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rowanrabbit · 1 year

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There was once a beautiful princess who was engaged to a prince from a faraway land. The match was arranged from their birth, and the princess’s whole young life was spent preparing for the marriage. But when she finally met the prince, only a week before their wedding, she found him intolerably arrogant and cruel.

“I would rather marry the devil,” she said to herself, and that night, a devil appeared at her bedroom window.

He swept into the room on a gust of air and stood there as tall as the ceiling, a great big beast with long sharp claws and teeth, wide leathery wings and a tail that whipped back and forth with feral excitement. He fell to his knees on the floor before her, and took her little hands in his.

“I’ve come to steal you away,” he said.

“To where?” demanded the princess.

He scooped her up in his enormous arms. “To my castle,” he said with his fangs at her ear.

He took her to the open window and launched back into the night, catching the air with his powerful wings and carrying the princess away.

They flew through the night for many miles, until they came to a beautiful palace carved from soft white stone, its spiraling towers gleaming with moonlight against the dark mountains. They went in through a tall tower window and landed in a bedroom decorated with dark wood and soft white silks. The devil laid the princess down on a soft bed, where she fell asleep.

The next morning she woke up alone in the beautiful room, and waited for the devil to come to her, which he did before long.

“How did you know that I wanted you last night?” she asked.

“The devil always comes when he is called,” he replied. “I’ve brought you here to make you my bride, lovely one. Will you accept?”

“I will accept,” said the princess, “but only if you court me according to the customs of my people.”

“Tell me what I must do,” said the devil.

“On the first night,” said the princess, “you must bring me a beautiful jewel.”

“It will be done,” said the devil, but just then, there came the sounds of a commotion outside. They went to the window and saw an army of a hundred men at the castle gates, led by the cruel and arrogant prince.

“He’s come to take you back,” said the devil.

“Don’t let him,” said the princess.

“Yes, my lady,” said the devil. He spread his wide wings and flew down from the tower window to meet the men at the gates. All day long, the princess watched through the window as they did battle. The human men were no match for the devil’s terrible claws and teeth. By sunset he had driven them all away. The princess was glad, but she saw that he’d had no time to collect any jewels for her.

“Where is my jewel?” she asked coyly, when the devil returned to her room.

“Here it is, beautiful one,” said the devil. In his hands was a perfect round orange that he’d plucked from a tree in the garden, with a dark green leaf still attached. He peeled it open in his great claws to reveal the segments of soft flesh, faceted and sparkling like gems. The princess was delighted, and she allowed the devil to feed her the soft sweet slices.

He returned to her the next morning, ready for his second task.

“What next, my lady?” he asked.

“On this second night,” said the princess, “you must serenade me with a beautiful song.”

“It will be done,” said the devil, but just then, there was another great commotion at the castle gates. They went to the window and saw that the prince had returned with an army of a thousand men.

“So many this time…” said the princess.

“I won’t let them take you,” the devil said to her. He leapt out the bedroom window and flew down to face the army of men. All day long, the princess sat at the window and watched the ferocious battle taking place. This time the devil summoned mighty winds full of dust and hale, and jets of fire that shot up out of the earth, and he cut through through shields and armor with fiery swords. By the end of the day, he had driven the army away yet again. The princess was very impressed, but she knew he’d had no time to tune his instruments or practice his songs.

“Where are your instruments?” she asked, when the devil returned to her room.

“Let me take you to them,” he said, and gathered her up in his arms. He leapt out of the window with her—a thing the princess was somehow getting used to—and they flew away from the castle, to a hidden gorge tucked between two mountains, where a little winding brook burbled through a meadow of soft grass spotted with trees.

The devil set the princess down on her feet in the grass.

“I see nothing,” she said.

“You must listen,” said the devil.

She listened, and she noticed that the chuckling babble of the brook was almost like a soft little song, and the crickets hidden in the grass all around were rubbing their legs together like bows on strings, like a tiny little orchestra. And when the wind blew, it whooshed deeply through the walls of the gorge, rustling the leaves of the trees, and every so often an owl hooted too. It was as lovely as music, and they stood together listening for most of the night, until the devil carried her back to the bedroom so she could sleep.

He returned to her the next morning. “What must I do next?” he said.

“This is the final night of our courting,” she said, "and you must prepare a grand feast.”

“It will be done,” said the devil. But they both listened for the telltale sounds of swords and marching feet, and heard them, and going to the window they saw that the prince had arrived at the gates once again, leading an army of ten thousand men.

“Let them take me back,” said the princess, looking over the vast army. "You'll be hurt."

“Don’t be afraid,” said the devil, “for I cannot be felled by mortal men.” He went out through the window and flew to meet the oncoming army. And as he flew he grew, twenty feet tall, fifty feet, one hundred, one thousand feet tall, until he landed on the battlefield with a thunderous crash, towering over the terrified army. Many men turned and fled right then. But the arrogant prince would not be dissuaded, and he led the remaining men against the beast. Their swords and arrows were practically useless, their horses were wild with terror, and their morale drained away like sand through a sieve.

The battle finally ended in the evening. The prince had limped away in secret, defeated for the final time. Many men lay dead, while those still living scattered into the mountains. The devil slowly returned to his original size, lying down in the dirt among the dead, unharmed but exhausted from his great transformation. The princess left the palace and went to him, and took his large clawed hand in hers.

“Forgive me, lovely one,” he said, “for I have prepared no feast for you.”

“No?” asked the princess, looking around. Hundreds of ravens had descended upon the battlefield, already tearing into the fresh corpses, and wolves and lions were emerging from the woods to join them. “I think the feast is already under way,” said the princess, “and the guests are enjoying it very much.”

The devil laughed wickedly at that. “I think you might be a bit of a devil yourself,” he said. They were married on the next evening, and they are still living happily to this day.

#short story #fairy tale #exophilia #stolen bride #demon x human #demon boyfriend #monster boyfriend

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theroyalhouseofwindenburg · 6 months

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In the ensuing weeks, Westsimster became a landscape of chaos, consumed by flames, smoke, and devastation as King Wilhelm's knights mercilessly raided the city, burning everyone infected with the plague. The numbers of the afflicted had surged to a point where King Wilhelm, in a desperate attempt to rid the disease, ordered The Tower to be locked down. His knights were instructed to burn not only the infected people but also everything they possessed. The streets were now lined with piles of burning bodies, casting a ghastly glow on the once-vibrant city.

Plague doctors, clad in eerie masks, roamed the area, attempting to study the illness. However, the knights, driven by fear and brutality, continued to kill innocent people, tossing them into the fires. The black death was relentless, and if the knights didn't get to you, the plague itself claimed lives within a matter of days. Thousands of Windenburg's citizens perished, marking a dark and tragic chapter in the city's history.

Within the confines of Windenburg Castle, the situation was far from contained. Lady Catherine Carling, one of Cordelia's ladies-in-waiting, succumbed to the black death in her chambers. Plague doctors and knights, astounded by the rapid spread of the disease, witnessed her attendant confirming the grim news. King Wilhelm declared the castle under quarantine, isolating various royals and nobles in different chambers, providing meager supplies of dry foods and root vegetables, with doors boarded up until further notice.

Queen Cordelia, Prince Wilhelm, Augusta, and Lady Rotchford found themselves confined within the east wing of the castle. As they sat around a round table by the fireplace, peering at a small loaf of bread and a bowl of pottage, Prince Wilhelm voiced the frustration prevalent among them. "Why have things turned out this way? And when can we have meat again?" Cordelia responded somberly, "My dear, we have scarce provisions, and meat is a luxury. Make do with what's before you."

While Cordelia faced scarcity, King Wilhelm lived in stark contrast. Quarantining in his opulent bedchambers with his favored mistress, 23-year-old Anne Matthews, he enjoyed access to servants and the finest foods. Adorned in jewels, they seemed oblivious to the plight outside. Garlic vines hung throughout the king's quarters in a feeble attempt to ward off the plague. While Windenburg suffered, King Wilhelm and Anne reveled in indulgence, Anne even assisting Wilhelm in the bath.

As the cold months descended, Windenburg remained gripped by the relentless plague. Matthias, too, had fallen victim to the insidious grasp of the black death. The guard, bearing a solemn expression, approached King Wilhelm with dire news. Matthias's condition had been deteriorating with each passing day. He hesitated before continuing, "Your Grace, I understand your command to burn the infected, but I felt compelled to bring this to your attention as Matthias is your trusted advisor."

Wilhelm, with an icy gaze, turned to the guard and uttered in a grim tone, "Burn him." Without a moment's pause, he began to walk away, leaving the guard to carry out the heartless command. As Wilhelm approached the door, the sounds of a struggle echoed from Matthias's chambers. In a feeble attempt to plead for mercy, Matthias, weakened by the disease, called out, "Your Grace! Please have mercy. After everything I have helped you with over the years, please, sir!" Despite the desperate plea, Wilhelm exited the room without a flicker of emotion, as if the poignant scene had left no impact on his conscience.

On that same fateful morning, Augusta stirred from her slumber in the east wing. Determined to lend a helping hand, she decided to descend the cold stone steps and join Lady Rotchford in preparing breakfast. However, as she walked through the door to Lady Rotchford's room, the scene that unfolded before her was one of immediate shock and dread.

Lady Rotchford lay lifeless on the floor, having seemingly fallen from her bed during the night. Her complexion, once vibrant, now bore the pallor of death, marked by the telltale signs of the plague. Augusta's scream echoed through the castle as she crumpled to the floor in sheer horror. Lady Rotchford, who had been a constant presence in Augusta's life since infancy, now succumbed to the merciless grasp of the black death.

The commotion drew Cordelia and Prince Wilhelm rushing to the scene. Their faces contorted with disbelief, they joined Augusta in the chamber, their collective anguish palpable. Cordelia's shock turned into desperate action as she pounded on the chamber doors, futilely pleading for a response. The thick stone walls remained unyielding.

Defeated, Cordelia sank to the floor alongside Augusta and Prince Wilhelm. The weight of the tragedy pressed upon them, the reality of the plague's presence within the castle becoming ominously clear. In the midst of their grief, Cordelia couldn't shake the haunting thought if Lady Rotchford, confined to her room, had fallen victim to the infection, the black death had infiltrated the very heart of their sanctuary, its invisible menace threatening to engulf them all.

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amazingnerd · 1 year

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The Dragons Fire.

Chapter 7.

Pairings: Daemon Targaryen x Fem!OC!Reader

Themes: Cursing (as per usual), tense situations, lowkey protective Daemon, protective Gaelyra, interrogation, descriptions of gore.

Previous: Chapter 6

Next: Chapter 8

Daemon was right. Dragons are much faster than horses. They haven't been riding long, only a few hours, and Gaelyra can already recognize some of the towns and roads as they fly high in the sky. She's almost home.

They left King's Landing just as the darkness of night consumed the sky. Viserys gave them his blessing to go, Rhaenyra wished them good luck and a safe stay, but Jaegar... he doesn't know that they are coming. Gaelyra tried to look for him before she and Daemon left but she was told by Otto that her lord father had already departed for the Riverlands. She gave the hand a swift thanks before she left to meet Daemon, and they went to the pit.

Their things were already there on Caraxes. Nothing much, just a few things for them to have while they stay in Gaelyra's family home.

Gaelyra sits behind Daemon as Caraxes weaves smoothly through the sky. Her arms are wrapped around his waist, her body pressed against his as she looks out at the land ahead of them. It's very dark, so it is hard to see, but Gaelyra does not fear flying as she once did when she first took to the skies on the BloodWyrm. Even in the darkness of night, she does not feel afraid as they move through the sky, because she's going home.

It must be near the middle of the night before they begin to descend, and Gaelyra sees a collection of lights in the distance. Then, she and Daemon fly over a lake so dear to her heart, and she smiles. She's home.

She can hear distant shouts as Caraxes gets closer to the ground. They find a clearing in the forest surrounding the Vaela castle and Caraxes touches down, shaking off his shoulders and wings as a quiet groan rumbles through his chest. Daemon dismounts first, lifting his hand to Gaelyra to help her down. She takes it and slides down from the saddle, looking to the forest as a group of men come breaking through the brush, her fathers guards.

All of them are tense, all of them hold the pommel of their swords, not yet drawing their blades but ready to do so at a moments notice. They see Daemon first, and as Gaelyra steps around her fiancé to face the men, they all immediately relax and release a collective sigh of relief. The men move their hands from their swords to bow for Gaelyra, and she smiles kindly at the men in greeting.

Their commander, a man by the name Alek, steps forward, placing a hand onto his heart and bowing his head to her, "Forgive us, my lady. We did not know what to expect when we saw the dragon in the sky." He says.

Gaelyra shakes her head, "I understand completely, Ser Alek. I am glad that in my absence, my family has had men such as yourselves ready to defend at a moments notice. Even in the face of a beast such as Caraxes here," she says, placing a hand onto the dragons jaw, earning a quiet noise from Caraxes.

Ser Alek bows his head in a nod, "Thank you, my lady. Please allow me and my men to escort you and the prince to the Vaela castle." He says, gesturing with a wave of his hand to the path that he and his men came from.

Gaelyra nods her head to the men, and she gestures with a wave of her hand towards her family home, "Lead the way."

It is a short walk through the forest to the home of the Vaela family. The iron gates are lifted for them and they walk inside the small courtyard outside the grand doors of the Vaela castle.

The courtyard is practically empty thanks to the late hour, but a few guards and servants move into the courtyard to see who has arrived, and surprised whispers move through the air. The jewel of the Riverlands has returned home. Why? Why is she here? With the prince accompanying her?

Gaelyra expected the shock she sees in the faces of those that work for her family. Knowing her father as she does, Jaegar probably kept the threats to the Vaela's a secret except to those on his close circle of guards. Such as Ser Alek and his men. Despite her fathers attempts to keep things under wraps, she can sense the tension in the air around her. The assassination attempt on Fiyona is definitely known by everyone here, and it's got them all on guard.

Gaelyra can see Daemon out of the corner of her eye. She does not miss the way his eyes scan the entire courtyard, his steely gaze cutting through the air like a knife through butter. He has the eyes of a warrior, of a man searching for any danger so that he may squash it into dust.

She reaches over and places a hand onto his arm, drawing his attention to her. She smiles softly at him, a reassurance, and he nods, his lip quirking up into a brief ghost of a smile before he turns his gaze to look ahead. Just then, the doors to the grand mansion open and Gaelyra looks over. Her expression immediately softens as she sees her mother running out to meet them, in her night clothes and a robe, clutching her skirts and running to her daughter, her silver hair billowing behind her.

The older woman collides with Gaelyra, wrapping her arms around her daughter and holding her tight, "Oh my daughter!" Ellya cries out, running a hand down Gaelyra's head in a soothing motherly motion.

Gaelyra smiles gently and she wraps her own arms around her mother, giving her a squeeze, "Hello mother." She says, her voice soft.

Ellya pulls away and looks at her daughter, placing her hands upon her cheeks, "My dear child, why did you not tell us you were coming? We would have planned a homecoming feast for you and your intended," she turns her gaze over to Daemon, and she bows her head, "Prince Daemon, I hope the journey here was easy." She says, speaking politely.

Daemon almost doesn't hear Ellya's words, he's too busy looking between her and his betrothed. They both look so similar. He has heard tale of the lady Vaela's extraordinary, goddess like beauty, and even in her older age, lady Ellya is still extremely beautiful. Now he understands where Gaelyra got her beauty, because it certainly wasn't from lord Jaegar.

He looks at Ellya, and he nods his head, "It was an easy one, I can assure you." He says.

Ellya nods, "Come, let us go inside. The night is cold and you must be tired," she turns her attention to a nearby group of servants, "Have my daughters old quarters prepared. And have someone prepare a room for the prince," she says.

The servants nod and enter the castle, leaving the lady Ellya to attend to her daughter and the prince. She smiles at the pair of them, "Follow me," she says, taking her shirts into her hands and walking back into the castle. Gaelyra and Daemon walk behind her, followed by Ser Alek and the rest of the guards.

As the loud creak of the grand oak doors echoes behind them, Gaelyra feels relieved to be back in her home. However, she cannot ignore the feeling of dread that creeps into her chest the further she goes into her beloved family home, and she finds herself resting her hand upon the pommel of her trusted sword, Emerald Sting.

••••

Gaelyra did not sleep that night. She spent the whole night with her mother in the library of their home, talking with her about what has really been going on in their home since Gaelyra left.

"For a while, things were normal." Ellya had told her, "But once we returned home from your engagement feast... things... changed."

The first letter had arrived the day after they returned from kings landing. The letters were full of threats and disturbing words. Promises of death, blood, and suffering to all those within the Vaela house. A warning of what was to come.

Not long after that, more letters began to arrive. Jaegar did not want to entertain whoever was sending the threats and so, thinking that perhaps it was just a ruse to frighten him, he decided to burn any new message straight away without even opening the neatly sealed envelope. Somehow whoever was sending these letters found out about this, and that was when the manticore was given to Fiyona. Samruel killed the insect and captured the assassin that gave it to Fiyona, and this assassin is currently in the dungeons below the Vaela castle.

"Has anyone questioned this man yet?" Gaelyra asked her mother.

Ellya nodded in response, "Of course, but he's only said one thing since Sam captured him."

"And what was that?"

"'Do we have your attention now?'"

Those words repeat over and over within Gaelyra's mind. Even now, hours later, as she sits in the gardens of her home, she keeps hearing those words in her mind. But instead of her mothers voice uttering those words in her memory, she hears the voice of a cold blooded killer.

"Do we have your attention now?"

Anger boils within her, and the leaf she had been twirling in her hand is crushed and discarded on the ground as she stands and walks back into the halls of the castle. Soon she is at her room and she storms inside, throwing open her wardrobe doors and taking out her sword. Once the scabbard of Emerald Sting hangs at her hip, she reaches inside a hidden drawer and she takes out a dagger.

The blade is small. Unlike her sword, it is not Valyrian steel. Instead the blade is made from pure silver, as is the handle, with some gold and jewel attachments. The jewels are rubies, pure and perfectly cut. This dagger is made to be precise and deadly despite its small size. It is a family heirloom that was passed down to her father from his father, and his father before him. It was a gift from her father for her ten and fifth name day.

She attaches the dagger and its sheath to her hip and she turns, leaving her room and entering the corridors once more. She knows exactly where she is going. It is not even midday and Gaelyra already has a mission for herself. Gods help anyone who may get in her way.

"And where are you off to with that much anger in your eyes?"

She stops and turns, seeing Daemon leaning against a pillar in the hall. His arms are crossed and his expression is amused as he watches her. Usually that face of his could push her to laugh, or smile, but now she's too full of determination to stop and make idle chat with her betrothed.

"To cut the neck of the man who tried to kill my sister." She answers.

Daemon raises a brow, "You're off to cause trouble at this early hour, without me?" He pushes himself off the pillar to walk towards her and he stops, looking down at her with a small smile. He clicks his tongue and shakes his head, "I'm hurt." He says.

Gaelyra frowns, "Daemon." She chides, letting out a low sigh, "I am not in the mood to jest. My family is under attack." She moves past him but he stops her by grabbing her wrist and holding her there. She turns to him with an irritated expression and he meets her irritation with a warm calm in his eyes as he speaks, "They are not under attack now. You should not exhaust yourself. Have you done anything but pace since we got here?" He seems to examine her face a little bit closer and he sighs at what he sees, leaning back and looking into her eyes, "When did you last sleep?" He questions.

She does not respond. But he has his answer. He can see the exhaustion on her face, he sees the dark bags beneath her eyes and the distant look within her pools of green, so he does not need her to answer with her words for him to know that she has, in fact, not slept since they arrived the previous night.

He sighs, "Gaelyra, you cannot face this man looking as weak as you do now." He sees the flames of anger quickly forming in her eyes and he holds his hand up to stop her, quickly adding on, "If you are to interrogate him, you must appear as strong and threatening as possible. And for that, you need to sleep."

As much as Gaelyra wants to argue with him, she hasn't slept in well over two days. Even as she stands there, completely still, she can feel the slight tremble in her hand and the heaviness on her shoulders. She can assume she doesn't look much better than she feels. If she is to face this assassin, she needs to appear strong. She needs to appear as if she isn't afraid. She is a member of the Vaela house, a future princess and Targaryen, she must be strong. Like steel. She can't do that if she's exhausted.

She sighs, her shoulders drooping, "Fine." She says. She turns around and walks back down the hallway to her room, and she is aware of the sound of a pair of footsteps following her. She sighs, "Daemon, I can walk myself to my room. Thank you." She says, her tone short and sharp.

She can hear him chuckle behind her, "Forgive me for caring, betrothed." He says, and she can guess that he's grinning at her. It's exactly the type of thing he'd do.

Daemon follows her until she's in her room, and even as she removes her dagger and sword from around her hips, he does not take his eyes off of her. She sees this, and she sighs, shaking her head and placing her weapons onto the armchair by her bedroom window. She lays down on her bed, over the covers, and she closes her eyes.

With her eyes still closed, she hears the faint sounds of someone moving in the room as Daemon tries get comfortable. It both annoys her that he won't leave her be, and it warms her heart to have him care enough to watch over her as she rests.

This warmth remains in her heart as she drifts off to sleep, finally able to rest knowing that once she wakes, she will be able to make the one that tried to kill Fiyona pay.

••••••

When she awoke, Daemon was still there in her room. He was standing by her window and his gaze was focused on the forest surrounding her home. So much space to hide. Anyone could be there, watching. Waiting.

He is still there by her side as she leaves her room and heads for the dungeons. Close but still behind her, keeping an ever watchful eye over Gaelyra.

There are two guards outside the cell when Gaelyra and Daemon arrive. The two men bow to them and step to the side for them to pass, and Gaelyra turns to face her prince, "You will wait here." She says.

He frowns, and her expression hardens, "I must do this alone. No arguments. You will wait here." She says, her voice stern.

He clenches his jaw and leans down to whisper to her, "If I hear anything, if he tries anything I will not hesitate to-" "I can handle myself." She assures him, "But if it comforts you, should things escalate you are more than welcome to intervene. I am not entirely confident that I can remain composed in the face of the man who tried to kill my sister."

He nods, satisfied, and he takes a step back from her. She turns to the door, taking the key from the guard and unlocking the door before she enters the cell, the guards locking the door behind her and assuming their positions.

The cell is dark, and cold, with only a single torch lit by the door. This single torch allows her to get a proper look at the assassin tied to a chair in the middle of the room.

The man is thin and pale. He has no hair on his head, but he has a long beard that reaches his chest. The hair of his beard is a sandy blonde color, and his eyes are brown. Brown and empty of all warmth, the gaze of an expert in facades. Of gaining someone's trust for only a moment, long enough to kill someone.

His eyes are focused on the stone floor of the cell, and he does not look up at her. She stops and stands just out of his line of sight. Her eyes stare at him in silence, taking in every last detail about him from his clothes and their color to any identifiable marks on his skin. From his appearance now, he looks like any other plain citizen. Someone with an untrained eye, someone like Fiyona, wouldn't think twice about receiving a gift from someone such as this.

But Gaelyra sees right through him.

If only she'd been here. She wouldn't have allowed Fiyona to even take the box, Fiyona would have never been in danger. The thought of what could have happened had Fiyona gone into town alone that day makes Gaelyra's stomach churn.

"So tell me," She says to break the long standing silence between them, "What kind of man tries to kill an unarmed woman?" She questions as she begins to move towards him.

He does not answer, nor does he look up, but he does hear her. She can tell, and so she continues in her words, "I don't think a man with any kind of honor would try to kill someone as unarmed as she was. But what do I know of it? I am not a coward. I would never think to attack an undeserving opponent. I kill because I have to, but you?" Her boot heels tap against the stone floor as she glares down at him, "You are among the worst kind of filth on this earth, a breed that does not deserve the air you breathe, and yet, you try to take it from those who do deserve it." Her voice is practically a growl now.

He still does not turn his head to look at her and her fingers twitch in anger as she throws her hand forward to strike him across the cheek, forcing his head to turn to the side before she grabs his beard and pulls it forward roughly. The action makes the chair tilt forward on its legs as she forces him to look her in the eyes, and she burns holes into his face with her gaze as she speaks, "Who sent you to kill Fiyona Vaela?" She says.

He does not answer. But his eyes are focused on her now, staring at her with a certain indifference that makes her blood boil. She yanks his beard hard enough to pull out some hairs and she reaches to her belt, drawing her dagger and pressing it against the skin of his throat, "I know you heard me. Answer me or I will carve out your throat and bring it to my father." She seethes, pressing her blade further into his skin, enough for him to feel the sharp edge of the dagger.

She watches him as he slowly moves his gaze to look into her eyes. His eyes lack any fear despite her dagger pressing into the vein of his neck, and he analyzes her with the calmness of a predator. He does something that surprises her. Something he apparently has not done much of since he was captured. He speaks. "What is your name?" He questions, speaking as if this is just any other conversation on any other day.

She raises a brow at him, staying silent for a moment, before a chuckle slips past her lips, "Someone has a knife to your throat, and that is the question you ask?" She says.

He is expressionless as he answers, "I have a message for someone in the Vaela house. And looking at you now," his eyes move up and down her figure slowly, his gaze focusing on her once more, "I can assume you are the one I was meant to find."

She scoffs, "So what? You are some kind of messenger?"

"I am whatever my employer tells me to be."

"What are you then?"

"A warning."

Despite her dagger pressed into his throat, he leans forward, pressing his skin further into the blade and drawing blood onto the steel, the droplets moving down the blade and landing onto the stone floor as a whisper moves past his lips;

"We are coming for you. Lady Gaelyra." His words are a hissing whisper, "We are coming for you. And for everything you hold dear. By the time we are done, the Riverlands shall be awash with Vaela blood."

The warning is plain and clear. A message for her and her only. Whoever sent this man to kill Fiyona did so only so that Gaelyra would receive this message. This warning.

Gaelyra can not even begin to count the number of times she has been threatened in her life. But she does not care enough to count. If someone wants to threaten her, they may do as they please, but she has never taken too kindly to threats against her family.

She swallows the growing lump in her throat, and her hand tightens around her dagger, "Is that all?" She questions.

He gives a small nod, "That is all I have to say. I know nothing of my employer, I know not what their plan is, so, I have nothing for you." He says.

Gaelyra scowls, and she presses her dagger harder against his throat, "Very well then."

The guards outside, and Daemon, who leans against the stone wall, are startled as they hear a thud sound from the prison cell. Not even a moment later the door swings open and out walks Gaelyra. Her gaze is focused ahead and she does not look at the guards nor at Daemon as she moves down the corridor away from the cell, not bothering to close the door behind her. There's no need to.

Daemon turns to the cell and he halts in his movement, his eyes widening in slight shock. He quickly turns to follow after Gaelyra, not saying a word but following close behind her as the guards behind them take in the bloody scene within the prison cell.

Gaelyra feels fire in her skin as she walks through the corridors at a quick pace. Anyone she passes gasps in horror and points, but she keeps her gaze focused ahead as she heads for the courtyard.

The light of day is blinding to her as she steps out into the courtyard. Servants and guards walk around performing various tasks. Some are training, others are cleaning or straightening up, and there are some who are just sharing pleasant conversation with one another as they take a break from their daily duties. The sun against Gaelyra's hair creates a flaming beacon for all to see, and they turn to look at her.

Gasps are audible as she walks to the weapons rack at the edge of the courtyard, grabbing a spear and moving towards the courtyard. She sees movement on the balcony overlooking the courtyard and she glances up to see her father standing there with a horrified expression on his face. She knows that he will not be pleased with what she is doing. Jaegar has held this matter in the highest discretion, and under his watch there have been threats and attempts at murder, clearly discretion is not working anymore. They must send a message, loud and clear, that the Vaela house will not go down without a fight.

Gaelyra cares not what her father thinks, he may be against it, but she's going to send a message to those who dare make a move against her house.

Her returning expression is neutral as she moves to the center of the courtyard, finding a patch of dirt and stabbing the blunt end of the spear into the soft ground before she turns to address the large ground that has gathered around the space, "Hear me!" She shouts, "Threats have been made against me and my family. Just recently an attack was made against Fiyona Vaela, a woman guilty of no crime except bearing the Vaela name, this attack failed. Because the coward who arranged it did not come to do the deed himself, instead," she lifts her hand, and there is a head dangling within her grasp.

The assassin.

She grips his head by his beard, which is stained in blood. His mouth is slack jawed and limp, blood trailing from his neck and onto his face, streaming down his features all the way to the top of his bald head, dripping onto the cobblestone at Gaelyra's feet and collecting in a pool.

Her sword, Emerald Sting, is held in her other hand, the blade stained with the fresh blood of the assassin. She turns her head to the crowd, "They sent this man to do the deed for them." She turns to the spear she stabbed into the ground and after sheathing her sword she grabs the head on each side of the face and she stabs it onto the head of the spear, showing the head off for all to see.

"Someone within these walls told one of our enemies where the lady Fiyona would be. There is a spy! A traitor to my family!" She takes a step back, and she points to the man's head, "Let it be known, that anyone who strikes my family will not only face the wrath of the law they will face me! And I will show no mercy. To any man or woman who decides to hurt my family, this will be your fate!"

Her voice is strong as she looks at each and every face within the crowd, knowing that one of them, any of them, could be a spy. No one can be trusted. But now that she is home, she is going to find whoever is targeting her family, and she will destroy them.

A/N: I am so, so, SO sorry for the delay in the update. I'm ngl life has been hard lately but it's all good now and I'm going to try writing more so hopefully the updates will be closer together. Anyways I hope you guys like it! Things are really going to picking up from here so get ready my lovelies because I'M BACK! 💙

Taglist: @writtingforfun @simbaaas-stuff @dragon06fire @immyowndefender @clarym @vilmakamunen @livinthesweetlife @addie333333 @luma6 @enchantedbones @the-baybieruth @cxtrophobic @strawberry07cake @saramarvel07 @harrietgamersstuff @paranoyse

A/N: If you want to be put into the taglist let me know because it's still open! 💙

#house of the dragon #daemon targaryen x oc #daemon x oc #daemon targaryen #fantasy

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blackbutlerfandomnerddomain · 1 year

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Family

The skies of Meridian were crisp and gentle as the clouds form and shape around the sun and it's blue eyes, the trees are a lovely shade of light green and yellows as it transitions of summer to fall slowly but beautifully, carts and it's people selling candy goods and swapping tales galore of adventures of the kingdom and it's people. A large beast of scales flies pass the clouds with a mighty scream of a high pitch echoing off it's back.

On the back of the dragon rests a young pre-teen of Catherina-Anne "Weira" Vandom-Escanor, her red hair to her shoulders sway and curl in the harsh winds are her thin fingers touch a nearby cloud as a smile appears on her adorably cute face as her chocolate brown eyes shimmer and shine. Down bellow in the beautiful white stone castle covered in plants, a pre-teen boy with dark hair and a child boy of messy strawberry blond locks hurry down the halls in hushed words and steady feet, both dressed in garbs of brown trousers over their white leggings and golden and sapphire color themed tunics and covers. Their quick game of run was quickly ended when a women with fair hair done in two thick braids tied in some knots of jewels like her special crowns dressed in a grown of purples and blues with peacock feathers creating a halo around her neck and waist, her blue eyes fluttering in shock at the boys.

"Egon, Hunter, what are you doing? The event is starting soon." Said she as she examine the boys, soon she glanced around. "And where on all the universe is your sister?"

As if on que, the bell of a fire breathing scaly beast scaled pass the castle court yard in a fierce thick shadow with a roar and a girl's insane cackling laughter of a howl. Egon, the eldest of the two boys, stared ahead not dare looking at the woman as his voice, meek yet able to hear, say, "That wasn't her."

In the courtyard the dragon lands in the large water pool of a fountain and Catherina-Anne quickly slid down it's arched down wings, Lilly pads of the water grow and rise before her feet touch them and guide her to the safe of wetness ground. The girl didn't make it pass four steps away from the scene before she was met with the woman from before suddenly there with a curious yet knowing look on her face. "A-Aunty Elyon-" Said she with a mere shy giggle and awkward smile.

Catherina-Anne scoffs and rubs the waist of her grown as she walks along side her brothers. Her red hair tucked back and groomed in two buns within a bosses, her ears dangling silver and a special stone on each end of the hood's end, her body covered with bare shoulders of her floor length and honestly a lovely pale peach and orange sunset color with the sleeves at start puffed put then slim tighten by ribbon above the elbows and tie two lose bows on her wrists each, the gown laced and bordered with golden trim and designs to match the golden thin necklace wrapped around her neck.

"Relax my little dragon, this is just for tonight." Said to her left, there standing her father dress in a handsome shade of purple and dark wine reds, his beard grown to his cheeks in a well groomed and trimmed style as his hair that matches the fairness of his sister's is long and braided severely with golden hoops and jewels embedded into it like a weaving art project. To his left stands his wife, his fair angel in human skin, dressed in a dark black gown with some blues shining like lightning through a dark midnight sky as her red hair is done back long in a high bun with a lovely silver and gold clashed crown caress her top much like Phobos' reverse style of color and design's. Over the years she aged well like a fine fine wine as Phobos and everyone in Meridian and beyond can admit proudly, her beauty never once wavering and boring three wonderful children didn't stop the process one bit.

The prince took the hand of his wife and kisses the top of her palm, causing the lady to smile bashfully as if they were still dating in their youths.

Aaaaaaaaaand the final day is complete! I hope to do this again next year!

#phowillweek #phowill #phobos x will #will x phobos #phobos escanor #w.i.t.c.h phobos #prince phobos #will vandom #w.i.t.c.h will

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revelisms · 9 months

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All Gilded and Golden

I've been getting back into Zelda a bunch recently, so I've thought about sharing this fic here. It's an oldie and a big prosey braindump on Zelda/Link and gender identity, but it's become a bit of a personal favorite of mine :-)

Full story below and cross-posted on AO3.

Rating: M | WC: 2.9k | Zelda POV | Oneshot Even a lifetime of constructs can still find ways to be freed. Or: Zelda and Link, as the night sees them. CW: Mentions of war, blood and violence, themes around gender identity and sex, implied sexual context

The boisterousness of men had long dissuaded her: a vile, sordid thing; each galumphing footfall and splatting hand caking the walls with blood-thirst and sweat—but the coffins of seams and satin fared no better, a confine equally damning. On this night, one of countless predicated on ceremony, she is trapped between both.

Throughout the hall's great arches swelters the sweet of mulled wines and meads, roast hog and wild hare, holly glimmering gold with the light of a thousand pyres. She, the Head of their kingdom's exuberance, sits with a chained elegance: a witch burned for her beauty: a dismal observer to a joy numbly felt.

Boots on tile, shields, swords; metal gleamed and glistening. The banquet roars with the fires of a war freshly won. Blood still stains the silver of her soldiers' armor. The stench of it is suffocating. It spears the air like a tainted stream, and she—queen-becoming, highness of wisdom-born, yes—she is meant to take it in with grace; chew on its rotted flesh and sip down the wine of its poisoned fruit, gleefully.

(She will not—and, were it not for her namesake, the ritual itself would never be demanded. But the fates of ones birthright are ineludible. To tear away the vines of their becoming would be as foolish as attempting to split steal with bare hand alone.

She is not the first in this long line of magic, jeweled crowns smothering, to resent the title she was born with. She will not be the last.)

The thought is a dismissed one, spit into the moon-red of her wine and swallowed down. She has too many hours more to go to slip into such loathing already. But it will pass—it will always pass.

(Come star-rise, the men will scatter: to boast the tall tales of their kills, to drown their sorrows, to fuck—and she will retreat to the night; strip down the shackles of her womanhood: a crumpled, silken corpse, discarded upon the stones; be reborn, rebound, in steel and linen, if for a moment.)

That time is yet to come. She cannot think properly of it, now.

"My lords." Her voice carries clear; her posture lifted, with poise. The long wings of her dress unspool from her seat in a glistening tide. "My ladies." A smile blossoms, demure. "We have, yet again, struck down the forces of our enemy." Cheers, stamping, ripples of applause. "We are richer." A scepter drums raucously. "We are stronger." A chorus of agreement. "We are Hyrule, again."

Such pretty little words, for such blood-hungered hounds. Even the guise of nobility could do little to hide their banquet's unashamed victory.

And yet—one wolf in the pack does not cheer. In a sea of rubied armor, he stands, still as a slab of valley rock: blue-fire in his eyes, blood on his cheek. His mouth does not turn at the graze of her stare.

(He, alone, is the very reason for their triumph; he, whose holy blade had cleaved the filthen head of a demon embodied from the loom of its shoulders: plunged into the cursed light of veins throbbing still, any final shreds of beating life stripped red in a feral slurry.

He had torn into their enemy like a mauling bear, and slipped away like a fox to the shadows. None had chorused his name for celebration. None would. He preferred it, that way.)

Her eyes skip across the mud-streaked wheat of his hair, a knot in her throat. She swallows it down. "Now," she presses on, and raises her hands in a bright flourish, "we celebrate!" The hall erupts to a violent symphony, gauntleted fists pounding glinting steel, great cups filled and cheered. A bard strikes up a rousing jig. The shimmer of a fiddle strings starlight through the laughter's glimmering.

She sinks back to her seat, to the rattle of her chains, and lets the smile fall, gently. It is caught, tender as a fallen bloom, by a single voyeur—as it always is.

(It is improper, for him to keep his eyes on her so. But the wildness of them is like a wash of ocean foam to a blistered wound.)

She dares to let her attention lift, if only for a moment. The bow of his head stirs a quiet warmth beneath the twist of her palms.

He turns in a flush of dark velvet, gold sweeping about the steel at his shoulders, and is swallowed by the crowd.

⚘

Behind the castle walls, she is royal-born; within them, he is a pawn of war. There are expectations for what can and can't be—consequences, explicitly penned, for any lines one may dare to cross in the presence of those whose forgiveness could not be earned, with even a lifetime spent atoning.

But beyond these cursed stones, she is infinite—and he, well...

Outside of the armor, she's never quite sure what to make of him.

He carries himself as though identity itself had failed to settle cleanly about him; as though any christening could not dream of capturing the soul strained against it; as though the wilds of the Green-Valley River and mountain hearths alone knew which name to speak, by the light of the blood moon.

He is the binding of a chain in a great line of prophecy. He is tethered to her. In these moments alone, that is all the clarity she demands.

The night strips their titles to frayed fragmentations; buries their divinity beneath the eaves of the palace's outer gates. He approaches her, always, with the stars held on his back: lays a kiss at the bend of her knuckles, the silk of his hair warm at her hand: leads her, with silent, knowing strides, about the forests' brush, to the great unknown of the world beyond.

There is something comforting, strange though it comes, about the grand insignificance of one's life, when faced with the beauty of it all—miles upon miles of wilderness untamed: the eyes of the great mountains and endless reach of the wide-glittered sea the only ones privy to a history time could not dare to contain.

It should be a damning weight, to a typical mind. But, for her, it is freeing, in a way nothing could have prepared her for.

In the dark, rough earth bruising against her legs, she can breathe—heaving lungfuls of damp, mist-chilled air, eyes closed to the night. Can let her hair fall, rain-wet about the cave of her shoulders, without the burden of its inherent femininity. Can drag muddied fingers about the firm, battle-hardened heat of his own, to be lifted upon the stones' rugged slopes, canopied beneath the valley pine and blessed unquestioning.

(Sometimes, fingers slipping free about the cracks of her shell, she will find herself sobbing; and sometimes, shivering with the cold of the lake's shallows, she will lay a pale hand about the water-beaded slope of his waist and find herself envious; and sometimes, she will pull the heat of his tunic upon her, and hold it to the flat of her sternum with an ache she cannot (will not) name—not yet.)

Most times, they find points of conversation in the quiet. But he is one of few words—and she is one of too many—and the lull that bubbles between the scrape of their heels on dark earth and the claiming of a space wholly theirs, for a time, drifts through touch as much as it is spoken.

Tasting his spirit is enough, in any of its forms. It is the one thing that grounds her, these days.

⚘

"Were you always sure this is what you wanted?" she murmurs, against the tide of his breath.

The night air is cool with a storm across the way. His fingers shift the drape of his cloak about her shoulder. "Hard to say," he says, after a long moment. The cluster of weeds that thistle and sigh about the cliff's edge are frowned upon, thoughtfully. Beyond them, valley settlements lost to the pitch flicker with fireflies of flamelight. "I'm not sure I ever had a choice."

She twists her fingers about the heavy cloth wrapped upon them. "Why do you say that?" She glances up to find the soft angle of his jaw, the sharp line of his nose: golden lashes turned blue to the night: the deep of his eyes—sodalite, in the sun—now a blackish sea: swallowing, and moonbeamed.

He lifts one brow, with an absent sort of smile. The crook of it dimples his cheek. "Well." The smirk loosens, and his stare shifts to steel: hardened, unforgiving, where it wanders through the valley's shadows. "I had to keep going." It is not spoken like an explanation. It is a living fact: present, as much as past. "You take whatever hand you're dealt."

Her eyes slip away, far beyond, steady on the roughened peaks of the cliff's edge. She forces liquid down her throat. Lets her lashes fall. "Did you ever regret it?"

His lungs fill beneath her cheek. "Living?" he breathes out. He turns his eyes to the stars. His fingers burn against her shoulder. "No."

⚘

They are not caught (wine-red eyes ensure of it, though she has yet to be made privy to the silent promise her shadow has made to her)—but wandering eyes stir suspicion, nonetheless.

(The court elders may presume, at the simplest of grievances, that she has found an unsuitable lover—and that, perhaps, could be contested. She will not be so brazen as to display her affections in plain sight. But the palace's inner walls knew the shivers of her pleasure: knew she cradled a carefully-wrapped memory of the taste of his mouth, with every instance the touch of his lips had been given.

That scandal, in itself, is such a simple one. There are far greater grievances to be held by men drunk off priest-magick and blood-rites—but those, she takes care to never shine a light towards, at all.)

In the moments closed off from the prowling of their palace's royals, he shares worn tunics with her, unasked; shows her how to thread shut their daggered weaves with a surgeon's stitch, in place of embroidery. His fingers are gentle, so gentle, through the strands of her hair: the long coils of it plaited and smooth. In a mirror that glistens with the flicker of a single flame, she stares at the bared hollows of her cheeks through her fringe, and fights to put a name to the soul she sees.

(She will not keep those beautiful fabrics, no matter how her heart longs to pull them close. Their evidence would be incriminating to scavenging elders yearning for proof of a sentence yet to be made.

Still—there are things she can keep hold of, in her own ways. She gathers them into the empty space of her palms, locks them away in the small boxes of her being, with as much affection she can muster; tries, fiercely as she can, to not let the gleam of their treasure dim with resentment.)

When he leaves, the scent of him lingers—oiled leather, and sweet hay, and the damp green of a forest path before the light.

She drags her fingers about the bared slope of her shoulder, and aches for that hollow warmth to be her own.

⚘

"Ride away with me." The offer is laid into her hair with utmost reverence: one fully aware of its futility. It is no different than asking a long-lost spirit to return to mortal land, once more.

She twists the pale petals of a gardenia within her fingers. "I can't," she whispers, after two breaths. "You know I can't."

He does—and the crease that slides within the sun-kissed hollow of his cheek is accepting of it. His eyes take her soul by the hand and lead it into the shallows of possibility, no matter. They are the sea's green and the blue of dusk wrapped into one: enchanting, and fierce, and quiet.

"You can't, forever," he affirms. He tilts his head, the line of his weight an easy shift upon his palms, pressed to the marble at the empty space beside her. The garden whistles with the tune of a roving nightingale. A breeze sweeps the dark honey of his hair about his cheek. "But—" (Always, this—and, always, she waits: dreading, longing, for where his reason will get the better of her) "—I don't think an hour or two will hurt you that much."

Damn him. "You're determined, again, aren't you?" she sighs.

The flash of his teeth is sly, and lovely.

⚘

Slowly, she begins to resent the dawn.

The sun's glow spiders a scalding hand about the twist of her sheets: snares about the linen that puddles upon her bones, speckled with long-faded stains of bloodspots and grime. It draws him away, like the tipping night pulls the constellations down with it.

Drowsily, she will let the heat of his clothes be reclaimed: sway into the roughened care of his touch, the kiss of his breath upon her breast.

He will dress with the morning light simmering through the fibers, golden through the long frays of his hair. His touch will haunt her: knuckles pressed warm to the back of her shoulder, brow brushed upon the loose curls of her plait.

The birds will chitter through the open window, long after he is gone. Sitting up in a bare, chilled slump, she will lift a weary hand: begin the slow process of unweaving the ties of her hair, a ripple of moon-yellow about the slope of her back.

Across the room, costumes of royalty will catch the sun's glimmer with lace-clotted teeth.

⚘

Eventually, Impa, reddish eyes downcast, reveals her actions to keep them hidden from prying councilmen—shared simply upon the steps of their chambers, a bottle of mead set between them—and there is little she can do, to wrap her heart around the countless things this woman has always been to her, whether bound by blood or not.

(Most of all, it is her shadow's very being—her strength, her rage, her power; it is beautiful, and it is unforgiving, and it is warmer than any flame.

It eases out confessions long sheltered from the daylight, like a poison drawn from a wound: small, shivering, horrid things. Once she has started, she can't find the will to stop.)

"I wish it wasn't like this." Her heart feels heavy—so heavy. "I wish another life could have some to me. That I wasn't spending—spending so much time, trapped between words—"

Impa's mouth is thin. Her eyes are kind. "Why?"

"Because I don't—" The words shake: incredulous, enraged. "I don't know why I feel like this—"

"Highness." And surely Impa, herself, knows—for she wears her authenticity upon her sleeve; carries her presence without any possibility of burying it. "I understand. I do." The bottle hangs over the great slope of her knee. "But you do not have to crawl through the pages of a life you were not present in, to a find a reason for why you feel the way you do."

If only it were that simple—oh, if only—

"Your story has not been predefined—Crown, or not," Impa continues firmly. It crumbles any scraps of denial to measly things, forgotten. "We are living; oral histories and songs—our existence transcends language." Vermillion eyes turn with gentle focus down a strong shoulder. "Our tales do not have to fit into the words of men."

⚘

Perhaps, indefinability in itself is the answer to it all—and what a freeing, terrifying thought that is.

It is what he has embraced. It is what she has yearned for.

(But it is not an explanation enough—and she is searching, searching still.)

⚘

The banquets arrive and depart in grand flourish, one after another after another, harkening the seasons like a vile overture.

They will never end, so long as a kingdom is here to lay claim to them. She is not so foolish as to forget that. Battles will still be fought, and lost, and won: blood will still be shed in her name: and, contained within the clamor of their noblefolk, they will appear in their assigned roles—allow their eyes to find each other, as they always do; one affirmation of countless unspoken others, no matter the wilds that surround them—and carry out their respective duties, in silence.

It is a routine time will not abandon; one she is unable to avoid.

But it will pass. It will always pass. That, she has not forgotten, either.

⚘

Dusk blooms violet and pink across a blue-blackened streak of rolling hills, her breath sharp and cool between the galloping—and for this moment alone: eyes sinking closed, pressed to his back, to the warm furs of his steed: they are flying.

She tightens her hands about the curve of his waist. Turns her eyes to the sky's settling dark, far beyond the horizon.

He turns over his shoulder, hair fluttering against her cheek. "Where to?"

It is an endless host of possibility—the chance to run across the farthest edges of the world and dip down to the lowest rocky points of the southern shoals—and she could let him ask her, for a lifetime. A smile curls across her mouth, absently, where she tips her chin into his shoulder.

"As far as you want to go," she murmurs. A grin creases through his cheek.

In this moment, she is winged, and golden, and glittering.

In this moment, she doesn't need a definition.

#zelda fanfic #loz #zelda #gilded and golden #link #zelink #so...like of 90% is coming from me just being a nonbinary kid growing up on zelda and projecting onto link *a lot*#(didn't we all)#blame this on me getting emotional listening to zelda piano covers #augh this series #also this is...sort of oot timeline?#not really sure #words just happened #writing #cw war mention #cw blood #cw violence

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supportivecircle · 1 year

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The Lanolin Ship Studies #3

Hey everyone! Lanolin and I are here with another Ship Study, where we study and breakdown the pros and cons of the most popular Sonic the Hedgehog ships! Fans of the series will probably be wondering, "Wait, what happened to #1 and #2?" Well loyal readers, it turns out some trolling antis got those posts taken down. Apparently, a lot of them didn't like the thoughts I had towards their favorite ships, K.K. Slider x Sonic (K.K. Slonic) and Amy Rose x Chun-Li (Amy-Li), and brigaded my posts to get them falsely taken down. Don't worry though, I won't let the haters stop us! I will continue to provide you with thoughtful, and sometimes critical, insights into all the best ships while I work on getting those posts back up. Today's ship has definitely earned it's spot at #3 in the most popular ships:

That's right, it's Lara Croft x Rouge the bat (Larouge). Wow! Look at them! Lanolin sure is excited to explore the aspects of this relationship today. For a little detail on these two, in case you somehow don't know, Rouge the Bat is an infamous jewel thief, super spy, and occasional hero from the Sonic the Hedgehog series, while Lara Croft is a renowned archeologist and explorer from the Tomb Raider series. Looking at the two of them, you might not have guessed they'd have shared such a love for ancient artifacts and exploring old tombs, but looks can be deceiving! They have a lot in common which makes them quite the priceless couple.

Pro #1: Shared Love of Relics Did you know Lara Croft has a huge artifact collection from her adventures? This is where she differs from other archeologists. See, Lara Croft likes to take artifacts from ancient sites and just stores them within the personal library of her mansion to stare at while she sips on her morning tea (did I forget to mention that she's british?). Rouge the Bat also takes artifacts and jewels for herself. Oh yeah, and Lara Croft is super-rich. The two of them can keep all the gems and statues for themselves without needing to worry about money! Just two girls traveling the world looking for ancient burial sites and tombs to raid.

Pro #2: They Cover Each Others’ Weaknesses In Combat Rouge the Bat is a bat. She can fly and zip around the battlefield when things get a little hairy. Using her powerful legs, she can deliver swift spin kicks that are capable of drilling through hard surfaces with her Pick Nails! She was even able to go toe-to-toe with Knuckles and end the duel in a stalemate. Lara Croft on the other hand is a master markswoman. She is capable of pinpoint accuracy when dual wielding pistols, firing an assault rifle, or hunting animals with a bow. They completely cover each other's weaknesses when it comes to fighting enemies, whether they be agents of GUN, badniks, or members of the Fiamma Nera! If anyone gets too close to Lara, she can count on Rouge to kick their butts. They truly make an amazing battle couple.

Pro #3: Chest Counterweights Now before anyone gets weird about this, it’s a defined physical trait that both of these ladies have larger than average breasts. This actually works out very well for the both of them as a pairing! Because Rouge is much smaller than Lara, she can actually be carried on Lara's back in her backpack when traveling.

As shown in the above diagram, by going back to back, these two can offset the heavy weight that rests on their fronts and they act as perfect counterweights for each other. This way they can help mitigate the pains that can come with having a large chest.

Now, when reading through the countless fanart, fanfiction, and discussion of this pairing I can only find one real con that persists between iterations:

Con #1: Rouge Won’t Settle Down! Rouge the Bat is non-committal! Who could ever hope to keep her chained down when she has wings and was born to fly? It’s definitely a problem for this couple, but personally, I think they can slay that dragon. After all, Lara has experience in slaying dragons. Maybe she can locate the Dagger of Xian stuck in this dragon and pull it out again!

That brings us to the end of the latest entry in our Ship Study series! I hope you all enjoyed it. After researching it, I find this ship quite enjoyable, and I think Lanolin is a big fan too! Thanks for reading everyone, I promise I will work on getting the first two entries back up in full as soon as I can. Based on my data, I already know which couple will be the subject of Study #4. I’ll leave you with a hint, but I think for a lot of you it will be a dead giveaway: both of these mystery solvers always find the truth. Say goodbye Lanolin!

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invisibleraven · 9 months

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"I would love to go with you. Not as friends." / Jayla

Julie bustled from room to room, fixing sheets, dusting furniture, and fluffing pillows. Kayla was right there beside her, filling the biscuit tins, tending the fires, and opening the curtains.

It wasn't glamorous being the housemaids of the Lord and Lady Wilson, even though they were kind and just employers. It was long days full of hard work, little rest, and drudgery. But it was a good position, and Julie couldn't imagine another situation she'd like as much as this one.

Plus it had the added benefit of being with Kayla every day. Kayla who had taken her under her wing when she first arrived; telling her which other servants to stay on the good side of, how to cajole snacks from the cook, the best view of the gardens so Julie could sketch on her half day.

Kayla who shone in the candle light of their share room as they pushed their beds together to snuggle. Whose kisses enflamed Julie and made her blush every time she recollected the latest one. Kayla who owned Julie's heart, just as she trusted Julie with her own.

It was just-Julie wished they lived in a world where they could love each other out loud. Walk hand in hand through the estate, serenade each other with ballads and poetry. Perhaps marry one day, and go off to run a small hotel together, or a tea shop by the sea.

Yet the world refused to work like that. The world expected them to fancy young men, to stop working once they were married and resign themselves to be wives and mothers. Neither option sounded pleasant to Julie.

It all came to a head one day as the village fete was announced, and all the other maids made plans to go with their beaus. Julie sighed as she heard each of them plan to ride the helter skelter, or stuff themselves with candy floss.

"What's wrong my jewel?" Kayla asked once they were alone, folding sheets in the laundry.

"It's the fete," Julie said sadly. "I would love to go with you. Not as friends."

"I know," Kayla replied, reaching over to squeeze her hand. "I wish we could. Perhaps one day the world will be kinder."

"That day can't come soon enough," Julie complained. "I want to go and win you a prize, or taste test all the jams and pies with your hand in mine. Get caught kissing under the big maple tree that every couple carves their names into."

"That sounds lovely," Kayla said wistfully. "We could still go, it would be a lot of fun. Or..."

Julie perked up at that. "Or?"

"The family is away that night, all the other staff are going, save the hall boys. We would have the place to ourselves. Perhaps we could enjoy a long bath together. Lady Caroline won't mind loaning us some of her fancy Parisian soap. Turn on the Victrola and dance in the great hall. Gorge ourselves on the leftover crepes that Mrs. Bowen has saved in case someone gets peckish at midnight."

"That sounds like a much more fun night than going to some silly fete," Julie replied.

And it was.

The bath was a little cold, a little cramped, but they slipped and slid against once another, luxuriating in the lavender scented water, blowing bubbles at one another as they laughed. Ate the crepes and some decent wine from the nice dishes, and washed them so no one would be the wiser. Turned the music on and swayed, right out in the open, uncaring that they were in simple dresses and not fancy gowns. They had each other, what more could they need?

And later, curled together under their thing and scratchy sheets, they lay there, discussing their dreams, their hopes. Giggling when they heard their fellow maids go to bed, shouting through the door that they had missed an amazing night.

But Julie and Kayla knew that they had the best night of all, and with that, let themselves slip into slumber, never letting one another go as they slept. Nor did they ever, for the rest of their lives, always biting back their laughter about what good friends they were.

#filled prompts #ficlet #jayla #julie and the phantoms

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blankdblank · 1 year

Text

Protego Pt 4 - Snakes and the Stage

Masterlist here

...

Right off the cover of the morning Ravenclaw paper several people read the story on the Rowena Ravenclaw heirloom vase that had been tucked away and now discovered by Jewels with her highly skilled Morpher eyes that could uncover hidden clues others could never guess to be missing. Even the Grey Lady had praised the teen on the discovery and spread the word on who found her mother’s gifted vase a professor was adding to a special case for display.

She wasn’t trying to locate this, merely had heard from a passing ghost of a misplaced old book of students in clubs from the time her mother was in school, still yet to be located. For the third time in trying to find traces of older generations she had located something precious by chance. All drawing unexpected attention her way when it seemed all the ghosts were after regaling the history of each and how prized they truly were, always with dozens trying and failing to find them.

Praise that became mingled with word on her appearance to remind those the name mislead to just which student had found it. Praise that made its way up to the portrait of Salazaar Slytherin, who had been striding wordlessly from the fifth floor down to the hall outside where the child would soon pass, luring with him every Slytherin student who wanted to see what their founder had chosen to leave his floor for.

“How does she even do it? I get lost on the way back from the Hospital Wing each week and I tried marking the halls with moonlight glowing chalk arrows. Whole school is built to befuddle the mind. Ravenclaw saw to that.” Remus’ hushed utterance to Sirius died in their stop at the end of the hall. To peer over the open archway blocked off with railing when the staircase there had moved to see the pool of Slytherin robe clad students chasing an echo of who was walking about the school.

Together they looked at the other and wordlessly turned to bolt down the hall to reach the next staircase opening to hurry along out of sheer chaos this could stir up they could revel in watch of.

Slow and raspy Parseltongue left the lips of the bald headed founder with eyes that sat deep purple dead on and were neon green from the side, beard grey and long tied in a sleek braid to match his long shimmering robe and boots the toes of were visible out from underneath. Aimed at the crowd of students, namely the maroon haired one who stopped at the simple ‘Good Morning, Miss Jewel’ and flinched out a smile to the founder and repeated it back stopping everyone around her to stare. Notice of the attention of everyone triggered a flash of bright royal blue out over her hair and eyes and pink across her cheeks.

“A Parselmouth, in Ravenclaw!” One of the boys exclaimed and timidly Jewels tried to inch back only to head there were students still there blocking her way. Not five feet away where she had been jostled by a few of the arriving Slytherin students that pooled into every free space within the hall Lily stood silent, eyes swiveling over others to see what might happen without so much as a scoff in support of her sister for uncertainty of how that would fare for herself.

All the girl could do was to listen to the several minutes of comments on all the founder had heard of the latest discoveries. Encouraging more of her wanderings in hopes of finding something of his own that had been hidden for a student much like she had proven herself to be. Something he did not name but hinted to be of great importance to the history of the school and his own great legacy. A search he would be keeping track of and urged her to report to him should she find anything of that nature. And when she assumed her face would light on fire for how hot they had grown during the mostly one sided conversation he simply turned to stride away leaving her in the silent hall that at once erupted in noise. Noise and near demands to know just what had been shared with her by the most reclusive of founders portraits.

“Maybe the hat didn’t take quite long enough, seems a snake has slithered loose of the dungeons.” James sneered.

“I thought only his heirs could talk to snakes,” Peter stated in a look up at his spectacled friend he shadowed whenever possible.

“Explains the eyes,” another boy spoke up from the other side of the students grouped around Jewels’ who felt her chest was about to explode due to the pound of her heart.

Bodies surrounding the cocky teen parted in a firm shove doled out by Narcissa beside her sister Andromeda, the latter who planted a supportive hand on Jewel’s back to say. “Any one of you would be so lucky as to bear blood from this founder’s line. No wonder she has such skill in charms with his blood in her veins. Should anyone have something to say about the line of Salazaar Slytherin you can take it up with any one of the Noble House of Black.”

More bodies were moved by the sisters flanking the stunned newly named descendant of the smirking founder that simply passed beyond sight at the first corner he arrived at, to stroll back to his portrait to sit in wait of more news on this particular heir of his. Not a moment until the trio were inside a clear hallway did the hand move or their place shoulder to shoulder with her.

Narcissa was the one to break the silence as the again maroon haired and purple eyed younger girl looked up at the older students who had helped her. “Muggle-Born or not that gift of speech to snakes is very precious to our family in particular. A great many Wizards can speak to a great many animals. Even have a cousin who can talk to Cockatoos.” Andromeda nodded and Jewels looked between them again. “Clearly you aren’t from just any line, ask your parents to name their ancestors and we can help to trace back through our very expansive family tree to see how you link to Salazaar.”

“I, was adopted.”

Andromeda said, “Even better. When you find the adoption papers just write us your mother name and we will search from that. Much cleaner trace through Witches than Wizards, for obvious reason, pertaining to bloodlines.”

Again all Jewels could do was nod and Narcissa gave her shoulder a pat, “Anyone gives you a hard time you flag one of our family down and we will put a stopper to it.”

“Thank you,” Jewels replied softly as the sisters turned away, trying all she could to not let her hair bleed neon green to show how deeply her own sister’s silence had hurt her.

“What did he say?” Andromeda asked in her own pause to look back that had Jewels stop in place to do the same.

“Oh, said he lost something. Wanted to see if I could find it. Said it was important, but didn’t say what it was.” Jewels stammered back.

“Hmm,” Narcissa replied in a pondering thought to herself, and Andromeda replied, “Slytherin prizes cunning and intuition. No doubt it is a test. Happy hunting.”

All Jewels could do was nod, nod and find a corner to hide away in for a few moments to press her cheeks to the cold stone walls in hopes it might cool her down faster and not look like she had sunburn in the beginnings of a grey stretch of the year. It seemed in her path to study hall she had lost some length to that tether formerly binding her and Lily by the rib, and the slack now had left her wobbling in the hard wind of discovering just who and what she was capable of being here in this odd world alone without Lily there to lead the way. Her sister had admirers and time to fill with friends all her own. A sharp knife wound to heal from at the unfashionable task of making friends just on the person she once imagined herself to be.

Never more than now did she feel balancing atop the edge of a knife, feet bleeding in every inch gained after entrance to a world of magic with just as much vast empty unknown ahead as the Muggle World did to her for a future place in it. Jobs were rarely mentioned, games and clubs too with so much to study up on she had taken to grabbing random books weekly to pour through in hopes of learning something that might make her feel a bit safer.

A hand upon her arm had hopeful eyes turn to land on someone not her sister, a fourth year she shared a room with had a wide smile to ask, “What’s it like? Talking to snakes?”

Questions and curiosity soon bubbled over the study hall she was led to where another student brought out their pet snake to actually learn what the animal thought and felt about the student and others it lived around. More an intriguing experiment than something able to be shunned over.

Out of which a notice of a title on a book today chosen from a library trip had another boy beginning what would be an avalanche of ties of friendship all through her house. Firm and unshakable ties to anchor what she could grow on and inspire confidence to bolster tries to see how far she could go, and where these seven promised years within these hallowed halls could lead her. Hope, finally, without either of her sisters or parents here to see or hinder tries to soar alone and test her true capabilities and what could be gained from them.

“Why do we have to be related?!” Sirius whined plopping face down onto his bed, kicking his feet in frustration at the air until they fell useless again in the end of his wish to do so and he fell back to moping alone.

Remus smirked atop his own bed, answering, “The House of Black is really big. We are even related by marriage a few times removed.”

That only made Sirius huff and look up at his friend mid plant of his chin into the crumpled blanket below his face after he’d knocked his pillow off the bed by accident. “My parents are first cousins, I am not marrying my first cousin!”

“Any of your direct aunts or uncles have her eyes?”

“No, obviously not or we would know who she came from.”

“Then there you go, not first cousins.” Remus answered with a grin.

“That does not help, how am I going to get her to date me if we’re possibly related, Remus?! Muggles don’t like inbreeding how Pure-Blood families have done!”

“Then you know the answer to the dilemma,” gaining a glare in return for the lack of help at that statement. “Find out who put her up for adoption before she does and in the meantime get her to trust you. Build off a friendship, or at least try to not give her reason to hit you like she did James. He still gets dizzy you know, won’t admit it but he does. Nearly fainted last week going up all those stairs in a hurry.”

“Best way to do that is to keep James far away from Severus, but we both know how that will go. Didn’t know the idiot better I’d be more concerned for the girl off how intent he is to land so much as a cider with her post Quidditch match.”

Remus nodded then turned the book in hand and plopped it in the bed in front of his crossed legs luring Sirius to crawl off his bed and join him at looking on at the passage Remus had found to tap with a finger. “And I think I just found the perfect trick to making a map of this school, mischief.” The word and process making the pair smirk and get started to gather all necessary to make not just one map, but four. All that could be used to varying levels of the word so suit all of their needs and wishes.

Minerva outside the study hall was there to be the next one to find the teen who was abundantly intriguing today for so many. “Miss Evans, I was wondering you might consider taking lunch with me?”

“Alright,” she was answered timidly and followed to her private office where atop a small round table the meal was already waiting in private. Space and lack of audience that was enough to coax out true feelings on how the Veela products had been changing how others made Jewels feel. Now to be added with how she felt having learned a new fact about herself and the impact that had on perception of her as well.

“I think, I could be happy here.”

The words made Minerva smile at the timid creep of a grin across the young girl’s lips. “Wonderful to hear. On occasion our students who are separated from siblings, namely twins do have a rough go at the start depending on how intertwined they are. Are there any other areas where you feel might hinder your goals here?”

“Well, I truly don’t know what goal I’m meant to have. Even back home, the world is such a big place, how do you know where you fit in it?” A twitch wider Minerva’s grin spread at this new avenue of confusion she knew she could help with.

“I will say Muggle-Borns to face some difficulties in finding the proper professions. I do have some booklets you can look through in various fields of employment pertaining to each subject we offer here I have compiled myself. As some of the Ministry approved lists can tend to be rather unhelpful unless you have relatives to aid in understanding the whole process and a great many of students like yourself found trouble with it.” She just needed some extra care, a sentiment she would pass on to Albus that night at supper, who she had been keeping atop the progress of one of the troubled first years she mentored, like the other Professors did for their own collective students who chose to entrust them as a mentor.

Yet the Headmaster felt himself drawn to the sister of the young girl Minerva spoke of, curious of how the simply popular girl truly felt to be taking to the school and division from her family. Subtly he brought up Lily and then had the sister added to the subtle check in list for the Head of Gryffindor house. The simple, “I’m fine,” from Lily during study hall had Minerva raise a brow at the fiery haired girl, who turned her head to lift a finger at the group of girls that shared they were saving her a seat.

“I had a word with your sister yesterday,” Minerva started to say and was cut off.

“If this is about the snake thing she’s always talked to animals.”

“Well, no, it was about some booklets I have a spare copy of for you on Wizarding professions to help you adjust to a future outside the Muggle world, should you so wish.”

“Oh, no,” she said with a creeping grin, “One of the boys in Gryffindor, James and his friends are going to be Aurors, sounds like fun. I might do that. And Quidditch, sounds like a fun game.” Widely her smile popped and she turned away from the Professor who let out a disapproving sigh.

“Fun game,” the Bloody Baron spoke aloud in disbelief luring Minerva’s eyes to the eavesdropping ghost, “Clearly someone is overcompensating to cover their separation anxiety.”

“Clearly,” the Professor answered, “How is it the slower tempered child is the least welcoming to assistance?”

The Baron chuckled and stated, “Related to Slytherin past a few confusing hurdles, should the bond with her sister not return to how it once was, she has family. Now the question being from which line, but there is anchoring family ties there to fall back on.”

Family, the word that caught in Lily’s ear. A reminder that after their final classes she was quick to find her sister and Severus for a forced study session outside to shut up the worry of being replaced should the mysterious birth family be discovered and welcoming. Now at least a few days a week on top of weekend study sessions Lily’s friends would eventually pull her away from at their own wishes to spend more time with her to show off more of the school.

Softly Severus huffed as he watched Lily trot off and looked to Jewels saying, “I know a way to the kitchens, hungry?”

“Yes,” she answered and would climb to her feet to walk with him, ignoring as he did the comments from Bellatrix, the third sister of the two who supported her the day her mysterious lineage was outed to the school. That girl’s voiced curiosity on why a Mudblood would be chosen for his affections over someone clearly from a more elevated bloodline, even if just a Half-Blood, as if there was a second Pure-Blood involved she would not have been put up for adoption into a Muggle family’s reach, stung at them both terribly. Not just for the insult to Lily but also for Jewels at his muttered insults in defense of Lily alone with what seemed to be no notice of how his words could hurt her feelings in being reminded again she wasn’t even close to his type while being damn near identical physically to his prized Lily.

Those comments wouldn’t end. Nor would those from an older boy named Dolph, who Sirius would gain his own lengthy bout of detention after being drug off of the older boy that dared to speak lewdly about the sister now trying not to show her pain to the boy she admired so much if only for not rubbing his rejection in her face. Flitwick broke that chain of thought with a grin and step into her path, “Miss Evans, I happened to wonder if you might be up to joining our choir.”

“Oh, I don’t, I’m not good with crowds.”

“That is no problem, perhaps we might simply convince you to audit the club, see how it works for yourself?”

“I, I can do that.” She said with a timid nod that widened his smile and he shared the time he would expect her that night then walked away leaving her to look up at Snape and said, “I seem to be popular today.”

“You are always more popular than you realize.” He replied and nodded his head ushering her on still towards food, ignorant of the grin that crept across her lips at the slight compliment just for her.

Off to the side of the other students inside the hall choir practice was held in Jewels sat atop a stool curious the entire time of why the school had the club at all. But the interestingly lyrics and catchy tune to Flitwick could only grin as she gradually eased into harmonizing with the other students and did choose to hang behind to speak with the excited Professor.

“How did you like it?” he asked having shrank the toads down to hand back to students to take them upstairs to the students who brought them.

“Could be fun,” she said and anxiously tucked her lower lip in her mouth to wet it then asked, “Can I ask,” he nodded in the crack of her voice to encourage her to keep speaking up any form of curiosity to help anchor her into a more researched decision. “Why is there a choir here? I mean, it’s a school for magic, do we actually sing spells or anything like that?”

The mild blush on her cheeks due to her wording had him chuckle and answer, “Much like the Muggle world we have entire fields of entertainment, from sports to all forms of arts. Films, music, dance. While in school it might not seem to be useful now it is an outlet to a very lucrative and prized avenue of professions.” A light seemed to bubble up in her eyes and he continued fighting to not smile proudly at the notion he might have helped her to find a future path to pursue on top of her studies. “Now I will say there are a few magical creatures and cursed items that calm with singing, so it is not entirely without use in other subjects we teach here. In fact in my fifth year class we will touch on items involving music.”

“They really have actors and dancers? Professional?”

“Oh yes,” he said. And waved his hand to show her over to a built in cabinet he rummaged through to fashion a stack of magazines with moving images and enchanted articles that would glimmer or have other effects to accentuate the subject matter stirring a wide grin across her face as he named each of them for her and passed them to her.

“There are a great number of professions, I even included an art magazine as we also do have an Art Club as well. All the way from Medical fields, potion and enchanted item makers and tradesmen for building homes and various repairs included, clothes makers, entertainers, athletes, and the broad spectrum of professions to still explore all we have yet to learn of the Wizarding World not entirely limited to creatures and plants. Why there has been a discovery of some very intriguing trees a broom company is testing to see if they can be modified for use there. Take your time reading through these and should you wish to pursue this field I will take as much time as possible to help you ready for it.”

Cradling the magazines to her chest she replied, “They used to have plays we put on in our primary school and the daycare center back home. I quite liked it. I think I might come back, if you’ll have me?”

“You are always welcome, Jewelia.” Flitwick said and in her next excited nod watched her hurry to leave so she could get back up to her dorm in the tower so she could go through all of them. The new glimmer of hope in the young girl’s eyes had the elated Professor hurry to meet Minerva in her usual tea time before bed to share news of a possible path the other professors would also be intrigued to know about.

So many students could not see past the allure of being an Auror, such a flashy profession with a wide use of topics learned here most would learn require a hefty amount of good grades to achieve a chance at it. So each oddity of a student after a wilder considered area to pursue was often encouraged more to not allow chance to decrease their passion in the field.

She was skilled no doubt in charms and other topics, but always in varying roles those could be useful there, and in the least she could have a fall back side job to pay the bills until she gained traction on stage or on screens. But like most students there was time to influence their plans and they would have to watch and be present for any help required along the way.

Pt 5

#Marauders Era #Minerva McGonagall #Remus Lupin #Sirius Black #Salazaar Slytherin #Narcissa Black #Andromeda Black #Lily Evans #Parseltongue #Hogwarts #Severus Snape #Professor Flitwick

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