the throne verse

two treasures which make ardyn happy. (ノ´ з `)ノ

( art credit: @owlteria​ )

Another day Ardyn spent within the quiet confines of the antechamber of his apartments within the Citadel. His tablet ensconced in his lap. A favored garish colored cocktail sat upon the table beside him. It was quiet and the attendants left him in peace and tranquility.

Broken now only by the soft click of the large doors leading into his suited. His gaze left the trivial article he thumbed through no longer able to hold his attention. Greeted instead by something far more interesting: the sight of Noctis dressed down with his favorite food upon a plate. “Oh Noct.” Words coming out to a purr.

His husband gave him one of his charming smiles that brightened up the entirety of his face. The plate held up in offering. How could the immortal resist such temptations when placed before him? Ardyn was a man of his vices. Noctis was but the greatest of them that he would fall to again and again.

“Just found it in the kitchens. Thought you might like it.” And still despite all the years they had been together Noctis still came to him with that slightly awkward charm of his endearing as it was.

He was beckoned over with the slow crooking of two fingers and a lascivious smirk upon Ardyn’s features. A swipe of the icing upon his finger that traced a path down the side of Noctis’ neck. “Hmm. I can think of other things I would wish to devour.” His lips lingered over the mess he had made of his husband before his tongue darted out to lap it from pale flesh. A hand to reach and give a soft squeeze to Noctis’ shapely ass. The little gasp he received in turn was a gift within itself.

An arm came about his lover’s waist pulling Noctis carefully in his lap where the tablet occupied no longer. Finally able to give his considerate lover a proper kiss. Ardyn could think of no two things that brought him such contentment now.


anonymous asked:

Do you think Crielle's feelings for Gwyn would have changed if he was just Unseelie or ruined her body (instead of both)? If he was just Unseelie, would she have given him to the Unseelie kingdom and tried having another child? If he had ruined her body, would she still love some aspects of him instead of constantly plotting his demise?

I know I’ve talked about what would’ve happened if he’d not injured her before and was Seelie (he would’ve been raised and loved). But as for him being Unseelie / not injuring her? I’m not sure, tbh. That changes everything. I think they’d still hate him, but in a more detached way, and I almost wonder if that would have made them smarter about killing him early on.

I mean this is a woman who has killed her parents and covered it up. If she could be more detached from the situation and less entangled in it, I think she could have easily found a way to kill Gwyn as a child. (I honestly think one of the reasons she didn’t, was partly because she thought death was too good for him, and wanted revenge for what he inflicted upon her).

Any Unseelie get in that bloodline wouldn’t live very long. Regardless of what Gwyn’s powers were, he would have been destined to die very young. Reputation matters so much to the An Fnwy bloodline.

As for if he had ruined her body but was Seelie - she could have never gotten past the damage to her heartsong. It was like a permanent crack in the foundation of who she was, and she could never heal from it, and she also refused to let it go (if she had say, chosen to let go of her heartsong and have it transform into something else, there’s actually a chance she could have accepted him - which is something Gwyn realises and starts to grieve in COFT - that she did this for Efnisien, but not for him).

This realisation is actually a huge part of Gwyn’s…growth. I mean Gwyn murdered a stranger, drove a child mad, and then then hated himself enough for it that he went to another stranger (Augus) to get his heartsong changed. So he has this moment in COFT where he realises that Crielle wouldn’t do that much for him; but did it for Efnisien. Let appearance go so she could shaft Gwyn one last time, basically, lol. I think it’s a moment where he comes to term with…this idea that he’d never have his mother’s love, and that there was nothing he could have done, because she could have chosen to love him, and turned away from it.

This is all sounding super grim, lol.

I suppose it’s a habit I have as a writer, is that if I’m given enough time to think things over, I really like locking a character into one path. I like the…tragic-ness of that and I like the strength that comes in overcoming the circumstances or events that arise from that (or cowardice). Like, was there any way that Crielle could have loved Gwyn? Not without changing her fundamentally as a person, or changing Gwyn. They were both sort of locked into this horrific dance with each other, and there’s nothing Crielle could have done to prevent it, and nothing Gwyn could have done to stop it. Certainly Crielle is culpable for all the abuse she inflicted on him afterwards, but yeah, I like thinking of the other paths and then blocking each one off via plot or characterisation.

My mind is a lot of ‘what if this? What if that? What if this?’ And if I want to get to a certain point like, ‘what if Gwyn and Augus actually fall in love?’ ‘what if Gwyn decides to save Augus?’ ‘how do I stop Gwyn from dying?’ ‘what if Augus decides to save Gwyn?’ etc. I have to look at…a lot of possibilities? I don’t see them all. I miss things. I have like, moments of ‘well, damn, there were all these other options and I didn’t see them.’ But I get a lot of satisfaction from quietly blocking off the options and leaving a character with a pathway, because that makes me feel like…their actions are logical, even if they’re emotional or irrational, idk how to explain that. That’s a weird thing to say.

The only way Gwyn would have been loved, is if he’d been Seelie, and not harmed her with his light. In other words: if he’d literally been a completely different person, unrecognisable to us in every way.

Shidge x Asoiaf // doodle by my friend

“Sometimes while watching Voltron, I think of how Shiro and Pidge’s big-brother-little-sister-ish relationship would remind me of Jon Snow and Arya Stark from A Song of Ice and Fire, and so this came to be. Instead of Direwolves they have dire… lions. Shiro does not have a Scar or the tuft of white hair or the false arm yet, I figured that just as Jon got his facial scars and burnt hand at castle black, Shiro in Game of Thrones verse would receive his injuries/trauma after leaving Winterfell.”  -my friend’s description

Spotted– the students of St. Baelor’s Academy. Targaryen. Tyrell. Stark. And…Martell? The children of the rich, the powerful, and the scandalous with some issues of their own. Nothing daddy’s money can’t fix though, right? Here they learn the hard facts of life, the Queen’s of the Upper East Side, their Kings, and their enemies aren’t just born over night. Will the students be able to get through school or will the fustercluck of parties, booze, brunches and heartbreak make it all come tumbling down? We’ll have to wait and see, and I’ll be here to keep you updated. One thing about being on top of the world– it gives you a long, long way to fall. 

                                    xoxo, gossip girl

Keep reading

@shrinemade continued from

Costia’s teeth bite down onto her lower lip, she knows just as Lexa does, her lingering there was nothing short of inappropriate. And yet… She didn’t want her to leave. ❝ No… ❞ The brunette’s fingers curl into her own hair which she’d just finished unbraiding, pushing it onto her opposing shoulder. ❝ Stay? ❞

Lexa drew in a heavy breath, afraid of what could happen if she stayed as Costia wished. She didn’t want to disappoint her, more than anything she wished she could stay. And as she looked at that soft skin being exposed after the hair was moved onto another shoulder, it was harder to do the right decision. “Costia…” she whispered, but her voice wasn’t exactly saying no.

anonymous asked:

So I just finished tearing through Game Theory/Five Thrones, and I have one burning question...what poor therapist has to deal with Ash and his "mafia underworld" issues? Because I'm just picturing poor Ash trying to explain the situation without giving anything away, and the therapist can tell he's lying about something....Have you ever considered a one-shot following one of their appointments?

Lol, I don’t know if I’ll ever write a oneshot about it, but while it’s like amusing to contemplate, it’s actually not that rare for clients to lie about their circumstances to still access therapy. I mean it’s kind of a sad / realistic reality for those who are in certain stratas of society (especially criminal gangs, but not only that) they sort of have to present the staging of a lie to get to the emotional truths without compromising their lives.

And it’s still more than possible to actually do therapy within that context. The therapist almost certainly knows he’s lying, but as with most therapists, they accept that in order to see if they can truly help with what the fundamental issues are, and trust that if necessary, the truth will come out later on. It’s definitely not like… Ash isn’t ‘unique’ in that sense. I mean he’s unique in that he’s fae, but he’s not unique for being someone who is living in a situation he doesn’t feel he can share with others.

Hell, even teenagers do it to therapists because they don’t want to talk about their home life if it’s particularly difficult. Diverting through ‘I have a friend who is going through this and I want to help them what do you recommend’ when it’s sometimes apparent that the person is talking about themselves, is something that there are peer reviewed articles written about in the world of psychology and psychotherapy - and most of the time, the recommendation is generally ‘accept that they feel they have a good reason to lie, and explore how you can help them regardless.’

So yeah, that therapist is actually handling things pretty well. I mean I’m pretty sure she initially thought ‘mafia’ and then after a while just thought ‘whatever, there’s some profound family issues and boundary matters here, as well as attachment/abandonment problems, and I can work on that regardless of what the window dressing looks like.’ I doubt she’d even push to know the ‘truth.’ As long as Ash is being transparent about his emotional state (and Ash is actually pretty good at that), she can help him function better and improve his quality of life. And that’s her job.

I mean Ash thinks like ‘oh no, the poor thing, I can’t even tell her the truth’ but Ash doesn’t really understand the training that therapists experience, and for all that he loves humans, he sometimes…underestimates how much they see too, lol. I’m pretty sure the therapist felt out of her depth for all of about two sessions before she realised that Ash had the same kind of issues that a lot of people do, heh. :D

{فَإِن تَوَلَّوْا فَقُلْ حَسْبِيَ اللَّهُ لَا إِلَٰهَ إِلَّا هُوَ عَلَيْهِ تَوَكَّلْتُ وَهُوَ رَبُّ الْعَرْشِ الْعَظِيمِ} - سورة التوبة، آية 129

“Sufficient for me is Allah ; there is no deity except Him. On Him I have relied, and He is the Lord of the Great Throne.” - Surat Al Taubah, verse 129

anonymous asked:

It just occured to me that Gwyn's *noteworthy* willingness to enter into blood oaths is possibly him kinda flirting with reenacting the trauma of his first oath and I'm just gonna go cry for about 6 hours thanks for that. I'm probably late to the party with this one but reenactment as a symptom is not one I usually see done, let alone so well, in fiction. It's a credit to yours writing that a year after reading your work there's still more about my fave to discover <333

Oh yeah, absolutely, anon.

Like, Gwyn’s relationship with blood oaths is part reenactment, part…having his relationship with them destroyed because of being forced into them as a child (he sort of doesn’t understand their gravity while flirting with their gravity at the same time - and it’s the spot on word to use, I think, anon, that sort of flirting with it, it’s like…playing with something so dangerous for him, and he also…I’m not sure he really believes they’d kill him as an adult, while wondering if they would? Like ‘could I go through this again and survive it?’ etc.).

There’s a moment in COFT where Fenwrel just expresses disgust at how often Gwyn makes them / asks for them, and her response is the more appropriate one. There’s also the times Gwyn has offered blood oaths and people haven’t taken him up on them? Like, even in the AU What If, he offers one. And Jack’s response is like ‘wtf you’ll DIE?’ and Gwyn’s like /shrug/.

It’s definitely one of those areas in his life where he sort of unconsciously plays out this narrative again and again. And he doesn’t really do it all that safely. I recently read the scene where Gwyn makes the blood oath re: aftercare, and then what, nearly breaks it almost int he same day? And then later on, Augus has to actually remind him that it’s there, and not to leave in a completely different scene.

I mean all stuff that you’ve probably picked up on, I’m just thinking out loud over here, heh. Gwyn and blood oaths is like…a thing. :D I’m glad you feel the reenactment side of things is being done well! I never really know how I handle that stuff (I mean I can trust my instincts and feel like it’s okay, but that’s not how it comes across to others, y’know?) I just kind of love the myriad ways that Gwyn wears his trauma, the ones he knows about, the ones Augus has seen, the ones that no one’s really kind of picked up on etc.

He’s a work in progress, that one. :)

tyricnlannistcr  asked:

“Just go home.”



Solemn words left her DEFEATED and though the young maiden wished to bite back she held her tongue. Not out of fear for the Lord himself but for the other lingering ears that might have surrounded them outside the door. Despite his surname, Beth held high respect for the Lannister. She trusted him. Probably more than any of his other family members but that didn’t mean that the other servants would take her banter lightly. Fateful hues fixated on the male from where she stood, fiddling with the hem of her gown as she released the deep breath she had been holding in. “I wish I could,” she breathes. 

Earnest words weighted heavily in the room as though they were a burden that could never be lifted. Tyrion of all people knew that it wasn’t in the cards for her. Not when Sansa was so idiotically DEVOTED to her title here in King’s Landing. The blonde maiden of all people knew that the Stark hadn’t a choice in the matter, however, it was for that and many other reasons that she was not returning to Winterfell. “Forgive me, my lord, but you know very well why I cannot and it is for your WIFE alone that I have not left already,” she defended, her tone peaking at the sudden animosity that overcame her. 

The somber pause that fell over the pair was nearly louder than her previous spite and as her COURAGE began to waver within, her tore her eyes from the noble man. A deflated sigh escaped her petite frame before pushing the strands of honey waves from her vision. “I – I’m the only person she’s got left.” 

[ @ycngwxlf​ hit for a starter ]

      It’s a large place and Louis wished dearly he could call it his home, but it wasn’t and it will never be. He doesn’t have a home, not anymore. It’s been taken from him when he was just a little boy. He’s never really known a real home, only places that offered him food and shelter and later on a couple of good friends he would be able to rely on if ever needed. 

      This part of the world was a part he’s never seen before. He knew where he was, he only tended to avoid it. The Kingsroad was said to be dangerous, so Louis had waited until he was old and wise enough to take the risk and venture out there on his own, like he always has to do. 

      Louis almost felt bad for the unlucky lonesome traveller he had met on his way. The man had a horse and The Sun was tired, so he needed and wanted that bloody horse. Who cares if it would bring shame to his name, he doesn’t have one anymore anyway. Like this, travelling by horse, the next, large city - a vast grey mass of walls surrounding a castle on a hill - reached his eyes.

      Finally, Louis almost began fearing Winterfell never existed in anything but stories and myths. But… Would he even be welcome there, even if only for food and shelter for a couple of days before he would decide to carry on wandering in search of a real home?

Kaneki had seated comfortably on his chair. A leg had crossed over the other as elbows propped themselves onto the marble of the armrests. Optics had remained closed as fingers intertwined with one another. The faint sound of footsteps could be heard, slowly becoming louder as the soles of dress shoes clicked onto the marble floor with each step. Eyes had slowly opened, grey irises gazing onto the approaching figure that was all too familiar for the One-Eyed King. Tall, young man dressed in black with long hair that ran just above his shoulders. Digits had slowly seperated from one another as he rose from his chair, the soles of his own shoes standing firmly onto the floor before walking down the stairs before speaking.

You show your face once again, Furuta.




Eli had to wonder, bitterly, if the universe just straight-up had a grudge against him. As if his childhood hadn’t been bad enough – pushed into war when he was barely 5 years old, treated like shit by his handlers until he ran away into the wilds of Africa and lived like a feral soldier with a band of his own until he was 12. And then the Diamond Dogs and his father had to ruin that. He’d tried to carve out a new life and identity for himself in the SIS and SAS, and it had worked…well, worked until once again, he was deemed useless and unwanted and thrown away. Two goddamn years as a POW and two more in a coma in a field hospital – can anyone blame him for going AWOL as soon as he could walk?

He doesn’t think anyone here will. He’d heard the whispers of this place, passed from soldier to soldier in the weeks since he’d disappeared from the hospital in Baghdad – Zanzibarland, a nation for soldiers and by soldiers, where they are treated like men, not tools. Considering how his life has gone so far, he can’t think of anywhere better to flee to.

It’s cold, he reflects, and a different sort of cold than English winters. This place borders Russia, doesn’t it? Most of the men are in heavy coats save his little bundle of newcomers, all in whatever they’d been wearing before they’d caught whatever transport that had brought them in. Eli’s canvas jacket isn’t quite warm enough, but it’s all he has – literally, too. The only things he’s carrying are the clothes on his back, his dogtags, and the ivory-handled switchblade he’s carried since he stole it from his Cipher handler before he ran away. And the clothes don’t quite fit him right, since he’d grown thin during his time comatose – he feels a little small in the fatigues and t-shirt and combat boots, despite his near six feet of height. Small and pale and weak. 

The Zanzibar soldiers give him odd looks when they see him, but he writes it off to his recovering health – he’s more focused on the fact that they lead the group into a warm indoors area and set them at each other. Apparently the President is watching, or something; Eli thinks that figures; if this place is for soldiers, the leader should want to see the mettle of the people that come seeking asylum and shelter.

He sees several of the biggest, nastiest looking recruits coming at him – they must think he’s easy prey, a 20something pretty-boy with a ponytail and looking sickly. They think they’ll break him. Aside from that fact that breaking someone weaker is no true proof of skill, Eli is vaguely amused and insulted. 

And so that’s how he gets the President’s attention – a young man in a thin canvas jacket beating down six men twice his size (two Russians, a South American, and a trio of vicious looking Eastern Europeans) with surprising ease…though it might not be so surprising once he turns around to look in his direction.

lastkingoflucis  asked:

Noctis simply crawled into Ardyn's lap and buried his face against his neck. He gave little away, save for his obvious tenseness and perhaps what might be moisture clinging to dark lashes. His hand settled absently over one of his husband's, twisting at the ring there as though he were simply looking for something to fidget with.


So rare an occurrence that Noctis would become as he was thus. His husband was a proud creature not prone to bouts of emotional despondency. No, Noctis would sooner sequester himself into the vast reaches of his mind. Shut down as it were to the world around him and pretend all was right when truly it was not.

It was usually Ardyn that approached in such a manner with far less tension and fewer tears? Yes. Those were tears threatening to fall. A hand laid upon the other king’s back feeling the tightness of muscles and stress that radiated from his very being. Whomever brought this out should be brought to pay if only the Accursed King knew of a name. So often though would Noctis withhold knowing fully well what Ardyn was capable of when left to his own devices.

“Noct.” His voice pitched lower and as gentle as his voice registered. The hand with the ring adorning it interwove their fingers together and squeezed hoping the action would help placate his lover. A kiss laid upon head before he rested a cheek upon raven locks. “Whatever troubles you can not reach you while you are in my arms.”

A hum as Ardyn thought back to memories and glimpses of a not too distant past that got them here. “If I could keep a late god from you surely this would be trivial for me to extinguish as well. Now pray tell what has you so distraught.”

And the hand placed upon his back caressed and soothed. Ardyn despite his flaws, bouts of anger and rage, and fractured psyche could be the most attentive of lovers.