#chambers unfortunately dies far too soon

[talesfromthecrypts]

make me choose: @taintedrebel asked Chambers or Lily?

#army of the dead #filmedit #horroredit #nora arnezeder #myedits #mygifs #chambers unfortunately dies far too soon #both very good

[sleeplessdreamer123]

Fanfic Idea! (ABO Lucemond, where Rhaenyra dies from Alicent's knife)

Rhaenyra died protecting Lucerys from Alicent's knife after she tried to take his eye.

After that day, Alicent was supposed to be executed, however Otto pulled strings, and though Viserys was extremely reluctant, he was forced to imprison her in her chambers indefinitely, with no one allowed to visit her, instead.

She has gone crazy, screaming that she didn't mean to, that it wasn't her intention. No one cared what she had intended. The Heir is dead. The Queen killed her. That is the truth that rang all throughout Westeros.

Corlys and Rhaenys, angered that Viserys allowed the green queen to live, immediately sprung into action. They told Viserys that Rhaenyra's children are not safe while the murderer, her followers, and her children lived in the Red Keep. They asked that they would live with them, in Driftmark instead. Unsurprisingly, Viserys was adamant that they'd stay, that he had already lost his (only) daughter, and that he refuses to lose her children too.

Daemon then appeared and the three fought to convince Viserys to send Jacaerys and Joffrey to Dragonstone, where Daemon will personally raise and train them alongside Rhaenys. Rhaenys, who was trained since the beginning to be the heir to the king, unlike Viserys, can teach Jacaerys everything he needed to know about ruling. And Joffrey would be taught under Daemon, to raise and train him as a prince and a warrior.

Corlys would have Lucerys in Driftmark, to be raised and taught the ways of the heir of Driftmark. Though Viserys was at first adamant to keep them all there, even going so far as threatening to imprison them, he eventually agreed when he saw the three boys and their cousins gathered together, crying their hearts out.

And so, they left, and it was a horrible thing, to convince both Jacaerys and Joffrey to let go of Lucerys so soon after they lost their mother, and to hear Lucerys crying, begging them not to separate them, but it had to be done, and so they were separated, with Lucerys only having Baela as company. Together, they mourned their losses.

--------------

Time passed, and news spread. The two princes in Dragonstone grew, both presented as an alpha, but the one in Driftmark...

He presented as omega. What shocked the people was the fact that Corlys was insistent in keeping Lucerys as heir, despite it all. But they remembered how he fought for his wife's claim, and now, it was less than surprising that he continues to fight for his grandson's. Unfortunately, he had to fight once more in the Stepstones, calling Rhaenys and Rhaena back to Driftmark, with Lucerys already acting as heir despite his age.

It was to no one's surprise that Vaemond, coward that he is, decided to go against his brother's claim after ensuring that his brother is injured in the Stepstones. He plotted with Otto, who managed to keep his position despite everything, and the hearing was set.

Daemon, Jacaerys and Joffrey first arrived, and everyone was curious to see how much they changed. Jacaerys was calm and collected, a charming man, he had the stance of a proud general, one that is used to leading and fighting, a perfect mixture of one taught by the Queen Who Never Was, and the Rogue Prince of the City. Joffrey, unfortunately, was taught entirely by Daemon, and it showed. It was like the second coming of Daemon, a charming little boy, but there was a viciousness hidden in him.

Then came Rhaenys, Baela, Rhaena, and Lucerys. The crowd that gathered couldn't help but stare at Lucerys. Ignoring his coloring, he was the mixture of both Rhaenyra and Aemma, his face schooled like Rhaenys, calm, without a hint of anxiousness. Like he just came to visit instead of the truth, where he had to defend himself and his claim. He had long lost his need to hide behind the people he loved. Corlys ensured that he would be able to stand on his own, to have pride in himself.

He wore a dress his mother would have worn, a dress with the designs of old Valyria, but instead of black and red, like his brothers, he wore blue. What made it all scandalous was the fact the he, an omega, came into court collarless.

Jacaerys and Joffrey all but ran to him, and his facade cracked, revealing a sweet smile reserved only for them.

Jacaerys and Lucerys walked around the castle walls, Daemon had a hard time taking Joffrey away, since they needed to see his brother, the King, and Daemon did not trust Joffrey out of his sight.

Jacaerys and Lucerys strolled around like they had lived in the Red Keep all their lives, ignoring the stares, and eventually made it to the training grounds, where they saw their uncle Aemond defeating Cris Cole, apparently not caring for tourneys.

When he turned to see them, he ignored Jacaerys, and his eye lingered on Lucerys. Specifically on his shoulder and unprotected neck. Lucerys and Jacaerys glared, for him, their mother died. He owed them a debt, and sooner or later, it will be paid. They soon entered the courtroom, and glared at Otto, who dared to sit on the throne.

When Vaemond was finished with his bouts, Lucerys began his own, until Viserys came to defend his grandchildren. Viserys reinstated Lucerys as heir to Driftmark, ignoring Vaemond's words, angering him enough to call the three bastards, and Lucerys, an Omegan whore.

He kept his tongue, the rest of his head, however, separated from his body, and Dark Sister was fed with blood again.

------

With the dinner comes the problem. Alicent, for the first time in years, was allowed to leave her room, to the anger of every single person besides the greens.

The argument started when Viserys decided to betroth Lucerys and Aemond.

All hell broke lose, however, when Alicent called Lucerys "Rhaenyra", and he asked if she planned to kill him too.

-------

So, thoughts? Violent reactions?

If anyone wishes to create a full fanfic with this setting, please tell me!

#aemond targaryen #aemond x lucerys #lucemond #lucerys velaryon #lucerys x aemond #aemond one eye #alpha aemond #omega lucerys #rhaenyra is dead #alicent went insane

[i-did-not-mean-to]

A surprise

My dear, dear friend...

I've been busy with my event, but I've not forgotten you! (of course not)

Thank you for being such a great presence in my life! (and for reminding me of your birthdate because I can't remember that kind of shit for the life of me.)

I am not playing favourites, I just don't know when anybody's BDay is if they don't remind me lol

So, without further ado...a ficlet for you!

Words: 2k

Characters: Bilbo, Thorin, and a mysterious, completely novel, not at all stolen OC

Warnings: scissors

Of all the insane discoveries Bilbo and Thorin made after nobody died in the battle against the Pale Orc, the secret powers of the Arkenstone—now retired—were by far the most whimsical and surprising.

For example, if wielded correctly, it could open a portal into other worlds. Unfortunately, the temperamental stone refused to summon anyone or anything even remotely relevant or helpful when it came to the socio-economical and political situation of a kingdom in distress.

Nonetheless, Bilbo had a great old time playing around with this absurd kind of magic.

“I have a surprise for you,” he intimated one evening as he sat by the hearth with his favourite grumpy dwarf.

“The glint in your eyes makes me nervous, my love,” Thorin admitted, but he leaned closer to the hobbit, nonetheless. The consequences of saying such a thing out loud would have been terrible, but it was, nonetheless, common knowledge that the king under the Mountain adored a nice gift.

Especially if said present was meant to be consumed and contained unholy amounts of sugar.

“I’ve managed to build a friendship with a most astonishing and inspired young lady,” Bilbo explained, speaking slowly to savour every word. “And she’s agreed to lavish her exquisite skills upon our undeserving heads. Literally.”

Frowning, Thorin waited. He sincerely hoped that Bilbo was not falling prey to his fancy for riddles in the dark at this very inopportune moment; it was dangerous to promise a short-tempered creature such as the king of the Longbeards a surprise only to speak in enigmas.

“She’s a hairdresser,” Bilbo burst out, giggling merrily.

“Does she sell ribbons then?” Thorin asked—for some reason, he couldn’t shake the idea that the unknown lady in question fashioned tiny garments to be woven into the customer’s hair. Dresses for tresses, or something of that kind.

“Don’t be daft!” Bilbo cackled. “She cuts hair.”

“And she lives?” Thorin roared, thoroughly horrified by the idea of some malicious being floating around with oversized sheers to cut off honest dwarves’ hair while they were otherwise occupied—or engaged in vigorous battle training.

“Of course,” Bilbo tutted gently. “Where she comes from, people pay her good coin to have her wash and treat their hair.” He gave Thorin’s shaggy locks a playful flick. “I thought it would be a nice idea to have our hair professionally done.”

“That is not a profession,” Thorin insisted, “it’s a crime.”

As expected, he finally did agree to let Bilbo lead this mysterious lady through the portal and right into their chambers.

“Fuck!” The tiny woman, bespectacled and extraordinarily pretty, cursed as soon as she caught sight of Bilbo’s wild mop of golden curls and Thorin’s tangle of braids. “I am not a wizard.”

“Clearly not,” Thorin agreed. “You are much too short, too young, and too clean-shaven to be one of those pests.”

He eyed her and the gleaming scissors sticking out of a curious belt slung around her shapely hips with considerable suspicion and apprehension.

“Are we going for a hobo-chic vibe then?” she inquired further while looking around to assess what she’d be working with; to her dismay, all she could discern was a pail of steaming water in one corner.

Her aching shoulders and tired back protested at the mere thought of having to wash two heads full of hair over what was essentially a wooden bucket.

“Do you have shampoo?” she asked then. “If not, you could have told me beforehand. I’ve brought my tools, but I would not have thought that you’d be entirely unprepared.”

Having done her fair share of home experiments for friends and family, she was well aware of how awfully wrong these things could go—for some unfathomable reason, people seemed to believe that she was able to produce a magazine cover look with a plastic comb and a box of supermarket dye from the last decade.

“I do not know what poison you are referring to,” Thorin interrupted her mental spiral into madness abruptly, “but there is a bar of soap by the tub.”

The young lady made an unconvinced noise and stepped across the room, waving her unusual customers along.

When the short, charmingly polite, and utterly ridiculous little fellow in his waistcoat had first appeared in her wardrobe, she had—understandably—screamed her head off.

With time though, Bilbo had grown on her and thus, when he had asked her to perform her outlandish magic on him and his partner, she had agreed eagerly enough.

Who would not have grasped the opportunity to traverse a portal into another world?

“What are we doing today?” she asked—force of habit—while tying a rough-spun towel around Bilbo’s shoulders.

“I don’t know, I’ve never gotten my hair cut by someone so illustrious,” Bilbo muttered, his nose twitching with indecision and his mouth puckered in concentration.

“Just a bit off the ends then,” she said soothingly while already running her fingers through the silken curls to assess their actual length and the texture of the hair she’d be working with.

To her surprise, Bilbo started purring contentedly before she had managed to get his whole head soaped up. Of course, she knew that her skills when it came to washing hair and massaging scalps were at least respectable, but she had never—in all her long years of experience—met someone who enjoyed them quite as much as that.

“Indecent,” Thorin mumbled under his breath—he was flushing beet-red to the roots of his thick, luscious, evidently well-maintained hair.

“Hush, grump,” Bilbo hummed, “your turn will come. Oh, this is heavenly.”

As there was no adjustable chair anywhere in sight either, the woman was more than relieved that Bilbo was indeed short enough for her to be able to work comfortably as soon as he had settled into an old seat by the fire.

“Do you like your job?” he asked conversationally, and she smiled; customers—apparently in every possible world—liked to chat while they stared straight ahead.

Whipping out her scissors, she yelped as a broad, incredibly strong hand wrapped around her wrist like an iron vice.

“What are you doing?” Thorin bellowed menacingly.

“I swear that I’ll only get rid of the split ends—for healthier hair. You’ll see, it will make a huge difference.”

“Leave her be, Thorin,” Bilbo pleaded fervently. “You wouldn’t want to ruin my surprise now, would you?”

“No,” Thorin admitted sheepishly and retreated to the second chair to observe the procedure—deep blue eyes narrowed still.

The woman hummed under her breath as she trimmed Bilbo’s hair as one would shape a particularly soft hedge. In the end, she checked her work from every possible angle, and nodded, satisfied and proud of what she had accomplished.

“That does look good,” Thorin admitted after emulating her cautious prowling around Bilbo who was still sitting very primly and happily in his chair.

“I’ll need a mirror.” The dignified hobbit patted his curls—springier and glossier now—in an unconscious expression of vanity and nodded at the imposing dwarf still visibly torn between horror and curiosity. “Your turn, dear heart. Let’s see if we can get that thicket thinned a little.”

After all of Thorin’s threatening posturing, the woman dreaded having to touch his hair—he had promised to be a worse customer than a fidgety 3-year-old who had been pledged his favourite ice-cream and a trip to the playground after the haircut.

Coaxed by Bilbo—and allowed to explain in detail just how important and intimate hair was to his people—Thorin finally, after much ado, did sit down by the bucket.

The hairdresser, vexed by his words, looked down on him forbiddingly.

“If you are wounded, do you not let a healer treat your wounds? I surmise that it’s also uncommon and maybe even indecent to let someone else touch your naked body?”

“Yes,” Thorin admitted cautiously.

“Regard me as a hair-healer then,” she pounced on this opening, “I am exempt of all societal or moral prohibition linked to hair. It’s just my job.”

That seemed to reconcile him considerably and so, he allowed her to undo his many tiny braids before he let his mane plop into the by now only lukewarm water in the bucket unceremoniously.

Her hands were strong and confident as she started to untangle and wet Thorin’s hair, taking care not to create new knots while applying the deplorably rudimentary soap.

Soon, Thorin’s lids started fluttering and drooping and—long before she was done rinsing—he was fast asleep.

“And now?” she asked Bilbo, panic in her eyes.

“I’ll get his nephews,” he replied as if that was a completely logical and supremely informative reply.

The two younger dwarves entering just a moment later helped Bilbo drag Thorin to the seat by the fire.

“You can go on,” Bilbo encouraged her.

Feeling anxiety creep up her spine, the skilful lady started drying and combing the long, wavy mane carefully—almost instantly, her plastic tool broke though, and she lost a few precious minutes trying to get the shards of cheap plastic out of the tangle of wet hair.

A metal comb was handed to her, and she continued valiantly.

“So, what am I to do with it?” she then inquired breathlessly—it felt to her as if she was performing surgery on a big predator, always holding her breath for fear that the anaesthesia was wearing off prematurely.

“He likes braids,” one of the nephews supplied, his seeming helpfulness utterly belied by his wicked grin.

“Am I to braid his whole hair?” The young lady bristled—not only would that be a lot of work, but she was also not convinced that it would counteract the king’s prejudices against her and her craft if he woke up to either cornrows or a bridal-style up-do.

Light—fey and feral—came into three pairs of eyes.

“Yes,” Bilbo whispered, awed by his own idea, and turned his sparkling gaze to her. “We’ll help you. Let’s braid his whole hair.”

She only hesitated for a moment—there was indeed a bridal hairdo that she had been eyeing and fantasising about for some time. Unfortunately, none of her clients or colleagues had the time or the patience to sit as a model for it.

“I know just the thing,” she grinned and started to explain her design quietly.

By the time Thorin came to, his hair sported a ludicrous but handsome coiffure that charmingly blended 18th century wigs and ancient Greece’s most elaborate labyrinths.

“Hmmm?” he grumbled and shook his head, freezing when he did not feel his hair swish against his shoulders and back.

“What do you think?” His nephew—who had retrieved a mirror in the meantime—held up the looking glass, visibly biting his tongue to stifle his laughter.

“What did you do? Why do these braids say that I am an unmarried, livestock-breeding, off-spring producing, dam-seducing, bread-baking tanner?” Thorin roared.

“I…I’m sorry. I didn’t know…they didn’t tell me,” the hairdresser stammered, sure that she would be sent to the dungeons or beheaded by an axe for her trespass.

Thorin let his fingers follow the intricate pattern of braids. His face changed from bewilderment to awe.

“You’re good at this,” he then admitted, “and we have a great celebration coming up. Would you consider returning? Balin and Ori will lend you a book on braid-lore in the meantime.”

Bilbo nudged him in the ribs rather vehemently.

Coughing, Thorin added, “Of course, you shall be richly rewarded. If you require any specific tools…” He pointed at the sad remnants of her comb, littering the floor. “Just let Fíli—that’s the sun-haired goat bleating at us—know and he can forge them for you.”

Still, Bilbo swirled his hand encouragingly.

“You may bring your shampoo.”

Throwing a quick glance at his consort who was rolling his eyes impatiently, Thorin cleared his throat.

“And, of course, it would be our delight if you would come to the feast as a guest of honour. Dain will die of envy.”

The young lady stared at him for a long moment before bursting into laughter…and graciously accepting his royal invitation.

There we have it!

Happy birthday once again, my dear!

I hope you're having a great day!

#og post #IDNMT writes #fanfiction #writing #tolkien writing #jrrt #Bagginshield #Thorin x Bilbo #Happy bday razzy

[hiddenqveendom]

what was jaehra's relationship with her husbands like

Oooh great question! While each of her marriages were set up for political/strategic reasons, the dynamic varied from relationship to relationship. So, here is a little run down...

(1) Larris Lannister: Both he and Jaehra were teenagers when they were wed. They had little knowledge of each other prior to being married. Nevertheless, they soon found themselves to be a match made in hell heaven. Larris was as bold as a lion and Jaehra was as fierce as a dragon. Hence, their personalities played off of each other’s well. Unfortunately, their whirlwind love story was short lived as Larris abruptly died after a harsh fall during a tourney, leaving Jaehra inconsolable. Their marriage lasted about ten months. It is believed that Larris is the only husband she ever really loved.

( dynamic inspiration: lorenzo & clarice from medici )

(2) Balaegar Velaryon: By the time Jaehra was paired with Balaegar, she was still grieving her first husband and fiercely apposed the match. Apart from her not being ready to move on, the two just had no chemistry. Balaegar was a tough and gruff sailor, whereas Jaehra was a posh princess. Plus, he was roughly eleven years her senior. Regardless, the two were abruptly wed. It is safe to say that their marriage was rather uneventful, seeing as the two often avoided each other. Some even say that the two disliked each other so much that they never consummated their marriage. Their union came to an end when Balaegar perished in a shipwreck.

( dynamic inspiration: anna of cleves & king henry from the tudors )

(3) Arvin Arryn: Albeit the most politically driven match, Arvin himself proposed the idea of taking Jaehra’s hand in order to earn himself a place in the king’s court. He was a power hungry man who wanted nothing more than to make himself indispensable by mixing into the Targaryen bloodline via Jaehra. However, by this point Jaehra had no interest in bearing any children. Arvin believed that he could somehow tame the unhinged princess, and get her to become the dutiful wife he so craved. When that didn’t happen and Jaehra failed to provide him with any children, he began to terrorize Jaehra. On one occasion he lost his temper and struck her harshly. In return, she rightfully made a scene of yelling and throwing things in their chamber, drawing the attention of her brother, Daemon. Upon, discovering the scene, the prince lost his temper and ultimately bludgeoned Arvin to death. The murder was covered up as a retaliation for acts of treason by Viserys to protect Daemon and Jaehra’s images.

( dynamic inspiration: claude & duke boniel from reign )

(4) Jackar Dayne: After being widowed three times, Jaehra began to build up quite the reputation. Not only for her failed marriages, but also for her many escapades following them. The Dornish Lord Jackar Dayne was one of them. The two first became intertwined when the man paid a political visit to the crownlands for a meeting with King Viserys. The princess instantly caught his eye. Jaehra was equally intrigued and the rest, as they say is history. While it was a primarily lust filled relationship, Viserys was advised to offer Jackar his sister’s hand in a bid to help her reputation. The Dornish Lord eagerly accepted, ultimately getting Jaehra on board as well. Not long after, ill rumors about Jackar’s exploits back home began to spiral in court. While Jaehra was unbothered by them, the king’s court was far from pleased. It did not help that Jackar and Jaehra allegedly encouraged said rumors for their own entertainment. The couple ultimately relocated to Dorne for quite some time to let the static die down. Jaehra was finally able to start anew in an environment where she was more accepted for who she was. This marriage too came to a tragic end when Jackar was mysteriously poisoned. Upon his death, Jaehra was sent to Dragonstone.

(5) Rewan Royce: The cousin of her brother’s wife, Rhea Royce, the young Rewan was offered Jaehra’s hand in marriage in an act of damage control. This stood both for Daemon’s failure in his marriage, as well as Jaehra’s deteriorating image. Four years her junior, Rewan was a sickly man with boyish looks. He failed time and time again to secure a match due to his poor health, and yet somehow managed to get a Targaryen bride. The two were wed before having even met, and Jaehra was rushed to Runestone right after. While bedridden throughout most of their marriage, Rewan managed to make a friend out of Jaehra. Their relationship was never romantic. Instead, they were more like partners and confidants. All Rewan really hoped for was proper company, to which Jaehra obliged in return for her freedom. Their marriage ended at around the same time Daemon and Rhea’s did, as Rewan succumbed to his illness roughly a month after Rhea died.

( dynamic inspiration: catherine & arthur from the spanish princess )

#fragilestorm #ocaap #ask #*answered #oc:jaehra #fandom:house of the dragon #sorry if this is a mess sgdgdgs #tw mentions of abuse #tw mentions of death

[my-tin-can-mans]

Strange Hearts

Duke Leto x Reader Series

Part 1 - Encounter

Part 2

Strange Hearts Spotify Playlist

Summary: When an arranged marriage brings you to Caladan, you find that another man piques your interest

Disclaimer: I thought of this while fic and started writing under the impression Paul was in his early to mid-'20s like Timothy. So for the sake of this story he and the reader are both in their twenties. Sorry for any inaccuracies, I've only watched the movie and really only paid attention to Oscar lmao.

Warnings: A little bit of angst. Eventual smut in the later chapters.

___

“Look at you,” you heard from behind you causing you to turn, “all grown up.” The voice was deep and you immediately knew who it was. The Duke which you had not seen since you were a young girl. He and your father were close growing up, but when times get difficult there wasn’t free time for visiting worlds and other Dukes.

Now you were sure you would be seeing him quite a bit again, having been arranged to marry his son within the week. You’d been told by your father yesterday, and this morning you were shipped like a mail order bride to Caladan. The conversation did not go over well, to rekindle an alliance with your homeworld and Caladan a marriage was in order apparently, talking it out wasn’t an option, he has to marry you to a man you had never met, the heir to the house of Atreides.

You knew that eventually you would be set for an arranged marriage but for it to happen so quickly and to be practically ripped away from your homeworld without even getting to say goodbye hurt, and for that, you despised your father.

“Duke Leto,” you said turning around in the chair you were sitting in. Since you had gotten here earlier this morning it had been nothing but maids fussing over you and trying to prepare for the wedding, fittings, hair, and whatnot, you had yet to see the man you were supposed to marry. The day had died down but instead of returning to your chamber you had gotten lost and stumbled across a very large library which you very much decided to indulge in. “It's nice to see a familiar face.”

“I’m do apologize for the pace at which this is all taking place, but unfortunately your father insisted this alliance be made official as soon as possible.” Leto sighed, stepping closer to the chair in which you had been sitting in, well not really sitting anymore, more liked draped across. You didn’t even know how late it was now, your eyes burned from reading for so long.

“I understand my Duke, my father can be a very.. demanding man.” He breathed out a laugh, knowing you were right, your father was and had always been intense, to say the least. You assumed that’s why the two were no longer friends, why you now needed to marry his son to be able to set a truce and once again have an alliance.

“I hope at the very least your stay here so far hasn’t been too off-putting?” he offered to you, concern laced in his eyes. The Duke of House Atreides was a polar opposite to your father, how they ever managed to have a bond in the first place baffled you.

“It's been very busy, which I understand is necessary, but this,” you gestured around, “well I don’t think this could ever be off-putting.”

He smiled at you again, making his way to the chair you were currently draped across and sitting on the armrest beside your legs. “Now that you mention it, I feel like I remember just the top of your head more than anything else. Your face was always covered with a book.” He smirked at you.

“I enjoy reading, relaxes me, ya know and I need all of that I get right now.”

His frown dropped, replaced by a scowl. “Again I apologize for the circumstances. I do wish you could’ve come to Caladan and met my son under much different ones.”

“Oh well, I haven’t met your son yet actually.” You told him. Setting the book you had been reading on the end table behind your head.

He let out another chuckle, only this time it seemed a lot dryer. “This is all just,” he paused running his hand over his face and through his beard, “not what I intended to happen.” He sighed.

“It’s okay my duke, really I understand, I’ve practically been raised for this moment.”

He shook his head. The thought of someone being born and raised just for a strategic move didn’t sit well with him, while he understood there were certain duties to live up to, he knew he would never force his son into something he didn’t want to do, and it was unfair that he could tell you were having to do just exactly that.

A thought then came across his mind, “it’s almost midnight, what are you doing in here? From what I’ve been told by Jessica your day tomorrow will be just as busy.”

You sighed, “Well, to be honest, I never got a proper tour, and I got lost trying to find my chambers again.”

Amusement laced with sorrow filled his face, “well then, let me show you around and to your room.” he stood up, turning around to face you again and offering you his arm with a small smile on his face.

___

After a brief tour of the main parts of the castle, Leto brought you to a halt in front of a door. “This, Princess is your sleeping chambers until the wedding.” He told you gesturing towards the door.

He opened the door for you and led you inside, the room was large, gorgeous but bare, you could tell it was a guest sleeping quarters and it reminded you just how much of a stranger you were here, yet it was now your home. You turned a full 180 in the room, landing your eyes on the lavish bed in the middle of the room. Silk lavender-colored sheets a thick warm blanket and pillows littered the bed. “And I thought the library was the best thing I’d seen all day.” You chuckled.

“I remember when you were younger, you used to always wear that same dress and one day at lunch while I was visiting I asked you about it and you said it was your favorite color, and that it brought you joy so why wouldn’t you wear it.” he stepped further into the room scratching his beard while he avoided eye contact with you, “I knew your transition here was going to be difficult but I requested a lavender-colored bed for you so hopefully it made things a little more comforting, I'm sure this first night will be hard.”

He had requested this, it wasn’t just a pure accident. And he remembered that detail about you from years ago. He finally looked up into your eyes, his expression unreadable, but you gave one to him that you hoped showed your gratitude for his kindness.

No one had been this kind to you yet, and you took a step forward to him, drawn to him. No one had cared to think about you in this arrangement, you thought as you placed your hand on his bicep. He looked down at it, and when his eyes met yours again they had darkened, so much so that any other person most likely wouldn’t have realized, but you had been studying them.

You could feel his breath fan out across your forehead as he stared down at you, and when you inhaled you could also smell him, he was invading your senses, and almost like it was a natural occurrence, you both moved in close until your lips met.

You had kissed men before, small stolen kisses while you were unguarded at your own home, but this kiss felt different, when your lips met Leto’s everything exploded and your brain went fuzzy. It was tender but rough and his arm went to the back of your neck to deepen it only for a moment before pulling away.

Eyes closed he shook his head, “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry I shouldn’t have done that.” He said and took a step back.

“It’s okay I wanted you to.” You reached out for him, “I liked it.” he flinched away, taking another step back.

“You are marrying my son in just a few days, that wasn’t right for both of us.”

“I’m marrying a man that I didn’t have a choice to, a man that I haven’t even met.” You furrowed your brows, you thought out of all people he understood that.

“Stop, don’t do that, I know this isn’t fair, none of it is, but neither of us has a choice, you know that.” He sighed, “Sweet girl, I’m sorry.”

You were embarrassed frankly. You knew kissing him was wrong, but he had been so sweet and you had been so scared and alone since the announcement and his presence set a warm peace within you and when you looked up at him you swore he gave you a similar look.

“No. No, it's fine I think I'm just tired.”

“Get some sleep.” He spoke his tone was hard now, the softness in his voice disappearing with one of a powerful duke, one that your father used when he spoke and gave orders. He nodded his head at you and swiftly made an exit through the doors he had led you into moments ago.

#duke leto atreides #leto atreides #leto x you #leto x reader #leto fic #oscar Issac #oscar issac x reader #duke leto x reader #Dune #dune fic #oscar issac #angst #smut #romance #i dont know #im not good at tags #apparently i love angst #im tired #i have homework to do

[cherienymphe]

Bloodied Crowns (Peter Parker x Reader)

WARNINGS: NON-CON, STEPCEST, murder, violence, abusive realtionships, Tony x reader, prince!Peter, king!Tony, queen!Reader

➥ divider by @firefly-graphics

➥ based off of this ask

summary:  When your husband, King Anthony, is killed in a coup staged by his son from his previous marriage, Peter, you are forced to marry the young man who no longer feels the need to hide his feelings.

~

Peter was only eighteen when you married the king, the stern monarch losing his wife only a few months prior. The engagement and the wedding happened so quickly, and before you knew it, you were married to King Anthony Stark. Truth be told, you’d feared that you’d never marry at all, and that you’d bring shame to your name, but a stroke of luck, or perhaps misfortune, had put you directly into the king’s path.

Your family had attended the queen’s funeral to pay your respects. It had been drilled into you to catch the eye of an available suitor, as it had been many times before, and while you were disgusted that you could not even properly pay your respects to the royal family, you understood your parents’ desperation. You were twenty-eight with no prospects on the horizon. They had no other children, no sons, your mother unable to conceive after yourself, and so the weight of carrying on the family name was solely on your shoulders.

Your family was not poor by any means, but you were far from wealthy. That being said, your mother spent an outrageous amount to get you the most captivating black dress money could buy. It was not something that would draw too much attention, but enough so that you did not look like a grieving widow yourself. When it was your turn to pay your respects, you recalled bowing to the young prince, the brunette barely acknowledging anyone’s presence. It was rumored that he and his mother were close, that he’d taken her death very hard, and the way he seemed to stare right through you confirmed as much.

When you bowed to the king, apologizing for his loss, you could feel his eyes on you. This was nothing you concerned yourself with. After all, you were speaking to him and he you, but when you rose, you were taken aback by the intensity you found in his dark eyes. Where his son seemed to look through you, the king could not seem to take his eyes off of you. No one else seemed to notice, and, brushing it off, by the time you returned home, you had forgotten all about it.

Until a few days later when a royal guard was at your door. You were being invited to dine with the king, the invitation extending to your family as well, and although you were confused, you knew you could not refuse. Even if you wanted to. The dinner was nice, and you were a bit surprised at how easy it was to get along with the king. You never thought him cruel, but you’d heard that he was a rather stern man. After supper, he extended the invitation to staying at the castle so that you would not have to travel back so late in the evening. Your mother answered before you had the chance to, and it was no surprise to you that the answer was yes.

The castle was so different during the night. It seemed less welcoming and more ominous, and you found it hard to sleep that night. Convinced that the corridors would be empty, you quietly slipped from your chambers and made your way down to the kitchens. There were still a few servants lingering about, cleaning or preparing for the next day. You felt guilty for bothering them for something to drink.

“Nonsense, my lady. I would be more than happy to get that for you,” a younger girl by the name of Guinevere told you.

“Oh...please,” you waved her off. “No one is around. Call me Y/N.”

Her eyes seemed to sparkle as you told her your name, but she said nothing more as she gave you your water. The dark corridors did not scare you, but the eerie silence was a bit off putting, especially in such a grand structure. You had turned the corner to make your way back to your room when you bumped into none other than the prince. You had almost dropped the drink, and you placed your hand on your chest in an attempt to still your heart.

“Your highness. My apologies, I did not see…”

Your words died in your throat as the prince fixed you with a look that made your stomach churn. You snapped your mouth shut, swallowing as he simply glared at you, brown eyes looking so much darker. You had not seen him since the queen’s burial, and he did not look much better than he did then. Before you had a chance to say anything else, he had shoved past you, almost making you drop the goblet in your hand, and a low gasp escaped you as your other shoulder harshly met the wall. You turned to watch him go, shock and confusion pouring through you, wondering what you had done to offend him so.

It was only a few weeks later did you get your answer.

“I...I beg your pardon?”

The king reached for your hand, a soft breeze ruffling his dark hair as he brought it to his lips. They were soft as they brushed over your skin, and the corner of them curved upwards into a smile.

“Everything is already being arranged, but...this is my formal proposal. I need a queen, Peter needs a mother, and you are everything I could have hoped for,” he told you.

You stared at him in shock, feeling as if the world had been ripped out from beneath your feet. Your mind whirled as you tried to make sense of this and where this had come from, and suddenly, the puzzle started to piece together. The countless dinner invitations, the gleam in your parents’ eyes, the hushed conversations...the prince’s animosity. You were being courted by the king this whole time...and you’d been none the wiser. His chuckle pulled you from your thoughts.

“When your mother told me that you could be quite oblivious, I thought that it was a simple exaggeration.”

He found humor in your distress, you realized, and you swallowed.

“I do not know what to say,” you slowly breathed, and you watched him tilt his head at you, a frown beginning to form.

“You say yes,” he said with a scoffing laugh as if it were the most obvious answer in the world.

You realized that to anyone else, it would be.

“Your majesty...I feel as if we’ve only just met. Surely, you would allow me time to think-.”

“Think about what?”

His hand tightened on yours, and you winced. He leaned in, genuine confusion in his dark eyes as he stared into your own.

“I am a king telling you that you are to be my queen...and you are hesitant?”

The severity of the situation suddenly dawned on you. Anthony was a king. You were a mere lady attempting to refuse his proposal for marriage, and your heart sank to your stomach. You blinked at him, and his face suddenly smoothed over as he sighed.

“Ah. I understand what this is about…”

“You do…?”

He softly smiled at you, reaching up to brush his thumb along your chin.

“You come from an acceptable background. You are beautiful and smart and kind. I assure you, this is genuine. This is not some poor attempt to cope with my grief. In all honesty, my marriage to the queen was over long before she died,” he told you.

You looked away, realizing that you were not getting out of this. Whether you liked it or not, you would be marrying the king, and with reluctance and a shaky voice, you accepted his proposal. He straightened when you did, a look of satisfaction on his features, and he looked as if he wanted to kiss you. You were thankful that he did not.

The wedding took place only a couple of months later, every nearby royal, and even some across the water, in attendance. It was a grand and beautiful affair, no expense spared, and it was days later that you found out it far outshined his first wedding. You remembered feeling sick as you walked down the aisle, the feeling only getting worse as your gaze met that of the prince.

In the time since the official engagement, you had interacted with the prince only a handful of times. Each time more disastrous than the last. You told yourself that he was grieving. His mother’s death was sudden and had hit him hard and here his father was, marrying again so soon. You did not fault him for his cold behavior. He was young, after all. You would expect nothing less, to be honest, but you could not lie and say that it did not hurt.

Unfortunately, even after the marriage, he did not soften towards you. Every attempt to get to know him was met with nothing short of loathing, and you finally accepted that he would come around in his own time. The last thing you wanted Peter to think was that you were trying to replace his mother. You did not know how long this would go on, but you did not expect it to be more than a year. 

You were wrong.

“I throw that kid the best birthday celebration a nineteen year old could ask for and this is how he shows his appreciation? By not even having the decency to show up?”

Tony was angry as he sipped from his goblet, glaring down at the attendees dancing below. A wonderful number was being played by a string quartet, several single princesses in attendance, and an hour into the celebration, Peter was still absent. You placed your hand on your husband’s arm with a sigh.

“I am sure there is a perfectly reasonable explanation for it, Tony. He will show,” you tried to assure him.

His shoulders sagged as he slammed his drink down, and his eyes softened as he turned to you. He reached for you, and you flinched, but he paid it no mind as he brushed his finger along your cheek.

“You are far too nice to him...and he hardly deserves it,” he whispered.

“He’s your son,” you reminded him with a frown. “Do not talk about him like that.”

“He’s ungrateful,” he spat.

“He’s grieving,” you argued.

“It’s been a year,” Tony sneered. “How much time does he need?”

You sharply turned away, swallowing a sigh as anger flared within you. Sometimes Tony could be so insensitive, amongst other things, and it baffled you. Peter lost the only mother he ever knew, and Tony was treating it as if it was something minor. After a few more moments, you excused yourself under the guise of needing some air. In truth, you were determined to track down the prince.

It was not a hard task. He tended to frequent the same places when he called himself hiding. You found him deep within the grounds, lounging on a branch high up in the tree. It was getting late, the sun currently setting, and you held up the skirts of your dress as you trudged towards him. You knew that he heard you, and you resisted the urge to sigh as you stood below him. Your heart ached for him as you could not even begin to imagine what he was going through. After all, you still had both of your parents.

“Peter,” you eventually called.

He yet again pretended as if he had not heard you, a hurtful habit of his, and this time you did sigh.

“Peter, please come down. Your father is concerned about your whereabouts, and...and I am concerned about you. I-.”

“Why have you deluded yourself into thinking I care about how you feel?”

His tone was cold, venom coating every word, and your heart clenched. He rarely spoke to you, every time he did as cold as today, but this was different. You were unsure of what to say, and before you had the chance to remedy that, he was hopping down. It was a bit cool out, and his coat flared behind him as he strode towards you, face hard and nostrils flared.

“Why have you deluded yourself into thinking that I care about you at all?”

You reared back, staring at him with wide eyes. His words hurt, that you would not deny, and as much as you fought against it, you could feel a familiar burn behind your eyes. You swallowed, briefly glancing down as you took a step back.

“Peter-.”

“My mother was not even in the ground properly before you came sniffing around my father like a bitch in heat,” he sneered.

Your lips parted, wide eyes staring at him in shock at his words. You had never seen him look so hateful, borderline murderous, and you suddenly realized that this was about more than grief.

“P-Peter...that… That is not what happened-.”

“Isn’t it?” he wondered, taking another step towards you. “Do you think me stupid? Blind? You think I have never known of the way so many women prayed on my mother’s downfall?”

“I never-.”

“Do you think that I do not know that you all came to her funeral not as mourners, but as vultures? As desperate snakes trying to slip your way into my father’s bed so that you may take her place?”

“No! That is not what happened-!”

“You are no different from the rest!”

He was practically upon you now, glaring down his nose at you with so much disgust it finally made the tears spill over.

“I always knew that you were a desperate and conniving whore…”

You gasped, more tears falling at his insult. He raised one dark eyebrow at you.

“...but I never took you for a liar too.”

You were frozen as he looked you over one last time before breezing past you. You shook, unable to stop the tears, and you felt like you were going to be sick. You had no idea that Peter’s disdain was in fact not misplaced due to grief, but was instead as genuine as could be because he thought you to be something you were not. This knowledge made your heart hurt, and it turned out that you were not as adept at hiding your feelings as you thought.

“What troubles you so?” Tony wondered later that night, his hand on your shoulder as you sat at your vanity.

“Whatever do you mean?” you asked with a small smile.

His gaze met yours in the mirror, and the way his jaw clenched told you that he did not have much patience tonight. His fingers pressed into your skin, and you swallowed. You looked away, eyes blurring a bit as you recalled Peter’s cruel words.

“Peter hates me,” you confessed.

You heard Tony heave a sigh, and you turned to look up at him. He ran his hand through his hair as he rolled his eyes.

“That kid hates everyone and everything,” he replied.

“No, Tony. You do not understand. He believes me to be something I am not. He thinks that I schemed my way into marrying you, that I am trying to replace his mother-.”

“Peter will be just fine. He will grow to get over it in time,” was his enlightening reply, and you stood.

“But it is not true. Tony, does this not bother you? Because it bothers me! He should be like a son to me. He should be looking to me for guidance and care, and he curses the very ground I walk on. It hurts,” you spat, wrapping your arms around yourself. 

Tony’s entire demeanor softened, and he pulled you into his arms. He pressed his lips to your cheek, and you winced at the soreness before he took your chin in between his fingers. He tilted his head at you.

“I love that you’ve grown to really care about him. It warms my cold heart…”

You forced a chuckle at that.

“...but Peter has always been a bit difficult when it comes to me and anything in relation to me. His mother is really the only person he ever really connected with. This will pass, I assure you.”

You reluctantly accepted that Tony just did not care about this as much as you did, and likely never would. Against your better judgement, you opted to let it go, and softly exhaled when Tony pressed his lips to your jaw. He trailed kisses down your neck, tightening his arms around you.

“As much as I enjoy your big heart, I would rather not spend the rest of the night discussing my troubled son,” he murmured, lips finally finding yours.

You did not know if you would ever grow used to making love to Tony. The only time he had ever been anything close to gentle was on your wedding night, and you had still cried, waking up sore and bruised. It eventually dawned on you that this was simply how Tony was, but it did not mean that you had to like it. 

The years that passed did not improve things as you’d hoped they would. Tony was still the same as ever, and Peter was no different. Your conversations with the prince were rare, but every one was brief and left you with a paralyzing chill. When he was not speaking to you, his animosity was enough to force you to keep your distance. The hurt that his behavior caused never got any easier. 

“When you have a child of your own, this will mean nothing to you,” Tony would assure you.

However, it only did the opposite. Even though Peter was not your own, it did not mean that you viewed him any less, and you knew that would not change when you finally did have a child. Whenever that happened. You and Tony had been trying for years, and there was still nothing to show for it. It was a great source of stress for you both, but Tony was taking it much harder than you.

“They say that it took many tries before they were finally able to have Peter, and even afterwards...the queen was never able to conceive again,” Guinevere had whispered to you one night.

“Oh,” you sadly said. “How awful…”

The blonde girl had glanced around the busy kitchen before leaning in.

“The king will never admit it, but many believe that he was the problem, and considering he is experiencing the same thing with you…”

Your heart sank as she trailed off, and despite everything, you found yourself feeling sorry for your husband. Many would argue that you should feel sorry for yourself. After all, it was a popular opinion that the woman’s womb was always at fault, and kings have gotten rid of their wives for less, but you knew that Tony was far too possessive of you to ever do such a thing.

It was a subject you wished you could talk to Peter about. He knew his father far better than you did, and sometimes you wished you could get some insight on how to make this better for him, but Peter was disgusted by your very presence. There came a time when you reluctantly accepted that it might always be this way, but everything changed when Peter was only a few weeks shy of his twenty-third birthday.

Tony, ever the showoff, was having a ball every week for five weeks straight leading up to the night. It was the second gathering when he had dragged you out of the great hall. His hold had been tight, steps hurried, and you forced yourself to swallow down the pain. The corridor was dimly lit and equally as empty, and tears of frustration were kissing your eyes.

“Tony-.”

“I saw you,” he spat.

“Saw me what? Saw me greet one of your friends? Because that is exactly what King Steven is to me and nothing more!”

His dark eyes were hard as he pressed his fingers into your arms, lip curled over his teeth as he sneered at you.

“He desires you. It is plain as day, and he has never been subtle,” he bit out.

“Somehow I am at fault for that? Steven is a bachelor in every sense of the word. That is how he is, and you know it-.”

“Yes, but I thought to myself, surely my loving wife would have the sense not to entertain his antics!”

“I was being polite,” you told him, wincing at his tight grip. “Just because you are only ever nice to people when you want something-.”

You swallowed your words with a sharp shriek, pressing your hand to your hot cheek as the tears finally spilled over. Your eyes were on the floor as Tony shook you, a scathing remark on his tongue, no doubt, when he suddenly stilled, swallowing whatever he was about to say. His sudden change confused you, and you hesitantly looked up only to realize that his gaze was not on you. You turned to find Peter standing just at the entrance of the corridor, his wide eyes on the two of you. 

Tony was quick in straightening you up, and you hurriedly looked away as he acknowledged Peter.

“Why are you not enjoying your celebration with your friends?”

It was a while before Peter responded.

“I noticed that you had slipped out, so I came to find you. I had hoped to continue our...conversation from earlier,” the prince answered.

When you turned back around, you avoided Peter’s eye, but you could still feel the weight of his gaze. Tony’s hand was rubbing into your back as he responded.

“Of course. Sweetheart, you will excuse us, won’t you? Peter and I have much to discuss, and I am sure the other wives are missing your presence,” he said, turning to you.

He threw you a tense and threatening smile, and you shakily returned it with a forced one.

“Of course. I shall see you in there when you return. Peter,” you acknowledged as you hurried past him, avoiding his gaze still.

You did not return to the hall though, but instead made your way down to the kitchen. It was filled with servants, and Mary Jane gasped when she saw you. She and Guinevere were always joined at the hip, but the other girl had been ill for the last few days. The redhead dropped what she was doing, shooing another servant off of a stool before grabbing your arm.

“My God,” she breathed.

The other occupants tended to the food and drinks, much too used to seeing you down here twice a week or so. Mary Jane pressed a cold piece of steak to your face, and you hissed.

“Is it that bad?”

“It is swelling already, your majesty,” she said.

You shifted on the seat, holding the cold meat to your face as you shooed her off.

“I hardly notice how hard he hits anymore. It still manages to shock me every time though, and I have no idea as to why,” you whispered.

She was just about to reply when another voice rang throughout the kitchen.

“Everyone out.”

You turned with wide eyes, confusion tearing through you at the sight of Peter just at the bottom of the stairs. Everyone seemed to hesitate for a moment, worrying about the food, no doubt, before eventually heeding his order. Mary Jane, no stranger to your relationship with the prince, threw you a worrying look before being the last one out. Peter seemed to hesitate as well before huffing, quickly approaching you.

You moved to stop him, but he was already pulling the red meat from your cheek before you had the chance. He stared at your skin for a while before putting it back in place. You held it there as he leaned against the counter, a familiar look of anger on his boyish features.

“This is not the first time this has happened,” he murmured.

There was no need to respond. It was a statement, not an answer. The silence was heavy, thick with tension and filled with words unspoken. Outside of that night, this was the longest you had ever been alone with Peter, and the first time you did not feel uncomfortable in his presence.

“You did not want to marry my father...did you?”

You looked at him with wide eyes, lips parting to refute such a blasphemous statement, but no words came out. Words failed you. Peter was a smart young man, always had been, and you were sure that he would see through whatever lie you pieced together.

“Of course, it was not like you could refuse if you wanted to. He is a king, and you were a mere lady,” he said more to himself than you.

You sighed, putting the steak down as you stood.

“My father has never been kind to anyone in his life. I do not know why I thought you were an exception…”

“Peter… I do not want this to affect how you view your father, do you understand?”

He simply frowned at you, and you continued.

“He is not without his flaws, this is true,” you slowly said. “...but he is still your father. In his own way, he loves you and only wants what is best.”

Peter stared at you for a while before scoffing, a humorless laugh not far behind. He pressed his hand to the counter as he stared at you with a look of shock.

“My father does not deserve you,” he said, almost as if he could not believe it.

He chuckled again, pressing his hand to his forehead.

“All this time, I thought that the two of you deserved each other. I hated you...and now...now I just feel sorry for you. For both my father...and me…,” he quietly finished.

“Peter-.”

“I have been nothing but cruel to you, and for that I am sorry. I am sorry for the things that I have done...and the things that I have said.”

You blinked, convinced that you would never hear those words. They warmed your heart, and you looked away.

“It’s alright. You believed what you believed, and if I were in your shoes, I might have believed the same. Your feelings were valid, Peter,” you told him.

He blinked at you.

“I never wanted to replace your mother. That is still not what I desire...but I am here. I know that there is only a decade between us, but I have come to love you like a son despite everything.”

Peter’s eyes softened, and you could see the guilt there.

“I never wanted to rush you, even now, but I hope that you will view me the same one day. Tony is no longer your only parent, and I am always here.”

Peter looked as if he wanted to say something else, but he held off.

“I should get back before your father comes looking for me,” you said, heading for the stairs. “Oh...and please refrain from provoking him.”

You looked to Peter.

“I may dislike him at times, but I do not want to send him to an early grave.”

Peter simply hummed, sending you a strained smile before you left him to find your husband.

You remained in the corridor as the angry voices bled through the door. Both Tony and Peter assured you countless times that their strained relationship was none of your concern, but it could not be helped. They had never had the best relationship, but if possible, it had soured even more over the years, and you were unsure of who to blame.

The minute Tony started to get more serious about grooming Peter for the throne, things had gone from tense and strained to borderline violent at times. Not only did the two have such opposing views when it came to how to run the kingdom, but your husband had been pushing the idea of marriage more and more lately. It had only gotten worse when Peter neared his twenty-fifth birthday, the party on that fateful day ending abruptly when Peter had stormed out.

You were pulled from your reverie when the door swung open. Peter was the first one out, and he held up a hand as you moved to approach him.

“Not now, Y/N,” he huffed, quickly striding down the corridor with a frustrated sigh.

Tony emerged not long after, and you moved to kiss him, knowing that it would soothe him for the time being.

“That boy will be the death of me,” he complained.

“You both provoke each other, and I do not know why,” you told him. 

“He has duties! He is twenty-five and nowhere near taking them seriously. It seems that he is determined to ruin me,” he spat.

You sighed.

“Would you like for me to talk to him?”

“You seem to be the only one he actually listens to, so by all means,” he gestured down the hall, face cloudy.

You patted his chest before leaving him, wondering if a day would come where you would be a functional family. You and Peter were nowhere near what you used to be, and for that you were eternally grateful, but his relationship with Tony was far worse than it had ever been, and you did not know how to even begin to fix it.

You found Peter sparring with his dueling instructor. The sound of clashing swords was loud, and you rounded the corner, wincing when Peter just narrowly missed a rather dangerous blow. He motioned for the other gentleman to stop once he spotted you.

“Come on his behalf, have you?”

“Peter,” you sighed.

He snapped at the other man.

“Give your queen a sword, will you? Come,” he was talking to you now. “Spar with me.”

You reluctantly accepted the other man’s sword, a grimace on your face as you stepped forward.

“I am a horrible dueling partner,” you complained.

“Nonsense, Y/N. You are far better than what you were a year ago,” Peter said with a chuckle.

Your heart sank a bit at the sound of your name, but it did not distract you from blocking the swing of his sword with your own. Peter smirked at you.

“See?”

“Peter, this is not why I am here,” you told him.

“Of course not,” he calmly said. “My father knows that between the two of you, you are the only one I actually respect. He believes that you have some sway over me...and I am not reluctant to admit that he is right.”

He blocked your blow, quick to do so again when you swung your sword down towards his legs. He eyed you, a bit of pride in his gaze.

“Very good,” he praised.

“I was hoping to talk you into agreeing to some sort of compromise with him. Any compromise, really.”

Peter let out a humorless laugh, spinning before bringing his sword down over his head. Your eyes were wide as you lifted your sword, the sound of them clashing meeting your ears.

“There is no compromising with that man. He is determined to bring this kingdom and all of its subjects to ruin, and he wishes for me to just stand back and watch. He does not hear a word I say,” he spat.

He swiped his sword at you, several times and in several different successions. Unable to keep up, you were not surprised when your sword was knocked from your hands. You did not flinch when the tip of his blade found your throat, confident that Peter would never hurt you. He pressed the tip further, eyes locked on yours, and you swallowed.

“Do you agree with him?”

“Of course not,” you honestly answered.

Peter lightly dragged his blade down your neck and towards the top of your dress, his eyes following its movement before he quickly snatched it away. He tilted his head at you, raising an eyebrow as he waited for you to continue.

“You know I do not agree with how your father runs this kingdom, but I have no say. I never did. Believe it or not, Peter, you have much more influence than I do.”

He turned away with a disbelieving laugh.

“Somehow, I doubt that…”

“Look, I am going to say something that I know you are not going to like,” you suddenly said.

Peter did not respond, so you continued.

“I think that you should consider marriage.”

You saw him straighten at that, back tense, and you rushed to say something else.

“If Tony feels that you are taking your future seriously, then he will be more inclined to take you seriously.”

He turned to you with a withering look, and you rolled your eyes.

“Do not look at me that way. I am not saying that you have to marry some poor girl right away, but at least make an effort to look around, and show Tony that you are attempting to meet him halfway,” you advised.

Peter gave you a hard stare for the longest time before eventually rolling his eyes and looking away.

“Very well. You always do get your way, don’t you, Y/N?”

Your mouth parted for a moment before you snapped it shut, looking down. This did not go unnoticed by Peter, and he neared you.

“What is it, now?”

Your eyes met his, and you tried to hide your hurt, but it must have been clear as day. Peter’s entire demeanor softened, and he stuck his sword in the dirt, reaching for you.

“What is it?”

You exhaled.

“That...is another thing I had hoped to discuss with you.”

He frowned in confusion.

“You still refer to me by my name…” you watched as his face fell. “And I do not wish to rush you, I never have, but when you say my name...it makes me feel as if I am doing something wrong here.”

“You are not,” he rushed to assure you. “Believe me…”

“I do not want to replace your mother, but if I am doing something-.”

“It is merely a force of habit. That is all,” he interrupted. 

“You are sure…?”

“Positive,” he said with a small smile.

“...okay,” you said with a nod. “...and what will you be doing after this...?”

“I will be speaking with my father,” he reluctantly told you.

“Good,” you said, Peter bending to allow you to quickly peck his forehead. “...and please be polite. I hate the way you two provoke each other.”

He roughly exhaled.

“Yes...mother…,” he seemed to bite out, eyes on you.

You looked to him with wide eyes, heart swelling as your smile grew. You chuckled, kissing his forehead one last time before leaving him to finish his instruction.

Contrary to what you had hoped, your advice did not improve things. Now that Peter had agreed to at least looking for a wife, it just gave him and Tony one more thing to disagree on, and disagreements about the smallest of things only gave room for disagreements about more serious matters. Peter hated the way Tony ran the kingdom, and you could not fault him for that.

Meals were more tense than ever, and it soon became suffocating to be in the same room as father and son. You did your best to keep the peace between them but there was only so much you could do. Especially when the arguments would get so intense that you feared for them. Tony could get so angry, and while you had never known him to put his hands on Peter as he did you, it still worried you that he might one day. And Peter…

Sometimes Peter would get a look in his eye that chilled you to the bone. He would get so fed up with his father, lips pressed together as Tony tore into him, and you would see the younger man’s eyes flash with something you could not name. It was a look that terrified you and made him look like someone that was not Peter, at all. 

Tensions only mounted as your birthday neared. You did not want either of them involved in the party planning process, convinced this would be the final nail in the coffin. Truth be told, it was also for yourself as well. It allowed you to breathe better.

“The party is tomorrow night, and Peter has yet to have the last fitting for his attire,” you told Mary Jane as you stood.

“I can finish this up, your majesty, while you go find Peter,” she replied.

“Are you sure?”

“Absolutely! I am almost finished, anyway.”

“Wonderful! I shall return shortly. There are only so many places he could be at this hour…”

The corridors were scarcely occupied as you decided to check Peter’s chambers first, making your way to his wing of the castle. You were unsurprised to find them empty, and you quickly made your way outside. He had a habit of frequenting the grounds, the maze especially, and you were confident that you would find him there then. 

You had not been inside the maze for a while, but you remembered how to navigate it vividly. You were deep within it, somewhere in the middle perfectly between the beginning and the end when you stumbled upon a sight you were not prepared for.

At the other end of a long stretch, were a couple, far too wrapped up in each other to notice your presence. You felt your face heat up as you stumbled upon the lovers, and you were prepared to turn back when the young man lifted his head, familiar eyes meeting yours. A gasp escaped you, and you were frozen on the spot as Peter simply stared at you.

He did not break his gaze as he continued to thrust into the woman beneath him, who you absentmindedly recognized as Guinevere. Her eyes were closed, clinging to Peter as moans tumbled from her lips, and even though Peter was silent as he stared at you, the heat in his eyes was undeniable. Finally coming to your senses, you willed your feet to move, but you did not escape in time to miss the way Peter’s deep moan rang throughout the air.

Upon your return, you told Mary Jane that you were unable to find Peter. You did not want to think of the awkward encounter, and told yourself that the tailor had never been wrong before. You were positive that Peter’s attire would fit. You did not see the young man again until the following day, your birthday, and it was only an hour or so until your party. Tony was meeting with a few of his Lords when there was a knock on your chamber door.

You were quick to answer it, surprised to find Peter on the other side. You only felt uncomfortable for a moment before you took in his attire. You beamed, widening the door to allow him in.

“Oh, Peter, you look positively dashing!”

“Did you doubt that I would?” he smugly wondered.

You threw him a look.

“I swear, you are getting more and more like your father every day,” you told him with a chuckle.

“I got you something,” he suddenly said, and it was only then did you notice the box in his hand.

You blinked in surprise, eyes widening when he opened it to reveal the most beautiful necklace you had ever seen. The ruby heart in the middle was positively blinding, standing out against the rest of the diamonds that made up the band. You pressed your hand to your chest, mouth parting.

“Happy Birthday.”

“Oh my… Peter, this is so sweet of you,” you told him.

“Well,” he started, setting the box aside as he took the piece of jewelry into his hands. “It is not every day that one turns thirty-six.”

He motioned for you to spin around, and you obliged.

“This might also double as an apology for yesterday. I regret that you had to see that,” he chuckled.

You joined him, waving him off.

“Nonsense, Peter. It was a bit of a shock, but nothing more. You are a young man, after all, and I could never fault you for doing what young men do. You are treating Guinevere well, I hope? She is a sweet girl.”

Peter groaned.

“Yes, Y/N.”

Your heart sank at the sound of your name, and you frowned a bit.

“I am treating her just fine,” he assured you.

You chose not to comment on his use of your name, wondering if you had done something wrong.

“Would you ever consider marrying her?” you pushed.

Peter was quiet as he brought his hands over to lower the necklace at your neck. It was not one that rested at your décolletage, but at your throat instead, and your eyes widened a bit when he pulled it back. You reached up to your neck, forced to stumble back into his chest to keep from choking, relaxing a bit when he finally clasped it together.

“No,” was his simple answer. “It is not like that.”

He rested his hands on your shoulder, turning you around to admire you. His dark eyes took you in before finally focusing on the necklace, the corner of his lips lifting a bit. He pressed his finger to the ruby heart, drawing patterns over it before eventually stepping away.

“It looks great,” he told you.

“Thank you. We should track down your father before they start my own celebration without me,” you replied.

It was not long after that the three of you were entering the great hall, a smile on your face as everyone greeted you. Tony and Peter were at your sides, and both of their hands rested at the small of your back as they guided you to the royal table at the head of the room. Everyone only quieted down when you took your seats, and you looked down at the familiar faces with a smile.

Your attention was drawn to Peter as he stood, raising his glass as a servant came by to fill them. He only filled yours and Peters, but another quickly came to fill Tony’s. Once everyone’s glasses were filled, that was when Peter spoke.

“I would like to propose a toast…”

He turned to look down at you, dark eyes unreadable as he swallowed.

“...to the woman who loved me even when I did not deserve it.”

Your heart swelled as you smiled at Peter, so happy that you two had come this far.

“No one could ever replace my mother...and I would not want them to, but you, Y/N, you are the next best thing.”

Your eyes softened, realizing that while maybe Peter did not see you as something akin to a mother just yet, he still loved you, and that gave you hope. You could live with that for now. Peter’s eyes fell onto his father, and he suddenly smiled.

“...and to my father, the king. If it were not for you, Y/N would never have come into our lives.”

His voice was even, but his eyes glinted before he turned to the rest of the royal court, his glass held high.

“To the king and queen. Long may they reign,” his voice traveled over the room.

Everyone else repeated his words before taking a drink, you and Tony following suit. As you set your glass down, you watched, a bit concerned, as Peter swallowed all of his wine, a look of satisfaction on his face as he lowered his glass. You turned to Tony, prepared to ask him if he wished to say anything, just as he let out that first cough.

It sounded nasty, and you frowned, prepared to ask him if he drank too fast when he coughed again, blood staining his bottom lip. Your heart fell to your stomach, eyes widening as you reached for him, hands trembling. You were prepared to call for help when you noted the sound of several coughs reaching your ears, followed by screams.

When you turned towards the rest of the room, you saw every single one of the royal court coughing up blood, and you stood on unsteady legs as understanding dawned on you. You reached for Peter, your hand gripping his arm as fear and horror clung to you.

“P-Peter…”

You looked to him, but his face was stony as he looked down at everyone. The only people who were okay were you, Peter, the servants, and the few guards. You watched as Peter waved his hand, confusion filling you as two guards opened the door to let more in. You were frozen as they all drew their swords, stomach churning as you realized what was about to happen. You turned back to Peter, but he was already moving past you.

“Peter, what- what is happening? What are you doing?”

You lunged for him as he drew a dagger, hand fisted into his fathers hair to pull the struggling man’s head back.

“Peter, no!”

He shoved you away, right into the arms of a waiting guard, and you did not turn your head in time to miss the way he dragged the blade across his father’s neck. A scream left you, belonging to a voice that you did not recognize, and you continued to scream and cry as the guard backed up. Peter pointed at you, his father’s blood coating his hand, his face unrecognizable to you.

“Get her out of here…”

His eyes met yours, dark with a harmful intent that terrified you. Who was this man? He ran his eyes over you.

“...and do not let her get away.”

You fought against the guard as he dragged you away, kicking and screaming all the way. Your efforts did not even cease as you made it into the corridor, having been forced past the dead bodies of your friends and acquaintances. The guard towered over you and was easily double your size, so all of your efforts were useless. 

He only let you go when you reached Peter’s chambers, dragging you through the receiving chamber to toss you onto the floor of his bedchamber. The impact made your head spin, and by the time you pushed yourself to your feet, he was already pulling the door shut. You slammed your hands against it just as you heard it lock, and another sob threatened to escape you.

You had only ever been in Peter’s room a handful of times, and you wrapped your arms around yourself as you looked around. Your chest hurt, heart breaking as you recalled the way Peter had so callously taken his father’s life. Your husband was dead, and it was no secret that the man was far from perfect, but his absence scared you. What would become of you now? Why did Peter not poison you like the rest? God, had his feelings never changed, at all? Had he still secretly hated you this whole time and wanted to get some sick satisfaction out of killing you here?

You lost count of how many times you tried the door before moving to the balcony doors. They too did not budge, and you kicked them in frustration. You could barely form a coherent thought, and more tears spilled over as you realized just how alone you were. You did not understand anything. Why would Peter do this?

As you heard someone enter his receiving chamber, it occurred to you that you might get your answer.

Your eyes met Peter’s as he entered his chambers, and you stumbled back, afraid to take your eyes off of him. You watched as he locked the door behind him, and the sight of that made your face crumble.

“What have you done?” you shakily asked.

The room was quiet save for your soft sobs, and you flinched when Peter took a step forward. He did not look like the young man you knew. He stood there in the dark attire he had picked out for your birthday, looking every bit like the murderous man you now knew him to be. A dark strand of hair kissed his forehead, jaw clenched as he eyed you. It started to lightly rain outside, and your eyes fell to the blood on his hands.

His father’s blood.

“Have you come to kill me too?”

Finally, his face shifted, and he frowned at you.

“Kill you?”

Peter scoffed, laughing to himself as he tilted his head at you.

“You could not be farther from the truth…”

“Then what do you plan to do? What are you doing, Peter? I do not understand…”

“My father was going to run this kingdom into the ground. We both know it…”

You started shaking your head before he was even done.

“Something had to be done.”

“Not like this! You killed him- you killed everyone,” you cried.

“...and here I thought you would be thanking me,” he sneered.

“Thanking you?”

“Unless I was wrong, and you enjoy being slapped around,” he threw at you.

You felt as if you were just slapped then, and you pressed your back into the wall, tightening your arms around yourself.

“Not like this, Peter. Not like this,” you tearfully murmured.

The rain got louder, filling the otherwise silent room with some noise, and you flinched when lightning flashed, shedding light on the room and on Peter’s dark gaze.

“What will become of me? Did you ever think about that? I am the widow of a murdered king. A king murdered by his own son in a coup!”

“...and the future wife of the next one,” Peter calmly stated.

You froze, his words failing to make sense despite the fact that you heard him just fine. Something about them did not sound right, and your lips parted, a shaky breath escaping you.

“What...what did you just say?” you hesitantly questioned. 

Peter took another step towards you, and you slid along the wall...away from him.

“Do you have any idea how much it pained me to watch you with him?”

“Peter…”

You shook your head, still moving away as he moved closer.

“Do know what it was like to watch him mistreat you again and again only to turn around and reap the spoils of his marriage as if he had not just caused you harm only moments before?”

His voice was low, thick with something you were too disgusted to name. Your eyes were wide, filled with tears as the reality of the situation dawned on you. Peter’s feelings, his father’s murder...the two of you alone in a castle full of people that have proven their loyalty to him. Peter was only eighteen when you married the king, standing face to face with you, but now, eight years later, the young man towered over you.

He suddenly chuckled, and the sound terrified you more than anything now.

“I find it funny… My father was always telling me that royals take. We take what is ours. We take what we believe we should have. That is what we do, son,” he mocked. “We take.”

His cold eyes bore into yours as you stumbled away from him. In a circle the two of you went, and you pulled on the handle of the door as you pressed your back to it. Fresh tears spilled as it refused to budge.

“Now look. I have taken his life, I have taken his kingdom, and I have taken the woman he thought belonged to him-.”

He swallowed the rest of his words as you suddenly dived to the other side of the room. Peter followed, and you reached up to pull the portrait from the wall, tossing it at him only for Peter to evade it. You frantically crawled across the bed, kicking Peter in the chest as he reached for your ankle. You fell to your knees on the other side, running to the balcony doors with tears in your eyes.

Again, the doors would not budge, and you were prepared to throw yourself through the glass when Peter was suddenly there at your back. He enclosed you in his arms, and you reached back to fight against him and push him away, but he only pinned you between him and the glass. The sound of the thunder drowned out your screams, and you yelped in shock when he fisted a hand in your hair, yanking your head to the side.

Peter was determined to taste you, tongue and teeth brushing your skin as he ground himself against you. Nothing you did seemed to deter him, and it suddenly felt hard to breathe. The storm raged outside, wind pushing rain against the window. One of Peter’s hands dragged up your leg, pushing the skirts of your dress with it, and you slammed your hands against the window, attempting to push back.

This only egged him on, and he moaned in your ear.

“Peter, please,” you begged

You could feel the air against you, and your efforts to get away only increased when you felt him moving to release himself. The hand in your hair moved to your neck, cutting off your airway as he pulled your head back to rest against him. You struggled to breathe, nails scraping against the glass. He leaned down to cover your lips with his own, kissing you for the first time, and you sharply inhaled.

He moaned at the taste of you, his tongue meeting yours, tasting the wine that you wish had killed you too. You both struggled against the window, your hands turning into fists when he pushed his leg between yours, quickly followed by the other. You turned your head away, your small victory overshadowed by your ultimate defeat as he thrust into you. You yelped just as Peter shuddered against your back, a long sigh escaping him as he pressed a hand into the glass beside your head.

He pressed his face into your hair, grinding against you, the sound of him breathing you in reaching your ears. Your own forehead was pressed to the glass now, tearful eyes taking in the storm as Peter dragged his cock in and out of your unwilling core. Your body shook from both your sobs and his ministrations, and again, you pushed against the glass in hopes to push him away.

He merely shoved his chest into your back, forcing you back against the glass before wrapping his arms around you again. One hand pulled at the neckline of your dress, ripping it straight down, and your lashes fluttered when he slipped his hand beneath the fabric to roll his fingers over you. His other arm came across your middle, pinning your own at your sides.

“You are finally mine,” he breathed after a while.

You shook your head in denial, another lightning strike bathing the room in a glow. It was gone as quickly as it came, and you were forced to focus on Peter’s reflection in the window. He was lost in the euphoria of you, the feel of you wrapped around him, sucking him back in again and again.

“Finally,” he groaned. “At my side and in my bed as my queen…”

His hand slipped from beneath the torn fabric of your dress, dancing along your skin before his fingers brushed over the diamond choker at your neck.

“I have all night to claim you as mine, and no one is around to stop me.”

“Peter, this is not you-.”

“Oh, but it is,” he sighed. “This is the man you loved when he did not deserve it. This is the man you will marry, bear children with…’

You let out a choked sob, fresh tears falling at his words.

“Oh, please. Everyone knew that my father was the problem. He was the only one in denial about it, and I have a feeling that by the time I am done with you, you shall be with child by tomorrow.”

“Peter, please,” you screamed.

His hand tightened on your throat, pulling your head back so you were forced to stare at the ceiling, back arched to take his slow and purposeful thrusts. He kissed the corner of your eye before doing the same to your cheek. His breathing was choppy, heart pounding in his chest, and the way his hips stuttered told you that he was close.

“Oh God,” he moaned, stilling against your back as he spilled himself into you.

You froze against him at the feel, realizing that there was no turning back. You shook in his hold, feeling the urge to be sick when he suddenly pulled out of you, replacing his cock with his fingers. You gasped, reaching down to grab his wrist as he shoved a second finger inside of you, the wet sound of it reaching your ears even with the rain outside. He pressed you to his chest as he curled his fingers into you.

You bucked your hips, ashamed with your actions as he pulled pleasure from you like it was nothing. LIke he somehow knew your body better than you did. His lips were at your ear, brushing against your skin before he trailed them to your neck again, pressing kisses there. Your nails dug into his wrist, but he paid your efforts no mind as he thrust his fingers into you, setting a pace that had your legs shaking. You knew that if it were not for his hold, you would have collapsed already.

Peter hummed when your breath hitched.

“You are close...aren’t you?”

“Peter...stop,” you shakily begged.

“I shall stop when I feel your arousal dripping down my hand,” he purred.

His words had you clenching around him, and he moaned against your neck.

“I suppose I cannot blame my father for being so possessive of you. Your walls feel like heaven…”

“Peter…”

“I do not know how I will ever allow you to leave our bed-.”

“Peter-.”

“I guess I shall just have to keep you tired…”

“Please-!”

“Come for me, Y/N. Fall apart for your king,” he whispered.

And you did. You seized in his arms, walls clenching around him, your arousal coating his fingers and dripping down his hand. Your nails drew blood, but he only moaned with you, cursing as you rode yourself on his fingers, your other hand reaching back to twist into his shirt. That was the hardest you ever came, and shame filled you.  As you came down from your high, Peter lowered the both of you to the floor.

It was only then did you notice the bloody handprints on the glass. The same blood on you, no doubt. More tears sprung forth as it all seemed to hit you, and Peter forced your head onto his shoulder as he shushed you. You obliged, and he leaned down to press his lips to your forehead, rocking you as you sobbed in his tightening arms.

~

tags:   @xoxabs88xox @harryspet @readermia @opheliadawnwalker3 @nickyl316h @captainchrisstan @sebabestianstan101 @villanellevi @lokislastlove @notyourtypicalrose @coconutqueen21 @hurricanerin @hyoyeoniie  @cocoamoonmalfoy @mandiiblanche @gotnofucks @oneoftheprettynerds @doozywoozy @mcudarklibrary @melli0112 @buckybarnesplumwhore @dramaholic18​

#dark peter parker #dark!peter parker #dark!peter x reader #peter parker x reader #ROYAL AU #prince peter parker #dark fic

[chimchimsauce]

Ash and Cinder

Ever since YN’s father died, she’s been trapped in her childhood home by her scheming step mother and evil step sisters. When it’s announced that the crown prince is hosting a ball to find his future wife, all YN wishes is to see her childhood friend once again. But maybe he’s been closer than she previously thought . . .

The first thing YN feels when she wakes up in the morning is the persistent pain in her ribs. It makes her breath catch as she pushes herself upward, her hand bracing herself against the cold floor of her chambers. Chamber is too generous of a word to describe the cramped storage space in the basement where she resides. 

Once upon a time, YN slept peacefully every night in one of the luxurious bedrooms in the house above her. She was waited on affectionately by the staff and doted on by both of her parents. However, once her mother died, things went downhill fast. YN’s father, bless his soul, was never good at being alone. YN’s mother’s grave was still fresh when her father came back from one of his business trips with three women in tow - a new stepmother and two stepsisters. At first, YN was a little bitter that her father would betray her mother and so soon. They had always seemed to be so in love with each other that the sight of YN’s father embracing another woman felt so alien and wrong.

But YN swallowed any protests she had for her father’s sake. When YN’s mother died, her father was little more than a ghost who floated through the once lively hallways. YN would do anything for that smile of his to stay.

Happiness never lasts for long, though. It had scarcely been two years after his remarriage that YN’s father joined her late mother. His death had been odd and sudden. He was healthy as a horse a few months before his passing, but he had mysterious illnesses that tore him down until he was barely hanging onto life. In his last moments, he had requested to be left alone with YN.

The memory of his fragile hands holding hers, much too cold to be normal continued to haunt her. He had barely managed to request to be buried by his first wife before death took ahold of him. For a long while, YN stood by his bedside, refusing to believe that both of her parents had left her and so close together.

And while YN was overcome with grief and sadness, her stepfamily did not shed a single tear. All they were concerned with was the affairs of her father’s funds. After YN’s mother’s death, YN’s father, a once prominent merchant, fell into a working slump. He hardly went to sea anymore and thus began to drain their savings until practically nothing was left. 

Given no other choice, YN’s evil stepmother fired all of the staff and put every duty onto YN’s shoulders, stripping her of every aspect of her previous life. Her old finery was distributed amongst her snickering stepsisters and she was kicked into squalor. All she had to wear was threadbare rags she crudely sewed together herself. All she was afforded to eat was the crumbs of meals she herself had to slave other.

YN, saddened by her memories, forces herself to stand on shaky feet, placing a hand on her aching ribs. Yesterday, one of her stepsisters Anastasia kicked her when she was scrubbing the floors resulting in her going tumbling down an entire flight of marble. The pain was so intense that she laid there in agony for several moments before forcing herself to get up, knowing that things would only get worse for her if she stayed where she was.

More than anything, YN wished she could run away. Unfortunately, with no money or connections, she would last scarcely a week on the streets before she either starved or was forced to seek employment at a whorehouse. Neither option felt better than her current situation, so YN grits her teeth and pushes forward.

The sun is still down when she goes outside to draw the water for her sister’s baths. The moon casts the smallest amount of light, just enough for her to see her reflection in the well. Her face is gaunt from far too few meals and her once healthy hair has thinned and is cropped unbearably short from when her stepmother attacked her in a fit of rage. Soot and cinder is caked into every wrinkle in her skin, leaving her in a constant state of filth. 

YN slaps the water, her image melting away in a dozen waves. 

"What have I done to deserve this?" She asks, a frustrated tear falling down her face, "Why have I been treated so terribly?"

As expected, no one answers her, no one offers her any comfort. She is doomed to live the rest of her life this way.

YN takes a deep breath before turning on her heel and lugging the massive pail of water into the house.

The rest of the day passes as normally - her so-called family barking orders at her and her fingers feeling like they're going to fall off. It's only at dinner time that the usual schedule turns on its head.

Her stepsisters and stepmother are eating dinner in the large dining room and YN is just outside the door, mopping the floors.

"Did you hear?" Her stepsister Driscella, says excitedly. "The Prince is hosting a ball!"

"A ball?" Anastasia says, dropping her spoon into the bowl of soup YN made earlier, "What for?"

"To find his wife," Driscella says, "It is time for him to marry."

"To marry? Who is invited?" Anastasia asks.

"Any eligible maiden from a noble family," Driscella says, "Our invitation arrived in the mail earlier."

"We must prepare you at once," her stepmother says, rising from the table so quickly she knocks over her chair, "YN!"

YN startles at her name but rushes to come.

"Yes, stepmother?"

"Prepare the carriage. We're going into town!"

"Yes, ma'am," YN says, rushing to do as told. 

The carriage is done by the time the family is done eating. YN is not allowed to ride inside with them, instead sitting at the head and driving into town. The ride is bumpy and uncomfortable, but thankfully their house is located close to market.

As her stepfamily flutters from store to store, spending money they don't really have, YN trails behind, carrying packages and running them back to the carriage. She's absolutely starving and the hot sun overhead does nothing to assist her. There are several shops selling all kinds of food and drink, but YN's stepmother didn't give her a single coin to spend for herself. 

YN is gazing at an apple longingly when a body bumps into her, tossing her to the ground. The shock of impact rattles her bones and YN groans, her vision swimming. 

"I'm so sorry," a man's voice says, "Let me help you up."

A gloved hand comes into view and YN takes it, being pulled to her feet.

"It's alright," YN says, not having the energy to deal with this at the moment.

She turns to walk away when a hand is placed on her shoulder.

"Let me make it up to you," the man says, his voice unusually desperate, "Allow me to buy you a meal."

At the mention of food, YN's gaze shoots up, looking at the man for the first time. He's incredibly handsome and well groomed, skin clear and hair styled perfectly. It's clear that he's some sort of noble, the type of person who would never look YN's way. It makes her instantly suspicious of his offer.

"No thanks," YN says.

Even though she wants a meal more than anything, she can't trust him.

"Please," he says, "You look like you're starving."

She is starving. She hasn't had an actual full belly in over a year now. Every day she wakes up she's surprised that she hasn't joined her parents in her sleep. 

Just as she's about to reject again, YN's stomach growls loudly, embarrassing her.

"Alright," YN says, following after him.

The promise of food overwhelms her concerns. It's dangerous, yes, but when will such an opportunity happen again?

The man leads her into a small pub that is bustling due to the busy day at the market. The crowd of people makes YN feel better. Hopefully nothing bad will happen when they’re surrounded. As soon as the man walks in, though, he raises his hand and people clear out like rats, stopping in the middle of their meals and drinks to scatter. That does nothing to ease YN’s anxiety.

“What was that all about?” she asks him, taking a cautious step backward.

“The pub owner owes me a favor is all,” he says easily, guiding YN by the shoulders to an empty booth.

A worker comes to clean it up immediately, their fingers trembling. YN knows that feeling too well. All of their movements are quick and quiet so as not to be scolded.

“On second thought,” YN says, moving to get away from this strange man, “My family must be looking for me. I have to assist my sisters with their packages.”

He does not let her escape him, pulling her back down with a firm but gentle grasp.

“Sisters?” he asks curiously, waving his hand once more.

The worker leaves immediately and returns with drinks.

“We’ll have one of everything,” the man says, the worker bowing and disappearing once more.

YN takes the goblet in her hands and holds it tight, as if to ground herself.

“Yes,” she says cautiously, “My sisters.”

The man takes a long sip of his ale, not breaking eye contact for a moment. It feels as if he’s keeping her prisoner with his gaze alone.

“Interesting,” he says simply. 

“They’re getting ready for the prince’s ball,” YN says, desperate to fill this heavy silence, “They’re very excited to go.”

“And will you?” the man asks her, “Go to the ball.”

YN laughs before she can stop herself, quickly guiding her drink to her lips to distract from the sound.

“What’s so funny about attending the ball?” he asks her.

YN places her cup on the table, looking into the contents.

“Servants don’t go to balls,” YN says, “especially not ones where the crown prince hopes to find his bride.”

Perhaps if YN’s parents had not died, she would be one of the many noble women mulling about like excited bees, buying ribbons and buttons and sweet smells to rub behind their ears. When she was younger, she had even met the royal family a few times due to the wealth her father brought into the country. From her fuzzy memories, YN recalls the crown prince behind rather quiet and stoic, even as a child. But there were a few times when the two of them would play together. YN had always been imaginative, so she would insist that the elder prince play games with her. Perhaps it was a bit childish, prancing around the lush royal gardens and slaying imaginary beats, but it was fun. YN might even go so far as to say that they were friends back then.

But then the prince was sent abroad to study and YN never saw him again. It’s been forever since she has thought about him.

“Penny for your thoughts?” the man asks her.

“I was just thinking about a memory from my childhood,” she says.

The food comes out soon after. Aromas more delicious than she’s smelled in a very long time surround her and she looks at the man sitting across her with wide eyes, silently asking if it was really okay for her to eat this. 

He smiles at her for the first time since she’s met him and a lot of her apprehension melts away. The man has a surprisingly kind smile, one incapable of holding malice. 

YN eats until she’s full and then some, wanting to savor every single bite. She may never get the chance to be this full again.

When the clock on the pub’s wall chimes, YN startles, looking outside to see that the sun has not set. She’s been with this man for much longer than she intended. No doubt her stepfamily is furious.

“Thank you so much for the meal,” YN tells the man, “I really appreciate it!”

“Where are you going?” the man asks her, a little breathless. 

“I must go,” she says, running out of the pub.

As she hurries to find her family’s carriage, YN realizes that she never got the man’s name. Ah well. It’s not like she’ll ever see him again.

After searching, it becomes clear that YN’s stepfamily left without her, providing her no means to get home. And while the trip to the market is not too long on a horse or in a carriage, it takes over an hour on foot. The moon hangs heavy overhead and the trees rustle in the leaves. Everything is serene for the moment and YN does her best to savor it, knowing that she’ll most likely get beaten when she arrives home. For a moment YN considers just escaping into the woods while her stomach is still full and she might have a chance at survival, but winter is just around the corner and she’ll freeze in her threadbare clothing. 

So with a heavy sigh, YN returns to the place she once called home. 

The young woman was right. Her stepmother is furious when she arrives and beats her thoroughly, YN crumpled into so much pain that the world spins and she pukes up her precious lunch all over the floor. In the background she can hear her stepsisters laughing at her misery and her stepmother screeching about the mess she made, but the pain and exhaustion is too strong.

YN surrenders to sleep, the faint memory of a garden in her mind. 

When she wakes, it’s to her stepsister’s foot in her side. YN had been left in the house’s entrance in a pool of her own vomit.

“Get up, you useless pig. We have much to do! The ball is in three days time!”

And just like that, YN’s life returns to normal. She is up cleaning and sewing and cooking and brushing hair from dawn until dusk, scarcely getting enough sleep and water to get by. When the day of the ball finally arrives, YN is incredibly relieved to see her stepsisters and stepmother leave in a carriage they rented for the occasion, one much fancier than the one they actually own. They’ll be gone most likely until the next day’s afternoon, so YN can manage to finally get some much needed rest. She might even be able to sneak and lie down in one of the many guest rooms if she’s careful to be gone before they return.

YN makes her way outside to the well, drawing water for herself to drink.

“May I have some as well?” an elderly voice says.

YN turns, alarmed. No one should be here, especially not at the back of the house. It’s impossible to get here without going through the manor.

“Who are you?” YN asks cautiously.

“Just an old beggar,” the woman says, “One who is incredibly quenched.”

YN looks the old woman up and down. She looks incredibly frail. YN could most likely beat her in a fight even in her weakened state if it came down to that.

“Okay,” YN says, drawing water for the woman as well.

For a few moments the two sit side by side in silence, sipping their water underneath the moonlight.

“It’s a shame to see you like this, child,” the crone says, “You deserve so much more than this.”

YN looks at the old woman quizzically. She’s speaking as if she knows her.

“I don’t know what you mean,” YN says.

This interaction grows odder by the second.

“I can help you,” the woman says, “I can grant a wish, any wish you desire.”

YN laughs.

“Oh I wish that were true,” she says.

“And if it is? Humor me, young one.”

“Hm,” YN says, deciding that there’s no harm in playing along.

“If I could wish for anything, I’d wish I could go to the ball. It’s probably hard to believe, but I used to know the prince. I’m not interested in catching his eye or anything, I’d just like to see how he turned out from a distance and maybe snatch as much food as possible.”

The old woman looks at her before standing, handing her back the cup she had been drinking from.

“Refill this cup when the moon’s reflection is perfectly over the well and take a sip. Then your wish will come true.”

Before YN can question the woman’s nonsense, the old lady swishes her cape around her, turning into a black cat and running off.

YN can barely believe her eyes. She blinks, rubbing her face. If she had doubts before, they’re gone now. 

It just takes a few moments before the time the woman told her to look out for arrives. YN does as told, filling the woman’s cup with water and drinking it all down, her eyes sliding shut.

When they open again, YN is convinced that nothing happened. She’s still in a garden after all. But her dress feels much heavier than before and something cold is wrapped around her feet. As she looks around, YN notices that she’s in the garden from her childhood, the royal garden.

YN gasps, not believing that it’s true. This must be some wild dream, but if it is, she doesn’t want to wake up.

YN migrates to a nearby stream, peering into her reflection. She doesn’t look a thing like her old self, all clean and wearing a brilliant white dress that seems to sparkle, even in the dim lighting. YN makes her way through the garden, remembering every step as if she was here only yesterday. She soon finds herself in the center of it all at the rope swing where she and the prince would hide from his guards.

YN sits on the swing, her eyes closed as she remembers. She certainly hopes the prince finds his true love tonight.

“There you are,” a familiar voice says.

YN opens her eyes, scrambling to stand from her spot.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to -”

“YN,” the man says, stepping into the light.

“It’s you,” YN says.

The mysterious man from the other day.

“What are you doing here?”

“You really don’t remember me, YN?” he asks, “Even in our secret place.”

YN freezes. No way.

“Yoongi?” YN asks before remembering her place, “I mean, Prince Min?”

“I much prefer Yoongi from you,” he says, making his way next to her and sitting on the ground.

“Here, your majesty, take the swing,” YN says, moving to get out of the way.

“Stay,” he commands, looking at her fondly.

It’s a little off-putting how intensely he’s looking at her.

“I’ve been waiting for this day for my whole life,” he says.

“The day you find your wife?” YN asks him, hands tight around the rope swings, “Shouldn’t you be in the ball, your majesty?”

“Call me Yoongi,” he says, “And I already have.”

“That’s wonderful!” YN exclaims, happy for her friend, “What is she like?”

The prince looks at her strangely. 

“Do you not know what you yourself are like?” he asks her.

“Of course I - what?” YN asks him.

“Don’t you remember our promise? We made it in this very spot.”

“Me? You want to marry me?” YN asks, convinced he must be joking.

But what would he gain from a lie such as this?

“Of course,” Yoongi says, “I love you after all.”

Today has been insane.

“How can you . . . but . . . we haven’t seen each other since we were children!”

“But we have,” Yoongi says.

He stands and under the moonlight his form seems to shiver and fade before another person stands in front of YN where the prince had stood seconds ago, just as the woman from earlier did.

This person is not unfamiliar to her. He’s the baker from the market, the one who would always sneak her extra loaves of bread. And then he shifts again, turning into the woman who gave her a free horse years ago and then into the milkman who would always bring one extra bottle for her. Yoongi shifts through a dozen different people, all people she knows, all people who have been kind to her. And finally, he turns into the woman from today, the one who had told her to drink the water.

“But . . . how . . . why?” YN gasps out.

It’s all too much. YN turns on her heel and tries to run, but the cold around her feet seems to get stuck on the ground. YN lifts up her shirt to see that her shoes are made of glass and wrapped up in vines, leaving her immobile. 

“You always used to run from me when you were younger,” Yoongi says, finally himself again, “And you even ran from me the other day. But no more.”

Yoongi, stronger than YN expected, sweeps her off of her feet, leaving her shoes behind. YN tries to fight him but can hardly move in his embrace.

“Yoongi, why are you doing this?” YN asks him.

“Aren’t you tired,” he asks her, “Of the way that wretched woman and her daughters treat you? Of the way everyone treats you?”

He places her down, her bare feet against the cold grass.

“Think about it YN. Every person who has ever been kind to you since your father passed has been me. They don’t deserve to have you. No one does! Just come with me, agree to be my wife and you’ll never have another worry. You’ll never go hungry or cold or abused again.”

YN wants to protest but finds no reason to. He’s right, after all. Everyone in her life but him and her parents have treated her horribly. And her parents are dead. He’s all she has left.

“Okay,” YN says, locking eyes with him in the moonlight, “I’ll marry you.”

Yoongi grins that sweet smile of his and pulls her close.

“Thank you, my love.”

As YN and Yoongi return to the ballroom, they are met with thunderous applause as the court and nobles in attendance cheer for his choice. He leads her to the front room where an officiant is already waiting, ready to seal their bond forever.

As soon as they’re pronounced man and wife - King and Queen, Yoongi pulls YN in for a kiss, waving his hand behind her back to signal the guard who is hiding in the crowd.

The guard returns the signal and disappears, off to dispose of three bodies - YN’s horrible family and the King who refused to allow his son to marry a noble who has lost her title. 

He’s not going to let anyone get in the way of their happily ever after.

#yandere bts #yandere yoongi #yoongi x reader #yandere x reader #bts x reader #fairytale retelling #this ended up a lot softer than i initially planned #oh well #hope you enjoy

[superman86to99]

Action Comics #696 (February 1994)

Superman fights THE CHAMPION: the sensational character find of 1994! Yes, it’s another new ‘90s hero who (as far as I can tell) will never appear again. We start with Superman literally kicking rocks in space, where he’s been lost since his recent fight with Lobo. Oh yeah, and he doesn’t need to breathe anymore, for some reason.

After three issues of aimless wandering, he finally runs into a somewhat Earth-like planet and decides to go down to ask for directions. Unfortunately he can’t do that, because the giant city he saw from space is completely empty and encased in something like amber. Superman tries to create a small opening in the “amber” with his heat vision to go snooping inside one of the buildings, but his super-charged powers cause him to melt the coating off of half the building. That’s when he meets a big bug-like guy in a green armor called Champion, who isn’t too happy about Superman defacing the empty buildings under his care.

Superman tries to push Champion away to explain himself, but of course he ends up punching him across the city due to his extra strength (he should really be used to that by now). More punching and property damage ensue.

Champion eventually manages to knock Superman out and takes him to his satellite base to have him analyzed by his AI companion, Outpost. Outpost finds out that Superman is 1) a Kryptonian, and 2) only pretending to be unconscious, so the fight resumes. To prevent those two from destroying the satellite with their brawling, Outpost zaps Champion with some sort of sleeping ray and explains their whole backstory to Superman (having learned English by reading his mind). Turns out this planet was rendered uninhabitable by alien invaders a long time ago, causing the survivors to go into suspended animation chambers underground -- except for Champion, who had to stay up there rebuilding the cities and sealing them from the toxic elements (hence the “amber” stuff).

Now Champion just sits in his satellite all day, waiting for the planet to become inhabitable again and protecting it from destructive visitors like Superman. Having explained all that, Outpost finally tells Superman how to get back to Earth... mostly just to keep him away from this planet since his powers are growing so much that pretty soon he’ll be a danger to everyone around him.

Yay, Superman’s going back home! I mean, uh-oh.

Plotline-Watch:

As Superman goes through the wormhole Outpost pointed him to, he misses a familiar-looking being crossing in the opposite direction. Don Sparrow says: “As if the issue seemed aware that essentially nothing happened, they toss in a glimpse at Doomsday, who has been freed into ‘normal space’ by the wormhole through which Superman traveled.” Doomsday has been tied up to that asteroid since the Cyborg Superman put him there and tossed him into space back in Superman #78. It would have been darkly funny if Doomsday had landed on Champion’s world and proceeded to tear the whole place apart, but his destiny lies in a more... apocalyptic location.

The only other plot this week is about Lois Lane’s ongoing investigation into Sasha Green, Lex Luthor Jr.’s personal trainer who went missing (because he choked her to death). Lois stops by Lex’s office to ask him about Sasha, and apparently this criminal mastermind didn’t fully think his alibi through: he’s been telling people Sasha disappeared because she moved to Coast City right before it turned into a big crater, but he also admits that she reappeared in Metropolis with metahuman powers during an alien invasion and seemingly died again in a helicopter crash (during the “Bloodlines” crossover). Lois informs Lex that she has evidence Sasha didn’t move to Coast City and didn’t die in that crash, and he’s so upset that he almost chokes his top lackey to death, too.

I’m not clear on when Lois found out about the “Bloodlines” stuff. When Sasha’s dad asked her to look into her disappearance, he seemed to think no one had seen her since that day she kicked Lex in the face during training. Has Lois told Mr. Green that his daughter was turned into a super-zombie by aliens and might still be around? Should she tell him?

As a continuity nerd, I appreciate Champion being confused about how a Kryptonian can exist outside Krypton considering the “defective gene” that made them drop dead if they tried to exit their world (a gene created by Superman’s ancestor Kem-L via the Eradicator).

Patreon-Watch:

Don and I also appreciate our patrons Aaron, Murray Qualie, Chris “Ace” Hendrix, britneyspearsatemyshorts, Patrick D. Ryall, Bheki Latha, Mark Syp, Ryan Bush, Raphael Fischer, Kit, Sam, and newcomers Andrew Loduha and Hank Curry! Thanks, all! As a perk of joining us at patreon.com/superman86to99, they got to read Don’s section two weeks ago, but it can now be shared with the world (because I finally got around to finishing mine). Take it away, Don:

Art-Watch (by Don Sparrow):

While this sojourn into space has felt generally a little like filler, it has still provided some great visuals.  This month’s cover would make a great poster, and I was especially impressed by the detail in Superman’s hair, as well as the subtle trail of red from his cape within the speed lines.  Great, great stuff.

The opening splash has a great sense of motion, as Superman kicks an asteroid in frustration (though there’s something comedically Rockette-like in his follow-through).  Soon after we get our first look at Champion, and for a character with such a cool name, it’s a puzzling design. He looks a little like an armoured, green version of the Tick, apart from his very alien face.  There’s also a strange thing happening on the full body shots, where his torso looks like a big nosed face gritting his teeth. [Max: For some reason I can’t stop thinking about Wario.]

As the story progresses we get a nice view of Metropolis at Christmastime, complete with a performance of the Nutcracker ballet in Metropolis’ version of Broadway.  Jackson Guice generally pays pretty good attention to Lois’ fashion choices, though, perhaps due to the colouring, this one looks like it came from the Nicholson-as-Joker collection. 

As Superman goes toe to toe with Champion we get another perfectly bowl-like crater, another Guice specialty.

A few pages later, the star-warp in space is well done, particularly the shimmer colour involved.

On the whole, I’m thrilled Superman will soon be returning to Earth.  Unlike the “Exile in Space” saga, this entire journey into space has been pretty uneventful, other than documenting that Superman’s powers are continually increasing.  Even this issue is a deeply weird summary:  Superman goes to a suspended animation planet and its protector thinks he’s a threat, but he’s not.  So Superman leaves. [Max: You forgot “and Lex chokes a dude”.]

#superman #roger stern #jackson guice #denis rodier #sydney happersen #sasha green #doomsday #armored green version of the tick #guys who never appeared again #Mini-Exile in Space

[gallavictorious]

Gallavich Week Day 2: Fantasy AU

Summary: Prince Ian is offered up as a sacrifice to appease one of the dragons that haunt his father’s kingdom. Rather than being burned alive or eaten he is inexplicably left to wander the dragon’s lair in peace, as long as he never tries to leave and never enters the mysterious tower chamber. Then he meets fellow prisoner Mikhailo and starts to wonder if maybe this whole sacrificial gig isn’t such a bad deal after all.

Or, Ian Gallagher tells a bedtime story, and Mickey Milkovich is himself.

Fair Warning 1: There’s some Mickey-typical homophobic language in this one.

Fair Warning 2: I wrote all ridiculous 5K of this today (work? what work?) and it’s a little bit of a curious mess. Like, the sort of curious mess you get if you take Lip’s Hall of Shame, @gardenerian’s lovely bedtime stories, the novel “Dealing with Dragons” by Patricia Wrede, the Swedish picture book “Bröllop i Marsipanien” by Lena Karlin, the Greek myth of Andromeda, a bunch of folk tales about shapeshifting lovers, and the questionable old practice of MSTing fics, and then you stuff them all into a Kee and shake her around for a bit and then you pour it out into the shape of a 12 hour long and highly inadvisable speedwriting session.

Read it at your own risk, below or on AO3.

Very Important Note: I make fun of fic writing in this fic. Please note that I’m only making fun of myself and general tropes; any and all allusions to actual fic in the fandom is entirely coincidental.

---

Lest They Say, Here Be Dragons

Hush now, child; settle down. Close your eyes – yes, just like that – and listen:

Once upon a time and elsewhere, there was a kingdom. The people there were no happier than people anywhere else, and poorer than most, but they made do and lived and danced and grieved and died as people have always done.

Jesus, that’s gay.

That is, until the dragons came.

Okay, now you’re talking.

Like a plague they swept the land, winged beasts with fire for breath and ice in their hearts. Every night the fields burned, and the villages burned, and the cattle burned and was eaten. Many a brave people took up arms and went to confront the monsters, and then they burned too.

Heart-broken and terrified, the people went to the king to plead for aid. “Send an emissary to the dragons,” they said. “Reason with them and strike a bargain, or else we are sure to perish.”

What a bunch of pussies. What they should do is, they should use a bunch a cow shit to build a bomb and nuke the hell out of those dragons. Problem fucking solved.

Now, this king was a scoundrel and a drunk and the queen had an unfortunate habit of turning herself into a bird and flying off to more interesting lands whenever the mood took her. They had six children but rarely paid them any mind and fair Princess Fiona, eldest of the six, was left to raise her younger siblings as best she could. False King Francis would have been perfectly content to turn his desperate subjects away if it weren’t for the fact the dragons unchecked rampage threatened the production of the spirits the king so enjoyed. So, donning a mask of compassionate concern, for he was a skilled liar, he promised the people that he would help them. But as soon as they had left, comforted, he turned the task over to his children.

The second oldest child, foxy Prince Philip—

Foxy Prince Philip?

Yeah, you know. Foxy. Like clever.

Why not just say clever then?

‘Cause it’s not alliterative.

Alliter—

Starts with the same sound. Foxy – Philip. Fair – Fiona.

Oh, I get it. Like, Ian – idiot. Ow!

Foxy Prince Philip was known far and wide for being the cleverest in all the land, and by using all his cunning he managed to strike a deal with the leader of the dragons.

“By using all his cunning.” Skimming over the details a bit there, huh?

You really want me to turn this into a Prince Philip story? Hear me go on and on about what a genius he is?

…

Yeah, that’s what I thought.

It was agreed that the dragons would spread out over the kingdom, each one building their own place to live near a village, and that the villagers would bring them food and drink. In turn, the dragons would refrain from casual pyromancy and protect the villagers from harm.

Protection racket, huh. Classic. Starting to like these dragons, man.

In addition, the cruel leader of the dragons demanded that each dragon be offered a child of the land in sacrifice. No matter how Prince Philip bargained he could not change the dragon’s cold heart on this—

Guess he wasn’t so clever after all.

—and so, with heavy hearts and much lamenting, each village drew lots to determine which poor child would be sent as an offering to their new resident dragon. However, in the village nearest to the castle the people grew angry when the beloved blacksmith’s only child, a small girl of just four, was selected, and they went to the king and they said:

“It isn’t fair that some people are asked to give up their only child to appease the dragons while you, who have six children, are exempt from the lottery.”

King Francis, fearing an uprising as much as he feared the dragons (since each was as likely as the other to leave him without a drink), quickly nodded.

“That’s true,” he said. “And fairness must ever be the true monarchs first and most important concern. Though it breaks my heart, I can’t in good conscience watch my people sacrifice their own children without offering up my own. You may take Prince Ian and give him to the dragon.”

At this, the other princes and princesses raised their voices in furious protest, for they loved their brother even if their father did not. But industrious Prince Ian—

Industrious? That really the best you can come up with?

—stepped forward and declared that he’d be happy to give up his life, so that the child of the blacksmith might be spared. And so, as the sunt set, he was taken away to the lair of the dragon that had made its home near the castle.

So let me get this straight… The king is happy to toss Prince Ian to the wolves ‘cause he hates him, and his siblings are all sad and shit but they still let him go off to get fucking eaten by dragons?

Yes.

Uh-huh.

What?

…

Oh, fuck you. It’s just a story.

Totally.

Stepping into the lair, with heart a-hammering but on stubbornly steady legs, Prince Ian set eyes upon the beast that was to be his destiny. He was momentarily relieved to see it was not the terrible leader of the dragons, as he had feared, but a smaller monster he did not recognize. Black was its hide, its eyes a cold sparkling blue—

Gallagher, I swear to god, if you turn me into some lame ass henchman dragon—

Keep interrupting, asshole, and it’ll be a pink fucking unicorn. And hang on, you’ll show up in a little bit.

Setting his jaw, Prince Ian prepared to die a heroic death—

‘Course he did, the stupid motherfucker. Hey, if Prince Philip was so fucking smart, and if he gave a shit about his brother, shouldn’t he have given him, I dunno, a knife or something?

Prince Ian prepared to die a heroic death, because unlike some other people he was not a selfish prick and he actually cared about the people of the kingdom, but much to his surprise the dragon did not burn him. Instead, it just stared at him for a good long while, until suddenly it declared:

“You must never leave the lair, and you must never set foot inside the tower chamber. Abide by these rules and you may live. Break these rules and I’ll rip your heart out and eat it while you watch, and then I’ll burn the castle down with your beloved siblings inside.”   

You tell him, dragon.

With that the dragon took flight and disappeared, leaving Prince Ian to stand alone in the great hall of the lair, confused but alive. The young prince remained where he was for a few minutes, thinking that the dragon might come back, but when it did not he set out to explore his new home. It was big, with endless rooms and nooks and crannies, but it was badly kept, with strange bits and pieces cluttering up the hallways and chambers. Prince Ian found some old blankets and he used those to set up a pallet in one of the nicer rooms, one that had a view over a small, overgrown garden. And then, because it was very late and he was not dead, he went to sleep.

The next day he continued his explorations and managed to find the kitchen. It was full with the meat that the villagers brought the dragon once a month, and remembering that the beast had only forbidden him from leaving the lair and going into the tower chamber, Prince Ian helped himself to a piece of pork that he cooked over a small fire.

Hang on, was there a fridge in the kitchen?

No. This was the olden days.

But the villagers came once a month with the meat? How did the dragon keep from rotting?

That’s not really—

Was it dried? Like a Slim Jim?

… sure. It was dried.

As he was eating, Prince Ian heard a sudden scraping noise behind him.

The hell did he cook it over a fire for then, if it was dried?

He looked up and spied another young man standing in the doorway.

I’m just saying, it doesn’t make any fucking sense, man. Wait, is this me?

Prince Ian frowned. “Who are you?” he asked. “Are you a prisoner of the dragon too?”

The boy shrugged. “Uh, yeah. I guess. I mean, I do some work around here. Clean up and shit, in exchange for not getting eaten. Name’s Mikhailo.”

About fucking time. Only, how is it fair that you get to be prince and I’m a fucking cleaner?

Prince Ian tactfully did not mention how the lair was impressively dirty for a place with a fulltime cleaner but invited Mikhailo to share his meal. As they ate, Prince Ian studied his new acquaintance. He was the same age as but shorter than the prince, with skin as white as snow, lips as red as blood, and hair as black as ebony.

Hair as black as— The hell was that?

Nothing.

Yeah, okay, then why are you smiling? Eh, fuck you. Prince Ian’s fucking thirsty for Mikhailo, I get it.

Though his manner was somewhat brusque and uncouth, Prince Ian could not help but feel himself drawn to Mikhailo. The boy was funny and easy to talk to, even if he seemed reluctant to say too much about himself or where he came from. Prince Ian tried asking him about the dragon, but despite apparently having lived there ever since the dragon moved in, Mikhailo couldn’t tell him much.

“Hardly ever even see it, man. At dusk and dawn mostly, so I guess it spends the night flying around with the other dragons, terrorizing the peasants or whatever. During the day it holes up in the tower chamber. Guess dragons must sleep too, huh? Don’t fucking go up there,” he added sternly. “It ain’t fucking kidding about killing you if you do.”

Having found a friend, Prince Ian found that life at the dragon’s lair wasn’t all that bad. He missed his siblings and being outdoors and practicing with the soldiers at the castle, and he resented the loss of his freedom, but he enjoyed the peace and quiet, and enjoyed spending time with Mikhailo. However, one thing he soon grew very tired of was eating nothing but meat. The dragon didn’t seem to require anything else, for it was the only thing the villagers ever delivered, and Mikhailo – whose tasks included receiving the monthly tribute – just gave Prince Ian a weird look when Ian suggested he ask the people to bring some vegetables next month.

“That ain’t the deal they’ve got with the dragon,” he told Ian. “Ain’t nobody gonna listen to me if I go trying to change it.”

Yeah, real Prince Charming there, wanting Mikhailo to risk his life so Ian can stuff his face with fucking cucumber.

Undeterred by Mikhailo’s lack of enthusiasm and courage—

Fuck you.

—Prince Ian decided to take it up with the dragon himself. In the weeks since he arrived at the lair, he hadn’t met the creature again, not even once; he’d just heard the powerful swoosh of its wings when it came and went at dusk and dawn. Now he went up the stairs to the tower chamber and there he waited until night had fallen and he noted the scraping of claws against stone inside the room. Then he knocked at the door.

There was a long silence. Then the door slammed open with enough force to nearly undo it from its hinges.

“What are you doing here?!” the dragon roared, terrible in its fury. “I’ve told you to never come here!”

“You’ve told me to never set foot inside the room,” Ian reasoned, fighting to keep his voice calm. “And I’m not. I just wanted to ask if I may have the use of the small garden just outside the lair. I miss being outdoors and I could grow vegetables for Mikhailo and me.”

Jesus Christ, man, again with gardening? Thought you were over it.

“You may never leave the lair,” the dragon, a garden-hating meanie, snarled, and then he closed the door in Prince Ian’s face.

As he fucking should.

“Probably worried one of the villagers will spot you and, I dunno, mount a rescue,” Mikhailo said shortly the next morning when Prince Ian told him of his failed attempt. “Anyway, you’re a fucking idiot for going up there like that. You get it won’t hesitate to kill you, right?”

“Right,” Ian agreed. “But,” he added with a frown, “why hasn’t it yet?”

“You fucking complaining?” Mikhailo snapped, and then he stalked away, and Ian didn’t see him again for three days.

Listen, you get that I get that Mikhailo is the dragon, right? You’re not fooling anyone, Gallagher.

Then, one day, fed up with the dragon being a really annoying prick, Prince Ian grabbed a huge sword he conveniently found lying around in a cupboard, because the lair was a fucking pigsty, suitable for a pig like the dragon, and he went up the stairs and kicked in the door and he cut the dragon’s throat while it slept, and then he went off and found himself a nice prince to marry.

…

…

That’s not how the story ends.

…

Hey, where are you going? Come back- Jesus, I’m sorry, okay? Gallagher, I’m sorry. Just come back here. Tell me what really happened.

Prince Ian woke with a start on his pallet in the lair. He’d had the most vivid dream about killing the dragon—

A dream? That’s the lamest fucking— Ah, fuck. Sorry.

—but for some reason it hadn’t felt as satisfying as he had thought it would. For all that Prince Ian often fantasized about strangling the beast, it seemed he didn’t actually wish to see it dead. With that disconcerting realization in mind, Prince Ian went to break his fast, resigned to doing so on meat and yet more meat. But in the kitchen he found Mikhailo, and on the table in front of him was a pile of cabbage and carrots and onions. 

“Guess the dragon must have talked to the villagers after all,” Mikhailo muttered, refusing to look at the prince. “And, uh, there was this thing I wanted to show you.”

Without waiting for a response, he spun around on his heel and walked out the door. Curious, Prince Ian followed, through doors and up and down stairs he never knew existed. Eventually, he found himself standing in what appeared to be an inner courtyard. It was small and the walls surrounding it very high, but up above the sky was blue. Prince Ian turned his face towards it and for the first time since he came to live at the dragon’s lair he felt sunlight on his face.

“It’s a shithole,” Mikhailo said. For some reason he sounded a little nervous. “But if you wanna go outside, you can come here. And there’s dirt in those bins, so I guess you could grow stuff in them? Just gotta wear this hat. Anyone sees you, they’ll just think it’s me.”

Privately, Prince Ian wondered who’d ever be able to see him behind walls that high, but he wasn’t going to argue. Wearing an ugly had was a small price to pay for being able to go outside, and to have a garden.

He gave Mikhailo a small smile; Mikhailo smiled back.

“Mikhailo smiled back.” Yeah, you bet he was laughing his ass off, ‘cause he thought Prince Ian was a huge fucking dork.

Things were good for a long while after that. Prince Ian spent his days in the garden and in Mikhailo’s company, and though he still resented being locked away from the world it was easy to ignore that when he had something to do and when his plants started to grow and when he was with Mikhailo. The two young men became closer and closer with each passing week, and soon it seemed to Prince Ian as if they had always known each other. He could no longer imagine a life without his friend.

He suspected that Mikhailo felt the same. It was there in the way he laughed at Prince Ian’s jokes; the way he sought him out to do nothing but talk; the way his gaze sometimes lingered on the prince, the look in his eyes unreadable.

Prince Ian suspected that Mikhailo too wondered what it would be like to press their lips together and hold each other tight. Sleep together; map every inch of each other’s bodies.

Hang on a minute, you’re telling me they haven’t fucked yet? The hell they’ve been doing?

I told you. Hanging out. Talking. Laughing.

Jesus Christ, that’s so fucking gay.

Two men not fucking each other is gay? Yeah, that makes a lot of sense. One day we really need to talk about all your internalized homophobia.

My interna-what? Ah, shut the fuck up. Continue with the story. All these interruptions ain’t doing much for the flow, you know.

Really? I hadn’t noticed.

Prince Ian became determined to find out if Mikhailo felt the same way as he did. He realized that he needed to be careful, however, and not push too hard, lest he spook the other boy. Even though he was almost sure he could see longing in Mikhailo’s eyes, there seemed to be some invisible hand holding him back. Every time Prince Ian was convinced they were finally getting somewhere, Mikhailo would suddenly pull back, as if stung.

Or as if remembering something. Himself, maybe.

Bu then came a cold, clear autumn day almost exactly one year after Prince Ian had been taken to the dragon’s lair.

Whoa, wait, now you’re telling me they’ve been hanging out for one fucking year and they still haven’t banged?

What can I say? Mikhailo’s a pussy.

Whatever. This story is unrealistic as fuck.

Prince Ian and Mikhailo had spent the afternoon together in the garden, as they almost always did whenever Mikhailo wasn’t busy with any of his mysterious chores (which he still refused to tell Prince Ian much about, but which sometimes took him away from the lair for days at a time). Once it started getting dark they went inside and dined on chicken and potatoes from Prince Ian’s patch, and as so often happened they started bickering and play fighting.

If that’s something that happens a lot you might have mentioned it earlier. Established it or whatever. Those mysterious chores too. What’s that all about?

Oh, my bad. Maybe I should start over? Once upon and time—

Nah, man, you’re good. Just a suggestion for next time.

Thank you.

You’re welcome.

They were chasing each other around the kitchen when Mikhailo tripped over the muddy shoes he’d lazily left there the night before and fell to the floor.

You know these meaningful little comments ain’t actually clever, right? They don’t actually add anything to the story.

I like them.

Prince Ian, ever chivalrous, grabbed hold of his friend’s arm to break his fall, but ended up going down with him instead, pinning Mikhailo to the floor with his big, strong body.

Fucking finally.

Their eyes met and Prince Ian felt his heart starting to beat faster. He could see a faint blush spreading over Mikhailo’s face. Neither of them spoke; neither of them moved. Then, slowly, slowly, Prince Ian leaned in to brush his lips over Mikhailo’s. Mikhailo lifted his head to meet him in a kiss to end all other kisses, a kiss to inspire a thousand love songs.

Uh-huh, and then…

And then they went to Prince Ian’s room and had sex all night long. But when Prince Ian woke the next morning—

Wait, wait, what? That’s it? “They had sex all night long.” How about some fucking detail, man?

Fine.

After having great sex using lots of good lube all night long, Prince Ian woke up alone in his bed.

I hate you.

He went in search of Mikhailo but couldn’t find his friend anywhere. He looked in the garden and in the kitchen and he went to the sad little cellar chamber Mikhailo called his room even though Prince Ian had never actually seen him sleep there.

Because he’s the dragon and sleeps in the tower chamber. Great hint, Gallagher. Real subtle.

Fuck off.

A week passed and Prince Ian was starting to suspect that Mikhailo was gone for good this time. Perhaps the dragon had found out about their tryst and had sent him away? Or maybe Mikhailo was disgusted with what had happened and wanted nothing more to do with the prince? Prince Ian wondered and worried and feared, and when finally Mikhailo returned, stepping into the kitchen like nothing had happened, Prince Ian was so exhausted with terror and regret that his relief immediately transformed into fury.

He yelled at Mikhailo, called him names and demanded to know where he’d been. He named him a coward and—

…

Hey, what’s the matter? You okay?

Yeah. Yeah, man, I’m fine.

You don’t look— Listen, Prince Ian’s just being an asshole, okay? He saying a bunch of stupid shit ‘cause he’s sick and tired of not knowing if he means as much to Mikhailo as Mickhailo means to him. He doesn’t mean it.

…

Mick?

I mean… He probably means it a little. He’s not wrong.

No, he’s— Fine. He means it a little right then. But he is wrong, okay? He doesn’t really understand what’s going on with Mikhailo, but he’ll get it later. He’ll know he wasn’t being really fair.

… yeah?

Yeah. Okay?

Okay.

Great. Maybe we should speed this bit up a little—

Once Prince Ian had finished shouting, Mikhailo just stared at him for a long moment.

“You have no fucking idea what you’re talking about,” he spat, and then he spun around and disappeared through the door.

Prince Ian was immediately overcome with regret, yet he was still too angry and hurt and stubborn to run after the other. He went about his day in a very foul mood and when he went to bed that night Mikhailo was still gone. Prince Ian slept fitfully and in the middle of the night he woke to a loud crash, soon followed by several more. He realized it must have come form the tower chamber and after a moment of hesitation he grabbed his nightgown and rushed up the stairs.

So, he brought a nightgown with him when he thought the dragon was going to kill him?

Of course not. He found it in one of the rooms.

Yeah, okay, but why are there so many rooms in this fucking lair anyway? What’s with all the old stuff there? Didn’t the dragon build the place to live in like right before Prince Ian was sent there?

Mickey. It’s getting late and I’d really love to wrap this up and go to bed. It doesn’t really matter about the rooms. Can I just continue with the story?

Whatever, man. Just thought you should know there’s a bunch of plot holes in your little fairy tale.

 Once he reached the door to the forbidden room, the crashing noises had stopped. Instead, Prince Ian heard whimpers and moaning, as if from someone in great pain. It could only be the dragon – something must be wrong with it.

Yeah, ya think, Sherlock?

Prince Ian knocked on the door. There was no reply, other than more whimpers and moans. Steeling himself, he tried the handle. The door was unlocked.

That’s awfully convenient.

Stepping inside, Prince Ian found the dragon on the floor. It was clearly hurt, for there was dark blood pooling underneath it. As Prince Ian entered, the great beast lifted its head but said nothing and made no move to attack him. It seemed it was too badly hurt to pose any threat.

It occurred to Prince Ian that he could kill the dragon. He could go down to the kitchen and fetch the biggest knife there and then he’d be free and he could go back to the castle and his siblings and—

The dragon made a low, pained sound and let its head fall back to the floor, closing its eyes.

Prince Ian went down the stairs, but he didn’t fetch a knife, he fetched bandages instead. Though part of him cursed himself for a fool, he knew he couldn’t bring himself to kill the dragon, monster or not, and couldn’t bring himself to let it bleed to death either.

That’s a huge fucking mistake. Maybe the dragon never hurt him but it still kept him imprisoned. Prince Ian should be getting the hell out of there when he has the chance.

Hmm, yeah. Choosing to be locked up just to be the person you love does sound like a pretty insane thing to do.

Oh, fuck off. That’s totally different.

Sure, Mick.

By the time Prince Ian returned to the tower the dragon had lost consciousness. The prince set to cleaning and bandaging his wounds, having learned the art of it while training with a medical witch who lived at the castle. It took a great long while; the dragon was large and heavy and the cuts in its side long, if shallow. But Prince Ian was nothing if not determined and eventually he had the beast wrapped up.

As Ian moved to rise, the dragon stirred.

“The hell are you doing?” it muttered, blinking up at Ian. Then it spotted the bandages, and the ice blue eyes widened. “What the— Are you fucking insane? This is a... is a… real bad fucking idea… ”

It sounded… strange, and not just from the pain and blood loss, Prince Ian thought. Sounded not just slurred but softer somehow, in spite of the uncharacteristic cursing; sounded almost familiar; sounded like—

“Mikhailo,” Prince Ian whispered.

Ooooh, big surprise! I’m so shocked right now!

You know there are other uses for plot twists than to shock the reader, right? Or actually, I guess you don’t know, but if you picked up a book once in a while—

Yeah, yeah, whatever. What happened after this great and totally unexpected reveal?

The dragon lost consciousness again so Prince Ian went to bed and slept soundly and when he woke the next day he spotted Mikhailo leaning against the wall of his room, looking tired ad unhappy. He was even paler than usually and there was a stiffness to his posture that suggested quite a bit of pain, but other than that he seemed well enough.

“So,” Prince Ian said, trying for casualness as he sat up on his pallet. “You’re a dragon.”

Mikhailo shrugged. “Seems like it.”

“But only by night.”

“Yeah… We turn when the sun sets, and turn back again when it rises.”

“I didn’t know that about dragons.”

“No one around here fucking does. People realize how helpless we are during the day, they’d kill us in a heartbeat. My dad says— “

“Your dad?”

“The leader of the dragons. The really big, white one? This whole terror and extortion thing was his idea, once he realized that no one in this kingdom has a clue about dragons.”

“Oh.”

“He hates humans. Thinks they’re useless and weak. If he knew I kept you around instead of killing you, he’d have murdered us both.”

Jesus fucking Christ, laying it on a bit thick with the metaphysical shit there, don’t ya think?

You mean metaphorical?

I mean it’s fucking stupid, that’s what I mean.

Might be closer to allegory anyway.

Uh-huh. Nobody fucking cares, Shakespeare.

“So, anyway,” Mikhailo continued, “you should probably try to go as far away from here as possible. Find a ship and go across the sea or something.”

Prince Ian blinked. “What?”

“Yeah, man, you won’t be able to go back to your castle. No way to stay hidden there. I know this guy up in Dikno, he might—”

He fell silent as Prince Ian jumped up from the bed and crossed the space between them in two long strides, and then he gasped loudly as the prince’s lips found his.

It was another one to inspire love songs.

“You idiot,” Prince Ian said fondly when eventually they broke apart. “Of course I’m not going anywhere. Unless,” he added, suddenly shy, “you want me to.”

Mikhailo made a face. “No, you fucking moron, I don’t want you to go,” he finally said. “But my dad—”

“We’ll find a way to deal with him. We’ll figure out how to sort it out and set things right between humans and dragons. We’ll find a way, together. Okay?”

And Mikhailo the dragon looked at his prince for a long moment and then he smiled. “Okay.”

At his prince, huh. Surprised you got room for all those big words in your head when your ego’s taking up so much space. All right, then what happened?

They organized a rebellion against the leader of the dragons, I guess. I don’t really know. That’s another story.

What do you mean, another story? Is this it? You spend all that time setting it up but when you get to the good part with the fighting you just stop?

Yeah, it’s getting really late. Kid’s asleep anyway.

Kid’s been out cold since, like, before the dragons even showed up, man, don’t fucking pretend this story was for her. … you really not gonna continue?

Nah, I’ll continue. But for the next scene I figured we might try a little show, don’t tell…

Oh, really? What’s the next scene?

Make-up sex. Prince Ian fucking Mikhailo’s brains out. And hey, spoiler alert: Mikhailo comes four times.

Four times, huh.

Yeah. So… wanna know how it happens?

Okay.

Okay. It starts like this—

---

So, yeah. There we have it. The things we write for Gallavich Week… XD

I am halfway outraged that this is the longest fic I’ve ever written for Gallavich, but I’m rather pleased I managed to write something for this theme! Guess I’ll go to bed both proud and embarrassed and dead tired tonight. ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

Where I am, we’re half an hour past midnight, but seeing as it’s still Monday somewhere, I have decided that I’m posting on time. Yay me! @gallavichthings

#gallavich #gallavich week 2021 #gw2021 #fic #what have i done #my stuff

[yandere-society]

Moonlight

Pairing: Taehyung x Female Reader

Synopsis: Taehyung was a man of many things: handsome, young, rich, the reigning lord of the Kim manor. He was a man adored, a man respected. But beneath the studly exterior, he held a dark, demonic secret that floated towards the surface once every full moon. It was this secret that would unknowingly entangle you in his claws until there was no way out.

Word Count: 7.2k

Warnings: Yandere themes, Possessive Tae, Werewolves, Kidnapping mention, Sexual assault, Murder, Death, also it’s unedited cause I hate myself

Headline: Beast Of The Night Strikes Again! 2 Dead, Several Injured

Admin: @roses-ruby​

_

The town suffers through another full moon of terror as the one described as the ‘dog beast’ struck again late last night. Lawmen are baffled at the carnage, describing the victims torn limbs and missing hearts as an act- “most definitely inhumane.” Townsfolk have stated that they heard the creature growl and moan for hours on end until it seemingly disappeared near the Kim manor. As for the owner of the manor, Kim Taehyung - an attractive bachelor who inherited his great grandfather’s land - refused to comment and dismissed the claims of such a being as “ludicrous and delusional.” Whatsoever it may be, the fact of the matter is that there is someone or something raging with bloodlust every time the moon shines its brightest and it might just be out for your heart next.

“It is truly incredible how some of the most credible news sources have begun to sound so half-witted these days… ‘attractive bachelor?’ Seems like you’re up for auction in the middle of this tragic incident…”

“It is a small town with unusually large tales…they’ll do anything to sell their trashy story…” He runs his fingers through his long black locks, a small huff of irritation leaving his lips.

“A story that will keep children up past midnight I’m sure…” The older gentleman places today’s paper back on the table and walks up to where the younger stood, matching his distant stare out the window. “The flowers were exceptionally beautiful in this year’s bloom. Such a shame they’ll be dead soon.”

It was a passive observation, one he didn’t have to respond to; however, it was his nature to always hold a firm stance on even the slightest of interactions. He hums in agreement, gazing out towards the colorfully green garden that his study overlooked. But rather than admiring the beauty of the large field, his eyes were instead hooked on a small figure bustling about the grounds in a long black dress.

“Master,” A calm voice interrupted him from his trance, “Shall I adjust your schedule in case you were to head into town today?”

His long-time butler, Seung, bowed quietly in his direction.

“No need.” He replies mindlessly.

“Now, now,” His uncle next him chuckled, the wrinkles around his eyes deepening, “It would do you good to show your handsome bust among the public. Your presence as Lord might provide some comfort…”

As if he should be the one comforting weeping mothers and terrified children.

He was about to decline the smiling face of this man who bore him nothing but animosity, but he was interrupted by his uncle’s careless gaze suddenly modifying into something additionally sinister.

“Or is it that you’re too tired for such a simple task? You look as if you have not slept in ages. Are you doing alright, perhaps?”

Other than the shiver that ran down Taehyung’s spine at his foxiness, he was unfazed by the weighty question. Usually, his feigned concern would make him chuckle, if he wasn’t so emotionally exhausted from last night’s events.

“I’m fine.” He turns to Seung without missing a beat, “Uncle is right. Get the carriage ready, I will be heading into town today.”

“Yes, Master.” Seung bows, but before he could quietly leave the room, Taehyung calls for him again. “And get my Uncle’s carriage ready for departure as well. I am sure at his age he would love nothing more than to be resting at home this very moment.”

There was a small confrontational silence between the senior and him after his loaded remark. But it vanished the very next second when his Uncle began to chuckle loudly, as if there was nothing but mirth between the two of them.

“You are right on the mark, young lad. As sharp as ever I see.” He spins around, walking back to the table he once sat at “I shall be out of your hair soon.”

Taehyung watches him as he picks up the paper he had been scrutinizing before he commences his departure from the chamber.

“Are you perhaps interested in the dog beast?”

“Why, not at all,” He responds calmly, turning to the younger with the same somber expression as before, “I just need some entertainment for the road. Surely, you don’t mind?”

He did not. For now, he desired his uncle’s departure the most. It was not as if he could see his own forthcoming demise stained in the ink of that paper.

Autumn’s cool breeze surrounds your body as you tend to the large grounds of the Kim manor, trimming off uneven stems from a massive rose bush.

“___,” A frantic voice suddenly calls your name, capturing your attention as your gaze falls down onto a petite figure dressed in a similar maid’s uniform running towards you, “___! Did you hear?”

“About?”

“Today’s paper!” Seulgi spoke out of breath, like it was the most obvious thing, “Those men…aren’t they the same lads who-”

“SSHHH!” You hiss, blocking her loudmouth with your palm. Her whines against your hand were similar to that of an adolescent as you whirled your head around the garden, making sure no one was near your vicinity. “I told you not to speak a word of that!”

Seulgi successfully tugs you off of her, “I know! But is it not bizarre? That beast attacked those men!”

“There is no beast!” You growled, “Everyone in town was aware that Wan and his men were good-for-nothing hooligans! They probably wandered into the forest late at night, drunk and belligerent, and attracted a bear!”

“Hmm, perhaps…” Seulgi pouts, “But what about the articles? All those farmers who lost their cattle the same exact way… with their hearts missin-”

“I’m sure those are nothing but carnivorous rodents.” You huff in irritation, picking up the sheers to return to your work. The girl besides you threw a tantrum using her feet, and you wonder when exactly it was that you befriended such a child. “Are you even done with your station or will I have to do that for you again after the Housekeeper is done scolding you?”

This manages to scare her off, and you watch her retreating figure in slight humor before turning back to the rosebush. As you snap another set of leaves, you manage to take a glance at the window of the lord’s study, apprehensively watching his back disappear further into his room.

All you’ve wanted from this manor and its lords was a chance to toil quietly – in peace. Your simple servant status does not offend you, rather it provides you security in relations with the world. You were not interested in meddling with anyone’s affair, especially with those who lived in powerful and dangerous realities. So, it does not matter.

What you saw last night, near the clearing behind the manor does not matter. It had nothing to do with you, and you were planning on keeping it that way.

_

Lord Kim was annoyed.

Really though, when was he not? As the carriage decelerates into the gates of his estate, his exhaustion only multiplies. Faking a straight face and an empty gaze took its toll on him, even if he had been playing theater his whole life. It was hard enough to keep up with this perfect charade as the lord of the manor, but it had just gotten worse with time…and with the incidents.

He was reluctant to head into town, leer over dismembered bodies and chat with the commissioner, but did so anyway thanks to his uncle’s instigation. It wasn’t like he had much of a choice - any sign of weakness would invite his extended family to sink their teeth and claws into him, wringing him dry within a matter of minutes. His father died too early and Taehyung did not bear a successor yet, so whoever would be the first to either exhaust, kill or seduce him would eventually take his place as lord. After being unfortunate enough to witness countless amounts of cruelty from them since age eight, he knew he had to keep his farce strong.

Common folk would think he was protecting his blessed birthright. But in a deep, hidden corner of his mind, the reality loomed that neither this life nor this manor was blessed in the slightest.

“We’re home, my lord.” His thoughts are interrupted as the carriage stops, the door opening to reveal a flawlessly still Seung waiting for him to disembark.

As he exited his carriage, his shoulders drooping and head spinning, his eyes managed to fall on you in the distance. You stood far away, underneath the stone canopy of the servant’s quarters, next to that bumbling friend of yours with your head bowed as the housekeeper shouted herself silly at the both you. It seems that you have once again found trouble thanks to the petite nitwit by your side.

Yet still, even with your gaze downcast, he could sense the poise in your stance. An aura of composure and self-confidence that has never left your being no matter where you stood, or who stood over you. At first, he just happened to relate to you and the notion of keeping together a tough act. But over time, he came to realize that you weren’t acting at all – that you, a mere servant, were as perfectly assured as you seemed.

It made him envious.

“Master?” Seung pulled him back to reality.

He turned away, scuffing his expensive shoes amongst the gravel to head into the direction of his manor. Yet still, after the small sight of you, he couldn’t help but smile to himself for the first time that night.

“Dinner is served.”

A tray was lifted to reveal a large pot of thick, saucy white soup. He had wanted something light ever since the previous night, and the chef had delivered quite nicely. Taehyung sits patiently, waiting to be served as the maidservants walk into the room with the housekeeper. His eyes immediately land on you out if habit, and he wonders if you were to tend to him tonight. But to his surprise, it’s your friend who comes up to the table to oblige him his dinner instead. She takes a ladle and dips it into the soup – just a minute, she forgot to pick up his soup bowl?

Realizing she forgot the bowl; she looks startled for a bit before she hovers a hand underneath the ladle and walks closer to his direction. He has to try really hard not to burst out into a fit of laughter as he witnesses you shake in fear at her antics. Seems like he was not the only one distracted because the very next second your friend trips over her own foot on the way to his bowl and loses her grip on the soup-filled ladle, which flies towards him.

And in an instant, his whole head was wet and runny with his dinner. It was quiet for the first minute – which appeared to have stretched out into hours for the servants – until many different voices began shouting at once.

“Y-young Master! T-Towel- I shall fetch a towel!”

“MY LORD!”

“My lord! I-I-I apologize I-!”

He glanced at you out of the corner of his eye. Your face was stiff in horror as you watched the creamy soup drip off his hair. Seung ran back into the room with a towel in his arm as the housekeeper bellowed at your friend.

Before Seung could wipe his hair, Taehyung held his wrist and took the towel into his own hands. Then he stood up, surprising the whole room, even the shrieking housekeeper, shut. He lightly wiped the edges of his bangs for a minute in silence, feeling the wet soup drool into his shirt before he turned towards your friend.

“Well, what a mess…” He stated absentmindedly, watching the girl shrink under his gaze until she became as small as a pebble. She seemed to be trying her utter best not to cry.

“Lord…” A soft, but confident voice interrupted the dead silence of the room. You stepped up next to your friend, your head down as you cleared your throat, “It…It is my fault actually…”

Your friend turns to you in shock. Everyone in the room was now glancing at you; the servants with petrified eyes and Taehyung with amused ones.

“Explain yourself.”

“Th-that…I spoke about the dog beast who was in today’s paper to miss Kang and…and I seem to have frightened her which is why she’s been a bit distracted…b-but it is my fault, so I deserve the punishment.”

“N-no!” You friend suddenly cries in a strained voice and you elbow her to keep shut. She opens and closes her mouth like a fish, before complying to your implication with her eyes squeezed shut tight. The servants all held their breath, waiting for the lord’s next move. They all seem to flinch when he sighs,

“…I see…” Taehyung holds in a chuckle, “You’re right miss ___, this indeed seems to be your fault…”

Seulgi quietly whines in her throat and you wish she could for once read your mind and jam her loud trap.

“…Well then,” Taehyung’s deep voice captures your full attention, “Meet me in my room an hour before midnight. I shall decide on your punishment by then.”

No one said anything further, but they all seemed to be thinking of the exact same thing. Even Seung appeared disturbed. But…it just couldn’t be… The lord has never even taken an interest in women much less bed with one. You, too astonished to remember your place, straightened your posture and stared at him straight in the eye for the very first time. There wasn’t any hint of jest or error, which left you further baffled at the Lord’s request.

No, perhaps it was just you who misunderstood.

“Y-yes Lord.” You manage to spit out.

At your approval the lord smiles, which startles you out of your insolence. You return to your humble position as the Lord begins to walk away from the room.

“Seung, prepare my bath.” Taehyung calls out in glee.

“…Yes, master…”

_

You sigh, standing in front of the thick wooden door of your Lord’s master chamber.

“Well, there goes the goal of keeping from trouble…” You whisper to yourself in defeat. And thanks to that gigantic fool Seulgi, you were late to your own punishment trial. She would not stop crying and apologizing, even though you told her it was now your problem, so she has nothing to be sorry about.

Still, the main dilemma for you in this moment was not her, but your current circumstances. Why were you called out to the Lord’s chamber an hour before midnight? The sensitive time frame would provide anyone the wrong impression, not just you. If he really were to ask you to…bed with him…what then?

You quickly shake your head no. It was not healthy for you to have such thoughts about your Lord. Since adolescence, you had been a reasonable girl who was guided by logic. There was no rationality in this idea and you’re sure Lord Kim had a good excuse for calling you out so late – an excuse that has nothing to do with...whatever you were just thinking. After pulling yourself together with a deep breath, you knock on the wood three times.

“Come in.” You immediately hear, which allows you to nervously turn the handle and push open the door.

There stood Lord Kim, by the end of the bed, in his sleepwear. His hair was a mess of slight, drooping curls, possibly the aftermath of his bath, and his stare was a lot more lax than normal. You gulped quietly under his gaze, stepping into the room and letting the door shut behind you.

“You’re late, miss ___.” His voice was deep, but soft. It felt as if he was trying to jester you.

“I-I apologize, my Lord. I was held up by the housekeeper…”

It was a lie and you did feel guilty, but it would also be immensely satisfying to witness that old witch being chided.

“My, my, it seems like she is always after you and that friend of yours,” You could hear what sounded like mischief in his tone, “Which reminds me, she came to speak to me.”

“The housekeeper?”

“No, your friend. She told me you lied for her.”

That was the last straw. You were going to kill that idiot.

“I…I…S…” What were you to say now? Should you apologize for your dishonesty?

“I think it’s commendable.” You were interrupted from your thoughts by your Lord’s words. When you meet his eyes, you see him smiling gently in your direction. “You tried to protect your friend. It takes a good heart for that.”

“Thank you, sire…” You weren’t sure how to adequately respond - if he really was complimenting you. Your uncertainty stemmed from your upbringing; rather than a trait to compensate, behaving and caring for your younger siblings was regarded as your duty. It was also why maid work came so easily to you. And Seulgi, with her childish nature yet endearing personality, reminded you of those you tended to back home, so you considered looking after her a mere responsibility.

“I do like that nature of yours.” He proceeds casually, making you blush. “But I still have to punish you for your dishonesty.”

You nod your head, eyes falling to the floor. Even without gaping at him, you were aware of how strong his gaze was. It was only natural to get disciplined as a servant, but for it to come from Lord Kim himself made you fearful.

“Miss ___, sleep with me.”

Your head whirls up to meet his stare, shock painting your face.

“W-”

“Please don’t misunderstand me.” He sighs, running a hand through his hair, “Although you’re quite beautiful, I only desire your lap.”

…

What?

“I-” Your Lord stutters, facing away from you and crossing arms in embarrassment, “I just…these days I have been having some trouble sleeping. Many peers have remarked on my dark circles and laxing attitude. This won’t do! As the Lord of the Kim manor, I have to appear fully rested and in the best condition at all times or else.”

He turns back to your direction,

“W…when I was a young lad…I would sleep on my mother’s lap. It was the most comforting of places to me and sleep was never a cause for concern back then. Which is why…I wanted to seek that same comfort once more…so that I may be able to rest heartedly and prepare myself to face the world of politics tomorrow. I just…I was wondering if I could borrow your lap for a few nights?”

It was quiet after his explanation. Your mind gradually processing all the information in his tale. He appeared to be immensely nervous, as if waiting for you to decline. You had to hide your amusement.

“I am ready for my punishment, my Lord.”

The young Lord smiles, which has your heart racing. Surely, he was a beautiful man.

“Thank you. Please sit on the bed, near my headboard.” He orders bashfully.

_

You swung another sheet over the clothing line.

Days had passed since your initial ‘punishment,’ and today would mark the first whole month of you lending your lap to your Lord. Your nightly time with the Lord had become an occurrence you cherished. There was so much you managed to learn about the man who rested on you – like how he scrunches his nose when he encounters a nightmare or how he moans only when he is in his deepest of slumbers. He was different than how you originally imagined; his cold exterior was nothing but a farce. In reality, he was so childlike and so innocent.

So different from other men.

Yes, that’s right, he was nothing like Wan. Remembering that scoundrel had you shivering in your legs from disgust. You usually didn’t have the most pleasant encounters with the men in town, but Wan had been a special case. Although you did not wish to think ill of the dead, there was nothing ever good about that man, and frankly you’re not very upset that he’s gone.

You remember the day much too clearly; it was a week before he would meet his demise. The housekeeper had sent you and Seulgi into town on a shopping errand – she wanted you to pick up meat and vegetables for dinner. It wouldn’t be the first time you went into town for a chore, but it would certainly be the most unpleasant.

As you and Seulgi stepped out of the farmer’s store carrying a load of groceries in a paper bag you held with both arms, you spotted Wan and his friends walking towards you from the opposite direction. They were cackling loudly, drunk in the middle of the day and out of their minds. You paid them no attention, ready to head back to the manor but your unwitty friend stared straight at them until Wan eventually made eye contact with her.

“Well, well, well,” He slurred in your direction, catching your gaze, “If it isn’t the whores of Kim manor!”

Because of his brash nature, everyone’s regard fell on the two of you. You tried to look unfazed by his disgusting behavior, taking Seulgi by the hand and leading her around the men. But Wan interjected your path as his friends laughed on.

“We need to get back. Leave us alone.” You stated calmly

“Why, we won’t keep you for long,” He grinned, and you recoiled from the alcohol in his breath, “Besides, they won’t miss you- them rich folk. Isn’t that right, fellas?”

His friends began to shout and woo, enclosing in on you almost completely, and you could feel Seulgi shaking behind you.

“We need…to get back.” You say once again, cursing at yourself when your voice cracks. Wan throws his head back and laughs as hard as he could while the townsfolk just observe the show. Anger begins to well up alongside the fear and you purse your lips, picking up your feet and tugging Seulgi along.

It didn’t matter if you had to bulldoze through him, you were going to get back to Kim manor no matter what. So you step close, ready to collide into him before he suddenly sidesteps. Thinking he was distracted; you weren’t prepared for his swift movement and you certainly weren’t prepared to feel a hard thwack on your backside. A breath of surprise leaves your throat and the feeling in your arms disappear, which lets the paper bag fall out of your grasp, spilling its contents along the street. You stare at the ground, paralyzed by shock as Seulgi meekly cries out your name.

“Wan, you mad lad!” Someone from his group yells, clasping their hand into his in jest while they all express their amusement at your humiliation. The group aggressively howls, making perverse remarks before eventually continuing down the road, fully disregarding your presence. They left, without any consequences. As if they didn’t just horribly disgrace you.

“___...” Seulgi steps up to your side, crying her eyes out in worry. If this was another time you would console her – scold her for being a crybaby – but at the moment you could think of nothing. You had been a maidservant for almost a decade now and even then, you had never been treated so awfully. What’s worse is that they all saw…they all saw and said nothing.

Not wanting to waste a minute further, you fall to your knees and start gathering the vegetables that fell about. Seulgi calls your name again but you focus on your task. You have to stay composed, you have to stay composed – you repeat it to yourself like mantra. But that sensation of emptiness returns, and you freeze. Before you knew it, you were trembling on the floor with tears streaming down your face and everyone still watched on.

“___.” Seulgi wrapped herself around you tightly. For a moment your fortitude was shattered as you cried in her arms on that dirty street.

Wan was most definitely scum, you conclude with a huff as you finish straightening the laundered bedsheet. But still, you halt, dying the way he did…it’s something you wouldn’t wish on anyone. Your mind wanders back to that paper, torn limbs and missing hearts. Could it possibly be related to what you saw that night on the previous full moon? With a frown, you stare up at the sky, watching the whiffs of white clouds swirl through the blue fabric.

“___!” You hear the familiar shouts of your name and turn to see Seulgi running towards you. “___, there you are!”

“What is it this time?” You sigh as she encloses in on you

“___, is it true that you are consummating with the Lord?”

Dropping the sheet out of your hands, you spin towards the loudmouthed idiot, “W-w-w-where did you hear that?”

“The other maidservants were whispering on it,” She replies with an innocent grin, “Is he as good as the rumors say?”

“A-a-a-as the w-what? What rumors- what- consummate- a-are you out of your mind?” You were blushing from head to toe.

Seulgi looks dejected at your response, “So it isn’t true?”

“Of course not!”

“Ohh,” She groans sullenly, “But I guess it would be impossible for a lord to take interest in maidservants like us.”

Your bashfulness vanishes in an instant. She was correct, there is absolutely no reason for you to find yourself special. Lord Kim had made it clear that he has no interest in you, he just requires a lap and is too proud to ask someone close. This was originally a punishment for you and nothing more – you shouldn’t become too attached.

“___?” Seulgi’s voice was low, “Are you alright? You seem down…”

“…I’m fine.” You mutter, composing yourself, “But more importantly…why are you here to ask me about baseless gossip? Are you done with your station? Remember you have to use the right tools- just scrubbing vigorously doesn’t work-”

“Oh my god- yes, yes, yes!” She responds by childishly covering her ears, “I have to use the coil sponge not the foam one, I get it!”

You begin to scold her as she laughs, prancing around the grass without a care. But soon the humor dies down and it was time to return to work. Before she leaves for her station, she makes a passive comment.

“Tonight’s another full moon. In the night of Samhain.” There was something dim about her tone as she gazes up towards the sky. You join her, wondering if she somehow had the same bad premonition as you did.

_

While you were chatting with your friend, Taehyung was having tea with a man he’d rather throw into a river.

“What brings you here?”

“My, do you sound cold.” His uncle chuckles, taking another sip of his tea, “Am I not allowed to visit my nephew out of fondness?”

“Well, after twenty-so years, consider me surprised.” Taehyung deadpans, which only further humors the elder.

“Perhaps I do have a motive.” He grins for a moment before all signs of amusement vanish from his expression. “I could not help but toil my mind over that paper from before. The townsfolk swore they heard the dog beast growl late into the night before fading behind Kim manor.”

“I thought we agreed the paper was nothing more than gossip fodder.”

“And perhaps that’s all it is.” His uncle’s smile was innocent but held such contempt. “However, as a gentleman who resides in the city, I find myself quite inclined by the mysteries of small towns such as this.”

“What nonsense,” Taehyung scoffs, “Are you saying you wish to investigate this supernatural rubbish the townsfolks gripe about?

“Indeed! The dog beast is nothing but rubbish!” The elder’s laughter was hearty, “But then, there is the question of who killed those men?”

The room was silent, drowning in the animosity the two men felt for one another. Neither one spoke – his Uncle because he had nothing more to say and Taehyung because he felt his throat clogging. He wanted to decline, desperate to splurge words of refusal, but then the fact that he had something to hide becomes too apparent.

“Surely, you won’t mind me staying? Just for one night?”

“Stay as you wish, uncle.”

You were already situated on his bed when your Lord swung the door open.

The sound made you jump, and you immediately rose to your feet to show respect. He began walking towards you in a fast, heavy pace with his feet striking the wood. His face had you unnerved – anger in his frown as well as what you could only describe as dismay in his eyes. Before you could open your mouth to react, you were taken into his arms in a sudden and swift motion.

It left your mind blank.

He squeezed himself onto you, his chest colliding with yours as his scent surrounded your senses. Your arms were hovering his back while your fingers curled into themselves, unsure of your position at the moment. Lord Kim hugged you tight, as if he was afraid.

“M-my Lo-”

“Tonight.” He interjected, muffling into neck as he laid his head on your shoulder, “Do not let me go tonight, whatever you do. Hold onto me as tight as you possibly can, do you hear me? Do not let me wander, I beg you.”

His tone broke your heart. He sounded so frightened – so desperate and you had no clue on how to help him. The Lord has always been the strength of this household. No one had ever witnessed him so distressed, not even at the previous Lord’s funeral. Hesitantly, you placed your fingers against his vertebrate and sat back on the mattress, guiding him gently down with you.

“I won’t let you go, my Lord.” You didn’t know what else to say.

He placed his head on your lap, arms still clinging onto you like a child. His mind seemed to be in the middle of a warzone against himself. The memory of a young man sitting in front of his father’s casket, immobile and silent as a rock, was still so vivid to you. You had only been at Kim Manor for a few months back then, and you remember being disturbed by his attitude – wondering if he had any feelings at all. But after learning about how often his extended family plotted against him, to the point of kidnapping him as an eight-year-old, you began to view that tearless boy with pity.

Watching him tremble in your lap has you reaching out to him. Your digits tread into his soft hair and you slowly move them about to calm his tremors. He seems to respond; his quivers coming to a slight halt at your touch.

You don’t know for how long you rubbed his head, listening to him breath.

You don’t know when you fell asleep.

_

His whole body was aching as he walked towards the grass, trying to ease the sharp pain in his head.

He had been taught that the best place to alter was out in an open, murky environment. Somewhere you could feel the air on your skin as the patches of hair slit through your pores like needles through fabric. Yet still, somewhere impenetrable through the naked eye. There was an area like so behind Kim manor – a clearing that was connected to a large acre of uninhabited woods. And among those acres laid several swamps and bogs, which formed a thick layer of fog around the grounds of the manor – most prominent on the night of the full moon.

It was the perfect place for him, who had been poisoned with this modification.

With his mind as cloudy as the fog, he thinks back to the first time he witnessed his father alter. He was far too young, a month away from ten, when he was brought out to this clearing and visually counseled on his dreadful future. More than anything he wanted to look away, he did not wish to see his beloved father become this monster, but Seung held his hand tight and told him to hold witness for his very own sake. And he witnessed – witnessed his father thrash about as if he wanted to claw his own brains out and he cried.

He cried along with his father. But there was never any other option for him than to tolerate the dread from his place as heir to Kim manor.

It was always painful, every moment his heart pumped blood into his body, he moaned in agony. While the night raged on, he noticed his panting grew deeper by the second – tone sinking to a gruff growl which rips through his chest. His eyes and sense of smell grew keener, large nails grotesquely rip through his skin and his teeth began to enlarge. The image of the moonlight basking on his skin was the only thing offering him refuge.

If he had a choice, he would have chosen to stay inside with the warm you, stare enchantedly at your resting face like the many instants he’s done before. But his changes weren’t just physical. In this state he was bigger, louder, hairier, teethier – more aggressive. His desire for blood was intense but ever since he met you, so was this raw lust. As a rational man with a sense of morals, this perverse craving ashamed him, yet the beast inside did not care for his customs. It wanted to possess you, every ounce of you, thoroughly. To mate with you in a way that wasn’t meant for humans. Being around you in this condition would break the mental leash he chains this deviant with.

Although every time he alters, he feels it loosening. There was something wrong with him – his father and grandfather were able to restrain the beast from rampaging throughout town. But he, on the other hand, had been consuming the town as his sole hunting grounds for some months now. Which is why the “dog beast,” once a mere legend mentioned every decade, was printed in previous months paper.  

It is as if the creature wishes to mock him and the slipping control.

Drenched in sweat and agony, he knew the transformation was almost complete when he suddenly heard a small noise. He immediately spun around and met the petrified eyes of his uncle.

Neither of the men spoke – both gaping at each other with pure, unfiltered fear. The chill of the night establishes its presence in the worst moment possible. Taehyung was afraid for reasons too many, none he could not lucidly list. He recalls what occurred the last time the beast was enraged by someone and he desperately wishes not to hurt anyone ever again in this form.  

Opposite from him stood his uncle, wondering just one thought out of an infinite. How does a normal man, one untouched by the knowledge of this being, react in this situation?

A normal man would run. A normal man would cower in fear. A normal man would beg for his life. But he, the rightful heir to the manor, declined to let this young bastard trample him in such a way. It wasn’t that his uncle was a man without fear. And it wasn’t that he held great courage either, but rather, the very oxygen that burned through him was fueled purely by his stubbornness. He has spent the majority of his life trying to crush first his brother and now his nephew, so when this chance has presented itself so deliciously, he refuses to let it slip through his fingers.

“Y…” His voice was hoarse, throat achingly dry, “What are you?”

Taehyung stands there quietly, unresponsive to the question. Although he was the larger one, he felt so scared and so small. No one had ever spoken to him in this form which is why he was unsure of what to do. He had been a fool, he thought if he could sleep in your arms and you held him tight, he would be able to stop himself from altering tonight.

But now he understood, there was nothing that could.

“You killed those men.” His uncle continues, all on his own. As if he’s suddenly reached enlightenment.

“You do not…understand…” Taehyung shakes his head like a child about to be punished. He didn’t mean to kill anyone. He’s never hurt someone in his whole life. That night, on the previous full moon, it all occurred without any of his own authority.

Taehyung was a despicable man. Wan had hurt you, and he saw it. But rather than step in and intervene – rather than protect you from that scum – he instead just stood by and watched it transpire. No matter how many times he thinks back to it, no matter how often he racks his brain for an answer, he still does not understand why he did nothing. Perhaps he was paralyzed from his own traumas and forced himself to retain his composure – however the beast did not care for his pathetic reasons. It taunted him the whole week leading up to the full moon. Hurt him with insults he knew he merited.

“You’re weak.” It growled, “Weak and puny. I shall protect her myself.”

And then, for the very first time, Taehyung took the life of another human being without any cognizance. What’s worse is that he enjoyed it. That thought alone petrifies him.

“No, I do not understand you. And I do not wish to.”

“Please…” Taehyung begged as he held out his deformed hand to plead with the elder. Did this man think Taehyung desired this life? Did he think he desired this hundred year old curse - originating from a place long before his time - that was forced upon him and on any man who dared to reign over Kim manor. Perhaps despicable, but Taehyung was still softhearted. The reason why he tried so hard to keep his title as Lord was so that no one else would further suffer this abomination, even if it concerned his bastard uncle. 

And it’s also the reason he made peace with dying alone, without a bride and without children. He was meant to stand alone. That is...until he met you.

“How dare you. How dare you grovel to me, you servant of the devil.” The disgust and venom in his uncle’s tone made him recoil.

“No-” It was only a matter of time before the beast consumed him whole and he was certain, like before, it would not spare any mercy. The adversity is something Taehyung direly yearns not to repeat.

“I shall bring the priest and the commissioner. I shall tell them what you did. You shall be brought to justice for what you did to those men. You shall suffer in hell when they burn you at the stake!”

“Please- uncle- please listen TO ME-” He clasped his claws against his mouth when his voice became utterly inhumane. The beast was crawling out of his throat and his sanity was slipping. No longer was he able to see what was in front of him and once again he began to fade, like he did all those times before.

“Run!”

Taehyung with the last of his conscious tried his hardest to warn the man and take a dash for the woods but it was far too late.

The last thing he heard was his uncle’s shrill scream, and then all silence for him.

_

You woke up to a thump.

Or at least you were certain that was what you heard as you sit up on the bed. Your vision was groggy, mind still half asleep as you look in the direction of the sound’s origin. For a minute it was soundless, and then there was another thump. You weren’t sure what it was, but you stood up nonetheless, slowly walking towards the door. Still unaware of your surroundings, you stop in front of the wood, distracted by your own dizziness.

In the tranquility of the room, you caught a noise so faint, you thought perhaps you were still in your nightmare from before. It was immensely faint, but you heard it. The rapid breathing behind the door. Unhurdled by emotions such as caution and reasoning for once, you swung the door open in confusion. And as soon as you did, your own awareness came back to you at full force.

A clothless man stood before you, covered from head to toe in blood and gore. Your breath was stuck in your throat, eyes widening into saucers once you saw the length of his fangs. It took you a full minute realize that it was Lord Kim.

“W…what…” You step back in horror. Perhaps you were still dreaming.

The fear had snuck up around your waist and grabbed you by the throat, leaving you without the ability to move. He gazed at you with eyes that were a bright yellow, yet darker than any man’s you have ever looked into. Your orbs travel down his body as you absorb in his abnormal height, his ripping muscles, his long fingernails and…and his hand.

There was a heart. In his hand, he gripped a fleshy and large organ and you knew it was a heart.

Missing hearts.

“Nooo…please.” You quiver, crying without him ever speaking a word. All signs of alarm were raised in your mind and you don’t even remember what it was for that you came here. Only Seulgi’s words about the dog beast reigned in your ear. The world was spinning as your Lord…as he began to walk towards you. Your life started to flash by your eyes, and you closed them shut tight, so you would no longer have to witness this terror.

“Shhh.” You heard a deep growl before you felt cold and abnormally large fingers on your face. A gasp escapes your throat as he caresses your cheek.

The next thing you knew, you were floating. Your eyes flew open and you saw yourself being carried by him. There was no moment for you to react, as you were subsequently placed upright onto the bed. No longer restrained by his arms, you shifted about in a frenzy.

“Ah…uh…”  

“You are mine.” He states as if it was a fact.

Then he comes over you – wrapping his enormous, dirtied limbs around you as you squeak. He lays his head in your lap and you feel the tears leave your eyes as he yet again resembles your Lord. What you had thought of as just a hallucination from the fog was actually reality. That night, on the previous full moon, you woke up and strolled the grounds to clear your head of Wan. It was then that you saw the most horrid of things – you saw a giant dog shrink into a small human who resembled the Lord.

And you had told yourself lies. Told yourself it wasn’t true and told yourself to forget. But all logic was failing you now as a creature from hell winds down on your very own body. You muffle your cries and fear – too afraid to awaken the beast.

Taehyung laid peacefully in your arms; his mind detached from every other thing that did not concern you. The heart he held in his hand had stopped beating a long time ago, but he could still feel it slipping through his fingers. He is not sure, even as a beast, as to why he takes the hearts of victims. Perhaps it has something to do with how it’s his heart that hurts more than anything else each time he alters.

Well, it did not matter now, he thinks as his perception starts to drift. Nothing mattered at the moment – not the heart, nor his uncle’s body, not even your reaction. For this moment, more than anything, he just wants to rest.

To sleep, in your lap, under this cold, beautiful moonlight.

________

A/N: Okay so I really hate this I apologize. I had intended for it to be longer but well :) October has officially been 2020′s busiest month for me...but I hope you enjoy this garbage lmk what you thought!

#bts #kim taehyung #yandere bts #yandere taehyung #bts fluff #bts angst #taehyung fluff #taehyung angst #bts x reader #taehyung x reader

[a-sour-nectarine]

Summary:

The memories froze him. He didn't realize that Obi-Wan was calling his name, increasingly urgent, or that the water had reached his hips. It was cold, not as cold as it had been back on Kamino, but still just above freezing. He could almost imagine the crimson light of the clock, the sneering face of the trainer. The trainer hadn't been inherently cruel, but years of torturing little boys did something to the psyche.

So Cody suspected, at least.

Finally, a cry of "Cody!" woke him from his reverie. Obi-Wan was sobbing on the other side of the chamber, in a way Cody have never seen him cry, hand gripping his hair tightly enough to stretch the skin above his ear.

The water was up to his chest now, and rising fast, and the panic was still tight in his chest, but he made himself look Obi-Wan in the eyes. Before he did though, he caught his own gaze. His face was smooth in the crystal, no scar marring his temple. He absently wondered how anyone would be able to tell who he was, stuck in a child's body with no scar.

Notes:

Everyone shut up, I was supposed to post this last night, but I fell asleep. I am aware that it's Monday. Don't want to hear it.

This is my fourth and final submission for Codywan Week 2021! I really tried to do all seven days, but for my first ever event like this, I don't think I did too bad.

Prompt is an alt, Sith/Jedi Artifact Shenanigans.

"Um, commander?"

"What, Waxer?" Cody said irritably, blinking sleep out of his eyes. Day three in the remains of this stupid temple, and Cody, General Kenobi, Waxer, Boil, and six shinies, all yet to be named, had been grating on each other's nerves nonstop.

"You might want to... um... check in a mirror."

"Lieutenant, unless you have a mirror with you, that's not gonna happen."

"I just, um. Hold on. I'll take a picture, send it to your HUD."

Seconds later, said picture showed up in front of Cody's eyes. "Oh, Force."

A sleepy voice from the back of the room piped up. "Force what?"

Cody removed his helmet and shared a look with Waxer. That was not a brother, but it didn't quite sound like the General either, meaning....

"Hey, General, you might wanna come over here." Waxer shrugged at Cody as he called out. Sure enough, the figure making it's way over to them was not the General, or, at least, not the General they were used to. He looked like a cadet.

Well, so did Cody, so who was he to judge?

"Oh, Cody!" Obi-Wan exclaimed once he noticed the commander's state. He didn't seem to be able to stop the smile pulling at his mouth.

"Ah-ah, speak for yourself, General."

Obi-wan squinted down at his robes, which were the same as the ones he went to sleep in. He was drowning in them, looking only slightly less ridiculous than Cody did in his oversized armor. "Well, this is unfortunate."

Boil snorted. "Maybe one of you is small enough to fit through that hole now.

The General lit up. "Brilliant, Boil. Someone boost me up."

Boil snorted again, but followed him to the far wall. It had been pretty destroyed in the explosion, though still pretty effective in keeping the ten of them trapped. But maybe, now that Cody and Obi-Wan were smaller...

"Wait, wait, we aren't going to address the fact that we are– small? What caused it?"

Obi-Wan's lips quirked up in a smile, and Cody noticed how much more expressive he was when clean-shaven. "Well, I suspect it was caused by the artifact that also triggered the explosion that trapped us here. So, personally, I'd rather worry about it later." He held up the small slate of rock, carved with languages none of them could read.

Cody gaped for a second. That was pretty good thing to say if Obi-Wan wanted all the men to immediately lose faith in either himself or Cody. They had never disagreed in front of the troops, no matter how minor the issue. Equally unusual, he felt the urge to snap back. It was like he was four all over again— Oh. He was, wasn't he?

"Alright, but if you make it through, expect me to follow."

"I was hoping you'd say that." Obi-Wan chirped, grinning like he had just won some huge award.

Turned out that they both did fit, though Cody had to get shoved through and his shoulders got a little scraped up. But it was worth it for the first breath of fresh air outside.

Obi-Wan turned to him, eyes wide, and laughed. "I was honestly not positive that would work."

Cody couldn't help but join him in his laughter, breathless and a little manic, before a voice called out from inside the rubble.

"Will you two grow up and go find a damn signal?"

That was definitely Boil, no one else would speak like that to their COs, even if their COs were children. Cody couldn't help but smile.

"Yeah, yeah, old man. We're going." Cody really was just content with losing all respect, wasn't he. Eh, he was four, he was allowed to be petulant. Besides, he doubted that the eight people still trapped under the debris would be telling anyone else. Not because he trusts them, hells no, but because the situation was almost as embarrassing for them as it was for him and Obi-Wan. After all, they were the ones whose shebs would be saved by children.

Obi-Wan held out his hand, and Cody took it without a second thought, not that he had time to. The Jedi took off the second he had a hold on Cody's fingers. They ran up to the closest hill they could find and surveyed the landscape. Nothing but red grass and blue flowers and crumbling old ruins as far as the eye could see. It was almost beautiful.

Until it started raining.

A couple of light drops of water was all the warning they got before the sky opened, absolutely soaking them immediately. Cody groaned and took off again–-still attached to Obi-Wan–-towards the nearest gray, stone building that looked like it still had a ceiling. As soon as they made it inside, they heaved out twin sighs of relief. The building wasn't completely waterproof, but it was good enough. They made their way into the middle of the floor, where there was the least amount of leakage, and Cody shook himself savagely. The rain outside was not slowing, in fact, it seemed to only get heavier as time went on. Lightning flashed every few seconds. The thunder was constant, but could barely be heard over the sound of the rain.

And then the walls came down.

Not "came down," as in they fell. "Came down," as in a separate set of walls dropped in from the soggy ceiling, completely (and separately) entombing Cody and the General. The walls were some kind of clear glass or crystal, faceted and almost completely transparent. The wall between them had gaps in it, sort of decoratively symmetrical.

"Uhh, Commander?"

"Yeah, sir, I noticed." Cody pounded on the wall, and it didn't even crack. Not glass, then. His enhanced strength would have taken care of glass that thick, child body or no.

In spite of the situation, Obi-Wan giggled, his voice echoing oddly from the other side of the crystal. "Cody, please don't call me "sir," it feels strange. I'm eleven."

"How can you possibly know how old you are?"

"No scar on my thumb. I rub it when I'm nervous, but right now there's nothing to rub."

"How do you know you aren't– I dunno, nine?"

"Just a guess, I suppose. I feel too tall to be nine. You, on the other hand, look younger than that."

Cody quickly crunched the numbers in his head. "S'pose that would make sense, if it's relative. I'm developmentally about 10 years younger than you. Twenty-four to thirty-five, eight to eleven."

"You're ignoring the fact that we are trapped."

"Yes, I am."

"That doesn't change the situation."

"I'm aware. But, as previously stated, I am eight years old. Four, actually. I'm trying not to panic. How are you calm?"

"Oh, I'm not. I'm actually fighting off a panic attack, if I am to be frank. This is almost exactly how Qui-Gon died, with me trapped on the other side of a ray shield. I just keep talking because it seems to distract me."

Cody cursed himself. He knew that, and it should have occurred to him that this was probably Obi-Wan's worst nightmare. He kicked his feet along the bottom of the wall, and noticed a particularly concerning fact. The crystal was growing. Not just randomly growing, it seemed to be specifically growing to cover the holes in the wall, creeping up and up. And, as if that wasn't worrisome enough, Cody's feet were wet. Not from the rain, but from the water seeping up from the floor. It was rapidly climbing higher, just a little below the level of growing crystal. The sound was rather pleasant, Cody noted, but he also noted that Obi-Wan's side of the little prison was completely dry.

The irony was not lost on him. And the irony was pretty kriffed up.

And it got worse once Obi-Wan noticed. The Jedi just let out a hysterical little laugh, and started pacing. "Wow, how wonderful."

"Hey, Ge–Obi-Wan, it's okay. It's okay. It's really slow."

Obi-Wan stopped pacing and stretched his hand through a hole at shoulder height, yet to be covered. Cody didn't even think before he grabbed the boy's (man's?) hand.

"It'll be okay," He repeated. "I'm fine."

The water was about knee high now, and the row of crystals at shoulder height were starting to close off. Cody pushed Obi-Wan's hand back just before the crystal could trap it there, and Obi-Wan let out a pained sound, pressing up against the wall. It hurt Cody. Hurt him more that being trapped, than the memories he had at this age, the memories that this water chamber was starting to dredge up.

Watching his brothers take their turns in the tank, none coming out conscious. "It's for your training," the longnecks had said. It felt like torture to Cody. Though, he supposed, maybe that was the point. It's hard for torture to frighten you if you have already experienced worse.

His turn now, he pulled on the breathing mask and stepped into the tank. It started filling up from the tubes in the sides, and the cold water shocked him a little. He watched the blinking, red light outside on the wall, until it counted up to three minutes. As soon as it hit three, he took a deep breath and shoved the mask off his face, and the clock started counting down again. Could he make it?

No. He woke up later in the medbay.

Like he always did.

The memories froze him. He didn't realize that Obi-Wan was calling his name, increasingly urgent, or that the water had reached his hips. It was cold, not as cold as it had been back on Kamino, but still just above freezing. He could almost imagine the crimson light of the clock, the sneering face of the trainer. The trainer hadn't been inherently cruel, but years of torturing little boys did something to the psyche.

So Cody suspected, at least.

Finally, a cry of "Cody!" woke him from his reverie. Obi-Wan was sobbing on the other side of the chamber, in a way Cody have never seen him cry, hand gripping his hair tightly enough to stretch the skin above his ear.

The water was up to his chest now, and rising fast, and the panic was still tight in his chest, but he made himself look Obi-Wan in the eyes. Before he did though, he caught his own gaze. His face was smooth in the crystal, no scar marring his temple. He absently wondered how anyone would be able to tell who he was, stuck in a child's body with no scar.

"It's alright," he said as the water carried him up, up, toward the top of the chamber. It wasn't nearly far enough away.

"I'll be fine," he called as he felt his head press against the ceiling. Too soon.

"I'm okay," he lied, then took a deep breath, right before the water covered his mouth and nose.

The clock ticked down, 2.59, 2.58, 2.57...

He sank back down, keeping his eyes open and on the crying boy leaning on the wall. Cody smiled and pressed his hand against the crystal.

1.46, 1.45, 1.44, 1.43...

Obi-Wan frantically pushed his own hand against Cody's through the wall. His other fist pounded at the crystal, to no avail. Cody's lungs were starting to burn.

1.03, 1.02, 1.01...

Cody's vision got darker, but he kept his gaze on Obi-Wan. Through the water, he looked distorted, but his eyes were unmistakable. Blue, bright with tears, creased with grief. Cody thought that it had been a while since he had seen those eyes smile. He hoped they would again, maybe after the Wars. Long after Cody was gone. He hoped this wouldn't break Obi-Wan beyond repair. His gaze really did go black now, and the clock in his memory blinked just twice more.

0.01, 0.00.

He felt a satisfied smile pull on his lips. He made it.

~~~~~~~~

Obi-Wan saw Cody's eyes close, and he cried out. "Cody! Stay with me!"

He couldn't ask that of him. It was selfish and impossible. But Obi-Wan felt so small, so helpless. It was just like when Qui-Gon had died, and he could do nothing. Nothing.

"Not nothing," a voice chided. "You can change it, this time."

A different voice swirled around him. "He must learn."

The first voice pressed in. "This will only break him. You are strong, child. Use it."

The soft voice was right. If he lost Cody right now, he would shatter. There would be no Obi-Wan Kenobi to put together, not like there had been last time. He would never come back. Maybe that was what the Code aimed to prevent when it forbade attachments. He had never been good at staying away from those he loved.

But there was no way to get to Cody.

"The power. It is yours to use, young one. Focus it."

"What power?!" He yelled, sounding like a child, even to his own ears. He was a child, actually. No response. Obi-Wan took a deep breath and placed his hands on the crystal wall, tears slipping down his cheeks as he closed his eyes. And he focused. It was like meditating, but more. He felt it. Power. Flowing through his very being. That was what the voice meant. It felt like an ocean, pushing and pulling at him, flowing through him. He waited, waited....

And pushed.

The crystal around him shattered. Shattered like Obi-Wan, because he surged forward and Cody was in his arms and he was him again, filling out his armor, scar across his temple but he was still and cold. Obi-Wan lowered Cody to the ground, brushing the shards of crystal away with his mind, and cried again. "Cody, Cody please. Wake up." He gulped in a breath of air. "Commander, wake up! That's and order!" And he used the power and he pushed the water out of Cody's lungs, but he still didn't stir. He heart had all but stopped, and he wasn't breathing. Obi-Wan used the power again and gathered the Force around Cody's lungs, breathing for him, in--out--in--out--in--

That's when Obi-Wan noticed the crystal in his hand. He would have dismissed it, thrown it with the rest of the shards of crystal littering the floor around him, if not for the glow.

"It is for him. This was as much his trial as it was yours."

The sense of desperation flooded him again, and he fought back tears. What use would Cody have for the crystal if he was dead? But he pressed it to the commander's chest anyway.

"Cody, don't leave. Please wake up. You have to wake up."

And then it was like Cody had heard him, because he coughed and shivered. Obi-Wan released his grip on the Force, because he didn't need it anymore, because Cody was breathing on his own. He squeezed his eyes shut and the scar on his temple stretched. Obi-Wan sobbed in relief and pressed a kiss to Cody's forehead, because he was alive, and they had passed whatever test they had been given, and they were alive.

And that would do for now. That would be enough until they had to go find help, until they had to get the squad out, until they found someone who could help.

Because Obi-Wan was not going to lose anyone today.

#codywanweek2021 #commander cody #obi wan kenobi #there were many external factors that influenced this fic #its far from my best work #but kinda interesting at least

[gladdygirl18]

Bullets That Tickle

Summary: While the team was taking a break from work, the lack of no work and/or action has caused Six Bullets to become bored. To cure that boredom, they decide to spring a surprise attack on each of the team members, including their user.

Word Count: 2332

⚠️ Warning⚠️: Mild swearing (both in English and Italian)

In times like these, you would think Bucciarati, and his team would be working on a mission or waiting for an assignment. This time, however, they were doing one of those things. Well, technically, half of one of those things.

Bucciarati had asked to take some time off from work to conduct a patrol on a small area of Italy. In actuality, he was lying. Well, half-lying. He wanted to give himself and his team a well-deserved and well-needed break. Bucciarati and the others had agreed to take shifts throughout the day. Bucciarati and Narancia would patrol in the morning, Mista and Giorno would patrol in the afternoon, and Abbacchio and Fugo would patrol in the evening. Of course, they took breaks in between each shift.

It was a calming afternoon and Mista and Giorno had just got back from patrolling the streets of Italy. When the gunslinger plopped down on the sofa, he took out his revolver and opened the chamber, grinning slightly as Six Bullets crawled out of the shells.

"So, who are we going after now, Mista?" 6 asked.

"No one, guys. Sorry. We're taking a little break from missions and assignments," Mista replied, "So for now, you guys can chill out and relax."

The gunslinger breathed out a content sigh and leaned back into the leather sofa. Six Bullets looked down at their user with confused faces.

"Taking a break?" 5 asked.

"So, we're not gonna kill anyone...?" 3 asked in a disappointed tone.

"Unfortunately, not." 2 said.

Six Bullets sighed and crawled back into the bullet shells defeated and disappointed. A new day dawned, and the gang was back at it with the same routine. Bucciarati and Narancia had just left to patrol the streets of their home. Mista had just let out Six Bullets for some food. Of course, 3 kept taking 5's share.

"Are we gonna kill someone today, Mista?" 3 asked.

"I don't know, guys. Like I said, we're taking a break," Mista answered, "We do shifts and patrols to make sure we don't have to kill anyone."

Six Bullets all let out disappointed whines. When Bucciarati and Narancia got back, them and the others all decided to relax in the sitting room until the next patrol shift. Six Bullets decided not to go back in the user's revolver, because what was the point? You would think they're used to waiting for long periods of time, but even Stands can get impatient, too. Well, this Stand can get impatient. Six Bullets looked around at their user and his friends, all relaxing and taking it easy.

"Ugh, I can't take it anymore!" 3 cried, "I need to do something; I need some action!"

The others couldn't agree more.

"Well, what can we do?" 2 asked, "According to Mista, we're on a break."

3 stared down at the group and saw that they weren't even bothered by their rambling. Mista, Narancia, and Fugo were napping; Bucciarati and Giorno were reading; and Abbacchio was listening to music. That's when 3 came up with an idea.

"Follow me to the kitchen." 3 whispered to the others.

The others nodded and followed 3 into the kitchen. Six Bullets landed on the table and waited for 3 to speak.

"So, what's the plan, 3?" 7 asked.

"A full on tickle attack!" 3 said, "There's six of them and six of us. Not only will it be fun for us, but it will definitely make the others more cheerful and make them enjoy their break! What do you guys say?"

The others smiled and agreed with their friend.

"Alright, let's decide who's going after who," 3 said, "I'll go after Mista."

"I've got Narancia." 1 said.

"I can take care of Fugo." 2 said.

"Then I'll take Giorno." 5 said.

"I got Abbacchio." 6 said.

"Then I got Bucciarati." 7 said.

Six Bullets nodded firmly to one another with wide grins on their faces. With their targets in mind, Six Bullets zipped back into the sitting room. Upon their arrival, they were glad that everyone was accounted for. At this point, everyone was asleep. Nodding to one another, Six Bullets zipped down to their person. They easily slipped through the open clothing to gain better access to weak spots.

3 was the first to start his attack by scribbling his small fingers across Mista’s exposed sides. The gunslinger moaned and swatted away whatever was on him. 3 dodged his user's hand and snickered.

"This is gonna be fun..." 3 said to himself.

Smirking down at his user, 3 started spidering his small fingers on Mista’s sides. The eighteen-year-old eventually started letting out tired giggles.

"Narancia... quihihit ihihit..." Mista giggled.

The other bullets soon decided that they should start getting in on the action as well. Since Fugo's suit was covered in holes, 2 happily hopped from hole to hole, making the sixteen-year-old squirm and giggle tiredly. 6 slipped through the laces that crossed Abbacchio’s chest and started poking under the man's muscular chest. The twenty-one-year-old's closed eyes started closing tighter. 1 poked around Narancia’s armpit, making the seventeen-year-old giggle in his sleep. 5 and 7 mimicked one another's movements by slipping through the holes in Giorno and Bucciarati's suit. Both bullets ran their fingers up and down the boys' sides, causing both Giorno and Bucciarati to squirm.

"Time for a wakeup call," 3 said, "Ready guys?"

The other bullets poked their heads up and nodded with wide smiles on their faces. All at once, Six Bullets unleashed their tickle attack on the Passione team. They all woke up and started giggling like mad.

"Naranciahahahaaa! Stohohohop!" Fugo cried.

"It's not mehehehehe!" Narancia laughed.

"What the hehehehell is going ohohohohon?!" Abbacchio asked.

Mista looked down at his side and saw that it was 3. Meaning...

"Six Bullehehehehets! Quit ihihihit!" Mista cried.

"No way! We're having way too much fun!" 3 replied.

"If we stop, we'll be bored again..." 7 said dramatically.

"What is the meheheheheaning of thihihis?" Bucciarati asked.

"We wanted to do something fun; we wanted some action!" 2 said, "Then 3 came up with this idea!"

"Come ohohohon! Just stohohohop!" Giorno laughed, "Get out of my suhuhuhuhuit!"

"Sorry, Giorno, no can do!" 5 said, "Not until you guys start enjoying the break you asked for!"

Fugo and Narancia tried to grab their attackers, but they kept dodging their hands and moving to a more hard-to-reach spot that tickled more.

"Gehehehehet ohohohout!" Fugo laughed out.

The sixteen-year-old got up and started shaking around to get 2 out of his suit. However, it only made a lot more spots open for 2 to access.

"AH! Nohohoho! Not my rihihihihibs!" Fugo laughed, "Stohohohop!"

"Quit ihihihit with my stomahahahahach!" Giorno cried.

"This is way too much fun to stop!" 5 said happily.

Giorno tried shaking 5 out of his suit but 5 held on tight to the material.

"Pezzo di merdahahahahaha! Cease this at ohohohohonce!" Abbacchio laughed, twisting his body every which way.

"Nu-uh! You never laugh! It's nice to hear it, Abbacchio!" 6 said.

6's teasing only made Abbacchio more determined to stop the tickling. Bucciarati couldn’t help the giggles that fell from his mouth. While Bucciarati is a serious man who grins and chuckles on occasions, it’s rare for the young man to burst into laughter, so for the Passione leader to be twisting and giggling like a child is probably once in a blue moon.

“7, stohohohohop! Dohohohon’t!” Bucciarati cried, “Nohohoho!”

“What was that Bucciarati? I can’t quite understand you!” 7 said over the man’s laughter.

Narancia was practically rolling on the floor with laughter. Even though he was seventeen, he was by far more ticklish than the others combined. He wasn’t even giggling anymore; he was laughing his adorable, childish laugh.

“LEHEHEHEAVE ME ALOHOHOHONE!” Narancia laughed.

“Who knew Narancia was so ticklish?” 1 wondered out loud.

“Never mind Narancia. Mista’s pretty ticklish as well.” 3 commented.

What 3 said appeared sound. Mista was squirming around like a trapped snake, all while producing adorable laughter; not as adorable as Narancia’s, of course.

“COHOHOHOME OHOHOHON! STOP ALREHEHEHEADY!” Mista cried.

“Y’know, for someone who’s so ticklish, you shouldn’t wear a crop-top,” 3 commented casually, “Any enemy could discover this weakness of yours and exploit it in an instant.”

“He has a point, Mista,” 1 chimed in, “You have to be more careful.”

Mista could barely form a word; neither of the Passione members could form a word for that matter.

“No way! Abbacchio’s far more ticklish than those two. Watch!” 6 said.

6 then proceeded to poke the space between said man’s top rib and armpit. The twenty-one year old couldn’t help the honest-to-God squeal that escaped his lips.

“STRONZOHOHOHO! STOHOHOP!” Abbacchio cried fruitlessly.

“See? Told ya!” 6 said, sticking his tongue out.

“You’re all wrong! Look at Fugo,” 2 chimed in, “He can’t stand being tickled, literally and figuratively.”

What 2 said appeared said. Fugo was in a similar state as Narancia where he was rolling around on the ground and pounding his fists into the ground, all while letting out handsome laughter.

“STOHOHOP IHIHIHIT! STONZOHOHOHAHAHAHA!” Fugo laughed.

“Case and point!” 2 said triumphantly.

“Blah, blah, blah! Giorno definitely takes the cake,” 5 said, “His laugh is so cute!”

5 was indeed correct. Giorno’s laugh was smooth, deep, and handsome, like him. His smile contrasted well with his laugh.

“PLEHEHEHEASE! NO MOHOHOHORE!” Giorno laughed, trying to get 5 out of his suit, “ENOHOHOHOUGH!”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah. While Giorno’s laugh is cute and all, and that he is more ticklish than Fugo, Bucciarati is far more ticklish than Giorno,” 7 said, “He’s almost on par with Mista. Maybe even Narancia!”

To prove his point, 7 started scribbling across Bucciarati’s ribs, making the Passione leader’s laughter escalate in volume and his twisting eventually turned into squirming.

“NOHOHO! NOT THEHEHEHEHERE!” Bucciarati cried, “GET OHOHOHOUT! PLEHEHEASE!”

“That doesn’t prove anything. Mista’s more ticklish.” 3 said.

“No way! It’s obviously Narancia.” 1 said.

“Nu-uh! It’s Fugo!” 2 commented.

“Yeah, right. It’s Giorno!” 5 said.

“Oh, please. Abbacchio wins because he rarely ever laughs.” 6 said.

“Like 3 said, that doesn’t prove anything,” 7 commented, “Bucciarati’s the most ticklish in the group.”

The Passione team were too busy laughing to even give this whacky argument a second thought. 3 looked down at Mista’s laughing face before looking at the other members of the team. He chuckled to himself and shook his head fondly.

“Well, I think we can all agree on that all of them are all hopelessly ticklish.” 3 said grinning.

“Yeah! They’re all too ticklish for their own good!” 5 said.

“Agreed!” the other bullets said.

The group heard this, and all let out a new stream of laughter at the same time.

“STAHAHAHAHAP!” they all cried.

Six Bullets nodded to one another and stopped the tickling all at once. 2, 5, 6, and 7 zipped out of their victim’s suits and met up with 1 and 3. The group was left breathless and tired, small giggles occasionally passing through their lips.

“I think this attack was a success.” 3 said,

“Yeah! It was fun, even though we didn’t get to kill anyone.” 7 proclaimed.

“Heh, if we kept going, we would’ve killed them for sure.” 2 said.

Six Bullets looked down at the panting team and chuckled amongst themselves.

“Come on, gang. Let’s see if we can find some salami in the fridge,” 1 suggested, “All that tickling sure made me hungry.”

“And we weren’t even the ones laughing.” 5 said.

“I gotta agree with 1. I’m hungry.” 6 said.

Six Bullets soon zipped in the kitchen to look for a victory meal. The Passione team panted like dogs before they got their breathing under control.

“Did you teach them to do that, Mista?” Giorno asked.

“Not that I can recall.” Mista said honestly.

“Still, why did you think it was me, Fugo?” Narancia asked, annoyance poisoning his words.

“Well, you are the type to spring an attack like that.” Fugo answered earnestly.

The seventeen-year-old scoffed and rolled his purple eyes.

“I thought it was you as well, Narancia, not gonna lie.” Mista said.

“You too!? Am I really that type of person?” Narancia asked seriously.

“Yes.” the other five answered in unison.

Narancia groaned and slumped back into the sofa.

“I will admit. I needed a good laugh,” Bucciarati suddenly said with a smile, “It’s been a while since I laughed like that.”

“I needed that as well,” Giorno said, “We’ve all been stressed out lately and we have Six Bullets to thank for helping us relieve that stress.”

The others - even Abbacchio - agreed with the fifteen-year-old.

“I never knew you three were ticklish,” Narancia said, looking at Abbacchio, Giorno, and Bucciarati with a sly grin, “Always thought you guys were too serious for that kind of thing, but now I know that it’s always the serious ones that are the most sensitive.”

The three of them glared playfully at the seventeen-year-old and grinned. Their look made Narancia’s grin fall.

“Don’t get any ideas, amico...” Giorno said.

“Better yet, stop giving us ideas.” Abbacchio said.

“I know what you were thinking, Narancia,” Bucciarati said, clasping his hands together, “Either way, the three of us will finish it.”

Narancia didn’t need to ask to know what his leader was talking about. From the kitchen, Six Bullets laughed as they were listening in on the whole conversation.

“We definitely need to do this again soon.” 2 said.

“Ooh, why not tomorrow? The only thing they’re gonna do tomorrow is patrol. We know their schedule, so we can spring another surprise tickle attack on them at the same time tomorrow!” 5 said excitedly.

The others agreed and proposed a toast with their salami slices. Six Bullets were determined to make these tickle attacks a daily thing. They knew how much they worked, and what better way to relieve stress than laughing your heart out? One thing’s for certain, the Passione team wouldn’t mind it in the slightest.

#tickle #tickle fic #jjba fic #jjba part five #jojo tickle

[megsironthrone]

Meg's Game of Tales: Tale 10

*Familiar Characters are NOT mine! The original story of "The Frog Prince" was written by The Brothers Grimm.*

Warnings: Mentions of magic, slight angst, fluff, bittersweet. Frog Prince AU. It's a bit of a long one.

Pairings: Gendry x fem!reader

Many years ago, in a land not too far from our own, a prince disappeared. Of course, no one truly knew he was a prince outside of a few people. The prince was a bastard, born to the king out of wedlock and hidden away from the jealous queen until he was old enough to hide on his own. The prince, who spent most of his life unaware that he was royalty, found company in a band of outlaws. That was where his fate changed. That was where he met a witch.

The witch offered to help him remain hidden forever. Worried for his safety, the prince agreed. He would remain in hiding until the queen was dead. Unfortunately, his father passed first and the queen had gone a rampage trying to find the prince. So the prince accepted the witch's offer, but it came a terrible price that he would be forced to live year after year. Eventually, the queen did die, murdered, but the witch was nowhere to be found. And so the prince was forced to remain hidden in the form the witch had cursed him to. That is where our story begins.

You were enjoying your small amount of solitude when you came across a small pond you'd never seen before. Sitting on a lily pad in the pond was a lone frog. You were content to ignore it at first; it was just a frog after all, but something caught your attention. The frog's eyes were blue. In fact, those eyes looked almost…human. You'd never seen eyes like that on a frog before.

Curious, you got down onto your knees to get a closer look. Your governess would have a field day seeing a princess on the ground like that. The frog didn't move an inch as you leaned in a little closer. Unfortunately, you leaned too far and your hand slipped. You managed to prevent yourself from falling face first into the water, but your most prized possession wasn't that lucky. A golden pocket watch that you kept in your bag or around your neck at all times hit the water before you could even process what was happening.

"No!" you cried, trying to grasp the piece of jewelry before it sank too far. You weren't quick enough and the watch began floating out of sight. Tears welled up in your eyes as you sank back onto your bottom in the mud. That watch had been your grandfather's, the former king of your kingdom. He had gifted it to you when he was ill saying that it would be a gift to be passed down to any sons you had. Now it was gone forever.

A small splash caught your attention. You looked up to find that the frog was no longer on the lily pad. You sniffled. "Great, first my watch and now the frog." You pulled your knees up to your chest and cried, though your tears didn't last long. For it was only a moment later that you heard the water moving again. You glanced up. There, on the muddy bank of the pond, sat the frog. Its blue eyes bore into you as it waited for you to realize that it had rescued your precious treasure. When you finally did, your eyes widened.

"Oh! Oh, thank you!" you cried out, scooping up the frog and watch at the same time. "Oh, you are the most wonderful creature!" You knew the watch would never work again, but it had sentimental value to you. "My dear friend, I don't think I'll ever be able to repay you." You did your best to dry the watch and place it back in your bag while still holding onto the frog in one hand.

"If there is anything you need, my dear frog, I swear you shall have it." You gazed into the frog's eyes as you tried to discern what a frog could possibly need from you. And then? The unexpected happened. "You could take me away from this damned pond to start with. And you could give me information about Queen Cersei."

You blinked in surprise. "D-Did you just…talk?!" The frog rolled its, or rather his, eyes. It was a sight to behold. "I did. Sorry for startling you, Princess. I was cursed by a witch and have been a frog ever since." You stared at him for a moment while your brain tried to catch up to the fact that you were, indeed, carrying on a conversation with a frog.

"I-I suppose I could bring you to my father's castle. You can rest and have all the food you could possibly eat. As for Queen Cersei, I assume you mean the Mad Queen Lion from the neighboring kingdom? She died years ago. There is no official royal on the throne of that kingdom as the king never had any legitimate heirs. There were rumors of prince that was of age when the king died, but he disappeared before he could be legitimized and given the throne."

The frog didn't respond for a moment. Then, you heard him laughing. At least you thought he was laughing. It sounded more like croaking, but what did you know? You'd never met a talking frog before. "I knew the prince," he finally said, "He disappeared because Cersei was hunting him. He was taken in by a group of outlaws and then accepted the help of a sorceress to hide him from Cersei."

You listened as you walked, intrigued by the frog's tale. He spoke to you all the way back the castle. When you entered your home, you were immediately scolded by your governess, who screamed at the sight of the amphibian in your hands. She even tried to take him from you and throw him out, but as luck would have it, your father was passing by and you explained everything to him.

"Very well, the frog shall remain with you. You will make sure he has everything he needs until you repay your debt to him." You gave your father a kiss on the cheek and the frog thanked him. Then you scurried up to your chambers with the frog in hand. After getting him set up quickly, you stepped out of his sight to change out of your muddy clothes.

*time skip*

You spent the next several days getting to know your new friend. After a couple of days, you got the feeling he was hiding something, but never questioned it. He was obviously cursed and it was probably a sore subject for him and you didn't want to pry. However, everything would soon come out.

One evening, as you were readying for bed, your new friend began croaking rather loudly. That was odd since he did have a voice, though it sometimes didn't come through clearly when he was overly amused or excited about something. Other times it was him snoring. You thought that was it until you suddenly felt him hop into your hair. You screamed, not expecting that to happen.

The doors of your chambers burst open and you heard your guards yelling for someone to halt. You peered around your changing screen in time to see someone escaping off the balcony. You reached up and gently plucked the frog from your hair. "You saved me," you whispered. Before the frog could reply, your father's voice boomed from the doorway, "WHAT IS THE MEANING OF THIS?!"

Once more, you explained to your father what your friend had done for you. Your father smiled at the frog in your hands. "It seems we are in your debt once more, friend. Whatever you would ask of me, if it is within my power, you shall have it." There was not even a second of pause before the frog turned in your hands to face you and made his request.

"A kiss. That is what I wish." You blinked and nearly dropped him in surprise. "What?" The frog croaked in merriment. "I wish for a kiss. Something that would mean nothing to you but everything to me." You glanced at your father for help, but he merely shrugged. "You are indebted to him, Y/N. If a kiss is his only request, then you must honor it." You glanced down at the frog's blue eyes and nodded. "Very well."

You steeled your nerves and took a deep breath. Closing your eyes, you leaned forward with your lips puckered. It only took a moment for your lips to meet the wet skin of the amphibian and you couldn't wait to pull away. "Oh gods," your father muttered, causing you to open your eyes. Your frog friend was glowing! This time, you did indeed drop him to the floor.

The glow of the light grew brighter and brighter until everyone in the room had to shield their eyes. A few moments later, the light vanished. You looked and your jaw dropped in a very un-princess-like fashion. A tall, muscular man now stood where the frog had been. He smiled at you, his bright blue eyes twinkling with joy. It didn't take a genius to recognize the eyes you'd been staring into for days.

"It's you. Y-You're the missing prince," you said and his grew grin. "I am. Gendry, bastard prince and last remaining heir of King Robert. The story I told you the day we met was my story. I was transformed into a frog by a sorceress to protect me but then she disappeared and I've been stuck as a frog since. Thanks to you, I can return home."

"Will they believe you?" you asked and another voice spoke. "I can assure you that they will." You jumped and Gendry gently pushed you behind him, shielding you from whoever had entered your chambers without permission. It was getting be a bit crowded in there.

"You. Why did you run? You could have turned me back years ago!" The sorceress shook her head. "I could not. That was part of the curse. You could not reveal your true identity and I could not change you back. Only a kiss from a princess could do that." Gendry glanced back at you in surprise, clearly indicating that he'd had no idea.

The sorceress continued, "But now you have returned to your true form and you can assume your father's throne. With the princess by your side, of course." You popped your head from behind Gendry and uttered, "I beg your pardon?!" She smiled at you though there was no warmth in it. "The final part of the spell. The princess who kissed the frog is meant to rule by his side as his queen."

At that, Gendry turned to you and clasped your hands in his. After feeling his skin as a frog, you were surprised to feel that his hands were warm. "You do not have to do this. I will not force you. I shall travel to my kingdom with the sorceress and claim the throne. You may remain here if you wish. I would ask for permission to write to you often, as a friend. Maybe we'll become more one day, but I wouldn't dare force you. Whatever you choose, I will accept it."

He left the room with the guards, the sorceress, and your father. You vaguely heard your father offer Gendry and the sorceress rooms for the night so they would be well rested for travel the next day. Meanwhile you spent the night wracking your brain trying to decide what to do. In the end, you chose to stay. You knew you weren't ready to take on being a queen just yet. Gendry looked heartbroken when you told him, but he smiled anyway.

"Then I'll be happy to call you my friend for now. Take care, Princess." He leaned in and placed a gentle kiss to your cheek before turning away and heading down to the horse that waited for him. You ran as quickly as you could up to your balcony. As he began riding away, Gendry looked back at you and waved. You blew him a kiss. Then, you waved until his horse was out of sight, knowing one day, you would see him again.

#meg's game of tales #game of thrones #fairytale au #the frog prince au #gendry baratheon #gendry waters #gendry waters x reader #gendry baratheon x reader #gendry x reader

[geekgirles]

Your Heart

Chapter 2 -- The Invitation

Word Count: 8,903 

READ ON AO3

Hours could have passed since Sam received the letter and she wouldn’t have noticed, the events were so unreal her mind still hadn’t been able to fully register them. What was supposed to be a day like any other suddenly passed by in a blur. And no matter what she did, she just couldn’t make sense of it all. 

The moment Star gave her the letter, the queen recognised the logo engraved on the seal closing the envelope. That forsaken logo had made daily appearances on the news for the last three years, when he started using and associating it to his person. 

Danny Phantom.

The current Ghost King. 

Nothing could’ve prepared her for the feeling of astonishment that came with that simple realisation. Such was her stupor that, once her back collided against her black mahogany vanity, her legs lost all strength to support her weight, slowly sliding down until Sam was seated on the floor of her chambers. Eyes wide and mouth hanging open. 

Terror gripping at them at the sight of their, otherwise collected, queen, the handmaidens immediately scurried over her, checking for any sign that would imply their leader needed any sort of assistance. 

A million thoughts materialised inside Sam’s head. How did the Ghost King know there were witches in Amity Park? Did all ghosts know they weren’t the only otherworldly creatures blending in with humans? How did the Ghost King know where to find them? Were her people in danger?

But most importantly, why did the infamous Danny Phantom write her for?

Grimacing, Sam figured there was only one way to find out. With a shaking hand, she gestured for Star to bring her the envelope. Concern still apparent on the blonde’s features, for her queen must have truly been too stunned to perform magic herself, she nonetheless did as she was instructed. “Fluito,” she whispered, and immediately afterwards an orange, fire-like aura surrounded the envelope, until the object came to them. 

Sam gripped the envelope like a life line and, with trembling hands, broke the wax seal to get to the letter inside. What she found only made matters worse: 

“Dear Madam, 

I hope this message finds you well. I would not be able to reprimand you if my sudden writing to you took you by surprise; I found myself disbelieving of my own actions, after all. 

I wish to inform you on an important occurrence I believe deserves your attention. However, I will not be able to describe said occurrence through this letter, unfortunately. I fear it might be intercepted by those who would give anything to see me fall, or perhaps by your own enemies if you were to have them. 

It is because of such circumstances that I formally invite you and whoever you decide as members of your entourage to my lair in the Ghost Zone, in hopes that we will be able to discuss these matters without fear of our respective domains being put in jeopardy. 

In order to save ourselves some time, if you were to accept my proposal, you and your entourage shall go to the outskirts of Amity Park in a week’s time, where one of my subjects will be waiting for you. 

I eagerly await your answer, 

King Phantom.”

Once she was done reading the letter, Sam could only gape at it. That had been an eternity ago, and now she was pacing up and down her room, massaging her temples as she tried making sense of it all. 

When the initial shock from the Ghost King’s message had finally worn off, Sam proceeded to re-read the letter, in case she misunderstood the spectre’s motives and he was actually requesting something far more reasonable than her company. Like declaring war on them. Ghosts and witches going to war with each other made much more sense than members of both species ーthe leaders of both species, as a matter of factー willingly being near the other for the first time in 328 years. 

But she came back empty-handed. And that could only mean one thing; she had to read the letter again because, clearly, her reading comprehension wasn’t as good as she thought. And so, Sam read the letter for the third time...and the fourth time...and the fifth time...

By the time she had already read the accusing piece of paper for the eleventh time, she finally understood her company was exactly what Phantom was requesting of her. But why?

“If you keep going in circles like that, you’re gonna get dizzy,” Paulina chimed in, watching as her queen paced around the room, muttering nonsense under her breath. “Or what’s worse, you’re going to make me dizzy.”

“Pauli’s right, Sam. Drawing a hole on the floor will get you nowhere.” Star agreed, her own eyes following the raven-haired girl’s every move. In any other circumstances, say, if Pamela were around, the two girls would get in trouble for addressing the Witch Queen so casually. However, once they were assigned to her and Sam discovered the usefulness of their talents, the three young women had soon agreed to treat each other informally whenever they were away from prying eyes. 

Sam wholeheartedly believed familiarity was the key to winning someone’s trust. Because of that, she allowed for witches as loyal as her ladies-in-waiting to get close to her, while keeping anyone she suspected of being troublesome at a respectful distance. 

Nibbling on her thumb, a clear sign of her distress, Sam shook her head. “Girls, you don’t understand. This simple letter could lead to disastrous consequences! And I’m not talking about whatever it is that that forsaken Phantom wants from me, which is a whole new level of worrying; I’m talking about the possibility of our clan being compromised!” The Latina and the blonde started when Sam abruptly stopped pacing, stomping her foot against the floor to get their attention. “If the ruler of a race we haven’t had any contact with in more than three centuries knows where to find us, who’s to say the rest of Amity Park remains blissfully unaware of our very existence? This is The Great Burning all over again!” She bellowed in anguish.

This was bad. This was very bad. Unlike ghosts, who revelled in wreaking havoc amongst mortals and drawing attention from it, witches had long decided to remain off the humans’ radar. For centuries, they blended in with normal men and women, pretending to be just like them, while they carried out their spells, rites, and  ceremonies away from the public eye in the safety of their manor.

The existence of their society was their best-kept secret, and they’d be damned if such information got leaked. For starters, that pesky witch hunter they often brushed off could very well turn into a real threat. 

The fact that their secret depended on a ghost of all things made Sam’s insides churn in fright and rightful outrage. 

“Alright, you have a point,” Paulina conceded, but to her companions’ shock her worried gaze soon morphed itself into a swoon, “But you can’t deny that the Ghost King is a total hunk. I’m so jealous of you right now.” She sighed, her mind clearly elsewhere. 

Scowling darkly at the Latina, Sam turned to her other lady-in-waiting, “Star, please, do me a favour and smack her. Hard.”

The blonde did as she was told and hit her friend on the back of her neck, eliciting a complaint from her. 

Sending a glare to her fellow witch, Paulina began to gently rub the area. “You don’t have to do everything she tells you, you know?”

“Um, Pauli? She’s the Queen...You know, as in our boss? I literally have to do everything she tells me.” She reminded her, earning herself a huff from the aggravated girl. She then turned to her queen, her own eyes sparkling with excitement. “Paulina’s got a point, though. For a dead guy with ice powers, he sure is hawt. Watching him save the day is the highlight of my week!”

Sensing an aura filled with murderous intent, Star flinched slightly under Sam’s withering glare. “He’sーstillーaーghost.” Her queen said through gritted teeth. 

Watching the interaction, the Latina beauty sniffed in displeasure, “Hey, no fair! You haven’t told me to hit her for drooling over the Ghost King!”, she whined.

“Girls, focus! This is serious!” Sam snapped. 

Her fellow witches actually had the decency to look down in shame at her outburst. “Uh...right, sorry.” Paulina apologised sheepishly.

Somehow, something about the girl’s apology didn’t sit well with Sam. Their knowing smirks, staring down at her as if they knew a secret she didn’t, sent goosebumps down her spine. “What?”

Paulina raised her palms up in surrender. “Nothing. It’s just that I thought you’d be more appreciative of Phantom’s physique given your...preferences.” She finished with a coy smile. 

That comment sent the Witch Queen reeling, which wasn’t helped in the least by Paulina’s smug look and Star’s snickering by her side. Her preferences? Was she serious? “Excuse me? Just because I’m a Goth doesn’t mean I’m necrophiliac! I’m not that hardcore, andー! ...why are you laughing?”

Sam’s indignant defence of her lifestyle was met with her two informants doubled over in laughter. Sam could do nothing but stare on, dumbfounded. After a few minutes, they seemed to finally calm down. Star, resting her weight over Paulina’s hunched over form, wiped a tear out of the corner of her eye as her laughter died down. “Sam,” she panted, “what Pauli means is that Phantom looks a lot like your ex. White hair, green eyes...Ring a bell?”

The young witch spluttered at that. Now that she thought about it, Danny Phantom was remarkably similar to her ex-boyfriend, Gregor...or Elliot, or whatever he called himself now. All the more reason to distrust the so-called ‘hero of Amity Park’.

“Whatever”, she huffed, before her expression turned downcast. Plopping down on the starry covers of her bed, she raised her hands to her head as she leaned forward. DeMilo came hopping to her, nuzzling her leg with its stem. 

No matter how the Ghost King looked, he had still addressed her by personally sending her a letter. The location of her clan’s headquarters was a secret almost as well-kept as the very existence of her sisters. Whatever she chose to do could endanger hers and their fellow covens! 

On the one hand, ghosts were treacherous and conniving. If she went to the Ghost Zone as per requested of her, she could be falling into a trap, bringing chaos and anarchy upon her own coven with her, for she was still too young to have an heiress of her own. And since there were no other purple-eyed witches, her demise would bring forth internal battles for control. 

She couldn’t afford that to happen.

But, on the other hand, ghosts were also malicious and resentful. There was a reason why they remained stuck in their realm instead of moving on! If she were to refuse the invitation, they could either attack or reveal their existence to the humans in retaliation. Either way, it would have disastrous consequences for her coven...if they even survived the onslaught. 

She certainly couldn’t afford that to happen either. 

Sighing through her nose, in an effort to keep her head clear of any doubt, her gaze steeled. Turning to look at her handmaidens straight in the eye, all sense of familiarity gone, she gave but one simple order. “Arrange a Council meeting. Immediately.”

Understanding the gravity of the situation, her companions bowed down to her before hastily making their exit. 

....................

Council meetings took place in the attic of the manor. What in any other house would be a dusty, dark place clattered to the ceiling with old furniture, boxes whose descriptions didn’t match their contents, and the stuff of nightmares of any five-year-old, the attic where the Amity Park Coven gathered was closer in size to a ballroom. 

The rows of seats formed a “u” shape, being close to the walls and leaving the middle of the room, which was dedicated to witches making their cases or taking the floor, empty. On the far corner of the room, between the rest of the witches acting as witnesses to the meetings, was the podium where the Council sat down and presided over the room. 

The Council consisted of four witches. The leader was the Queen, who oversaw the process and spoke for her and her fellow members once they’d reached a decision. Her second-in-command, and therefore the one who was in charge whenever it was the Queen herself that brought up a case or proposal to deliberate about, was the witch with the most proficiency at spellcasting after the clan’s head. The coven’s “Minister of War” was the best potion-maker in the clan. And, finally, the sorceress in charge of maintaining their anonymity amongst humans was she who was the most proficient shapeshifter. 

Her interlaced hands resting on the wooden table from where she’d make her proposal in the middle of the room, Sam met her colleagues’ curious eyes with a determined gaze of her own. She could feel her mother’s disapproving glare on herーPamela never liked it when her daughter brought attention to herself, because it would mean that, if things went awry, all eyes would turn on herー, she could hear her people’s hushed voices, whispering among themselves, wondering what could possibly be so important to deserve an impromptu Council meeting summoned by the Queen herself. 

But her mind was made up. Informing the Council in hopes of approval was a mere formality she simply could not avoid. 

Clearing her throat, Margaret, the clan’s best spellcaster, stood up from her seat, silencing the room by drawing attention to herself with that simple action.

Margaret was a woman in her fifties. Her Grandma Ida used to tell her that when she was Sam’s age, she used to be quite the lookerーher mother often had to use a spell or two to send her suitors running. Even now, the woman still retained some of her youthful beauty. A woman of average height, Margaret’s sharp features hinted at an equally sharp mind. With chocolate skin, her green eyes hid an intellect and common sense that had often saved the clan from ruin, even during her Grandma’s reign. Her salt-and-pepper hair was cut short, with slightly longer strands framing her diamond-shaped face. The woman’s fashion sense was a reflection of her responsible and professional nature, wearing a business suit consisting of a forest green jacket and skirt over a white shirt. Adorning her neck was a mustard kerchief and, Sam was willing to bet, she was wearing her favourite black heels. 

“Your Majesty,” Margaret addressed her, “as you will understand, your sudden wish for a Council meeting has rendered us rather perplexed. We can only assume that whichever matters you wish to discuss must be of importance.”

It was Sam’s turn to stand up from her chair, “Of utmost importance.”

“Then, by all means, proceed.” The Council member nodded, gesturing at Sam. 

“My dear subjects, just like your day has been disrupted by this sudden meeting, mine has been disrupted by a most unusual, and might I add disturbing, occurrence. As I was getting dressed in my quarters, readying myself to fulfill my duties of the day, one of my handmaidens came rushing in, a letter in her hand.” Sam braced herself for what came next, “The author of the letter is no other than Danny Phantom, the current Ghost King.”

Everyone gasped at the revelation. Soon after the surprise had worn off, chaos ensued. Indignant cries, questions asked aloud, and general confusion reigned. And who could blame them? Witches and ghosts had cut all ties that bound them centuries before. 

“Order, order!” Wilhelmina, the coven’s greatest potion-maker and Minister of War, demanded as she repeatedly slammed the podium with her bare hands.

Once the commotion had died down, Margaret refocused her steely gaze on their Queen. “Your Majesty, please, do explain the contents of this letter.”

“Due to the Ghost King’s fear of the letter being intercepted by his enemies, the message was short yet direct. He wishes to discuss a matter of urgency with me, for which he has officially invited me and whoever I choose as members of my court to his lair in the Ghost Zone.”

Again, the room broke out in gasps and hushed questions Sam didn’t have the answer to. Then came the question Sam simultaneously dreaded and anticipated the most, “And what do you wish to do, your Majesty?” 

“I wish to accept his proposal,” was her answer. 

All Hell broke loose at her words, only this time, Wilhelmina herself was participating in it. Wilhelmina was a pudgy woman with a round face and a strong will. A woman in her late thirties to early forties, her fair complexion was spotted by countless freckles. She was relatively plain-looking, with auburn hair that she often wore in a tight bun and dark eyes, but judging from the rumours going around, her fiery personality landed her several conquests. Despite what her strong personality might imply, Wilhelmina favoured loose-fitting dresses, such as the dark blue and white polak-dotted one she was currently wearing, and sandals. 

The potion-maker was one of the most outspoken in her hatred of ghosts, which in itself was common among witches. The resentment from all those years ago had never really faded, and ever since those damned spectres mysteriously reappeared, old wounds had reopened. 

While both Grandma Ida and Sam advocated for steering clear from them unless provoked, Wilhelmina was a firm believer that they should have got rid of the spirits as soon as they first appeared, starting with Danny Phantom. A conviction that was only intensified the moment he was named King of the Ghosts. 

“All in all”, Sam mused to herself, “she’s taking it way better than I expected.” The raven haired girl patiently waited until Margaret had, once again, everything under control. Due to her stick-by-the-book nature, the African American woman did not appreciate when one of her fellow Council members encouraged unruly behaviour. 

“Your Majesty, this is preposterous!” Wilhelmina bellowed, slamming her hands down on her desk as she hastily stood up. “That husk of a person dares request your presence and you accept the invitation?! Forgive me, my Lady, but nothing good can come out of it.” A murmur of agreement could be heard throughout the room. Their Minister of War was right; what was their Queen thinking?

Then, she added, “Then again, what can we expect from a naive twenty-one-year-old girl.” Her words elicited a gasp from the crowd. On her part, although Sam was dying to tell her off, she masterfully remained impassive, only raising a questioning eyebrow at her direction. Her Grandma would’ve been so proud of her. 

Margaret cleared her throat. “Although that last comment was uncalled for,” she admitted, shooting a glare at her colleague for her callous words, “Wilhelmina is right when she says attending this meeting would be...unorthodox,” ーSam had to admit, Margaret was almost as good as her mother at carefully choosing her words to appear as socially acceptable as possible. Almostー, “there is also great danger. We all know what happened the last time our people trusted ghosts; are we really willing to let them make fools out of us again?”

“I say this is ground for war!” Wilhelmina roared. “Your Majesty, you and your grandmother, may she rest in peace, gave orders to avoid confrontation unless provoked. Well, now we are being provoked, by being set up! We cannot let this...this...third rate ‘hero’”, she air-quoted with a scoff, “insult us like that and go scott free!”

“Wilhelmina, let her Majesty explain her reasoning. I’m sure she has thought this through.” Delilah, the clan’s expert shapeshifter, tried placating her fellow witch. Sam could only smile in gratitude. 

At 28, Delilah was the youngest Council member, second only to Sam. Despite the usual naiveté and unrealistic optimism attributed to her youth, Delilah was also the one most willing to listen to the other side of the story. She preferred broadening her horizons before making a verdict, trying to understand where the witch in question was trying to get at. And this time, she was trying to understand why Sam would want to go to the lion’s den. 

The shapeshifter’s natural beauty was also unmatched. Paulina would sometimes seethe in jealousy at the attention she would get or how effortlessly she pulled any look the Latina herself had trouble with. Narrow shoulders and hips, a well-defined burst, legs for miles… Delilah was any man’s fantasy! With her smooth, caramel skin. Her strikingly blue eyes and long lashes. And her silky, ebony hair she often styled in a long braid. Her fashion sense was so on point it could put any haute couture designer to shame. For instance, to that meeting she wore an off-shoulder, long-sleeved red mini dress, a black belt with a golden buckle tightened around her waist, and knee-high black leather boots. 

Wilhelmina nodded reluctantly, crossing her arms. Smiling at that, Delilah turned to Sam. “Your Majesty, please, proceed.”

Sam breathed in deeply. Phantom’s request had piqued her interest; what could the ruler of the Ghost Zone possibly want from her and her people now that his kind roamed freely around the city? The last seven years both species had avoided each other like the plague, and even if they hadn't, nothing they could’ve done would warrant meeting up after centuries apart. Despite all her doubts and questions she wasn’t sure she wanted the answers to, Sam needed to know, above all else, if her people were safe. Determination coursing through her veins, she spoke up: 

“As you all know, when I ascended to the throne, taking the mantle from my grandmother, I swore on my life and honour that everything I would do, every single decision I would take, would be with our safety in mind.

“When I read the Ghost King’s letter, I was as stunned as you are now. A thousand questions running freely through my mind. I have thought about this long and hard, until I reached my decision.” She lay her eyes on the potion-maker, “Wilhelmina, you are in your right to be suspicious of his intentions, for so am I, but just like this could be a trap, not answering their call could also very well be our downfall.

“Ghosts are mischievous, resentful, and self-centred. Everything they do is based on what gives them even the smallest amount of satisfaction, which often means that the only way to appease them is doing as they say.” When Margaret opened her mouth to intervene, Sam silenced her with a raised palm. “I wish it didn’t have to be this way,  but it is. And that is not all. You might think I am making this choice lightly, but nothing further from the truth. In accepting Phantom’s proposal, I am trying to prevent the ghosts from retaliating, for they could endanger us if I were to refuse in revenge.”

Her violet eyes shone with fiery determination and unwavering confidence as she spoke her last words, “My decision is made. I shall go to the Ghost Zone, even if I must do so on my own. But I will protect our clan if it’s the last thing I do.”

A deafening silence hung in the air. Nobody even moved. Finally, Margaret intertwined her fingers, her shoulders resting atop her desk, her body moving forward. Her green eyes betrayed none of her feelings on the matter. “Very well. Feel free to request anything you might need from us. Have a safe journey, my Queen.”

And with that, every single witch present rose from her seat, bowing their heads to their leader as a sign of respect and submission. 

She’d done it. She was going to go to the Ghost Zone.

......................

Once the meeting was over, Sam got ready to leave the room to start preparing as soon as possible when a hand on her shoulder stopped her. Looking over her shoulder, she saw Delilah smiling at her. She smiled back. 

“Is everything alright, Delilah?” Since the shapeshifter and her were close in age, she was one of the few witches Sam acted casually to, seeing her as some sort of older sister. 

Delilah shook her head, the smile never leaving her face. “I just wanted to wish you luck, Sam. You’re not just our queen, you’re also the first witch to visit the Ghost Zone in centuries!”

“I know.” Sam looked down on the floor, feeling slightly uneasy. 

Sensing her discomfort, Delilah soon changed the topic. “Also, I just wanted to tell you that your Grandmother would have been incredibly proud.” 

Sam gasped. Family was taboo around Delilah, for her family had the misfortune of dying young. Delilah’s own mother had died when her daughter was just fifteen. For her to bring up Grandma Ida...she must have meant every single word she said. 

“Thank you, Delilah. That means a lot.”

With one squeeze of her hands, the blue-eyed beauty left her alone. 

......................

That night, after a long, nerve-wracking day waiting for the Witch Queen’s reply, Danny was startled out of his musings by a ring of his doorbell. Taking off and changing his legs for a ghostly tail, the white-haired young man sprinted down his lair’s corridors until he was face to face with his door. 

When he opened it, to his immense relief, he found the same ghostly postman he had sent to deliver his letter, only this time he was handing an envelope to him. Snatching the piece of paper with a quick, “Thanks”, Danny went back to his quarters in a blur. 

Now that he had the envelope in his hands, he couldn’t help but eye it curiously. The envelope was of a rich, royal purple in colour, sealed with a black wax stamp, the relief of it drawing a rose. 

This is it, he thought. Depending on her answer, we’ll either have to look for another solution, or for ways to protect ourselves the moment they turn their backs on us. 

With shaking hands, he ripped open the envelope, taking the letter from inside. An immense relief coupled by a healthy dose of anxiety rolled off of him in waves when his eyes scanned over the words: 

“Dear Sir, 

I accept your proposal. 

We shall meet in a week’s time. 

Cordially, 

Lady Arcana.”

Preparing themselves for a possible betrayal, it was.

..................

Making it to the outskirts of Amity Park was a hassle Danny hadn’t anticipated. If it weren’t because a group of mysterious women and a ghost suddenly appearing in their lab, in front of the Fenton Ghost Portal, wouldn’t fly with his parents, Danny would’ve actually sent the witches there.

Then again, guiding Skulker out of his family’s ghost portal and around town until they made it to their destination was no picnic, either. Especially since the hunter kept giving him the stink-eye and challenging his authority; questioning his motives for choosing him, of all people, as the sorceresses’ escort. 

On top of that, the hills surrounding Amity Park really were the perfect place to meet up with the magic users while keeping the secretive nature of their encounter. Not only were the hills a good forty minutes away from the closest highway, a dense forest grew there, protecting its visitors from curious, unwanted eyes. 

“For the last time, Skulker, I am not throwing you to the wolves!” It was the tenth time since they left the Ghost Zone that the ghost had accused him of using him as a decoy. “Seriously, will you drop it already?”

The hunter crossed his arms in a disbelieving huff, “Well, forgive me, your Majesty,” he mocked, “for suspecting you of using this as an opportunity to get rid of one of your detractors.” His glowing green eyes narrowed in distrust. 

It was only 11AM and Danny was already exhausted. Technically, Skulker wasn’t exactly a detractor of his rule. When push came to shove, he was always easy to convince to lend a hand in times of needーsuch as now. Having said that, their mutual respect and the halfa’s position didn’t stop Skulker from hunting him for sport now and then. “Listen, me choosing you has nothing to do with your personal feelings about me. You’re really the only one I could send to guide the witches through the Ghost Zone.” 

“Nice to know I’m so easily disposable…” Skulker quipped sarcastically. “Why not ask your canine companion for help?”

“Come on, you really think I could send Cujo to do this job?” Danny asked, unamused. 

“I was actually talking about Wulf, given he’s the only ghost capable of creating portals.” Skulker met his expression with a raised eyebrow of his own. “I can’t believe you’d actually mix them up.”

Danny actually flushed at that, “W-well…Some ghosts have so many things in common, i-it’s a little bit hard to follow without enough...details…”

The hunter took offence to that. Huffing, he shot the halfa a glare. “Well, excuse us for ‘having so many things in common’”, he air-quoted for emphasis, “not all of us can manifest into the body of a human youth, whelp!”

Exasperated, Danny ran a hand through his hair, sighing through his nose. “I still can’t believe Ember hasn’t dumped you yet…” he muttered under his breath.

Unfortunately for him, Skulker heard him just fine. “Says the boy who hasn’t had a girlfriend since he was fourteen.” Seeing the ghost boy’s offended expression plastered a smirk on his face.

“Why you littleー!” Danny stopped himself before he’d lose his cool. If dealing with Skulker, a ghost he’d known since he was fourteen, was proving to be frustrating, he didn’t want to think how meeting up with the queen of a feuding tribe would be like. Pinching the bridge of his nose, he gave it one last try. “Look, Skulker. As much as I’d love to bicker with you like an old married couple all day, we really don’t have time for this. You’re here because you’re one of the most versatile ghosts I know. If there’s anyone capable of handling a group of spellcasting, broom-riding, black-cat-owning ladies, that’s you.”

Before the metallic spectre could so much as get a word in, the young Ghost King leapt into the air after making a show of looking at his ーinexistentー watch. “Oh, look at the time! The witches will be here any minute now. Better hurry back into the Ghost Zone. See ya!” With a mock salute thrown at Sulker’s general direction, he was gone in a blur of black and white. 

The hunter was about to take off after him when, from  the corner of his eyes, he noticed three cloaked figures approaching. Well, he sighed in defeat, it’s showtime.

Sam arched a questioning eyebrow at the ghost standing on the appointed place. He looked like the lovechild of Terminatra, one her favourite monsters of all time, and a G.I. Joe. With a flaming mohawk worthy of the Ghost Rider himself. In a way, she guessed it was fitting. Her lip curled in disgust when she eyed the arrangement of weapons strapped to his person; a hunter, no doubt. 

If the Ghost King expected to scare her and her guards with such a pathetic display, he had another thing coming. Any other would be at the very least intimidated by the ghost’s burly figure and his imposing aura, but to women who battled grotesque creatures resulting from spells gone wrong on a daily basis, that was nothing.

After getting the approval of the Council for her “little expedition”, Sam recruited two witches: Susan Zhou and Stephanie Baker. To an outsider, taking only two other people with her to face such a powerful entity as Danny Phantom, in unknown territory, no less, would seem foolish, even suicidal. But Sam was no outsider; she knew exactly what she was doing. 

Susan was Wilhelmina’s apprentice, and therefore, the clan’s next Ministre of War and master potion-maker once her mentor passed down the mantle to her. Short in height, tall in ambition, the Asian girl’s brown eyes were calculating and, if you were foolish enough to cross her, unforgiving; but full of warmth and mischief if she considered you a friend. She held her black and red-dyed hair in a pair of identical buns, one on each side of her head. Susan always favoured comfortable clothing most people would dedicate solely for doing exercise; you never knew when you’d have to exert yourself, she always said. 

Despite being only seventeen years old, she already displayed great proficiency in the art of combat, her dexterous fingers useful both for brewing concoctions and sporting weapons. Susan’s family emigrated from China in the early 19th century. After much traveling, they stumbled upon the origins of what would become Amity Park, where the first members of the clan had already settled. Upon finding out the Zhou family weren’t just witches but also warriors, the coven welcomed them with open arms. 

Warrior blood ran through her veins. It was no wonder their war-oriented council member had personally chosen her as her protegée. 

Stephanie, however, was more of an intellectual. The 21-year-old woman was an avid reader who spent most of her time holed up inside the manor’s archives, where the spell books and records on their clan’s history were stored. The only other person who knew the place better than Stephanie herself was Delilah, who was actually its guardian. But since Sam couldn’t risk leaving her people without a member of the Council, due to her departure being risky enough, she asked Stephanie for help instead. 

In truth, everything about the young woman screamed bookworm. Stephanie was a rather plain-looking girl, with a lanky figure and a long face, whose pale blue eyes were hidden behind a pair of oval-shaped glasses. Her straight, strawberry blond hair reached a little past her shoulders, and she was wearing a purple and white striped t-shirt with an equally purple pencil skirt and white sneakers. 

As soon as they neared the place where the ghost was standing, Sam nodded at him in acknowledgement; a mere formality given her low opinion on the spectre, which, she was sure, was mutual on his behalf. 

Eyes narrowed in suspicion, Skulker warned the witches in his care, “No funny business, ladies. Or I might consider reforming my island so I can have more pelts hung on my walls.” He sent them a malicious grin.

While Sam rolled her eyes at the unnecessary threat and Stephanie flinched away from him in fright, Susan bore her teeth in aggravation. “I’d like to see you try, ghost.”

Both teenager and hunter stared the other down, but before they had the chance to jump at each other’s throats and brawl, the Witch Queen raised a placating hand, effectively telling her subject to stand down. Still, Susan would’ve given anything to wipe that smug look from the ghost’s face. 

But Sam really hadn’t the time to keep those two in check. Focusing on the energy within her, she blocked everything around her, every possible distraction, out of her mind. All that mattered was her connection to her anima. Once she felt the familiar tingling of power, she extended a hand: Stephanie’s signal to take the magic  grimoire out of the duffel bag she carried and hand it to her queen with a bow of her head.

Skimming through the pages, Sam stopped when she found what she was looking for. A section of the spell book portraying the silhouette of a person in front of a swirling opal, several runes surrounding it. 

The spell to open up portals.

Once upon a time, any witch would have been able to conjure the spell without the need to check it out in a book, but ever since witches and spectres parted ways, her people no longer had the same use for it anymore. Nowadays, it was an almost forgotten practice. 

Taking a deep breath, Sam extended her free hand in front of her and chanted, “Alium se orbem terrarum ad ianuam.” Soon, a familiar sparkly, violet mist emanated from her fingertips. The manifestation of energy rose into the air until it was the size of an average person, and then began to spin up and down, until a portal was in front of them. 

Stephanie raised a confused eyebrow at Skulker when she thought she heard him mutter something along the lines of, “Show off”, but squeaked and looked away when the hunter lay his own eyes on her. 

Handing the book back to the bestacled girl, Sam motioned for them to enter the portal. What they saw on the other side left them speechless. 

The Ghost Zone was nothing like they had imagined. Instead of a clear difference between earth and sky, their world’s parallel dimension seemed to consist solely of a never ending abyss composed purely by ectoplasm, the most reminiscent thing to a floor it had being a few beat-up pathways made out of rock. 

Floating in mid-air were all sorts of lairs. Some, like a faraway island in the shape of a skull, far more pretentious than others. Judging by how scarce those were in comparison to the countless doors with no building to be attached to in sight, Sam figured the more powerful a ghost was, the bigger its lair would be. 

Which bore the question: what would Danny Phantom’s lair be like?

Sam was snapped out of her thoughts by the ghost hunter suddenly materialising in front of her. Susan was about to unsheathe a few of her most lethal potions when the apparition simply showed them the way with a motion of his hand. “This way.” He turned around and began walking, after a minute or two, though, he turned his head to them, “Oh, and by the way, if any of you is afraid of heights, you’d better not look down.”

Stephanie gazed down, unbidden, and almost fainted. Below them was nothing but an endless abyss, no land on sight. Feeling queasy, she squeaked, “Dutifully noted.”

They walked along the rocky path for what could’ve been hours or mere minutes, the absence of a sun making it difficult to accurately pinpoint the passage of time. After what felt like an eternity, Skulker abruptly stopped, almost making Sam and her entourage bump on him in the process, pointing somewhere in front of him. 

“Well, this is it, ladies. The Ghost King’s lair.”

Standing proudly on top of a drifting piece of land was a brick three-story building. If Sam hadn’t known any better, she’d think she was looking at an apartment complex, rather than a king’s castle. Then again, Skull Island ーas she lovingly nicknamed the placeーwas very tacky for a powerful’s ghost lair, so for all she knew the building before her could be the latest scream in home decor in the Ghost Zone.

While it was a mostly modest space, the highest floor in particular stood out for its large picture windows, which were at least three times bigger than the rest. “That must be Phantom’s chambers”, the violet-eyed girl guessed. “Overseeing your subjects, eh, your Majesty?”

When they arrived at the door, they were momentarily startled when it opened on its own accord. The Witch Queen scoffed at her own ridiculous behaviour; she’d seen and done way scarier things on Halloween, for fuck’s sake! Once inside, Skulker guided them through several corridors, taking so many turns in so many different directions it was enough to render anyone disoriented. As they strode down the halls, Sam took notice of how...sterile the lair was. Most walls were bare of any decorations, at most they’d have some sort of blue wallpaper on. The few walls with paintings hanging from them were decorated by rather impersonal portraits: a picture of an ectoplasm swirl here, a portrait of a shapeless ghost there… Instead of a castle interior, this looked more like a cheap Halloween haunted house. 

The place was so barren that she noticed the shift immediately. Suddenly, before her were two large, mahogany doors, which, once again, opened without any exterior help, revealing the throne room.

While still impersonal, the space was much grander in every single sense of the word. Granite, Corinthian columns stood proudly on the sidelines. Several tapestries depicting what Sam could only guess was Danny Phantom’s battle against Pariah Dark and a few other adventures she couldn’t recognise hung from the ceiling. Right in front of them a red velvet carpet was rolled down until it reached the throne itself ーa rather modest metal chair with black velvet upholsteryー where the infamous Ghost King was seated on. 

Upon their arrival, the ghostly monarch stood up in respect. “At least he’s not arrogant enough to forsake manners”, Sam quipped internally. Standing at both sides of him were a bipedal, arctic-wolf like creature with an arm encased in ice, and a blue spectre wearing a hooded outfit, a sceptre in hand, whose physical form was constantly fluctuating between child, adult, and old man. 

As the Queen and her companions neared the throne, and hence, the so-called Hero of Amity Park, she took him in. Snow white hair, glowing green eyes that appeared capable of staring right through you, a black and white hazmat suit over a well-built physique… Yep, in front of her was Danny Phantom, alright. 

The only thing making it obvious that she would be addressing the Ghost King instead of the most controversial public figure in town was a very minor, yet significant, change in his appearance. 

Draped over his shoulders was a cape, white on the outside and black on the inside, with two verdigris medallions which had engraved that wretched logo of his keeping the garment in place with the help of a chain. Resting on his shock white hair, reflecting the item’s otherworldly glow, was the Crown of Fire; its green embers burning almost as intensely as the Phantom’s radioactive green eyes. The crown’s partner, the Ring of Wrath, surrounded his white, gloved ring finger. One could feel the raw power emanating from its green material. The mere sight of the engraved skull and its unforgiving, blood red, ruby eyes was enough to send anyone subjected to it running. 

But there was no way Sam would ever run away after making it this far. 

Danny observed patiently as the Witch Queen and her two companionsーonly two?ー arrived before him. Once they were eye-level (or as eye-level as two people could be when someone was standing over an incline) the Queen of the Witches of Amity Park took off her hood. At the sight before him, Danny had to fight very hard to suppress a sharp inhale in surprise. 

He supposed that, in hindsight, expecting the queen to look like an stereotypical wrinkly old lady was a tad narrow-minded of him, but in all fairness, nothing would’ve prepared him for the person standing right in front of him. 

Upon taking off her hood, silky, raven hair came cascading down until it reached a little past her shoulders, the strands and diamond-shaped fringe framing her heart-shaped face. Smooth, ivory skin contrasted greatly with the mop of hair, black as night, resting on her head. Her full, velvety lips were emphasised by her purple lipstick. And her long, mascara-coated lashes surrounded a pair of amethyst orbs. Those had to be the most tantalising eyes he had ever seen; a galaxy of mystery lay hidden behind their depths. 

Lady Arcana was the kind of woman he would’ve tripped himself over for, back in high school. Now a college student...he might’ve signed up to a couple of classes that had absolutely nothing to do with his degree if it meant seeing her again.

Looking down, and praying to all things above him it wasn’t noticeable, he took notice of what the sorceress was wearing. The Queen was wearing an off-shoulder ball gown, of a pale violet in colour, with a sweetheart neckline. The bodice hugged her body until it flared down into the skirt. Adorning its neckline and hem were embroidered black thorns. Resting on her head lay a silver tiara, with diamond-shaped obsidians running alongside the top ornament, and a noticeably bigger amethyst in its centre. A black and glittery cloak, resembling the night sky, rested atop the young witches’ shoulders.

Beautiful, yet deadly. A clear warning against the Queen of the Witches of Amity Park: get too close, and you will regret it. 

Knowing they had much to discuss, the halfa bowed down before her, with a hand behind his back and the other in front of him, making a flourish, as a sign of respect. “Lady Arcana, it is an honour to have you here.”

Sam and her entourage curtsied in response. “King Phantom, the honour is all mine.”

“I will cut to the chase, since the circumstances are unorthodox enough: my people need your assistance.”

Well, at least he was direct… “And what, exactly, is that which you need help with, your Majesty? As much as I would like to aid you, there is not much I can do without knowing the details.”

“And you are in your right to question that, but first…”

With a motion of his hand, a green-skinned, red-eyed maid wearing a blue dress brought a smaller chair close to the king. When his eyes landed on Sam, she understood that was meant for her. If there was one thing experience had told her, that was that being invited to sit down meant it was going to be a lengthy discussion. 

When Lady Arcana had sat down, Danny continued. “Now, that’s better.” Seeing her unresponsive expression, he cleared his throat nonchalantly. “What we need your help with is the Ghost Zone’s portals.”

The violet-eyed  girl raised a confused eyebrow at that. “The portals?”, Phantom nodded. “But, King Phantom, my people have not had anything to do with your world in centuries! Today was the first time in over three-hundred years that anyone used a spell meant to open portals.”

Leaning forward in an attempt to appear closer and not intimidating, trying to get the witches to underestimate him per Frosbite’s suggestion, Danny explained. “My apologies, your Majesty, I did not mean to imply your people were responsible for the problem. No, what I mean is that only your people can help us control them.”

Sam didn’t understand where this was going. Taking her silence as permission, Danny went on, “As you know, the Ghost Zone has been opening up portals to Earth for millenia, however, many more gates have been opened as of late. Many more than any previous date has ever registered.” Understanding dawning on the queen’s face, Danny pressed. “We wish to ask you to help us close and pinpoint the cause for such bizarre occurrences.”

Sam had mixed feelings about the proposal. On the one hand, random portals opening up was never a good sign; the space-continuum fabric was very delicate. But, on the other hand, her people would gain nothing from it. Nothing but endangering themselves by putting their lives in the hands of ghosts. She had to make sure her trip hadn’t been for nothing and that her people were truly safer for it. 

Resting her elbow on the arm of her chair, her legs crossed in boredom, Sam appraised the apparition before her with a pensive frown. “And how exactly, pray tell, would my people benefit from assisting your kind, your Majesty?”

The way she basically spat the word didn’t go unnoticed by the white-haired half-ghost. He narrowed his eyes on her. “Well, your people,” he snarled in return, “would be safe, of course.”

Sam’s hopes plummeted. He was all talk, just as she feared. ‘Her people would be safe’? Was he threatening her? Please, they were already in danger solely from his knowing of their existence, let alone their headquarters! With a huff, Sam stood up from her chair. The conversation was over. “Thank you for having us, King Phantom. But I am afraid we must depart.”

Although the original plan was to ask them for help and look for alternatives were they to refuse, seeing the queen walking away from him stirred a primal fear in Danny. Somehow, he knew she was the only one who could help him. They were doomed if he let her slip away. “Lady Arcana, wait!”

His frantic call got Sam to stop. Looking over her shoulder, she gave him her full attention. Seeing he had caught her interest, Danny insisted. “When I said your people would be safe, it wasn’t an empty promise: the sudden appearance of portals is a sign that something is amiss. The more portals open, the more unstable our world becomes.” What he said next was chilling enough to elicit goosebumps to run down their spines. “The Ghost Zone is a parallel dimension to Earth, if our realm is destroyed, so is yours.”

Sam’s eyes widened at his words, even Susan couldn’t stifle a startled gasp. If what he was saying was true, then her people were doomed, regardless of how well-kept their secret was. If she refused his proposal, her subjects and the other clans all over the world would pay greatly for her mistake. However…

Her gaze hardened, determination motivating her actions once again. In the off chance that Phantom was only making things up to get her to agree, she needed to ensure her people wouldn’t pay for her mistake. And there was only one way to do it. 

Taking firm steps, she walked resolutely to where the green-eyed spirit stood. Staring deep into his eyes, she made her counterproposal. “Very well, I shall help you with your problem.” 

Before Danny could let out the breath he didn’t know he was holding, Lady Arcana spoke up again. “But in return for my services you must ensure my people’s safety. Under no circumstances will anyone discover our existence or whereabouts. We already have to deal with a witch huntress coming after us.” She could’ve sworn the king choked at that. “If I find out our way of living has been compromised in any way, you and your kingdom are all alone. Now,” she extended her hand for him to shake, “do we have a deal, King Phantom?”

Danny eyed her suspiciously. Her violet eyes simultaneously held a fiery temper and cold determination, even with his powers, he could sense there’d be Hell to pay if he didn’t keep his part of the deal. Then again, everything they’d ever known was in danger, even if the Queen couldn’t care less for the Ghost Zone and its inhabitants, and her request was what any sensible and caring leader would ask for. On paper it looked like the perfect compromise…

He just hoped he didn’t come to regret it.

Holding the witch’s hand in a firm grip, he shook hands with her. “We have a deal, Lady Arcana.”

#Danny Phantom #DP #dp fanfic #my fanfic #your heart #amethyst ocean #danny fenton #sam manson #Paulina Sanchez #star #star dp #skulker #ocs #ghost king au #ghost king! danny #witch queen sam #witch queen au #enemies to friends to lovers

[crow-in-a-teapot]

tower of nero spoilers

i have just finished the tower of nero. and before i go searching for other people’s thoughts and art and more of the characters i love so much, i want to write down some of my own thoughts because i know as soon as i delve into that ‘ton spoilers’ hashtag there are going to be complaints and criticisms and so much that i don’t want to hear, or essays that’ll make me upset, or things that’ll change my perception on the book (because on this website people really love to hate the trials of apollo).

i want to start with: i loved it. it didn’t feel earth-shattering or huge and momentous like some of my favourite riordanverse books (house of hades, the blood of olympus, the last olympian and maybe some of the magnus chase books take those pedestals for me) but it was satisfying. and i think it was satisfying because it in no way felt like an ending. whether because eventually rick will write that will-and-nico-go-through-tartarus-and-save-bob novella, or because we (or at least i) will continue writing and imagining and creating for this world i don’t know. he didn’t wrap up the story in a perfect little bow like ‘nineteen years later’, he simply put it on pause. gave us a glimpse of where every character was at at the end.

the only thing that makes me so angry and upset is that i did manage to get some spoilers for moments that i know would have been so good to experience for the first time if i hadn’t been spoiled for them. the moment where rachel mentions penguins in a mansion near her house, nico getting mental health advice from mr d, the fact that will and nico were going to be in the book for so much of the story, but the big thing was literally spoiled for me two days ago, it was the reason i sat down to read it as fast as possible because i was terrified of getting more spoiled and not being able to experience the moments for myself, was that piper had a girlfriend. i know that reading that for the first time would have been so cool and surprising, and the fact that when it came up for a moment in the last couple pages all i felt was disappointment because it was spoiled for me and because it was now tinged with whatever that person was saying about her having a girlfriend.

but i still had some warm fuzzy moments, the two parts where apollo thinks he’s going to die but nico comes up behind him - so good. impeccable. 

Leader Guy spat. ‘Now, I kill you.’

He raised his sword... and froze. His face turned pale. His skin began to shrivel. His beard fell out whisker by whisker like dead pine needles. Finally, his skin crumbled away, along with his clothes and flesh, until Leader Guy was nothing but a bleached-white skeleton, holding a sword in his bony hands. 

Standing behind him, his hand on the skeleton’s shoulder, was Nico di Angelo.

and

Nero raised his hand, ready to give the kill command, when behind me a mighty BOOM! shook the chamber. Half our enemies were thrown off their feet. Cracks sprouted in the windowsand the marble columns. Ceiling tiles broke, raining dust like split bags of flour. 

I turned to see the impenetrable blast doors lying twisted and broken, a strangely emaciated red bull standing in the breach. Behind it stood Nico di Angelo.

gods. poetic brilliance. i can’t believe i’m still a nico di angelo stannie in the year 2021. in five years i have not changed (ever since the tv show announcement last summer i have managed to morph into myself from 2017)

from here i’m not sure where to go next i kind of want to go through everything, except it’ll be more difficult than my tyrant’s tomb reaction because i wasn’t reading on a kindle and thus can’t just do funny little reactions to screenshots of quotes, so i’ll just skim through the book page by page and see what i can comment on (i’m not planning on doing analysis today, no thank you, just enjoying the end of my childhood and trying to squeeze as much out of it as possible)

i have an emotional attachment to mr. snake from the very first chapter, and am very upset that he’ll never get off on his baltimore stop and get to see his wife, lu had no reason to shoot and kill him like that.

that brings me to lu, i liked her, it was interesting to see how rick kind of brought in not only the overarching theme of abuse, but also people who let the abuse happen, i have more i could say on this i’m too lazy to right now, and i promised no analysis - or the fact that Lu had conspired to make the show non-lethal to spare Meg’s feelings rather than - oh, I don’t know - refusing to do Nero’s dirty work in the first place and getting Meg out of that house of horrors. 

And are you any better? taunted a small voice in my brain. How many times have you stood up to Zeus?

Okay, small voice. Fair point. Tyrants are not easy to opppose or walk away from, especially when you depend on them for everything.

the parallels to meg and lester heading to percy’s apartment, and then to camp half blood to the hidden oracle was so cool to read, every callback to the hidden oracle just there to remind us readers exactly how far apollo has come and how he’s changed; the entire chapter with sally, paul and estelle just felt sickly sweet, it just didn’t seem real how wholesome and good that family is, like i get why apollo broke down and just sobbed in that shower.

also rick really saying acab again in toa, i thought he was done after that elf cop chapter in magnus chase (the magnus chase series is a masterpiece) but apparently not, with A ‘good cop’ is still a cop... still a part of the mind game.

the grey sisters, i forgot about them completely but this threw me back into was it the sea of monsters when annabeth summoned them? i’m not sure, it could have been the lightning thief either, they really remind me of the disney hercules movie. the whole ganymede paragraph was gold, i love gods being canonically confirmed lgbt in the riordanverse. i also love the whole eye-tossing part - 

‘He will crush our eye,’ Anger cried, ‘if we don’t recite our verses!’

‘I will not!’

‘We will all die!’ Wasp said. ‘He is crazy!’

‘I AM NOT!’

‘Fine, you win!’ Tempest howled.

also, the explanation for why dionysus chooses to look the way he does was perfect, because it was something i often wondered about and wasn’t expecting to get an explanation for, and i imagine the whole mythological dionysus to look like.. well like a more feminine apollo i guess, beautiful in a gender non-comforming way.

Other Olympians could never comprehend why Dionysus chose this form when he could look like anything he wanted. In ancient times, he’d been famous for his youthful beauty that defied gender.

... 

In retaliation, Dionysus had decided to look and act as ungodly as possible. He was like a child refusing to tuck in his shirt, comb his hair or brush his teeth, just to show his parents how little he cared.

every scene with nico at camp just BREAKS ME, i would throw in screenshots of every damn quote but unfortunately, as said above, cannot and would rather not type every one; we’ll start with, obviously apollo confirming to him that jason is dead. 

He didn’t look angry exactly. He looked as if he’d been hit in the gut not just once but so many times over the course of so many years that he was beginning to lose perspective on what it meant to be in pain. He swayed on his feet. He blinked. Then he flinched, jerking his hands away from Meg’s as if he’d just remembered his own touch was poison.

ugh then will talking about how nico’s doing, confirming that he’s suffering with ptsd, mr d giving him advice, helping him sort though what voices in his head are real and which ones aren’t, then the paragraph that just recounts every horrific thing poor nico has been through, how will has to reassure him that he’s okay and ‘with friends’ when he wakes up after shadow travel

will’s kindness to apollo, buying him clothes, and apollo finding seymour the leopard’s head in his bed, put there by mr d aaaa AAAA A A A A A THE ORDINARY, EVERYDAY CAMP HALF BLOOD THINGS..

i could go on for years and years about how much i appreciate rachel having a big role in this book, and the visit to her apartment, everything, her art, the fact that she got what she wanted, she’s going to PARIS to study ART, she isn’t forced to be someone she’s not by her dad, and gets to be a big part of a demigod mission and not stand on the sidelines for once.

i love that her landscapes are still visions, that she still paints the quests demigods go on - the burning maze, jason’s funeral pyre, caligula’s ships; and how nico ~appreciates art~

‘And, hey, di Angelo -’ she pushed him playfully away from the canvas he’d been ogling - ‘don’t brush against the art! I don’t care about the paintings, but if you get any colour on you, you’ll ruin that whole black-and-white aesthetic you’ve got going.’

i. love. rachel.

WILL GLOWS!! THE HEADCANONS FROM LIKE FIVE YEARS AGO THAT YOU’D SEE FLOATING AROUND ABOUT HIM MANIPULATING LIGHT!! CONFIRMED!! CANON!! AMAZING

I AM  OBSESSED WITH THE TROGS, I LOVE THEM, THEY ARE GREAT, not gonna lie, i was expecting something more dramatic and spooky with how worried will was and how dionysus was going.. visiting the cavern-runners isn’t ♫ good for your mental health  ♫ but the little hat frog gremlins were a good addition. i like them very much and their funky little soup shenanigans. quoting the ghost king himself: trogs good. nice hats. (IM SORRY I KEEP MENTIONING HIM BUT I JUST) also how apollo starts wishing for breadsticks a s ajoke and theY STRAIGHT UP HAVE BREADSTICKS? HUH? WHERE DID THEY GET THE BREADSTICKS FROM??

yeah, i’m also still very much upset by every mention of jason grace, it’s funny how ever since his death in the burning maze i have grown to love him more and more and that’s not fun for me, for that boy to become one of my main comfort character’s and have his death and sacrifice and nobility mentioned every few chapters. i’m pretty sure i cried when he appeared to talk in apollo’s dreams, and this time the tears weren’t from the effort of keeping my eyes open and working for hours straight reading this book (i remember staying up until 2am to finish the sequel to beautiful, broken things, it was very much worth it)

‘All right, Jason. We miss you, though.’

ALSO. THE FACT THAT THIS KID. THIS CHILD. HAD TO THINK ‘BUT IF A HERO ISN’T READY TO LOSE EVERYTHING FOR A GREATER CAUSE, IS THAT PERSON REALLY A HERO?’ A KID ISN’T SUPPOSED TO THINK ABOUT THAT AND BE READY TO SACRIFICE THEMSELVES FOR THE GREATER GOOD,, i,, ugh,, he’s supposed to be finishing school and designing temples not being the perfect hero and soldier,, spain without the s,,

as @couldnt-think-of-a-funny-name said: ‘thinking about how ghost! Jason didn’t seem to understand why Apollo was so upset about his death because he’s been raised to believe a hero’s sacrifice is noble and his life doesn’t matter in the grand scheme and also if he doesn’t understand why the person who watched him get horrifically killed is so torn up over his death he probably doesn’t even realize his other friends are grieving him..’

IM SO UPSET THE ARROW OF DODONA IS DEAD D: IT WAS ONE OF MY FAVOURITE CHARACTERS ALL THE FUNNIEST MOMENTS WERE BECAUSE OF THAT ARROW AND IT'S DEATH WAS SO SAD WTH LIKE WE FIND OUT HOW USELESS THE ARROW FELT AND HOW THE GROVE OF DODONA ALL THOUGHT IT WOULD BE CRAP AND WOULD FAIL APOLLO AND THEN ONCE WE FEEL BAD FOR IT, IT DIES??

the entire python battle was pretty grim, there is a part of me that's like because this is the last book series i would have loved say the magnus chase and kane chronicles gang in a giant battle with everyone like the battle of manhattan but even more dramatic, but even so, i did appreciate that python battle and the whole almost-falling-into-the-depths-of-tartarus thing.

him talking to artemis was cool, but JESUS: 'I turned and strode out of my room, trying to recall how the god Apollo walked.' like that HURTS. it was such a huge culture shock for apollo to go throught this huge character arc and be so human and understand the pain of others, to be around gods again who are so.. apathetic. also, zeus. 'Interesting how he put that: I had done him proud. I had been useful in making him look good. My heart did not melt. I did not feel that this was a warm-and-fuzzy reconciliation with my father. Let's be honest: some fathers don't deserve that. Some aren't capable of it.'

OKAY OKAY SO THE END?? CHIRON TALKING TO A CAT (BAST) AND A SEVERED HEAD (MIMIR) ABOUT SHARED PROBLEMS WITHIN THE PANTHEONS!! WILL AND NICO RECEIVING A PROPHECY FROM RACHEL TO GO TO TARTARUS AND SAVE BOB!! THE HUNTERS OF ARTEMIS, INCLUDING THALIA AND REYNA BEING BEST FRIENDS (qpr.. qpr..) HUNTING THE TEUMESSIAN FOX!! PERCY, ANNABETH AND GROVER, THE ORIGINAL TRIO, GOING ON A CHAOTIC ROAD TRIP TOGETHER!! - SO MANY STAND-ALONE SET -UPS PFSJSJSJ

okay quick word on the reunions at the end: funny little elephant visitation program with livia and hannibal. love that for them. calypso and leo's relationship seems rocky and complicated, but that's to be expected, i think even if they do get properly back together again it might not last long, because it does pretty much feel like a teenage relationship where the two aren't very compatible, but we'll see. hazel and frank are so funny with their gold plated necklaces. lavinia - tap-dance icon. almost cried at the mention of jason's temple-extension plan again. percy not being sure about what he wants to do in college is accurate and i like that that's left to be up-for-interpretation (rick does THE MOST for the fanfic writers pfsjsj). i am OBSESSED with aeithales, like i hate deserts so the burning maze setting is not my favourite but GOD that HOUSE, the vibes are off-the-charts. i'd love a house made of living trees that's also a greenhouse filled with dryads. meg gets a unicorn. that is so great.

i kind of wish the book hadn't ended with 'Call on me. I will be there for you.' because every time I imagine the friends theme song and i don't think that's the vibe he was going for, BUT i do love him talking to meg, that was genuinely emotional - 'You'll come back?' she asked. 'Always,' I promised. 'The sun always comes back.' ; i really wish it had ended with that, but i guess apollo does tend to break fourth walls and talk to the readers, like a lot of the protagonists of riordanverse books.

#the tower of nero #tower of nero #tower of nero spoilers #the tower of nero spoilers #nico di angelo #rachel elizabeth dare #will solace #jason grace #apollo #trials of apollo #the hidden oracle #the dark prophecy #the burning maze #the tyrants tomb #percy jackson #annabeth chase #grover underwood #lester papadopoulos #meg mccaffrey #dionysus #piper mclean #hazel levesque #frank zhang #reyna arellano #thalia grace #leo valdez #calypso #brooklyn house #original content

[gemmaswriting]

Anidala Fanfiction Recommendations!!

I’ve been asked for a long time for my fanfiction recommendations, so I’ve finally taken the time to compile them. If there are any you love that I missed out (this includes Vaderdala!) leave them as a reply so we can all have a good time reading together. 

Writer: Shelivesfree (fanfiction profile) This wonderful girl has some of the most amazing Anidala stories I have ever had the pleasure of reading. Unfortunately, a lot of them have been hiatus for a while but her Boy Next Door trilogy has two amazing parts completed. 

The stories I recommend: 

“The Boy Next Door”: “When Padme Naberrie returns to her home after 10 years, the last thing she expects to find is her childhood friend, Anakin Skywalker; the boy next door. But 10 years is a long time, and he has changed more than she is prepared for. How will she react when little Ani is now a grown man, impulsive, handsome and completely infatuated with her? Modern AU.”

“The Girl from Harvard”: “Sequel to ‘The Boy Next Door’ Absence makes the heart grow fonder. It also makes it grow more paranoid. Padme is in her last year of Harvard. Anakin has just started at the University of Chicago. Though they won't admit it, their long-distance relationship is taking it's heavy toll. Will their love prevail or will the distance prove too much for both of them? Sequel to The Boy Next Door. Modern AU.”

“look into my eyes, that's where my demons hide”:  ”Each time he comes back to her, a little piece of him is missing... left out there, in the field, with his brothers. She can see it in the way he smiles and it doesn't reach his eyes. In the way he cries to himself when he thinks she's not awake. And all she can do is hold him. Modern AU.”

“I Know Your Type”  “Am I dead?" It slips out, accidentally. She turns her head towards me, a confused look on her face and tips her head. "Excuse me?" Flashing her an impish grin, I lean casually against the wall. "I must have died and gone to heaven, because you look like an angel." The look she gives me is far from impressed. "Do you use that with all the girls, or am I just lucky?"

“we both know what we want, so why don't we fall in love?” “Rhythmic Gymnast Padme Naberrie has dreamed of being an Olympian since she was five years old. Now, after years and years of training and preparations, she's finally made it to Rio, and nothing is going to stand in the way between her and a gold medal. Except a certain Canadian beach volleyball player, perhaps.”

“Infinite” “ My bounty is as boundless as the sea, my love as deep; the more I give to thee, the more I have, for both are infinite.”

“for a moment” “And, just for a moment, all the worries and concerns that troubled the young couple cease to exist. Fade away to just this. Husband and wife. Asleep. Dreaming of the sweet little life they will soon bring into the world and into their hearts. Set somewhere in ROTS.”

“Procrastination” “Padmé is busy with a new bill she must bring before the next Senate meeting. Her husband has other ideas, it would seem.”

“There’s a million reasons I should give you up”  “Padmé struggles to deal with Anakin's frequent departures for weeks, even months, at a time during the Clone Wars. It's in these moments she contemplates the practicality of their marriage. Grief-stricken with loneliness, she stumbles across something she wrote a long time ago... a list of sorts. The find brings about a whole host of emotions she'd rather not deal with.”

“all I need is you” “It was her fault. His pain, his jealousy, his insecurity. It was all her fault. Padme looked up at the beautiful man in front of her, her husband, her Ani, and decided she needed to make him remember. Remind him of how much she loved him. Because no one, no man in the entire galaxy, could take the place of Anakin Skywalker.” 

“Her” “A glimpse into the Cosmic Force after Darth Vader's redemption and return to the Light Side. Anakin Skywalker is consumed by guilt and Obi-wan and Yoda are there to appease him. But it's been twenty-four years and all he wants is to see her.” 

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  Writer: SphinxScribe (Fanfiction profile/ Tumblr account @sphinxscribe ) This fantastic writer has many, many alternate takes on the plot of Revenge of the Sith - often allowing our favourite couple to have a happy ending. Their writing captures the world of Star Wars perfectly. 

The stories I recommend: 

“Where Catalysts Stand Down” “Palpatine issues Order 66, and Anakin and Padmé flee Coruscant. ROTS AU. Anakin/Padmé, Anidala.”

“Viability’s Edge” “Anakin tells Obi-Wan the truth. ROTS AU. Anakin/Padmé, Anidala.”

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Writer: Disco Shop Girl (Fanfiction profile) This writer’s take on Anidala is so well written within every story of theirs I have read. They truly capture their dynamic and relationship perfectly. 

The stories I recommend:

“Your helmet cracked” “He'd been restrained, forced to watch while her helmet cracked and the Mon Calamari sea water threatened to drown her before his eyes. Now they're free. And alone. Set at the end of the Clone Wars season 4 Water War arc.” 

“Order 66-S” “The order was to exterminate all Jedi: Past, Present and Future. Captain Rex has a different plan. Order 66-S: to save General Skywalker.”

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Writer: Rogue Darth Skywalker (Fanfiction profile/ Tumblr - @roguedarthskywalker) This wonderful person has been one of the biggest supporters of my own writing for a long time and I value them immensely! They have many delicious Anidala/Vaderdala stories for you to obsess over for hours and hours. I highly recommend following both profiles linked above.

The stories I recommend:

“Pin up Problems” “He hated the nose art. He hated seeing others degrade her other exceptional qualities by depicting her as some pin up girl. He hated thinking about how many other beings across the stars fantasized about her in such a way. At the same time, he can't deny that the art makes her look… hot. He can't deny that the sight turns him on.”

“Letting Go” “It was their custom. Every year on that fateful day, Anakin would make his way to the cemetery with his children and seek out the mausoleum where she rested."

“Far from Perfect” “Darth Vader is dead. Anakin is redeemed and lives on Naboo with Padme and their children. But not all happy endings are perfect.”

“Far from Easy” “Sequel to Far From Perfect. Redeemed Anakin Skywalker tries to make things right with his wife and kids.

“Perfect” “Happy Family style AU post ROTS. Padme wakes up in the middle of the night and ponders the most recent events in her life.”

“A Dangerous Fantasy” “Pure Smut. Padme helps Anakin fulfil a fantasy he has had since they were married- one that involves the Jedi Council Chambers.”

“Untitled” “Anakin and Padme deal with having to tell their young twins they are having another baby.”

“Strictly Professional” “There are times she hates that she has to resort to this- that rather than being in a long term relationship with someone, she chose to instead pay someone for sex. Modern AU.”  

“Out of his Depth” “I fought in a war. I commanded legions of soldiers against battle droids. I think I can handle my own four-year-old twins."

“Love and Jealousy” “Anakin gave the binders an experimental tug, testing his chances of escaping. There was none. A light chuckle left his lips after a few moments, letting his head fall back to rest on the chair. What a compromising position for a Jedi Knight to be in. Handcuffed in a respected senator's bedchambers practically naked… oh, how the holonews would rave should the story get out!” 

“Against all Odds” “He shouldn't be here. The election was only a few weeks away and the final debate was due in the next few days. There were so many other things he should be doing. He shouldn't be here, in enemy territory wrapped in the arms of the woman his boss despised. Modern AU. Smut.” 

“What we Hope is Never Found” “The impending existence of a recording of them together held dangers that went a little deeper than if they were found naked and tangled together in her office or on his cruiser. The physical proof of their relationship would cause an uproar if it were discovered. But she trusted Anakin. Smut.”

“It was Found” “Sequel to What We Hope is Never Found.”

“Things that go bump in the night” “Luke and Leia think there is a ghost in their home. Their parents know better.”

“Preparations” “She couldn't wait to meet their little ones. It hadn't been too long since they learned she was having twins, and as stressful as that idea was at first, she was quickly growing accustomed to the idea of having two perfect little babies. Her husband, however, seemed to be taking it a little worse than her.” 

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Writer: Skywalkersamidala (Archive of our Own profile/ Tumblr @markantonys) I absolutely adore the Anidala stories created by this author whether they’re aus or canon! They nail the couple’s dynamic throughout their many wonderful stories. 

The stories I recommend:

“Snow Place like Home” “For genre-typical convoluted reasons involving ill-timed blizzards, Padmé is forced to spend the holidays at Anakin's house. Anakin isn't as upset about his boss staying with him for Christmas as he probably should be.“

“Soulmates R Us” “Anakin works at a toy store, and single-mother-of-twins Padmé is becoming one of the store's best customers.”

“Heirs of Light and Darkness” “After escaping the Jedi purge two years ago made him the most wanted fugitive in the galaxy, Anakin Skywalker has at last been captured by the Empire. He expects to be killed, but Lady Padmé Amidala, the imperial heir, has other ideas.”

“Friendly Competition” “Playing Quidditch is awfully difficult when you’re in love with the rival Seeker. Snapshots of Anakin and Padmé’s 7 years at Hogwarts.“

“Perfect” “The war is over, Luke and Leia are five years old, and Anakin and Padmé finally have the peaceful life and big family they've always dreamed of. But their life is about to get a little less peaceful and their family a little bigger.“

“Nos Cedamus Amori“ “Anakin is a gladiator and a slave. Padmé is the wife of the Roman emperor's heir. Circumstances should never even allow them to meet, let alone fall in love.“

“I Do Take Two” “Thirty years after their clandestine wedding on Naboo, Anakin and Padmé decide to finally do the proper wedding ceremony they never got to have, with all their friends and family present.“

“Flat Tire” “Who knew something as simple as getting a flat tire could change the entire course of your life?“

“Strays” “Anakin had always had a penchant for taking in strays.”

“Five weddings and a funeral” “Padmé's feeling gloomy about her perpetual singleness, but everything changes when she meets an attractive stranger at her sister's wedding.“

“Pipe Dream” “Padmé's new plumber is the most attractive human being she's ever laid eyes on, so naturally, she keeps faking plumbing emergencies so she can keep seeing him.“

“Birthdays and Birth days” “Anakin gets a birthday surprise — two of them, in fact.“

“Spouses with Benefits” “Anakin and Padmé wake up after a wild night in Vegas and discover they accidentally got married—and that Ahsoka posted about it all over social media, so now every single person they know is texting and calling them to offer congratulations. They decide to save face by pretending the marriage was totally 100% intentional and not a drunk mistake at all, keeping up the charade for six months, and then quietly getting divorced. But a lot can change in six months…“

“Two Halves Make a Whole” “Anakin is the single dad of Luke. Padme is the single mom of Leia. Luke and Leia meet in kindergarten and become best friends. The rest is history.“

“Home” “In which "Darth Vader" is no more than Anakin's playtime alter ego (happy Skywalker family AU)“

“Someday” “At age fourteen, Padme receives a marriage proposal from the nine-year-old boy next door and tells him to ask her again when she's thirty. Surely he'll have forgotten all about it by then.“

“Across the Centuries” “They meet each other in every century, but something always goes wrong before they can make it to happily-ever-after.”

“Madam President” “Between late nights and headaches and mountains of paperwork and fierce opposition from her political opponents, President Padmé Amidala already had enough on her plate. And then she just had to go and fall for one of her bodyguards, a relationship which would ruin her reputation and his career if anyone were to find out about it. Also, someone's trying to kill her.“

“Scars” “How do Anakin and Padmé go from "I love you" to "I do"? Missing scene from Attack of the Clones.”

“The Bet” “Anakin's had a crush on Padmé since fourth grade, and after putting up with his pining for seven years, Obi-Wan and Ahsoka are finally stepping in and making a bet that he can't ask her to junior prom in the spring. Meanwhile, Padmé is realizing that Anakin isn't as annoying as she'd always thought. In fact, her feelings towards him are starting to go in quite the opposite direction...”

“Three” “His and Padmé’s first wedding anniversary isn’t going nearly as well as Anakin had hoped it would. Until, suddenly, it’s so much better than he could have ever imagined.“

“The Anakin Disaster” “Padmé is mortified upon waking up beside her strictly platonic childhood best friend Anakin Skywalker the morning after a drunken one-night stand. A couple weeks later, she discovers that's the least of their problems.“

“Will You Fake Marry Me?” “Anakin's boss may or may not have accidentally given her family the impression that she's engaged to him. Anakin may or may not be pleased about the situation”

“Aggressive Negotiations” “Empress Amidala invites Lord Vader to her private rooms to persuade him to form an alliance with the Empire. Her methods are very effective.”

“Troubling Implications” “Perhaps he hated himself for it—Padmé thought he probably did—but he came that night (several times, in fact). And the night after that, and the next one, and the next, until it became a habit that neither of them seemed especially inclined to break. (Sequel to "Aggressive Negotiations")

“Imperial Obligations” “Padmé's advisors suggest that she get rid of Vader and make a politically advantageous marriage. The Empress is less than pleased. (Sequel to "Aggressive Negotiations" and "Troubling Implications")”

“Welcome Home” “Anakin Skywalker closes his eyes on the face of his son. When he opens them again, he is in Naboo, and someone is waiting for him.“

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Writer: Shawn30 (Fanfiction profile) The one, the only, the deservedly famous! I think every Anidala fan is aware of this f a n t a s t i c writer’s work. Deliciously smutty. Unbelievably well written. Unfortunately, many of their works have been left uncompleted for years but the stories are still worth reading!

 “Whisper” “Absence makes the heart grow fonder, but can also whither your soul and breed doubt in your heart. AP angsty erotica.”

“The Ties that Bind” “Given a brief period of time off during the Clone Wars, Padmé and Anakin visit her family at the Lake Country estate on Naboo. A family that still doesn't know they are married, although they are about to find out. Complete.” 

“The Light and the Dark” “Chapter 1 in the Hearts and Souls series. An unexpected Separatist attack 'accidentally' reunites two star-crossed lovers, giving them a brief moment of peace at a time of war. Complete.”

“Shadows of Winter” “Chapter 2 in the Hearts and Souls series. With six days to spend together celebrating their two year anniversary, Anakin and Padme travel separately to a remote planet in the Hoth system. Romance, passion, and danger await them. Complete.” 

 “Beloved” “Chapter 3 in the "Hearts and Souls" series. When faced with the most horrific news imaginable, Padme's utter desperation forces her to turn to Obi-Wan and even Chancellor Palpatine for help. Her greatest personal challenge awaits... Complete” 

 “Paradise” “The sequel to "Beloved." Following Padme's daring rescue of her husband, the Skywalker's return to Naboo for eight days to heal, unwind, spend time with family, and deal with their connection to the Dark Side of the Force.” 

 “Salvation” “After facing his moment of truth, Anakin and Padmé must finally deal with the consequences. Obi-Wan reveals a startling discovery. Complete” 

“Scandalous” “The sequel to Salvation. On the eve of Padmé Skywalker's official ascension to the role of Vice Chair of the Republic, Anakin steals her away for a wild vacation to Cloud City. Complete.”

“Sacred” “Chapter 2. Ahsoka and Jo'Seth grow closer. Padme's trip to the Jedi Temple on Republic business turns a bit more adventurous. Anakin and Obi-Wan have a heart to heart talk about moving forward.”

“Belonging” “A private afternoon lunch to catch up with an old friend during the Clone Wars reveals a great deal to ObiWan Kenobi. AP”

“Before the Seasons Change” “With the Darth Sidious finally defeated and the Clone Wars ended, Anakin and Padme consider what comes next in their lives. Anakin/Padme”

“Amor Vincit Omnia” “AU. After a three and a half year separation Vice Chair Amidala and Jedi Master Skywalker have some unfinished business as the Clone Wars have finally ended and Palpatine is dead.”

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If there’s any stories I missed, let me know!

#Anidala #anidala fanfiction #Vaderdala #vaderdala fanfiction #Anidala fic rec