nape | a post-canon sonnet

the watchmen sight the ship not far from shore. on beaches teething, soldiers bolden guns. they capture six— three, traitors long before; three, countrymen, of base and faithless tongue.

the island, verdant green and crumbled walls, awaits the bloody execution day. "for justice!" ardent seas of fever call. the queen, her head in thorns, will not betray.

the traitors grace the citadel on knee. cathedral bells raise fervent cries higher. at trial sits not judge nor juror, for he who fans the flames must one day face the fire.

so falls the blade, struck swiftly on the neck. in blood they taste the fate of mortal death.

They find her with the Mother on the morning of her wedding.

"You should pray to the Maid, my lady, to thank her for your marriage." The septa who tells her this is a familiar face, an old sister wrinkled with sun-spots on her brow; yet she is spry as a bird when Alicent bids her word and lights another candle. They kneel together for half an hour more, before her father comes with a convoy of guards who parade her to the bridal chambers to be prepared. "There are many young women in the city who have prayed for such a match."

Fair Alicent keeps her head bowed as the septa spells a prayer for the queen-to-be. There have been many prayers of late, many long hours with a stern-faced teacher, here in the halls of the Great Sept or elsewhere in her father's chambers, sat with a maester or the Hand himself, bent over books of the dragon's lineage and histories, the things she must know now, the legacies her children will carry.

They are calling for their queen. In Helaena's eyes, there is a distance, a light gone out, and she turns in the carriage as if she cannot hear the voices or taste their cries. Alicent knows she can hear their words all too well. Queen Helaena! Lady Helaena! Sweet Helaena, they killed your beloved son! A curse on the pretender. A curse on Rhaenyra the Cruel. 

It is all too much, and sweet Helaena loves her silver-haired sister as dearly as the little girl she once was. 

—the same way Alicent loved a dying Aemma, the same way Viserys clung to a brother who brought him nothing but grief, the way he clung to his daughter's claim until he could no longer see past the shadows in his eyes. The same way he gasped and sobbed and bled his way to a bitter end. The way Alicent wept for Rhaenyra's mother as much as she did for her own, the way she cried when she held her baby girl for the first time and saw for her daughter all the same pain she had once endured. Sweet Helaena, who loves with abandon and suffers for it. Poor Dyana, pale with quivers as the tea sank down her gullet and Alicent wiped a drop from her lips. Dear, young Jaehaerys, who dies again every time the stitches in his neck threaten to come undone.

It is the sad things that are the most beautiful. The day they bury her grandson, there are no tears Alicent can shed, for the dragonfire that burns his body is as pure gold as the heart her daughter is bleeding into the earth.

fem!reibert part 2

"how much do you think i'd be worth?"

the hens are squawking as she digs in the coop for the morning's lay. one of them pecks at her, but beatrice is quicker and has latched the door shut before the hen can draw blood from her hands. she's still on her knees, prodding at the little blue and white eggs in the basket, when she feels rosamund over her shoulder.

"what did you say?" she asks, not looking up. not because she didn't hear, but because she didn't understand. she doesn't, until roz says it again, and then at once bea understands, even before she's finished her sentence.

"all that talk last night," rosamund explains. "the young lady's dowry. i never knew marriage was so complicated."

"it is when you're rich."

god damn flowers. god damn lesbians.

"i can't stay," bertholdt is saying from the doorway. "my girlfriend's in the car. i was just dropping off a card. saying hi—"

"sorry. i'm sort of— this cake is— you're taking off?"

is he glad bertholdt's not sticking around the party? maybe. he should be, because if he was staying, that'd mean the girlfriend was staying too, and from what historia's said, she's a real piece of work. not sure exactly what that means. it wasn't explained any further. honestly, reiner doesn't need to know. and right now, he doesn't know if he can find the time to care, not in between the five hundred tiny fucking edible flowers ymir and historia want on their stupid god damn cake.

"we've got a work thing," is all bertholdt adds.

"cool," reiner says. he's in the fucking thick of it. he can't look at bertholdt in the doorway right now. bertholdt with his keys in his hands and the haircut reiner always told him he should get. that, or a mullet. he's got curls somewhere in there. he could pull off a mullet.

it is midday by the time they break through the forest and straight into the fire. the canopy shielded them from the worst of the sun, but now they are an hour behind schedule and lost atop a waterfall in an unfamiliar ravine, and the sweat is running down their faces like blood.

not lost, bertholdt figures out before jean fumbles with the compass and exclaims it so. base camp is on the horizon, if they can find their way around the lake.

his hair is flattened to his forehead when armin kneels on the edge of the cliff and watches the water crash at the bottom. "how are we supposed to get down?"

jean is still fumbling with the map. it is coming apart between his sticky fingers, the ink running across his skin like veins. "shit. this won't be any good. but if we can find a place where it's not too steep—"

bertholdt doesn't think before he answers. "you just—"

jump.

armin peers further. he looks so small at the edge of the cliff. bertholdt might just push him.

hange's careful! comes sharply, and too late. the burn festers for a moment on his hand, pink and raw and cold as ice. then the steam starts to hiss, and his waxy skin turns into something new, something reborn. armin feels it the moment it happens— a prick inside him like a splinter.

the burn is gone by the time hange reaches him. their arm raises, slightly, leather gloves pulled off, clenched under the elbow. they stop before they even start to reach for his hand. and armin can't help but pull away.

"you should take more care," hange says after another moment.

there's something unsaid in that split second of silence, and with his hand curled to his chest, his thumb brushing off the place where the fire touched him, he feels like he is cowering in shame, like he cannot bear to turn and face his commander, as if they have breached a secret he has been keeping beneath his skin. perhaps they have.

"someone's going to come looking for us," bertholdt whispers. instinct.

reiner's teeth are on his lips. "who?"

"i don't know." his body is flushed with nerves. his only defense is to protest with excuses he doesn't even believe. "annie."

snort. "annie. she doesn't even know where we are."

bertholdt doubts that, but he'll pretend it's true.

reiner pulls back. his pupils are wide in the dark. "do you want to stop?"

he must be red in the face. fragile and flustered as their bodies press together and a desire throbs within him. no, he doesn't want to stop. but there is something in the shadow of the trees that makes him quiet. something in the light of the near full moon that feels like a great eye peering down on him and watching the places where their hands meet. somehow he expects reiner to pull back and sit up and laugh at him, tease him about his pink cheeks and tell him it was all a joke. a dare. somehow, that would be easier.

Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan Rating: Mature Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Armin Arlert/Onyankopon Characters: Armin Arlert, Onyankopon (Shingeki no Kyojin) Additional Tags: During the Four Year Time Skip (Shingeki no Kyojin), Canon Universe, Implied Sexual Content, Friends With Benefits Summary:

“You would make a good scout,” Armin tells him.

Onyankopon’s smile is blue in the twilight. “And you, a volunteer.”

it’s been almost 5 years but anon guess what

Chapters: 12/12 Fandom: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Reiner Braun/Porco Galliard Characters: Porco Galliard, Reiner Braun, Pieck Finger, Zeke Yeager, Theo Magath, Porco Galliard’s Parents, Karina Braun, Gabi Braun Additional Tags: Canon Universe, Canon Compliant, Pre-Marley Arc (Shingeki no Kyojin), During the Four Year Time Skip (Shingeki no Kyojin), Porco Galliard-centric, Original Character(s), Pregnancy, Abortion, Sterilization, Medical Experimentation, just snk things~, Sparring, First Kiss, Developing Relationship, Getting Together, ...sort of Summary:

War is coming. It's only a matter of time before the rest of the world realizes Marley has lost two of their titans and strikes on their vulnerabilities. Until then, the empire is biding its' time. The remaining Warriors are sent home and instructed to stay behind walls, lay low, and lie.

If only standing still were that easy.

last chapter of little streets tonight

Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: Tales of Symphonia Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings Relationships: Anna/Kratos Aurion Characters: Kratos Aurion, Anna (Tales of Symphonia), Mithos Yggdrasill, Yuan Ka-Fai, Pronyma (Tales of Symphonia), Kvar (Tales of Symphonia) Additional Tags: Pre-Canon, Canon Compliant, Canon-Typical Violence, Canon Universe, Character Study Summary:

Kratos falls.

highly underrated moment in tales of symphonia is when the party ends up back in sylvarant and drops off their 4000 year old maniacal genocidal angel overlord stowaway to be babysat by a civil servant named neil

a piece of a thing that will otherwise never see the light of day. post-canon armin/annie, nsfw-ish

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

"how's the lovemaking?" pieck asks.

annie supposes they are friends. funny, that word, as funny as pieck, no longer the long-legged little girl annie remembers, always wearing a dopey half-smile that made annie want to kick her in the face. she's become something far more irritating now, something lithe and beautiful with the long dark hair and the pale heart face. tall and sharp and thin— the kind of woman who can ask about lovemaking as she finishes her manicure and watches the waves out the window.

something annie has never wanted to be, not until she knew it was something she is not. she hates pieck for even making her wonder, staring in the dim cracked mirror of their steerage cabin and seeing herself, really, for the first time. she hates her for it. so, friends.

"you don't have to ask every time," annie says. never mind that the lovemaking— pieck's word— is few and far between at all, let alone in these small bunker cabins where one can hear a neighbor drop a pin on the carpet. she's not so callous to deny that she likes the feel of armin's collarbones beneath her hands and the heat on his skin pressed into her thighs, though she wouldn't call it lovemaking. she wouldn't call it anything. it's probably better that way.

clean (tv) 🤝 eremika

it is fine cotton, they had told mikasa. thin and rich and good for humid days on the coast. harvested from the lowest valleys and spun by craftswomen in the hills on the other side of the sea. their sea, not hers. the other sea. fine white cotton with tiny pearl buttons down the back. it had taken two women to dress her the first time she put it on, but what she remembered most was the sea. that there was more than one. 

funny, the way the stars look tonight. it's what she thinks about then, sand in her socks as she stumbles to the foot of a dune and paws at the deep red splatter on her breast. another sea. seven of them. when her fingers come away wet, some part of her thinks first, blood, but the taste of her tongue is like cinnamon, like fire. her lips, like fire. and under the stars it's all funny, the little splatters down her neck and dress where her lips had slipped and the lanterns had danced in her eyes when she blinked, when she finally let go of her gaze and turned away. that was when she'd spilled the wine all down her front, and now it bleeds like fire from her breast. now she sits in fine white cotton, spitting into her hand to wipe it away as the constellations giggle overhead.