering velvet curtains, "hideously ornate" braziers, and a perfectly silly black throne. Telgrin, pleaaase this is so unnecessary and not remotely sensible. You've copied someone else's homework, and badly. ilu.

page 121

And Alexander refuses to play the game. Telgrin has all these expectations on how this conversation is meant to go, he's basically reciting a script, and Alexander's just like, "Uhhhh....what?" So Telgrin moves on to Cyril, like Cyril will play along properly. I just can't. I love Telgrin to unfeasible levels of nonsense.

page 122

(Incidentally, I'm still kinda salty that Graham's soul isn't in the throne room, wedged in Telgrin's overly-flashy staff. It just feels more right than where he *actually* is.)

page 123

"You are an evil man." "So it has been said." Telgrin shrugged. "Personally I've always found that such abstractions do not apply well to life in the real world. They make matters that are by their very nature complex seem rather too simple, don't you think?" "Evil," Alexander repeated. Telgrin sighed. "I can see that you're really not up to a probing and dispassionate philosophical discussion" Modern AU: he's a Bro

page 125

I'm fairly certain this reference to Alexander having a hard time with stairs is a reference to the older KQ games in which if you misstep, you're going down, and if you're more than a few feet up, you're a dead man and you've got to reload a save. :)

March 21, 2019

page 129

Out of curiosity, I googled a Barikar to see if this was a real fantasy creature, but the only actual result is from the King's Quest Fanwiki to tell me that, yes, Telgrin owns a Barikar. ....nice, I guess.

page 130

By all technical and decent writing standards, this book is probably awful. Er. I mean, awfully great. High literature, deffo. But it *feels* like a King's Quest game. Every new place is described with just enough detail that you can so easily picture it in those stark, retro early gaming colors, or that pixel painting KQ5 style. I super love it.

page 131

The King's Quest fanwiki tells me that Telgrin owns the only Barikar in all of the entire canon of all fantasy, but it doesn't tell me if Telgrin *loves* his Barikar. I hope he does, because no one else possibly could. What a hideous beastie.

page 134

You boys should be ashamed of yourselves, disposing of a barikar. There was only one in ALL of fantasy EVER and now there's none.

page 139

I hate how funny I think it is that Alexander isn't even pulled together enough to answer his own mental questions. "Yes" is not always the correct answer, sir.

page 143

sassmaster diva telgrin's tragic childhood backstory-----OH WAIT NO IT'S NOT TRAGIC HE'S JUST ALWAYS BEEN A PUNK. I love him.

March 27, 2019

page 143

I wonder what Telgrin’s first thought was when he, A Pathetic Scullery Boy (tm) chopped Owen’s head off, presumably with a Vaguely Magical movement because clean-one-chop head removal is hard even with the help of gravity, man, and Owen’s head just started swearing at him from the floor. Like. That’s a dang weird mental image.

page 144

He holds his own head under his arm like it’s a football and it cracks me up. It’s meant to be serious and scary, probably, but I just love this headless ghost.

page 146

The most over the top baby monitor ever created

page 152

In fairness, this part is one of the most like the game-version would probably be, and it works the least because Alexander is working from information we don’t have. As a gamer we would have heard all Owen’s instructions and had to replicate them perfectly to avoid nasty game overs. As a reader it would have been repetitive for Owen to tell us, then watch Alex act, but there’s a disconnect now.

page 156

“After allowing himself to wallow in depression for a short while”—like, twenty seconds, if that.

page 180

Sinofas (paraphrased): Sooooo.....about that magic flying leap out of the tallest tower. What was that about? Alexander: We had a pressing need to leave the castle. Sinofas: Ever heard of a *door,* sirrah? (do note that I haven't stopped smiling for like twenty pages; this book's greaaat)

page 181

Alexander, paraphrased: So....you're not...friends with Telgrin, are you? Sinofas: He put his Giant Castle in my front yard and won't move it. What do you think??

page 183

I can't believe Mills feels he has to point out that Alexander makes for one Handsome Frog. A "rather large and handsome frog," indeed. Ffff.

page 183

And, I quote, "Did you speak, Sir Frog?" "That's Prince Frog, to you." Alexander, *please* reign in some of your sass. It's not helping matters.

page 198

I feel like the further this book goes, the stronger Alexander's sass gets. It'll never be Telgrin levels of sass because that man is the Sassmaster Diva, but it's dang good.

page 212

Sassmaster Telgrin *still* can't get anyone to dialogue properly with him. Graham's just as obstinate as Alexander and is really good at One Syllable Responses. My gorgeous royal family.

page 223

"At that moment, her second head . . . appeared to wake. It opened its eyes, blinked, and said, "Hmph. What's happening? Where am I?" "It's all right, dear," the first head said. "Go back to sleep. I'm just going to kill this man here." "Oh, that's all right then." I adore this book in ways I cannot express.

page 225

I'm so glad magic in this world, with this staff, works by wishing. So, basically, Telgrin must have said, "I wish King Graham's soul was mine" and so it was, and "I wish I had a fireball to kill Alexander," and bam. It's like he's making little birthday cake wishes, but Horrible Magic happens instead and it's kinda hilariously great. :3

page 230

Telgrin, through a magical hologram because this book is great: "Oi! There you are!" Alexander, exhausted and annoyed: "Whaddya want, Telgrin?" "What do you think? You've stolen my staff. I want it back." "That's too bad. I'm fairly sure that I don't want to give it to you." Now is not the time to start having a holographic fight. Pull back that sass, kiddos.

April 2, 2019

page 231

"The fact that this book is about the same size and heft as my Nintendo Switch tablet with like a pt 14 font, and the fact that it's still taken me into week three to read it, means I'm nice and deep in this reading slump. This should be a six hour read at *maximum*. Telgrin, take me away.

page 236

Alexander, you can't just order princesses to do what you want with magic. that's so rude.

page 237

To be 100% clear, Alexander, Telgrin learned literally everything he knows from Owen, and we can see how Telgrin turned out. One miiiight assume that Owen himself is not the most Noble of nobility.

page 240

"Alexander looked long upon the poor, filthy, shabby, beheaded, half-crazed man" -- I dunno, Alex, I might have led with the Beheaded part. Just sayin', seems the most important part.

page 248

"Alexander thought that it would be inappropriate to express regrets for the incident, since those regrets would not be deeply felt." Alexander, be polite. Don't start snarking with the villain, now.

page 250

"Lydia, Lydia, don't you understand? A man wants to idealize the woman he is to wed. This becomes extremely difficult *when she keeps bloody carping at him.*" Telgrin's breakdown from Eloquent Bro is the best thing ever.

page 260

Since the fight is taking place off screen, it reads most hilariously, with each combatant yelling, "Oh, yeah, that was okay, but what about THIS" followed by just basically a stream of sound effects. It's like reading an anime battle where they would normally shout out their attack names and I'm so into it.

page 266

Can I also add that I find it Entirely Hysterical that this HUGE FLOATING CASTLE is literally pinned into place? With like, a big bobby pin driven into the ground? And that's *it*? This is so impractical on so many levels, Telgrin.

April 3, 2019

page 267

Alexander actually expected Telgrin to win that fight, hah. Good confidence for the Good Team, I guess (Owen's placement on the Good Team being...sketchy, at best, of course).

page 273

See, Graham, Cyril remembers HIS adventuring rope when he goes off on missions. Take notes; it'll help you out in your 2015 voyage.

page 278

Cyril, you stud muffin.

page 283

"How did you find this?" "I got lost." Bab.

April 16, 2019

page 289

Graham Dying bedscenes are like, a favorite staple of this series, innit? And then KQ9 just had to go and take it allllll the way. Hhhh.

page 292

Come on, come on, someone say "a heart is a heavy burden" at Graham. Make this book perfectly complete. No? Okay, fine.

page 293

"I have much to be thankful for. I have escaped the torments that Telgrin thought to inflict on my spirit. I am in my own body again, in my own home, safe and surrounded by family and friends. But what makes me most grateful is that I am able to look upon your face once again, my dear one. For that is everything." Valanice laughed softly, and said, "Rest. You are delirious, I think." My FAVORITE royal couple hhhhhhh.

April 16, 2019 – Finished Reading

Five stars out of five stars. Again.

#there is at least one more goofy liveblog to look forward to #so look forward to that and that's an order #king's quest #kings quest #king's quest novels #telgrin #king graham

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hyuckswonderland · 10 months

Note

after searching for awhile im so glad to finally see a zb1 writer😭 anyways im wondering if you could write a lee!jiwoong and ler!gyuvin with prompts 2 and 30 ??

Eeee I'm glad you found me! I'm hoping there will be more zb1 writers in the future :( It's a lonely world out here

2. “I don’t laugh.”

30. “Aw, you’re blushing!”

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Jiwoong was stubborn to keep up his cool image. Sure his cuter side had come out a bit during Boys Planet and even moreso now in Zb1 but he still tried to keep up a good amount of that cooler personality.

Gyuvin was having none of that. The mischievous boy was always looking to cause chaos after all and he'd be a fool to not notice Jiwoong trying to keep a cool act up whenever they filmed.

He wondered if the oldest was just like their youngest member, ticklish as hell. Gyuvin ever the blunt didn't hesitate to be direct and ask that exact question to him. "Hey Jiwoong hyung," He started, grabbing Jiwoong's attention, "Are you ticklish?"

The face of shock on the older's face was the first piece of evidence in Gyuvin's book that he in fact was. The second was the fact he flinched at hearing the word ticklish. As the oldest in his family he knew the tells of what someone who got tickled a lot growing up looked like.

"No. I'm not." A lie, Jiwoong knew that and so did Gyuvin. "Really? Not at all?" The younger pried, trying to get a confession out of the older.

Jiwoong's tenseness made Gyuvin want to laugh, his favorite thing was picking apart people, especially those who tried to hide the cuter side of themselves.

“No, I don’t laugh.” The younger nodded, pretending like he bought it.

"So you wouldn't mind if I tested it out then? I just can't imagine someone not being ticklish, you know?" Now it was his turn to lie.

Jiwoong side eyed Gyuvin, it was clear the idea was not one he liked. Like anyone who tried to save their reputation though, he agreed anyways. "I mean you can... it's not like it'll do anything though." Gyuvin's could see the nervousness that radiated from the older.

He chuckled to himself "Still still I wanna see for myself." He grinned as he slowly scribbled at Jiwoong's sides. Now at first Jiwoong jolted at the sudden touch. He quickly recovered to then hold back his laughter and keep his movement to a minimum.

"Huh? If you aren't ticklish why'd you jolt, hyung?" Gyuvin chuckled, the older was seriously cute when he was trying to pretend he wasn't ticklish.

Jiwoong cleared his throat to gain composure before he spoke "You just surprised me, that's all." The struggle in his voice was slight but still noticeable to Gyuvin.

Gyuvin just nodded and sped up his scribbling, squeezing at Jiwoong's sides lightly. He wanted to build it up until Jiwoong couldn't hold his laughter in anymore, revealing the undeniable truth.

The older's face contorted at the change, biting at his lip to hold in his laughter. He didn't need the younger of all people to know he was ticklish. If only he knew, that Gyuvin already did.

Jiwoong thought that this was bad but he soon had a rude awakening. "Hmm I dunno hyung maybe you're just not ticklish here!" Gyuvin slowly scribbled his finger's way up to Jiwoong's underarms.

A small yelp fell from the older, it was impossible to stop from slipping. "Seeee! I was right~"

The older shook his head "Y-you're not-" His words coming out shaky, the control was slowly slipping from him.

"Hey hyung," Gyuvin smirked as he looked up down at him, "You know I already know you're ticklish, right?" He didn't even wait for Jiwoong's response as he rapidly tickled at his underarms.

A loud squeak managed it's way out, never had Gyuvin ever heard such a sound come from Jiwoong. He loved it though.

"Aww was that a squeak? Did my hyungie squeak because he's too ticklish~?" Oh teasing the older was fun.

A crimson red spread across Jiwoong's face as a storm of giggles flew through him. "GYhyhyuvihihin-" He grabbed at the younger to try and get him to stop, but he was heavily distracted.

“Aw, you’re blushing!” Gyuvin smiled as he effortlessly moved one of his hands to squeeze at Jiwoong's hips "Is this a bad spot or not?" He questioned, not really talking to the older just speaking out loud.

"DOHONT-" Jiwoong protested and his laughter increased with the focus on the new spot. "COHOHOME OHOHON-"

Gyuvin smirked "See this is what happens when you lie! The amazing Gyuvin has to show you the consequences! If you just told me the truth I never would've tickled you in the first place!" Now that was a big lie.

Nobody could stop Gyuvin from being a menace to ALL of his members no matter how much older they might be than him.

"Now say you're sorry for lying~" He scritched at the sensitive spot.

"IHIHIM SOHOHORRY-" It was cute seeing Jiwoong like this. He let up the tickling and stopped.

"So what was that about not being ticklish?"

"You're going to get it one of these days Kim Gyuvin."

"Oh well that day hasn't come yet~"

"It might come sooner than you think..."

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Hope you enjoyed! Thank you again for requesting <333

#kpop tickle #tickle fic #zb1 tickle #ler!gyuvin #lee!jiwoong

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soaringthroughthegalaxy · 6 months

Text

Prompt list

Need inspo for the ask box? Here are some generic, fluffy, romantic, angsty, and Batch-specific prompts.

Prompts already written will be crossed out and hyperlinked to the fics for them.

Angst/Emotional:

“All I’ve ever wanted is for you to see me.”

“When did you stop loving me?”

“Just please open your eyes.”

“Wake up. You have to wake up. Please. For me.”

“Just please, don’t leave me.”

“When was the last time you said you loved me, and meant it?”

“Why does everyone always leave?”

“It hurts so much. Why does it hurt so much? I just want it to stop.”

“Forget it. Just like you forget everything else.”

“I never ask for help because I’m not sure I know how.”

“It’s alright to feel broken every once and a while. And it’s alright to take time to heal.”

“I feel like I’m falling apart.”

“What is it about me that isn’t good enough?”

“I wish I was brave.”

"Don't you see that I'm hurting?"

“You almost died and you’re making jokes?”

“I’m scared.”

“I don’t need you to tell me who I am!”

“I thought I’d never see you again.”

“I can’t lose you.” “You already did.”

“Don’t look at me like that.” “Like what?” “Like you still love me.”

“Will you even miss me at all?”

“I would give up everything for the chance to hear your laugh again. To see you smile. To see you happy.”

“If I never see you again, just know that I love you so, so much.”

“All I wanted was a happy ending.”

“You don’t have to hide your tears from me.”

“I’m not leaving you here.”

“You left without saying goodbye.”

“Being strong doesn’t mean never asking for help or admitting you’re in pain.”

“No matter what they made you think, you are worth saving. You are worth loving.”

“You said you wouldn’t leave, and then you did.”

“I’m a fool for believing you meant what you said.”

“For what it’s worth, I never gave up on you.”

“You are not your past.”

“Whatever you do, do not close your eyes.”

“I know you’re tired, but you have to stay awake.”

“I’m just tired of being tired.”

“I always said I’d die for you.” “I didn’t think you meant literally.”

“I almost lost you.”

Fluff/Romantic:

“I just can’t see myself ever living without you.”

“If there was ever anybody meant for me, it’s you.”

“The closest thing to love at first sight I’ve ever experienced happened when I first laid eyes on you.”

“I didn’t believe in soulmates until I met you.”

“Did you just tell the person I was going to go out with that we’re dating?”

“You owe me a kiss.”

“I’d feel much better if you’d let me walk you home.”

“If I asked you to stay, would you?”

“You make me feel alive. For the first time ever, I feel like I can breathe.”

“I’ve never felt this way before, and truthfully it scares me. But the idea of never trying scares me even more.”

“I promised to love you forever, and that is a promise I intend to keep.”

“Is that my shirt?”

“You give me a reason to be better, to do better.”

"All I’ve ever wanted was a place to belong. Somewhere I could call home. And you gave me that. Because you are my home.”

“They don’t compare to you. No one does.”

“No matter how much time we’ve spent apart, I never stopped loving you.”

“I could see the worst parts of you and still think you are the most beautiful person I’ve met.”

“I think I’m in love with you.”

“You brought me breakfast?” “Well you said you always forget to eat before you go to work, so I thought I’d make sure you ate something.”

“Everything feels right when you are with me.”

“I don’t care what others say, I want to be with you and that’s all that matters to me.”

“You bought me flowers?” “Yeah, well I noticed you’d seemed kind of down, so I wanted to cheer you up.”

“I wasn’t sure what love really felt like until I met you.”

“You owe me.” “I owe you 20 credits, not a day of pretending to be your boyfriend to get your parents off your back.”

“Maybe if you stopped staring at them and actually talked to them, you might have a chance.”

“You said you wouldn’t fall in love with me.” “I lied.”

“I want you. All of you, and not just half-heartedly, but wholly. And maybe that’s selfish, but I don’t care.”

“Can you stay? Just for tonight, please. I don’t want to be alone with my thoughts.” “'l’ll stay for as long as you need.”

“You are my family.”

“We’ve been by each other’s sides for years; you think I’m going to leave now?”

“Take my jacket, I don’t want you catching a cold.”

“I’d wait a thousand lifetimes for you, because you are worth waiting for. So, when you are ready. I’ll be right here.”

“I will never stop fighting for you. I will never stop protecting you.”

“I can’t stop thinking about you. No matter how hard I try, you’re always on my mind.”

“Don’t go on that date.” “Why?” “You know why.” “Say it.”

“I can’t remember the last time I laughed like this.”

“How long have you had this planned?” “Since the moment I fell in love with you.”

“You came all the way here for me?”

“Why are you staring at me?” “Because I think you’re beautiful.”

“I think I’m falling in love with you.” “I think I’m okay with that.”

“What are you doing here?” “I wanted to see if you were okay.”

“The world gets a little brighter when you’re around.”

"I can't stop thinking of you. You're always on my mind."

"My life is empty without you."

"I can't risk losing you again."

“Wait a minute. Are you jealous?”

“I’ve seen how you look at me when you think I don’t notice.”

“I think I’m in love with you, and I’m terrified.”

“You fainted…straight into my arms. You know if you wanted my attention, you didn’t have to go to such extremes.”

“You did all of this for me?”

“Can I hold your hand?”

"Say you want me, and I'm yours."

“Maker, I love you.”

“You’re adorable.”

“Do you want me to stay?”

“I love seeing you smile.”

“I’ve been thinking about you all day.”

“Don’t go on that date.” “Why?” “You know why.” “Say it.”

“Here, let me help you.”

“I told you I’d come home to you.”

“I’ll keep you safe.”

“I’ll spend a thousand lifetimes coming back to you.”

“Would you just shut up and kiss me already?”

“Do you know how beautiful you are? It’s truly distracting.”

Miscellaneous:

“I don’t think I’ve ever seen anyone screw something up that fast before.”

“I’ve never told you that before.”

“You come here often?” “Well, I work here. So, I think I’d have to say ‘yes’.”

“At least it couldn’t get any worse.” “I really wish you hadn’t said that.”

“I’m too sober for this.” “You don’t even drink.” “Maybe I should start.”

“You couldn’t handle me even if I came with instructions.”

“Wake me up when it’s over.”

“Next problem… we might die.”

“I think… everyone deserves a chance to prove themselves.”

“…Did you just sniff me?”

“Of course I noticed, I notice everything about you.”

“You can’t get rid of me that easily.”

“You don’t actually have to like me; you just need to pretend you do.”

“I don’t think I’m alone in here.”

“You’re bleeding.” “No shit.”

“In case you haven’t heard, there is a bounty on your head.” “Is that why you’re here? To kill me and take the bounty?” “No. I’m here to protect you.”

“For the most part, I am, in fact, an idiot. But I fully admit to it, which should count for something.”

“Stop grumbling and just tell me where the medkit is.”

“Close your eyes and hold out your hand.”

“I hate that I let you convince me to do this.”

“Where are we going?” “It’s a surprise.” “I hope the surprise involves food.”

“I am nothing if not consistent.” “Yeah, a consistent pain in my ass.”

“What happened?” “Do you want the long version or the short version?” “Uh, short?” “I made a mistake.” “Okay, long version.” “I made a very very big mistake.”

“Do you take constructive criticism?” “Not without crying.”

“Are we all on the same page?” “Yes. Just of different books.”

“Why did you break up with them?” My loth-cat didn’t like them, and that is never a good sign.“

“What happened to your hand?” “I hit my hand on something.” “On what?” “Your ex’s face.”

“I’ve been thinking-” “Uh-oh”

“If I survive this, I’m killing you.”

"That was such a dumb idea."

"Do you have a better plan?"

"A little help would be great."

"I know what I'm doing."

"If you interrupt me one more time - so help me god."

“Looks like we’ll be trapped for a while…”

“You’re not as funny as you think you are.”

“I’m just getting comfy.”

“You’re such a nerd.”

“You were put in this galaxy to give me a headache.”

“Sleep is for the weak.”

“In my defense, I really wanted to.”

“I don’t hate you.”

“Don’t call me that.”

“Did I stutter?”

“There is no way this much stupid can fit inside one person.”

“Uh, am I interrupting?”

“Stop being an asshole.”

Bad Batch Asks

If you had to marry a Batch member, but it couldn’t be your main crush, who would it be?

Which Batcher would you most want to be trapped in an elevator with?

Which Batcher would you want to be your BFF (not SO)?

Which Batcher do you think would be cutest with a pet?

Which Batcher would you take camping with you?

Which Batcher would you want to be rivals with?

Which Batcher would you have taken with you to your High School Prom?

Which Batcher are you getting to help you when you need to fake your death?

Which Batcher is going to become a hermit in the woods with you?

Which Batcher are you having a sleepover with? (painting nails, gossiping, watching movies, the whole shebang)

Which Batcher would you have crushed on in high school? (Not who you’re crushing on now unless you genuinely believe your tastes in men are the same)

When you first entered the fandom, who did you think was gonna be your main man? (and were you correct?)

If you had to pick one Batcher who most needs to be given a bouquet of flowers (not who you most want to give it to), who would it be?

Gush about your favorite Batcher

Which Batcher is most likely to fall up the stairs?

Which Batcher is the first to fall asleep at a sleepover?

Which Batcher has the ‘weirdest’ taste in music?

Which Batcher is the best cook?

Which Batcher do you think had the most awkward first kiss?

Which Batcher(s) know how to braid hair, and how did they learn?

Which Batcher is the prettiest? (I want DETAILS!)

Tell me a random headcanon you have about Hunter

Tell me a random headcanon you have about Echo

Tell me a random headcanon you have about Tech

Tell me a random headcanon you have about Wrecker

Tell me a random headcanon you have about Crosshair

Tell me a random headcanon you have about Omega

What is your favourite episode?

What is your least favourite episode?

Tell me your number one conspiracy theory about how Tech survived the fall

What are you using to beat up Nolan?

What is your favourite ‘inside joke’ from the fandom?

Shoutout your favourite fic writers in the fandom

What colour do you associate with each Batcher?

Who is your least favourite Batcher?

FMK, dealers choice

Tell me an angsty headcanon you have about Hunter

Tell me an angsty headcanon you have about Echo

Tell me an angsty headcanon you have about Tech

Tell me an angsty headcanon you have about Wrecker

Tell me an angsty headcanon you have about Crosshair

Tell me an angsty headcanon you have about Omega

What is the worst possible outcome you think is plausible for Season 3?

How do you hope the series will end (as basic or as detailed as you want)

Scenario prompts

For prompts with Characters A and B; you can choose which is reader and which is your clone of choice

Huddled together to keep warm.

Fall asleep in same bed, on opposite sides, wake up in each other’s arms.

Character A comes to talk to Character B, pretending to be B’s s/o when a stranger is making B uncomfortable. Leads to them asking B out on an actual date.

Running from dangerous person or monster.

Hunting down dangerous person or monster.

Separated forcefully or for reasons you can’t control, run into each other again years later accidentally.

Get locked in somewhere together.

Continuously running into one another for days after having a meet cute.

Hands brush as you stand next to each other, you think it’s on accident until their hands gentle wrap around yours.

Shielding the other with their body to save/protect them.

Caught staring too many times for it to be a coincidence.

Size difference hug; they engulf you.

You refuse to leave so they pick you up and throw you over their shoulder.

Character A can tell Character B is getting nervous in a big crowd, so A slips their hand into theirs to help them calm down.

The panic between thinking you lost them and the relief of seeing they are okay.

Character A teaching B to ice skate/roller skate.

B taking care of A when they are sick.

Holding hands underneath the table.

Bandaging the other and then kissing the injury gently.

A surprises B with a picnic.

B sitting/standing behind A and leaning into them as they show/teach them how to do something.

As you begin to fall asleep, you feel a gentle kiss pressed to your temple and a blanket draped over you.

B comforting A as they wake up from a nightmare.

A realizing that they have feelings for B when they see them with someone else.

B bringing A hand-picked flowers.

Cliff/floor breaks out beneath A and as they fall B manages to grab their hand at the last second.

A leaves baked goods for B anonymously, but B already knows that it’s A.

B surprises A with a cake for their birthday even though A forgot what day it was/or didn’t know B knew it was their birthday.

Sharing an umbrella.

Walking together and it starts to rain, so they grab your hand, and you start running until you can find somewhere to escape getting wet.

A game of 20 questions that ends with “Can I kiss you?”

A hears that B got hurt and rushes over in a panic to see if they are okay.

A falling asleep while sitting next to B, as there head falls onto B’s shoulder, B stays as still as they can, afraid to wake A.

Cloud-gazing or star-gazing together, as you lie next to each other, their hand slips into yours.

B get’s so nervous about their dinner date with A that they accidentally make enough food to feed ten people.

A hand written love lover left at your doorstep.

B dancing to music as their cooking or cleaning, and as they spin around A suddenly appears, grabbing onto B and continuing to dance with them.

A grabs B’s hand instinctively out of surprise or fear, and continues to hold it.

A finding a hand-sketched photo of them in B’s notebook.

B hearing A sing for the first time (due to karaoke, or walking in on them, etc.) and being surprised at how good they sound.

B helping A step down from a high place by taking their hand, and then not letting go as they continue to walk.

Comparing hand sizes, then linking fingers together.

Long distance relationship; receiving a good morning message every morning, until one day you don’t. You are worried, but then there is a knock at your door.

B is sunshine, rainbows and kindness. A is night, rain-clouds and anger. But when A meets B, they bask in the sunshine and never want to leave.

A asking B on a date until they say yes.

B asking A to attend a wedding with them, to get out of going with someone their parents tried to set them up with.

#Soarings Ask Box #the bad batch x reader #bad batch x reader #fic prompt

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