#angry dragon noises is the original
Text
Fire in the Flesh
Chapter Four
Daemon Targaryen x Original Female Character
Words: 1.9K
Warnings: mentions of abuse/injury
Summary:
After five years at war in the Stepstones and the death of his first wife, Daemon Targaryen returns to court embroiling himself, and his niece and heir to the throne Rhaenyra, in chaos and scandal. Daemon’s actions cause Viserys to give him the one thing he has always wanted. A Valyrian bride. Just not the one he had in mind.
“No luck?” Marra shouts over the noise of the gushing water when she hears the door to the chamber open.
“No.” Daella shouts back, kicking her shoes off, before hiking up her skirts to remove her stockings. She had taken to wearing stockings under her dresses for warmth. She and Marra had decided back in Volantis to wait until they had arrived in Westeros to order some new dresses, as they were unsure of the style in the capital. So she had been wearing her dresses of silk and cotton for the last number of days since they arrived, learning the hard way that they were not made for the Westerosi autumn climate.
“How many is that now? Six? Seven?”
“Only five. The one yesterday was with Rhaenyra.” Daella reminded her as she removed her necklace and rings. “And they only set up the one with her, as they thought maybe he would appear if she was there.”
“Well at least you and the Princess seem to get along, she invited you for tea tomorrow again. Perhaps a friendship with Rhaenyra will convince him to show up before the 17th day?” Marra said, testing the water in the bath, before reaching for the oils.
Daella doesn’t answer straight away. Her meeting with the Princess had gone surprisingly well. After a couple of minutes of polite smiling and picking in silence at their cakes, the girls began slowly striking conversation with one another, by the end, they had sat for nearly three hours.
“Rhaenyra said I have nothing to worry about, that he’s just sulking, but I doubt he will even show up on the day. He does not want me.”
“The King will have his head if he does not. He has a dragon, he would have left if he was so opposed to the match. The Princess is right, he will come around. He just needs to meet you.” Marra smiled as Daella finally came into view. She jumped to her feet, rounding the metal tub, helping Daella remove the dress they had chosen for her unsuccessful meeting with the Prince.
“I suppose so.” Daella shrugged, dipping her fingers into the steaming bath to ensure the water was hot enough, before stepping in and sinking down into the water. It had been a long day and she was finally able to stomach food for the first time since arriving at dinner. She was cold, tired and full, and all she wanted was to be warm in her bed. Closing her eyes, she let out a satisfied sigh before opening her eyes again at the sound of Marra crouching down beside her.
“What did you get up to while I was gone? Have you eaten?”
“I have. I finished unpacking for Maelor, and I visited the kitchen. I asked if they had anything other than venison, they offered duck if you think that would suit you better?”
“Perhaps, there is no harm in trying.”
“Also your father dropped by said he visit before bed-”
“What? Did he say why?” Daella shoots up in the bath a little. She had barely seen her father since they had arrived. She knew he was lingering on the balcony of the courtyard where her meetings with the Prince were meant to take place, watching as she sat either alone or with the King for several hours at a time.
“No, just to prepare for him to be here.” Marra reassured as she began to watch Daella’s body with a soft cloth and soap. “He didn’t seem angry or upset.”
“Mm, will you ensure some wine is left, I’m not sure I can face him without it” Daella leaned back again, closing her eyes and allowing Marra to continue her job.
“Of course.” Marra smiled softly. “Oh and I saw the Queen today.” Daella’s eyes shot open again. Neither of them had seen the Queen since they arrived. Viserys had briefly spoken about her when they were lunching waiting ro Daemon to show, but she had never accompanied him and they had not been formally introduced. When she had brought the Queen up to Rhaenrya, she had reacted oddly, so Daella dropped the conversation.
“Pretty, must be your age.”
“Really? I knew she was younger than him but I didn’t think… Viserys didn’t strike me as the type.” Daella wondered aloud, lifting her leg for Marra.
“Mm, she was just walking by with the children. Lovely little things.” Marra hummed, moving behind her to start on Daella’s hair. Daella slid forward a little to give her room to work.
“It’s a little odd don’t you think? That we never see her? Never attended a lunch with Viserys? Also if she was my age, wouldn’t that mean she grew up in court with Rhaenyra? They don’t seem friendly to me, Rhaenyra nearly shrivelled up when I mentioned her at lunch yesterday”
“A little. Maybe she is just busy, and I’m starting to realise this court is very complicated and confusing. Do you want to hear what I heard about one of the Northern Lords while I was in the kitchen?”
“She’s very pretty.”
Daemon rolls his eyes. They stood in the bowels of the Red Keep, the candles from Balerion's shrine a few feet away the only light.
“She is. Prettier than any girl at court.”
“So are many of the whores on the street of silk.”
It was Rhaenyra's turn to roll her eyes now. Daemon had convinced her to go to tea with his betrothed, and now he will not hear any feedback she had.
“She was sweet -
“Sweet!” Daemon snorts.
“Why did you insist I go if you have no intention of listening to anything I have to say?”
“I am-”
“No, you are not.”
“Fine. What else? Make it quick, I’m on watch tonight.”
“I do not understand why you do not go yourself if you are so curious. Father has given you several options; teas, lunches, dinners, walks. You have taken none of them. She would like to meet you at least once for the wedding day. She will not admit it but she is scared, Daemon.”
“I didn’t want this.”
“Neither did she. Or I. But you cannot and will not take me to wife-”
“Who says I won’t?”
“If you wanted to you would have already taken me to Dragonstone and done it.”
Daemon doesn’t have a rebuttal for her. She was right, as much has he wants do, he could not bring himself to do it.
“I have to go.” He says coldly, wanting to be done with this conversation. It begins to stalk off into the darkness leaving Rhaenyra standing.
“The final arrangements for your wedding are being discussed at the small council tomorrow. Go. She will be there.” She calls after him.
She felt foolish, knocking on the large door of Mellos’ room. She had turned her room upside down looking for the ointment that Marra gave her two years ago the first time she had seen Daella’s red cheek after returning from her father's room, but it was nowhere to be found. Not wanting to wake Marra, she seeked out the Maester herself. Maester Mellos was an old man, but kind. He had opened his door immediately for her, and asked what had happened.
“Slipped on a wet floor, hit the bedframe on the way down.” She had meekly replied, wincing as he prodded lightly at her swelling cheek. It was not the truth of course. Her father had come, and at first the conversation was pleasant, but quickly turned sour, Daella spoke out of turn and paid the consequence for it.
“Sit. Arnica ointment for the cheek. It will take out some swelling and colouring. I’ll mix some lint, grease, and honey for the cut as well. It will heal in no time.”
He had left the main chamber room, shuffling through an arch walkway to fetch what he needed, leaving Daella sitting alone on the small wooden stool Mellos had procured for her. It was then she finally allowed herself to cry a little, the ever growing feeling of misery finally coming to the surface.
“Rhaenyra, what are you doing her..”
Daella turned her head to look up at the silver haired man that had entered the room and now stopped in his tracks. He was taller than she remembered. Broader too, but that could be the bloodied and dirt clad armour he was wearing. The silky long hair she had remembered from her childhood was now cut short and his face was harder from age.
Daella stared up at him speechless from her stool, tears still falling from her eyes. The Prince stared back, not giving much away, but Daella noticed his eyes flicking from her swollen cheek to her bloody lip.
“Maester Mellos?” Daemon spoke first. Daella quickly wiped her eyes, and sniffled a little, straightening up in her stool.
“Oh, he has gone to fetch me some ointment.” It came out more timid and pathetic than she had intended, her voice still shaky and hoarse from crying. Daemon continues to stare at her, before moving towards her, hand reaching out to lift her chin and turn her head. She flinched a little when he touched her. The smell of dirt, sweat and iron lingered on him, his thumb pulling gently on her bottom lip to assess the damage.
“Mm, what happened?”
“Fell and hit the bed frame. Wet floors.”
“Old Mellos believed that?” He let her chin go, his rough hand softly leaving her face. Taking a few steps back, he distanced himself from her.
“It’s what happened.”
“You can lie to the Maesters all you like, but assume you know better than to lie to your husband.”
“You're not my husband.”
Daella swears she saw his lips threatening to curl up into a smirk. He continued to stare down at her, leaning back against a wooden table. Daella suddenly became aware she was just in her nightgown, arms folding over her chest.
“Saying a couple of meaningless vows before God’s we do not believe in front of a crowd of old fat lords does not make us married. You’ve been mine from the day they made this betrothal.”
“Well, it doesn’t feel like it.” She whispered. Daemon almost snapped back at her, but noticed the tears welling up in her eyes again, he decided to let her off, not wanting to deal with any hysterics.
“Why are you here?” Daella sniffles.
“I don’t believe that’s any of your business.”
“Your health is not the business of your wife, no?”
“Very good.” Daemon surprises her by chuckling at her remark, head turning as Mellos shuffled back into the room.
“Oh Prince Daemon, I was locating some items for young Lady Daella, the carron oil is on the table as usual.” Mellos grabbed a small bowl from a shelf before disappearing through the door again.
“Thank you, maester.” Daemon said almost meekly as Daella stared at him. He turned and lifted the small vial of the table. It was at that point Daella noticed the slightly raw burn marks on his neck.
“Is it helping?” She asks softly.
“Hm, but not quick enough.”
“Next time ask him for a mix of honey, aloe and tannic.”
“A maester now are we?” Daemon teased dryly.
“No, I once burnt my fingers on a fire as a child, it’s what the healers back home used on it. Healed in three days.”
Daemon grunted in some acknowledgement, before beginning to head towards the door, pulling it open to leave. But he stopped and turned to look at Daella.
“Goodnight then.”
“Goodnight.”
Tag List: @ajthefujoshi @hangmanscoming @papichulo120627
For the masterlist to this series and all my other fics click here!
#daemon targeryan#daemon targaryen x oc#daemon targaryen smut#daemon targaryen imagine#house of the dragon fanfic#house of the dragon imagine#house of the dragon#hotd#matt smith
93 notes
·
View notes
Text
Se Zaldrizoti' Prumia - Chapter 9: The Ticking of Time
Chapter 9: The Ticking of Time
The primal urge to survive oft drives decisions made in haste.
Se Zaldrīzoti' Prūmia Masterlist | Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4 | Chapter 5 | Chapter 6 | Chapter 7 | Chapter 8 | Chapter 9 |
HOTD Masterlist | Main Masterlist |
Warnings: Slight angst, Otto Hightower, flashbacksssss
Word Count: 8k words
Disclaimer: I do not own any of the House of The Dragon/Fire and Blood characters, save for Y/N Tyrell, although I did expand on their characterisation, which might deviate from canon. All credit for the characters goes to George RR Martin and the showrunners of HOTD. The GIF above is also not mine, original credit to the creator is stated above. Go check them out!
A/N: Happy Christmas Eve to all who celebrate! Finally, the long awaited chapter 9. I hope you enjoy! (and psst, a small Christmas surprise coming soon! Unfortunately, it's not chapter 10, but hopefully you'll be as happy ;)
lovely dividers by @firefly-graphics !
The smell of rose oil permeated the air of Queen Alicent’s chambers, and the sounds of Aegon smashing his wooden dragon toy against his wooden tower toy could be heard, as the boy made roaring noises. Alicent watched the scene with slight amusement, as Helaena sat on her lap, docile, a rare moment of serenity. It was much needed, especially after the recent scandal that rocked the Red Keep and her contentious conversation with Rhaenyra a week prior.
Speaking of serenity…
Alicent trailed her gaze to a forlorn looking figure, sitting next to Aegon on the lushly woven Myrish carpet, her skirts splayed as she absentmindedly fiddled with a wooden dragon toy.
“You’ve been quiet,” Alicent noted, trying to breach your diminished figure. She hesitated on whether to verbalise what she knew your mind was occupied with, “Are…are you still angry at Prince Daemon’s latest transgressions?”
Once again, the tranquillity of nightfall had descended upon the Red Keep. The King’s solar was empty after the boisterous dinner that Viserys was lording over, elated to have his brother by his side again. Viserys and Rhaenyra had long since retired to bed, and now, there was only you and Daemon.
Daemon lay sprawled on the large settee, looking bored as he twirled a newly forged dagger in his hands, gifted by his ever generous brother to celebrate his return. The firelight glinted off the large ruby set in the pommel, and he weighed it between his hands. Not Valyrian steel, like Dark Sister was, but he tended to cherish any gifts his brother gave that were not disappointment or frustration. Which was a rarity.
Daemon’s bored gaze trailed to your figure, looking far too relaxed as you sat on the other end of the settee, face burrowed in a heavy tome. Daemon groaned, trying to get your attention and stop reading that godsforsaken book, but you only hummed, nonchalant, flipping to the next page. Daemon narrowed his eyes.
Your attention was fully invested in a chapter about the medicinal properties of hemlock in the newest tome you had successfully bribed the maesters for, when a sudden poke at your cheek caused an indignant noise to be elicited from your throat. “What in the Seven Hells,” you snapped your tome shut to glare at Daemon’s smug face, resting so close to your lap it made your heart thud in your chest. “Are you doing?”
“Trying to get your attention,” he said simply, putting his dagger down onto the tea table.
You levelled an unimpressed look at him. “And that required you to poke me in the cheek? What are you, five?”
“Perhaps.”
You huffed, vexed, picking up your tome again. “Byka zaldrizes, I gave up precious time that could be spent doing something else just to spend it with you. Surely, you can spare this forlorn prince of yours some of your attention.”
“Well, no one asked you to,” you said drily, your eyes flickering as they darted between the lines. “And we all know that your time will be spent mucking about in the Street of Silk, in some unlucky whore’s bed or getting drunk in your cups like some undignified ruffian.”
“Anyone who has the good fortune of bedding me is touched by the gods themselves,” Daemon’s snarky tone made you roll your eyes. Him and his overinflated ego. “And your assumptions wound me, byka zaldrizes. Do you not trust that my time in the Stepstones have made me more mature?”
Daemon was delighted by you putting your book down again, only to be greeted by your deadpan stare. “...are you still in possess of a cock?”
Daemon cocked a brow, eyes shifting down as if pretending to check. “I do believe so, yes. It would be a tragedy if I wasn’t.” You flashed him a sweetly sardonic smile, “Then I do believe no more needs to be said.”
Daemon groaned when you returned to reading your book, debating on the merits of just slapping it out of your hand. It would result in some very colourful language bursting from your lips, but it would be fun.
“Truly, your faith in me is awe-inspiring,” Daemon remarked sarcastically. “And what if I said that this time I promise to stay for the foreseeable future?”
You tilted your head to the side, detracted from your book once more. “Somehow I do not believe that. Trouble always seems to find you one way or another.”
Daemon rolled his eyes, flashing you a devastatingly handsome grin that you had to fight a strange squirming sensation in your stomach. “Then I swear to the Seven Gods that I will stay out of trouble. I won’t curb my excursions to Flea Bottom of course,” Daemon added, seeing your incredulous look. “A man does have his urges. And you know of my nature.” Daemon smirked. “But I think I’m capable enough not to commit another act that would warrant exile. Don’t you think?”
Your answering laugh echoed throughout the solar. But for a brief moment, you had believed him. After all, what more trouble could Daemon possibly incur?
You finally broke out of your empty daze, letting out a low, slightly hoarse laugh. “I am. But he is not the only object of my ire,” you admitted, sighing as you lowered your eyes to where Aegon was banging his wooden dragon against the carpet. Thank the Seven it was soft or he would’ve dented the dragon by now.
Confusion wrinkled Alicent’s features, but then her eyes shone with comprehension. “...are you perhaps feeling some anger towards Rhaenyra?”
Your head snapped up, a slightly horrified look painted on your face. “No, of course not. Daemon is fully to blame for this situation.”
You took a deep breath, feeling shame course through you like boiling water through your veins. You had known, that in some awful way, your conversation with Rhaenyra had indirectly led to the explosion of this scandal. Now, Daemon was exiled again - though you couldn't care less about that - Rhaenyra’s virtue had been called into question, and she was forced to hastily wed Ser Laenor. And the guilt had been eating you alive ever since. But you had not known your harmless words would lead to such a catastrophic end. ‘I am not cut out for this,’ you thought glumly to yourself. ‘That wise paragon of advice I was trying to emulate. I never was any of that.’
‘How foolish of me to play at a role I lack the foresight for.’
Nonetheless, your thoughts returned to the person who is mainly to blame for this situation.
‘Stupid, stupid Daemon,’ you cursed in your head, fingers tightening around the wooden dragon toy. ‘How stupid of me to believe that he could’ve changed, that he couldn’t sink any lower. Stupid, stupid, stupid.’
At least one somewhat good thing had arisen out of this mess. The ‘resignation’ of Otto Hightower.
Though many knew it was just a term meant to preserve the dignity of the former Lord Hand.
You were not sorry to see the man go - you had disliked him ever since his orchestration of the debacle with Alicent and Viserys years ago. However, you were sorry to see Alicent’s distraught state for the past few days. You understood her - she was all alone now, this was almost as great of a loss to her as Aemma’s loss to you was. Being bereft of a figure of comfort and support.
You studied Alicent, noting the slight eye bags under her eyes. You made a mental note to brew her a stronger chamomile tea - both to alleviate her stresses after pregnancy and to improve her quality of sleep.
A sudden knock sounded at the door, and Alicent’s older cousin and one of her ladies-in-waiting, Malena Hightower, entered the room, curtsying. “Your Grace,” you were surprised when Malena turned to you instead.
“Lady Y/N…a messenger came by earlier. He wished for me to convey the Hand…I mean, Ser Otto’s,” Malena recovered from her bluster with a slight flush, but you noticed Alicent’s face briefly crumple when she heard her father’s title reversion back to Ser. You felt a twinge of sympathy. “He wished for me to convey that Ser Otto wishes to have a discussion with you.”
The clattering of a teacup on the floor startled the both of us. Alicent looked embarrassed at her clumsiness, as a servant rushed in upon hearing the noise. “Pardon me. Malena, did my father disclose the reason why he wishes for an audience with my chief lady-in-waiting?” You were unnerved by Alicent’s uncharacteristic sharp tone. It was like…she was angry at her father.
Malena looked similarly unnerved. “Your Grace, I apologise. I do not know. The messenger just said that Ser Otto requested for Lady Y/N’s presence in his study whenever she was available.”
Alicent kept a calm facade, but inside, her heart was thumping like a surge of wild animals. ‘Is what I have been fearing about to come true? Y/N-’ Alicent swung her gaze to yours, where you were conversing discreetly with Malena.
“Thank you, Malena. If the messenger is still there, tell him I will be with him momentarily.” Alarm surged through Alicent’s body. She quickly handed Helaena over to the startled servant who had just finished picking up the shattered cup and disposed of it, stepping towards you.
“Y/N, I do not think you should go.” The words were out of her mouth before she could suppress them. Perplexed, you stared at the younger girl, noticing her panic. It unsettled you.
You tried to shoot her a reassuring smile. “Alicent, Your Grace-” Alicent immediately motioned for Malena and the servant holding Helaena to retreat out of the room when she noticed you addressing her by her title. They evacuated the room with haste.
Alicent seized both of your hands in hers, a gesture that startled you with its intensity and urgency. “No, do not go. Please,” she begged, her eyes flickering with a violent storm of conflicting emotions. She knew she should be obedient to her father, and that the meeting could be harmless, but a wrenching gut feeling told her it was not so.
You looked worried: what exactly had gotten into Alicent? It was unlike her to break her composure, and by such a simple request. Alarm bells began tolling in your head, and just as you were about to tell her that you wouldn’t go, a knock sounded at the door, and you and Alicent promptly broke apart from your intimate stance.
Malena re-entered the room, along with a man you recognised as one of Otto’s household knights, Ser Garrick Pommingham. This was bad. Alicent made a strangled noise in her throat as she beheld Ser Garrick. It was serious enough that her father had sent a household knight to deliver the message, but Ser Garrick? He was one of her father’s oldest household knights, and fiercely loyal and trusted by Otto. It was clear that the invitation was not one that both you nor Alicent had any say in.
“My Queen.” Ser Garrick bowed reverently to Alicent, before turning to you and giving you a smaller bow. “Lady Y/N. Shall I escort you to my liege?”
Any of Alicent’s protests were immediately silenced, as she wrung her hands helplessly. There was no fighting against Ser Garrick, who was an extension of her father, and a bull-headed man at that - always priding himself on completing all his tasks to perfection.
You knew as well, so you could only give Alicent a small, reassuring smile, trying to comfort her. Steeling yourself, you turned to Ser Garrick with a composed smile.
“Lead the way, Ser.”
The Tower of the Hand had been the site of a flurry of activity over the past few days, as various servants and household knights bustled in and out of the rooms, carrying and loading up boxes of belongings into carriages to be transported back to Oldtown.
Otto watched his servants move his things out of his nearly vacant study with an oddly impassive look, as he stewed in his own thoughts at his dismissal. He never thought that he would take up residence in Oldtown ever again, but how quickly the tide could be changed here in King’s Landing.
The sound of a knock at the door roused him from his thoughts, and soon enough, his loyal household knight, Ser Garrick, showed in the guest he had been expecting.
“Ah, Lady Y/N. I thank you for coming on such short notice.”
You entered the room, the skirts of your rose pink gown swishing as you moved into the study. Wariness was woven in every bone of your body, your muscles taut with tension. “Ser Otto,” you nodded at him, not missing how the former Hand’s frame turned stiff at the reversion of his title back to Ser.
“What matter has caused you to ask me to your study at such a busy time?”
Otto took a seat at the lavishly appointed chair at his desk. The same desk where he had spent so many nights toiling for King Viserys. Though the chair could no longer be called rightfully his, he leaned into it, gesturing for you to take a seat. Which you did so, though not without reluctance.
"I do not wish to take up too much of your time, as my own time is precious too," Otto stated, his voice blunt as he leaned forward and drummed his fingers on the oak of the desk.
"I have a proposal for you."
A frown furrowed your eyebrows, but you tried not to show it, smoothing out your skirts instead. “And what is that proposal? I am most interested to hear it.”
Otto smirked slightly at the small note of sarcasm he detected in your voice. Normally, he would be irked at such disrespect, but it was evident from this that you wished not to play any games. ‘A woman who cuts straight to the chase,’ he thought to himself. ‘No wonder Prince Daemon was drawn to her.’
It made things much simpler anyway.
“I’d like to ask for your hand in marriage,” Otto stated bluntly as he waited for your reaction.
Meanwhile, you were frozen, as if roots had suddenly sprung from the ground and trapped you in the chair. ‘My hand in marriage?’ The words echoed through your brain. You suddenly recalled Alicent’s guilt stricken expression as she watched you leave her apartments.
“Ser Otto,” you said quietly. “Surely you are jesting.”
Otto looked unruffled at that. “I do not jest about such matters, Lady Y/N.” You let some of the incredulity you were feeling slip into your expression. “Allow me to explain the merits of our match,” Otto said calmly, leaning back into his chair.
“Though I am ashamed of having done so, I had overheard your shouting match with your father at the Kingswood many moons ago.” This made you wince. You did not blame the man, the both of you probably shouted loud enough that those at the Wall could hear you.
“I understand you are seeking a match, by the end of this year in fact. Which is less than two moons away,” Otto observed you as you tried not to squirm under his intense gaze. “Quite a pressing predicament.”
Otto sighed. “I know, my dismissal has not made me the most…appealing of matches. What with my status as a second son, standing to inherit nothing short of some wealth and meagre land holdings. However, as you well know, you are not the most appealing of matches as well.”
When you looked offended, Otto only went on blandly, “Please, do not take offence, Lady Y/N. My words do not come from a place of malice. It is true though, is it not? While you are lovely, your age is not one to be overlooked. You are turning- twenty six? Twenty seven this year? Many lords in Westeros consider this to be well past your prime.” Otto’s eyes glinted. “And the reputation of your…ah, headstrongness, is well known across the Seven Kingdom. As well as your long string of marriage rejections.”
Otto shrugged, “That aside, think pragmatically. I am moving back to take up residence in Oldtown once more. Should you go with me, you would be much closer to home than here in King’s Landing.” Otto could still see the dubiousness in your eyes, and he knew he had to sweeten the deal up a little more. “And besides, I would not require any children of you.” He knew he had you again when your gaze shot up from looking down fixedly at the wood of his desk. “I am already a widower, with a daughter as Queen and four other strong sons. You would be under no pressure to produce heirs for me. And as a second son, my children stand to inherit next to nothing anyway. Moreover, if you are worried of any mistreatment, fret not. You are my daughter’s dearest companion, and a mother figure to her too. I will treat you with utmost respect”
You eyed him warily, finally speaking up. “You’ve stated many demerits of this match as well, Ser Otto. Do you truly think it worth it for the both of us to pursue such a match?”
Otto’s eyes glinted. She was more crafty than he thought. He would have to hammer down the point a little. “Though my inheritance is not rich in titles, I can assure you, it is not something to be overlooked. You would live comfortably, and be free to pursue any of your interests. I heard from the Maesters that you have an interest in healing and scholarly affairs. What better place to expand your knowledge than in Oldtown, home of the Citadel and some of the finest minds in Westeros?”
Your gaze sharpened at that, he clearly had been keeping tabs on you for a while now. Though his offer was not without temptation of its own. “But why me?” you pressed. “As you have said, I am past my prime and have a wild temper at that. The only merits I possess are my lineage and heirship to Highgarden, and my father has already taken a new wife, so that hangs in the balance as well.”
Otto smiled, “And that alone is enough.” Otto stood up, slowly walking over to your chair. He took your hand gently, and kissed the back of your hand softly. A frown was etched on your lips, and Otto knew it was best to let the matter go. For now.
“I shall give you some time to consider it,” Otto rumbled softly, helping you out of your chair. “But the clock is ticking, Lady Y/N. Both for you and I. Once I depart for Oldtown in a few days, the offer shall be rescinded.” His expression was one of faux concern. “And do you truly believe that you would be able to find any other man of suitable standing to court you before your father’s deadline?”
‘Even now he was not telling the truth, and trying to use wily means to stoke your deepest insecurities to his own gain,’ you thought, regarding the man before you in disdain. The both of you knew the truth of why he sought your hand, not out of compassion or sympathy, but to climb his way back up the political ranks. All of court knew how close you were with the members of House Targaryen, and that you were an ear of the King. otto was clearly trying to use you for his own designs, the same way he had used Alicent, and foist Aegon up onto the Iron Throne, whilst gaining more influence over Viserys - as if he hadn’t have enough already. Disgust pulsed through you.
You shot Otto a haughty look, brushing off his hand. “This is still a personal matter, Ser Otto, and I mislike the tone of your voice. As a stranger, you would do well to refrain from making comments on my personal life.”
Otto nodded stiffly. “Of course. I apologise. I overstepped. Shall I escort you back to my daughter’s chambers then?”
“No need, thank you.” You were eager to put as much distance between you and Otto as soon as possible. And you couldn’t possibly see Alicent with your mind in such a jumbled state. You bowed your head stiffly, “I bid you farewell, Ser. I will…consider your proposal.” He nodded, but you could see his gaze was filled with calculation as you turned your back on him and walked away.
“Lady Y/N.” Otto’s voice halted you just as your hand was on the door handle. “Just a question.”
“Do you really think that staking your bets on Prince Daemon would result in a good end?” You stilled, turning around to face him yet again. Your eyes met his cool green ones. “I do not understand what you mean, Ser Otto.”
“What I meant was,” Otto’s voice was blunt. “I do not think marrying Prince Daemon would bode well for you, if you wish to be closer to the centre of power.”
You stared incredulously at him, swivelling around to face him fully once again. “I’m afraid you have it all wrong, Ser. I never had that sort of intention.”
“Ask yourself, do you really believe that?” Otto’s voice was challenging. “Because I do not think you know your heart well enough..”
Astonished and angered by his boldness, you took a step back closer to the door. “Forgive me, Ser Otto, but I do not think you would know my heart better than I do.” You turned to leave, pulling open the door.
“Search your heart deeply, Lady Y/N,” Otto called out. “You will find my words will ring true.” You didn’t respond, instead choosing to shut the door firmly behind you, leaving Otto Hightower and his delusions of grandeur behind.
The Red Keep was blessed with a particularly pleasant chill this day, in the midst of a harsh autumn and an impending harsher winter. But you couldn’t bring yourself to admire the red and russet leaves as you normally did, instead wandering aimlessly around the Red Keep like a wraith.
It was completely absurd for Otto Hightower to think that you got close to Daemon for ulterior motives. Marriage? With that insufferable punk? You snorted. You could barely stand his presence most of the time, let alone marriage.
It was strange, however. Daemon had always been handsome, dangerously so, and charming, and that had never had an effect on you in the least. But ever since Aemma’s death…ever since his return from the Stepstones. You couldn’t lie, there was something there. The first stirrings of a fire.
Well, that fire would never burn on damp logs anyway, and that was all thanks to Daemon’s stupidity. You grumbled to yourself, shuddering that you might have carried a torch for Daemon fucking Targaryen.
You decided to venture into one of the courtyards found in the Red Keep. Perhaps some greenery would restore your senses, and provide a balm for your dilemma. Whatever were you supposed to do? There was no escaping the fact that it was nigh impossible to find a good match within two moons, one that would satisfy both you and your father’s expectations. But was marrying Otto Hightower really your only option? In all your worst nightmares, you never imagined that it could get so bad. While you did not share Daemon’s intense hatred for the man, the man made your skin crawl, with his pleasantries disguising a shrewd mind of warped traditional beliefs.
‘Could I really be happy with a man like that?’
Lost in thought, you didn’t realise you had company until you caught sight of a tall figure with blonde hair, sitting under the shade of a huge willow tree, an intent expression on his face as he sketched away on a piece of parchment. Curious, you approached the lone figure to get a closer look. As you stepped closer however, your heel crunched on a branch, causing the mysterious stranger’s head to snap up. Your eyes snagged onto the sigil pinned to his tunic.
A Beesbury.
You inclined your head apologetically, “Beg your pardon, I did not mean to disturb you.” The young man from House Beesbury laughed, scooping up his parchment before walking towards you and bowing. “Lady Y/N. Do not apologise, my day has been made infinitely better by your presence.”
You let out a small chuckle at his flattering, giving him a discrete once over. Exactly who was this man? Clearly you were not subtle enough, given the fact that he bowed once more, placing a hand to his chest as he did. “You must forgive my rudeness, my lady. My name is Alan Beesbury. My father, Lord Lyman Beesbury, serves on the Small Council as Master of Coin.” You let out a surprise “Oh!” before dipping your head politely. “Ser Alan. You must forgive me, I did not recognise you.”
Ser Alan smiled brightly, unbothered. “Tis alright, my lady. Granted, I have never been introduced to you in a formal setting, so it is understandable you do not know me.” “How did you recognise me then, ser?” you inquired. “I visited Highgarden with my father a few years ago, and caught sight of you with your lord father. I deeply regret that I was not able to make your acquaintance then. Although it seems,” Alan grinned, his eyes dancing with mischief, “That I am lucky enough to behold your beautiful visage once more, my lady. You have only grown lovelier throughout the years.” You couldn’t refrain from snorting lightly, “You have quite the honeyed tongue, ser.” “Well, it is a useful skill at court. And to charm the ladies I have taken a fancy to.” he winked. “Would you grant me the honour of your company, my lady? It has been naught but two days since my arrival, and I find that I am in need of a guide to this vast keep.” An amused smile graced your lips, as you thought about his offer. He might be a flirt, and awfully forward, but he seemed a jolly enough fellow, and it would be rude to reject his company. And…it would be a good distraction.
“I am at your disposal, ser.” He gallantly offered you his arm, and you took it. As you strolled through the hallways of the Red Keep, passing servants shot you strange looks, but you ignored them. “So, what brings you to the Red Keep, ser?” “Ah, my lord father summoned me to court to attend the upcoming nuptials for Princess Rhaenyra and Ser Laenor Velaryon.” Alan made a face that was so offended you couldn’t help but let out a laugh. “He also thought it a good window of opportunity for me to find a lady wife.”
“Oh,” was all you could say, your mind going back to your unpleasant conversation with Otto Hightower. Not wanting to seem impolite, you quickly added, “I wish you luck in your search, ser.” He smiled, although the joy did not reach his eyes. “Thank you, my lady. You are too kind.”
Ser Alan halted abruptly, startling you when you noticed you had stopped next to a flowering bush. Carefully, he plucked a gorgeous, striking yellow rose, moving to tuck it behind your ear. “A magnificent rose, befitting a charming lady as yourself, my lady.” You couldn’t help but laugh a little at his spontaneous show of chivalry. “I have to admit, ser, that you are the first man who has shown me this courtesy. I thank you most humbly.”
“My father has always educated me about the importance of courtesy, especially to a lady.” Ser Alan shrugged, a sheepish grin painted on his features. “So long as it makes you happy, milady.” You strolled through the garden, chatting as he inquired about your life at court, which you happily indulged. Gradually, you forgot about Otto Hightower and Rhaenyra and Alicent as you conversed with him, too lost in trading anecdotes and playful jabs with each other about some rather insufferable personalities at court. You realised you found his company rather pleasing: he was attentive, and clearly a gentleman, but not to the extent where it was ridiculously cheesy. He wasn’t dreadful company either, he seemed sincere to get to know his talking companion, instead of endlessly bragging about himself or his long list of achievements. And behind his sweet words, he also hid a sharp sense of wit and humour. He was an ideal husband, the thought struck you like lightning. You could feel the cogs in your head begin to turn. You might have just found a way to escape Otto Hightower’s offer after all.
“May I confess something, my lady?” Ser Alan’s voice interrupted your thoughts. “You may speak freely with me, ser.” you hesitated, before asking him, “Is it alright if I call you Alan, instead?”
Ser Alan’s eyes widened, and you were a little afraid you had pushed your boundaries a little too far, but he soon broke out in a genuine smile. “If only I can call you Y/N in return, my lady.” You found yourself returning his smile with one of your own. “Then it is settled then. What were you going to say, Alan?” “To be honest, Y/N, I was extremely elated to run into you today.” Catching sight of your puzzled face, he hurriedly rushed to explain, “You see, I had sent a few marriage proposals to you before. Well at least my father has. I thought you quite brilliant despite my brief encounter with you at Highgarden. You radiate warmth, even at first glance, and I was rather drawn to you. Which was why I was so happy to have been able to have the fortune to bump into you here today. The Seven have truly blessed me.”
“I see…” you murmured. “You are rather forward, aren’t you, Alan?” Alan looked unashamed of that. “I am a firm believer that being coy often robs us of opportunities in life, Y/N.” An amused smile twitched at your lips, “A bold philosophy, though certainly a wise one.” You took some deep breaths, debating on the gamble you were about to take. It was risky as hell. You barely knew anything about the man. It could end in disaster. But then again, your recent track record of decisions had led to bigger disasters than this.
‘And do you truly believe that you would be able to find any other man of suitable standing to court you before your father’s deadline?‘
How life could change with just one decision.
“Alan.” you began slowly, swallowing as you braced myself.
“Yes, Y/N?”
“...does your marriage proposal still stand, by any chance?”
Throughout your time at court, you had not been well acquainted with Lord Lyman Beesbury. A jolly enough man, and sharp of wit and tongue despite his old age was all that you knew of him.
What you did not expect was how excited the man could be.
“Oh, this is fantastic, wonderful news,” Lord Lyman exclaimed, grabbing your hands and shaking them vigorously. You looked over to Alan with a bewildered expression, and he simply smiled and mouthed, ‘He’s always like this. Don’t mind it.’
“To think my son would finally settle down, and to Lady Tyrell at that,” Lyman continued to ramble on, and you were a little worried that the old man might collapse from the joy. “A fine, fine choice you’ve made, son. A fine choice. I couldn’t be prouder…”
You were mortified at how eager Lord Lyman seemed to be at the prospect of your marriage, but inside, you were secretly relieved. Otto Hightower had not sent word after news of your engagement with Ser Alan had disseminated through the castle, in no part thanks to the gossips who sniped at how the two of you barely had a courtship before your engagement. You had heard many whispers and murmurings of how desperate you must be to be driven to this point, but you didn’t care. You would take marrying Ser Alan any day over Otto Hightower.
No one was, of course, happier than Lord Matthos Tyrell at the word of his daughter’s engagement. From the way the reply to your letter had a few suspicious stains here and there, it seems a few tears had been shed. You could only muster a small smile at that, however.
Alan had been the perfect gentleman over the past two weeks, showering you with gifts such as flowers or jewels - as fitting a suitor does to a lady - spending time with you, taking strolls with you, oftentimes visiting you while you were carrying out your duties as lady-in-waiting to Alicent and the like. Time after time, you would find Alicent’s gaze trailing across Alan doubtfully, like she was trying to scrutinise him for any signs of ill will, but you had reassured her in private that he was wonderful. But all she had to say was:
“It is in human nature not to show who they truly are until later on, Y/N. I am just concerned.”
Alicent’s words made you a little ill at ease, as you knew as much. You’ve heard so many horror stories over the years from ladies whose husband’s affections for them evaporated like morning dew upon their marriage after all, and seen enough examples.
But you had made your gamble, and you must live with the consequences. No matter how dire they may be.
The candles in the King’s private bed chambers and living space flickered as the doors opened with a loud creak, and you stepped in quietly. The room looked empty, and so you decided to walk around for a bit.
And that’s when your heart nearly stopped.
There she was.
Rendered in vivid oils, the likeness of Aemma stared out at you with that gentle, comforting smile. Her visage encased within an intricately carved gold frame with dragons, and a makeshift shrine with candles decorated her portrait. Your heart was suddenly gripped with unbearable pain.
“Beautiful, isn’t she?” Viserys’ voice rang out from behind you, as he walked slowly to stand next to you, staring almost reverently up at her portrait. You couldn’t speak, your throat was closing up at the threat of tears that threatened to overwhelm and spill out from your eyes. You tilted your head down, unable to look anymore at that familiar, haunting smile.
The press of a small white candle into your hand startled you. Viserys regarded you with a knowing sadness. “I thought you might like to honour her. We haven’t…done so in a while. Together as a family.”
You nodded, not trusting your voice right now. Gingerly, you reached over and lit the candle, placing it on the shrine. You bowed your head, thinking of how much things have changed ever since her passing. How much you have had to change.
“She would be so pleased to know that you were getting married,” Viserys lamented, gently touching oil-painting-Aemma’s hand. “From what I can recall, it had always been one of her greatest wishes to see you happily married.”
You offered him a hollow smile at that. The joys of marriage had not yet made itself known to you, if you were even capable of it. And now, your head was too occupied with memories.
“You’re in a terribly grumpy mood,” Aemma commented, as she reached for a roll of warm buttered bread to go with her third cup of tea. Her light blue eyes were filled with amusement as she watched you prop your head up from where you had lain it on the table, a disgruntled expression on your features. “Dare I inquire for the reason?”
“Father has sent me another list of eligible bachelors,” you grumbled, helping Aemma refill her teacup, which she sighed exasperatedly at that. When it was just the two of you alone, she preferred for you not to serve her as lady-in-waiting, instead being more at ease and natural with her as her friend. But despite your attempts at overturning this habit, you found yourself unable to. Touch and small gestures were how you expressed your feelings after all.
“From which kingdom is it for this time?” Aemma asked in a joking tone, putting a strawberry tart in her mouth as she stroked her small baby bump that had begun to show after four moons.
“The Stormlands this time,” you sighed, dispiritedly popping a tart with an unknown yellow fruit in your mouth. The tangy sweetness, yet slight sourness of the fruit made you cheer up a little.
“That’s a mango tart. Some merchants from the Summer Isles exported it to us,” Aemma explained, carefully noting your expression.
“I wish I could live in the Summer Isles,” you sighed, popping another one of those tarts into your mouth. “And be done with all this bother. For Seven’s sake, I’m only twenty one. There’s still plenty of time.”
“Yes, for you to develop wrinkles,” Aemma jested, letting out a laugh at your mortally offended face. “My queen, is it customary for you to insult your subjects in their time of distress?” You asked with faux hurt in your voice.
“Perhaps I am a secret tyrant,” Aemma smirked slightly, lifting her teacup to her lips. “I am serious though, Y/N. You've been by my side as my lady-in-waiting for nearly two years, and we have known each other since we were children. You watched me get married to Viserys, be crowned as Queen, and giving birth to Rhaenyra. When will I get to witness some of your happy moments?”
You gave her a deadpan look. “Aemma. I truly see no joy in getting married now. I’m still too young.” Aemma tried to hold in a sigh. “”And when will that be? Moons later? Years? A decade? When you’re old and grey?”
“When I am ready, Aemma.” You stated, voice tinged with determination. “But when?” Aemma pressed. “Not to fear, I will definitely get married sometime during your lifetime,” you reassured her in a joking tone. “Perhaps when you’ve lived to seventy years…”
Aemma threw the throw cushion she was holding in her lap at you, and you caught it, laughing, as Aemma shook her head in fond exasperation. “You’re insufferable.”
Aemma looked at you, laughter dancing in your eyes as you changed the topic back to how you were going to answer your father’s newest letter. A wistful smile tugged at the corner of her lips.
Do whatever you want, Y/N. I just hope that you will never sacrifice your happiness for the sake of something else.
A small tear plopped to the weathered ground of the King’s chambers as you managed to choke out, “She would be. I just wish…she could be here to see it.”
Viserys had a slightly guilty look on his face as you turned your gaze back to the portrait, confronting all the painful, bittersweet memories in all their blazing intensity.
It was time to stop running.
“When did you get this portrait commissioned?” The small semblance of a smile appeared on Viserys’ face again. “It is a story in itself, actually. Back when Aemma was…” Viserys’ voice hitched. “Pregnant…with Baelon, I had commissioned an artist from Volantis to paint it, as a gift to Aemma. Honouring her for giving us our-” Viserys choked up, his voice cracking. “For giving us our son.”
Your fists clenched slightly. “And then when Aemma…I was so lost. I couldn’t bring myself to look at any portraits of her, so I stopped work on the painting.” Viserys looked like he wanted to pull portrait Aemma out of the frame she was trapped in, by sheer will of anguish.
“But I had a change of heart. Three months after I named Rhaenyra as heir, I had moved on. I finally felt…peace. Like I have taken a step to atonement. So I gave word for the artist to continue, wanting to place it in the Gallery of Dragons after it was done.” The Gallery of Dragons was an art gallery in the Red Keep which honoured previous Targaryen rulers and royals who had passed. “But then he died when Alicent and I married.”
“Oh dear,” you murmured softly under your breath, and Viserys let out a ragged laugh, before bursting into a fit of coughing. You moved to help him to a chair, but he held out a hand, his focus on Aemma.
“I thought it a sign from the ancestors, from the Gods, that I should let go,” Viserys voiced out tiredly. “And so the painting remained untouched, and I thought I’d never see it to its finish. That the chapter would remain closed forever.”
“Then when Helaena was born, the head royal artist decided to take on the job.” “Why?” You asked. You knew that the head royal artist, an old kindly man, had deeply revered Queen Aemma, for he was of the Vale and Aemma had brought him to court as part of her entourage, where he quickly rose up in the ranks. His previous occupation as a woodworker apparently served his artistic abilities well.
“He was in his final days, and he wished for that to be the last painting he ever did.” Viserys smiled, his head drooping. “And I am glad he did.”
Silence fell over the room as you two continued admiring the painting of your beloved Aemma. “Her eyes seem imbued with life, don’t you think?” You mentioned in a soft voice. “It’s like she is about to start talking any second now.” Viserys let out a hoarse sounding laugh, coughing again. This time it sounded more serious, but he waved away your concern all the same. “They are. The artists did a good job.”
You were surprised when Viserys shuffled away to a chest on a table, rummaging through it before taking something out. It turned out to be some strange looking thin red sticks.
“In Old Valyria, while there were many gods that people worshipped, the way they honoured their dead were the same,” Viserys explained quietly, handing you a stick, which you took, bewildered. “They would light it, then bow three times before the deceased’s portrait. It was said that a soul connection would then be forged between you and the person you were mourning, and you could convey a message to them.”
“It sounds…” you tried to find the words to describe it. “...poetic.”
“I thought so too. Shall we?”
The two of you lit up the sticks, and a sweetly smoky smell emitted from them as they were lit. you followed Viserys’ lead, bowing your head three times, before closing your eyes.
You hesitated on what to say, but eventually settled on, ‘I’m getting married, Aemma. I wish you were alive to witness it…but I know you would be delighted in the afterlife. I hope you are doing well.’
‘I hope you’ve seen how much I’ve grown. I hope you’re proud of me.’
“Are you happy, Y/N?” Viserys’ voice broke you out of your thoughts. For a moment, you look lost at what to respond. Were you happy? Though you didn’t feel the typical, dizzy excitement that the poets talked about when getting married, you felt something steady, something reassuring. Contentment.
“I am.”
“Truly?” Viserys’ pressing made you hesitate a little, but you pulled a smile on your face and answered. “I am. Really. Alan is a good man, and I am ready to begin a new chapter in my life.”
Viserys finally began to relax, the tension visibly seeping out of his muscles. “Then I am most pleased for you. Though I never envisioned you to marry, and a selfish part of me wishes you would not have to leave this court, I am happy for you.”
You bowed, a gesture of gratitude. “Thank you, Viserys. It means a lot to me.”
His next words made you temporarily stunned into silence however. “Of course, I have also prepared your dowry. I have made sure that while it is lacking compared to Rhaenyra’s, that it is not to be underestimated. A ransom of jewels and gold as well as some antiques - Lord Beesbury does love his antiques. Some of those diamonds and sapphires are the finest I have ever seen.”
Your mouth was agape. “Viserys, there is no need for you to-” Viserys talked over you, taking your hand. “But there is.” He looked at you with heartfelt gratitude and affection. “You are family to me, Y/N. It is the least I can do for you, for such a momentous occasion.”
Your gaze softened as you began tearing up. “I cannot accept this. My father is already-” “I know, Y/N,” Viserys silenced you again. “But it’s not just for your dowry. Majority of the jewels and gold are for you.”
You were now even more horrified and confused than before. “For me?” Viserys regarded you with a fond exasperation that almost made you weep at his similarity to Aemma’s. “For you, you silly goose. In the event…you are unhappy with your match, those jewels and gold should be sufficient for you to start a sizeable fund of your own. And of course, I will welcome you back to court with open arms at any time.”
You couldn’t see past the blurry haze of tears and the painful throbbing of your heart, but the next thing you knew, Viserys was hugging you tightly back as you embraced him, choking with quiet sobs. He was crying himself a little too. “I only hope that you will be happy for the rest of your days, Y/N,” Viserys murmured, gently patting your back. Your body shook with violent sobs. “I…will. I promise. I thank you most gratefully for your generosity.”
The two of you stayed like this for a while, before you awkwardly broke apart when the tears had stopped flowing. “The hour is quite late,” Viserys noted, feeling a little fatigued. You smiled weakly, still reeling from the shock. “That it is. I should be returning to my chambers then.”
Viserys nodded, looking at you with fondness in his gaze. “Of course. You must still help me plan for Rhaenyra’s upcoming nuptials. And for your own. I would not want to impose on you any further.”
You curtsied slightly, “Then I shall retire for the night then.” You hesitated, looking at Aemma’s portrait one last time, many thoughts running through your head. A final goodbye. “Good night, Viserys.”
Viserys watched her leave, and the world suddenly seemed darker, much heavier. Like it had been since Aemma died. Coughs shook Viserys’ body, and he wearily took out a handkerchief to cover his mouth, careful not to let his spittle fly. A crimson stain slowly pooling at the white cloth was all he saw when he removed the handkerchief from his mouth.
‘And now, I am alone once more.’ Viserys thought grimly, looking back at Aemma. ‘My last reminder of you is gone, and only Rhaenyra remains now. My strength, and my consolation. And my regret.’
Somewhere far away in Pentos, the squawks of a raven could be heard as first light broke across the city. Daemon Targaryen awoke, hair tousled and a disgruntled expression on his face, despite last night’s pleasures. He had dreamed of her. Again. It seemed she was a wraith plaguing his mind ever since that fateful day in Flea Bottom.
His annoyance rose tenfold when he stalked up from his bed to receive the messenger raven. Unfolding the parchment, he took note of the familiar, rather wonky scrawl of someone who had only learnt to write recently. His eyes trailed over the words ‘the Hand has fallen from his high horse’, and he scoffed, smugness lining his features. The next two lines gave him pause, however.
‘The Princess has been betrothed to Ser Laenor.’
‘Lady Y/N Tyrell has been betrothed to Ser Alan Beesbury.’
‘From your loyal companion, Mysaria.’
Se Zaldrizoti' Prumia Taglist: @drwho-ess @graniairish @urmomsgirlfriend1 @thelittleswanao3 @animelover18 @llovinjoonie @gracielikegrapes @salembridger @itszzmoon @kmmg98 @travelingmypassion @zae5 @norestfortheshelbywicked @soleilgrec @anehkael @midnightprincess18 @lilith--666 @saay-karani @dumbhxeredrose @syviiss @nyenye @ahristata @hiraethrhapsody @babypink224221 @mckenziewhite2005 @justrybca @omgsuperstarg
Daemon General Taglist: @aiyaiy @kmmg98 @norestfortheshelbywicked @hb8301 @hc-geralt-23 @babypink224221 @mckenziewhite2005
those who are bolded are those who couldn’t be tagged! let me know if you wish to be added to the taglist in the comments or through this form!
A/N: One more chapter until the end of Act I!!! AAAHHHHHH. I deeply apologise for my repeated promises to publish only to chicken out at the end, so I shall now refrain from making promises that I cannot make 😭 I hope to get Chapter 10 out before 2024 officially hits (new year new me lol), but no promises there. I'll do my best, however!
As always, thank you for reading this far! Let me know what you thought about this chapter in the comments 💕
#aureliawrites#aurelia's fics#se zaldrizoti prumia#sezaldrizotiprumia masterlist#house of the dragon#house of the dragon fic#house of the dragon fanfic#hotd fanfic#hotd#daemon fanfic#daemon targaryen x oc#daemon targaryen x y/n#daemon targaryen fanfiction#daemon fanfiction#daemon prince#daemon x tyrell!reader#daemon x y/n#prince daemon x reader#daemon x you#daemon x reader#daemon x oc#prince daemon targaryen#daemon targaryen x reader#daemon targeryan#daemon targeryen x reader#hotd x reader#hotd x oc#hotd x you#hotd x y/n#daemon targaryen x tyrell!reader
86 notes
·
View notes
Text
Casey Jones Fucking Dies: Chapter 1
so you guys know that raph kills casey concept i posted about earlier this week? i wrote the first chapter, most of it is the fight scene between raph and casey when they first meet in The Good the Bad and the Casey Jones. here's the original post btw
also TW for blood, murder, panic attacks (kind of?) and fighting
It was a chilly night. Raph was running along roof tops, breaking just about everything in sight. Earlier that night, back in the lair, his brother Leo beat him in a sparring match, causing him to lash out. Well it's not his fault he lashed out! If his stupid brother hadn't made him so angry by beating him in the stupid match- Ugh! Whatever.
"It's not like i was trying to hurt Leo! They just don't get it" Raph muttered to himself, sitting down on one of the roofs. He sat, sulking to himself before getting up to punch the air conditioning that seemed to be gloating him. He paused for a moment, hearing sounds of fighting. "Well, well," he thought to himself, "looks like my night may have just turned around." After all, fighting the purple dragons, or foot ninjas, or whatever seemed to be making that noise, would be a lot better than punching air conditioners.
He leaped over to the next building and onto the fire escape on the other side of it. Some crazy masked guy with a hockey stick was taking on the purple dragons, and he was doing a pretty decent job too, If it weren't for the fact that he was beating them a little too hard.
"That guy's outta control. Time for a little intervention" Raph spoke quietly while pulling out his sai. He leaped down for his perch on the fire escape, landing beside the crazed man, grabbing his hockey stick before he could land another blow.
"W-who's back there? S-show yourself!" the man stuttered, unsheathing a baseball bat for the harness on his back. As Raph lurked out of the shadows, he heard the human mutter "Another mutant?"
"Got a problem with that!?" Raph snapped back.
"Wait, what are you, some kinda turtle ninja?" the human laughed. Raph growled in response, which gave the purple dragons a chance to get away.
"Hey you filthy scum I'm not done with you!" the man yelled as they ran from the alley, disappearing into the crowded new york sidewalk.
"Let me handle this" Raph ordered, placing a hand onto the human's shoulder to try and keep him from running away. Only to be met with the human smacking Raph's hand away.
"Outta my way!" the man snapped.
Raph could feel the anger in him rising before stating "Y'know anger is a dangerous ally!" he said, repeating the very same wisdom his father imparted on him earlier. "Why don't you cool off for a while" Raph reprimanded.
"That's it lizard," the human muttered taking out a second hockey stick from his holster, paired with the baseball bat from earlier. "i'm done with you. GOONGALA!" the insane man yelled while running towards Raph.
They tussled for a bit, blocking each other's weapons, hockey stick and baseball bat being meant with twin sai.
"I told you to back off!" Raph warned, before kicking the crazed human into a nearby trash can. He put his sai in his belt, assuming the fight was over. He assumed wrong. The guy poked his masked head out of the trash can.
"You let those muggers go? You're gonna pay for that, freak!" the man spat, raising his bat and hockey stick again. This time he ran straight towards the turtle, ramming him into the other side of the alley.
They swung at each other a few times before raph flipped in the air throwing ninja stars at human. The guy blocked them with his glove, before confessing "Gotta admit, throwing stars are cool."
"Lemme show you my sai" the turtle gloated, a smirk on his face. He was beginning to enjoy the thrill of the fight. The human hit his weapons together a single time, in an attempt to look intimidating. The turtle and insane human ran at each other, once again trying to hit each other yet being blocked each time.
The human even managed to get a hit on raph, making him double over in pain. The man used him as a boost to jump over him, hitting the turtle and landing him on his plastron. "Heh, ain't turtles supposed to be endangered?" the human mocked.
"Only the ones who can't do this!" Raph announced, turning onto his shell and kicking his legs up, hitting the man in the face. The guy landed on his stomach several feet away, with his weapons knocked out of his hands and laying beside him.
Raph approached the human who was now trying to get up from the brutal hit. They once again started blocking each other's hits, however the human was doing so very sloppily. Raph was able to get several hits on the man before he ran over into the street attempting to get away or at the very least build some distance.
Raph kept swinging away at the man, pushing him against a car setting off its alarm. The human jumped over the front of the car, and while midair, his shoes turned into roller blades. Now missing his baseball bat, wielding just a hockey stick, the human lowly muttered a "Let's go!"
This, this pissed raph off, he growled at the human before angrily swinging at him, he was seeing red. It didn't help that the human while on his roller blades, was now easily dodging the turtle's attacks. The human even landed two hits on the back of the turtle's head and a third one on his shell, all while avoiding his attacks.
The human skated around raph, coming up behind him to knock him down and onto his plastron a second time. Upon getting up, raph could feel his rage increasing with every blow the human delivered to him, one even hit him hard enough to land him on his shell a few feet away. The man skated over to the turtle, about to deliver a finishing strike right to the turtle's face. But the turtles grabbed his hockey stick before he could.
He yanked the hockey stick away from him, before grabbing the man by the shoulders, picking him up, and slamming him onto a nearby car. "That, ugh... hurt..." the man groaned. He looked up to be met with the turtle's foot on his chest, preventing him from escaping.
The turtle masked in red with eyes white drew his sai up into the air, yelling in rage and preparing to attack. The human let out one last scream of fear before the sai came crashing down and-
Raph heard a crunch.
oh. oh no.
He took a step back, looking at what he had done, removing the now blood stained sai from the face of the human. The red masked turtle felt his breathing increase. He began to feel sick. He looked, really looked, at what he had done. The human's mask was broken in three large pieces. The man was no longer moving, but now had blood pooling around his head. And without thinking or even wanting to, Raph ran.
He ran back to the alleyway where he had been fighting the human just a few minutes earlier. He ran up the fire escape where he had first seen the man. Upon making it up to the rooftops he stopped for a moment hyperventilating before once again taking off, he hopped over several buildings before collapsing down onto his hands and knees. He felt tears begin to run down his face and make their way down onto the concrete beneath him. He didn't care. He deserved every bit of guilt he felt considering what he had just done. He deserved the shame that came with crying.
After what felt like an hour but what could've only been a few minutes, he began to try and compose himself, wiping the few tears left off his face. He stood back up, trying to ease his breathing.
Home. He needed to get home.
Chapter 2/Masterpost
#tmnt#2012 tmnt#casey jones#2012 casey jones#2012 raph#raphael#can you tell this is my first attempt at fanfic#fanfic#chapter 1#tw blo0d#tw murder#tw panic attack#kind of?#casey jones fucking dies
46 notes
·
View notes
Text
Student Profile: Ochre (may add more in the future)
(reblogs help a lot)
Tribe - Mudwing
Winglet - Pearl
Colour - Ochre brown
Relatives - Clay (Cousin), Sora (Cousin), Reed (Cousin), Marsh (Cousin), Pheasant (Cousin), Umber (Cousin)
Clawmates - Scallop (Seawing), Darkstalker (Nightwing)
Favourite subject - Art
Least fav. subject - “Anything that Clay teaches”
Physical characteristics - Dull eyes, 1st and 2nd-degree burns all over his body that seem to be very recent (mostly focused on his limbs, head, and wings), very large stature, overweight with some defined musculature, can usually be seen wearing a piece of jewellery in the shape of three moons (made by Darkstalker)
Other characteristics/personality - currently the oldest student at Jade Acadamy apathetic, clumsy, pessimistic, aggressive, despises Clay (his actions towards him include: telling him to shut up, talking over him, stepping on his claw and/or tail when walking past him. Separate them as much as possible), abrasive, reported threats of violence against Clay and Fatespeeker, hates loud noises/dragons and crowds, no reports of violence or any misdemeanours have come from his winglet, volatile, grows agitated if burns are mentioned, quick to do tasks when asked (depending on which teacher is asking him), responds well to praise (depending on who it comes from), has refused to counsel (gives many reasons including: “I'm not going to tell Clay anything”, “are you implying that there's something wrong with me?!”), has started painting in the art room whenever he gets angry to relieve stress without being asked to (very commendable, however, his paintings are very questionable, including scenes of the brightest night, blood red eggs, blood red eggs being smashed/cooked in very elaborate ways, Clay being brutally hurt and/or killed in many gruesome and detailed ways and, drawings and portraits of the members of his winglet, usually drawings of Scallop and him together), don’t understand (or care) about other dragons feelings, most often does work when people are watching him and if he gets credit from it; is constantly trying to one-up Clay; acts like a bigwings towards the rest of the pearl winglet (he can be seen caring for the other members and listens to their problems); quick to use violence whenever one of the dragons in his winglet is being bullied (though its mostly Darkstalker since he's bullied the most)
Extras:
I want to take the time to explain some of Ochre’s actions.
First his apathy/aggression towards Fatespeeker. It's simple, he knew the prophecy wasn’t real so he couldn't bother caring for any of the False DoD or about anything at all, there was no reason to; none of them mattered, their only purpose was as a backup in case their originals failed. This is why he gets so mad at Fatespeaker, especially when she talks about how they “were destined to be friends” because no, they weren’t, and watching her act as if they were destined for anything important made him feel even worse about the position he’s in. he wanted to be special, to have a grand adventure but he wasn't and he couldn't. Growing up only living as someone's replacement caused him to always compare himself to Clay. the fact that the prophecy wasn’t real made him angrier because somewhere out there, there was a dragon who was better than you in almost every way possible accomplishing a prophecy that wasn't even real. To Ochre, Clay is the living embodiment of everything that he wants to be but can't because he wasn't treated like he was worth anything. While he may state that he gives himself burns to “Become like Clay” (he may even think this is the reason) in reality he’s desperate to find a reason why Clay got all the cards in his favour, he’s desperate to convince himself that something made Clay so much better than him and that there was nothing he could do. For Ochre, he clung to the fact that Clay is fireproof and he isn't since it was the most distinct difference. (I am so sorry if this part was rambly, I was trying to get all my thoughts on my favourite False DoD in one place) Ochre was in the Talons of Peace but left to join the academy.
#wings of fire#wof#art#wof art#wof ochre#wof ochre au#au#wof au#wings of fire art#character bio#ill add more tags later#wof mudwing#pearl winglet#I tricked you all into reading a character analysis
16 notes
·
View notes
Text
The Sandman Oneshots Masterlist
🔥- Smut
🤭- Suggestive themes
Dream of the Endless
Dream x Reader: Reincarnation
Dream x Reader: Day of the Librarian
Dream x Siren!Reader
Dream x Reader: Let Me Show You
Dream x Human Reader: The Cursed Truth
Dream x Witch!Reader: Deity
Dream x Raven/Rachel Roth!Reader Headcanons
Angry Dream x Reader: Noise
Dream x Reader: Insecure 🔥
Dream x Kryptonian Reader
Dream x Reader: Dancing
Dream x Reader: Bad Day
Dream x Vampire!Reader: Blood
Dream x Reader: Cara mia
Dream x Reader: Vulnerable
Dream x Reader: Preformance
Dream x Reader: Vengeful
Dream x Reader: Skincare
Dream x Reader: Morning Cuddles
Dream x Reader & Daughter: Uncle Cori
Dream x Reader: Sick
Dream x Reader: Cadaver 🤭
Dream x Reader: Back to Back
Tom Sturridge x Reader: Lunch
Dream x Freyja!Reader: Our Son
Dream x Reader: You're Early
Jealous Dream x Reader: Favorite
Dream x Reader: Haunted House
Dream x Reader: Haunted Forest
Dream x Reader & Daughter: Over A Century Late
Dream x Reader: Forced Break Up
Dream x Reader: Dream A Little Dream of Me
Dream x Reader: The Whole World in My Hands
Dream x Reader: That Night They Dreamed of Her Face
Dream x Reader: Doubts
Dream x Immortal/GoddessReader: Bet
Dream x Reader: Safety
Dream x Reader: Family
Dream x Reader: Make Up
Dream x Reader: Summer Weather
Dream x Pregnant Reader: Kidnapped
Dream x Reader: Bullies
Protective!Dream x Reader: Bruises
Dream x Reader: Painted Nails
Dream x Reader: A Date in The Dreaming
Dream vs Movie Night Labyrinth (request/suggestion)
Dream x Reader: Loving An Endless (series oneshot request)
Dream x Penelope: The Happiest Place On Earth (series oneshot)
Multiple Part Oneshot Requests:
Dream x Reader: Make Out Session Part 1
Dream x Reader: Make Out Session Part 2
Dream x Reader: Confession Part 1
Dream x Reader: Confession Part 2
Dream x Reader: Dream vs Technology Part 1
Dream x Reader: Dream vs Technology Part 2
Dream x Daughter!Reader: Eye to Eye Part 1
Dream x Daughter!Reader: Eye to Eye Part 2
Dream x Elemental!Reader Part 1
Dream x Elemental!Reader Part 2
Dream x Wednesday Reader Part 1
To Catch a Fallen Star - Star!Dream x Reader Mini-series:
Tag List
Part 1
Part 2
Lord Meowpheus Requests:
Cat!Dream x Reader: Cat Couch
Cat!Dream x Reader: Fairest Cat of Them All
Cat!Dream x Reader: Sleep then Study
Cat!Dream x Reader: Cat Cuddles & Baby Snores
Cat!Dream x Reader: Rest
Dream x Reader: Cat Dream (Maine Coon Version)
Dream x Reader: Cat Dream (original)
Narcoleptic Reader Requests:
Dream x Narcoleptic Reader Part 1
Dream x Narcoleptic Reader Part 2
Dream x Narcoleptic Reader Part 3
Whitelighter Crossover Requests:
Dream x Whitelighter Reader Part 1: Yours Am I?
Dream x Whitelighter Reader Part 2: The Fishers, The Dragon and The Endless
Dream x Whitelighter Reader Part 3: Once Upon A Time
Dream x Whitelighter Reader Part 4: Hello Kids?
Desire of the Endless
Desire x Soul Bound: All She Desired (request)
Desire x Soul Bound: Bunny (request)
169 notes
·
View notes
Text
A different kind of ghost.
Black star entered The bunker through one of his dimensional portals. Looking around the place. It seemed forgotten. Dust was heavy everywhere. Rust had settled in as cracks in the walls formed. Water trickling down in a deafening silence. The place looked insignificant. About as abandoned as he had probably left it in his own world. What was so important?
The feeling had permeated his mind immediately. The impatient being strapped to his shoulder had started squawking. Saying that something had finally been finished or found. It was weird how the dimensions location was impressioned upon him. Most of the time he could feel a level of danger with Blue Moon's dimensions. It would either feel relatively calm or angry when they shifted. He had always been strange when it started, but it wasn't alien anymore.
This world though felt, hurt. It wasn't the basic feeling of calmness or ferocity. That feeling was still certainly there, But in the background. This feeling was precedent and on top. The steep feeling of hurt, confusion, suffocation. It didn't really feel like the worlds main feeling. It's not like he was feeling something far more specific. Like somebody specific feelings. Of course the Dragon would not answer anything as to why it felt different. It's simply urged him to explore and figure out for himself. Irritating thing.
But either way the feeling was indeed too hard to ignore. As much as he wanted to fight the feeling out of spite. He just didn't have any to give. So into this mysterious dimension he went. And here he was staring at the shattered remains of a bunker long left forgotten. I've handedly he thought about what had happened in this bunker. He assumed it was the standard. Him stuck in a computer while blood moon yipped at him. Killcode not giving him much mind of day other than ordering him around like an animal. He was glad many other dimensionals variants weren't like the main line kill code.
Although he started to grow more irritated the more he realized nothing was here. The bunker was abandoned. Who would have guessed? He snarled up the dragon. Who remained stagnant on their shoulder. Like the thing wasn't there again. Typical. He let out a sigh as he realized he was going to have to explain to old lunar -his other families- that it was nothing. Just a terrible feeling with no evidence to back it up with. He started to get the portal back home ready.
Then he was startled by a wheezing noise. He passed in his preparation. Looking back towards where the noise came from. It was in his old lab. With all the power off, it looked like a haunting hallway. The dark permeated far, But it started to be broken. Some sort of smoke came through. The smoke inexplicably glowed. It was strange as an illuminated the room. Dim but there. The wheezing started to get louder. And with it so did the smoke permeate more. Almost as if it was coming from the sound of the wheezing.
Black Star tensed up. He was not a fighter, and would rather run. But he prepared himself to teleport away quickly if needed. Soon the glowing smoke filled the room. It didn't smell much different than smoke. Although it felt stronger in a way. Not by smell but by feeling. Perhaps heavier? Black Star wasn't sure. But he froze when he saw a clawed hand grasp the edge of the doorway. Faded rusted orange grasping.
Soon a figure walked out. It glowed at its seams, and eyes were burning with light. Black Star could only stare in Wonder as the form of a solar flare is stood in front of him. It look rusted to all hell. It's colors seem faded. The original color only coming in through sparse cracks. But the most interesting thing was the way it glowed. And smoked. Through every crack and seam something glowed from within. And also from those cracks was the source of the mystical smoke. It vented out quietly like steam. Although it did not make a sound as if it was held back by pressure. They were inexplicably covered by Shadow and also by light. The glowing smoke adding to the strange effect.
He was broken from his observation as the solar flare made a wheezing growling sound. Using its grasp on the door to thrust itself forward. Black Star rolling back in shock. The solar flare seemed to scratch at the air where he was. It's strange growl continuing. It's movements were jerky. As if it was cutting out of the rust that seemed to stick on its body. Although he wouldn't describe it as sluggish. Just painful looking. The solar flare seemed to steady itself back up. Black star backing up more. The thing continue to stare at him with irritation, but did not make another move forward. Black Star relaxing hoping that the sudden attack was over.
Vapor: You should be dead.
Black Star was startled by their voice. It was outrageously staticky. Most definitely broken. The strange growling seemed to make more sense now. Although as he processed the words the attack made sense to him finally. The solar flare fought he was their eclipse. Who was apparently dead. He attempted to straighten himself up. Coughing slightly to relax his nerves and ready his voice.
Black Star: I'm not from here. I'm from another dimension.
Vapor: Then what are you doing here?
Black Star: Investigating? Just figuring out what's going on here.
Vapor: *wheeze* Why this bunker?
Black Star: ….. I honestly don't know. Why are you here? If your Eclipse is dead, shouldn't you be with Kill code?
Vapor: Abandoned!
Black Star was shocked at the loud staticky snarl that came with the word abandoned. It was a mix between anger and sadness over the word. As if they were fearful and angry over it. A part of his brain wondered if eclipse was in the solar flare body. That is what he did. Before they tragically died in his place. He had attempted to fool other dimensional people before in the same way. Who is just the fact that they called him dead that made him feel as if that was not such. Instead he decided to focus on trying to get some sort of history. Something else was going on.
Black Star: Abandoned? You? You are Killcodes right hand man. You were made to be so weren't you?
Vapor: Thought so. *Wheeze* Seems as if once my directive was done, I was nothing.
Black Star: Your directive is done?
Vapor: kill code made more allies. No longer has enemies. He is safe. *Wheeze* Are eclipse is gone. Star is with me. Nothing to worry about anymore.
Black Star: You have the star!? How has no one come to check on you?
Vapor: Don't know!
Black Star was again taken aback from just how angry they got. Now he had more questions then answers. The solar flare had the star, and no one was looking. How he got the star was confusing in itself. Although one thing was easy to figure out. Solar flare had probably killed Eclipse with the star. It was also probably why they glowed and smoked. Held inside himself the same he had done before. A dangerous action in itself.
He watched as the solar flare simultaneously relaxed around him, and got more furious. He knew solar flare, and any kind of solar flare, had the capacity to gain sentence. The solar flare was clearly hurt from being abandoned. While he couldn't wrap his head around why they would abandon solar flare. Especially when he had such a powerful artifact on him. But it clearly was something they were not enjoying the thought of. Every growled out word came with a blissful sadness. Blackstar could at least share in the reality of not being wanted. Something he thought he could never share with solar flare.
Black Star: Well that sure is mysterious. Are you safe with the star? You are, well to put it bluntly. Quite obviously smoking from its power.
Vapor: *long drawn out wheeze* It has given me the energy to stay here. Damage is acceptable.
Black Star: You're smoking. It doesn't really look like the damage is acceptable.
Vapor: Why would you care?
The words were spoken with a snarl. Although they burned a different sort of feeling into Blackstar. He could feel himself retracting as the words hit. Why did he care? He doesn't think he could truly answer the question himself. The most obvious thing was guilt. He felt guilty for a death He did not anticipate to escape. Why he felt such a strong feeling of guilt? That he was uncertain about. He had been told before that perhaps it was an connection that was born out of desperation. A connection that no matter how aggressive made them feel safer and regretful over what happened.
Black Star could only sit there for a second as he tried to come up with a reason that this solar flare would understand. Coming up with something simple. He wasn't the same eclipse of course.
Black Star: because I'm concerned? I worry about solar flare’s. I have regrets around mine, I don't wish for that to happen to anyone else.
Vapor: *wheeze* What could you do?
Black Star: I could… Bring you with me? Fix you up. Some place where you aren't rusting for people that have abandoned you?
The solar flare seems to stare at him. It is clear the part of him did not believe him. He couldn't blame them. He was an eclipse offering a service that no Eclipse probably would. A part of him deeply hoped they would agree. The solar flare had no one that was worried about them. Seemly forgotten despite the fact of the star. Taking him meant that no one would come for him. He could be a companion without the worry of someone else coming.
It was a jealous thought. There was no doubt behind it. But to just have a solar flare that wasn't an ambiguous child of an eclipse, nor had any family that would put up a fight to give him back. It was a jealous want for a companion that looked so familiar. His solar flare was long gone. He was ripped from his body while they stayed. To sit and die while he lived. He could not deny a part of him had always wanted some sort of companion that would remind him of the old one.
He slightly jumps as the solar flare lets out a sigh. Due to their smoking appearance It came out more so like a lot of hissing steam. The smoke around them, seemingly getting thicker.
Vapor: I will go for repairs. Stay perhaps if it feels safe. *Wheeze* Nothing else.
Black Star: Alright. I'm glad you're taking my help. Come through this portal. It will take you to one of my home dimensions.
Vapor: Dimensions?
Black Star: I have many companions. You will hear me frequently be called Black Star.
Vapor: Black star. *Wheeze* Should I worry about a name for myself.
Black Star: Well. Perhaps. I'm a dimensional traveler, and know many solar flares. It would be best to think of something.
Vapor: What, do you think?
Black Star: like what would I call you?
Vapor: *wheeze* Yes.
Black Star: Umm. Smokey? Smog? Fumes? Vapor?
Vapor: Vapor. You may call me Vapor.
Black Star: okay. Works with me.
Black Star watched as the solar flare walked through the portal. Surely there would be some confusion on the new visitor. He did not care much. He was going to fix them. Figure out if this smoke was bad or good. Figure out if they could remove the star. Just figure out how to get him stable and hopefully happy. He looked back at the old forgotten bunker. Now it truly would be empty. Nothing more than the glowing smoke in the air to tell of the existence of someone else. And even that would likely disappear over time. While he wondered why they had all forgotten so easily. He could not care too much as now he had a friend.
13 notes
·
View notes
Text
FE2 Novelization Translation - Prologue
If you would like to start from the beginning, read a missed part, etc., click here!
FE Game Script Translations - FE Novel Translations - Original FE Support Conversations
If you are interested in donating to support my work, please check out my Ko-fi here. Thank you!
———————————
Prologue
Darkness ravaged the sky.
Sometimes, a bright light flickered in that darkness and made a noise like that of a silver sword, as if writhing at the sudden realization of its own ugliness.
Beings with the ability to breathe fire knew their flames drew this darkness in closer, and also that the flames of their enemy’s suffering raged beyond trails as crimson red as blood.
The overwhelming waves of their screams, sobs, and wails blended with the great rumbling of the thunder splitting the sky, as dark clouds spewed forth lightning.
Raindrops as thick as an ancient tree trunk pelted the ground and ran across the earth, their muddy streams as fierce as a dragon, bending the knees of those clad in armor.
And the storm blew mercilessly against the dead, unfolding their arms their friends had placed at their chests, and scattering the flowers offered to them.
Why were the heavens going so mad that they birthed such a pure darkness and violent thunderstorm? If units are born to fight, then why were the heavens so angry?
Because the burden units bear is to plot the right course of history and fate. Nothing more, nothing less. They are not actually born to fight.
The heavens were angry at themselves for bestowing upon units a fate in which they are forced to perpetually fight.
ー
…That is the tale of those who fight. From the moment they are born from their mother's womb, they already bear the tragic burden of the tale told by those called units.
They believe with all of their hearts in the path they walk, and continuously fight, not once ever compromising with those who would block their path. It is a pure, genuine way of life, and the people honor that purity. That is how those who fight became known as units, from unity, as they unite people together.
Units. Why did the people decide they were different, and choose to call them by a separate name? Because they are such absolute and perfect human beings that 'unit' came to take on its own meaning. Although sometimes, that definition is filled with the sadness of their utter loneliness.
Units are the children of the two gods that founded the continent of Valentia in ancient times, Earth Mother Mila and War Father Duma, polar opposites of each other. Strange as it is, the units, both those that become enemy and ally, at the same time, and with the same devotion, worship those two gods.
Their worship is not only the method that grants them skills of the soul, brings their soul peace, and makes their soul stronger. Devoting themselves to the gods both changes their souls and immediately resculpts their bodies.
Their devotion to Earth Mother Mila and War Father Duma is the foundation for their strong bodies, combat prowess, and sometimes even their abilities to control sacred beasts. They exist on another level far higher than any normal human could achieve. Their great power is Mila's will for them, and their lust for battle is Duma's. Each unit's will becomes one with that of the gods, and they undergo a transformation not unlike a caterpillar's metamorphosis into a butterfly.
One example of a unit is the 'Cavalier,' a type of knight that attacks their enemies from atop a sacred horse. A Cavalier can become a 'Paladin,' which grants them new combat abilities and even greater mobility. Finally, they can ascend to another level even further beyond that, 'Gold Knight,' which turns their internal organs the color of gold. For those who become Gold Knight, both the unit themself and their sacred horse can breathe normally even under water.
That is the basic nature of their transformations into higher beings, which the units call "transcendence."
Despite any differences between them, all units hold the same belief in the two gods. That belief is the basis for their desire to transcend into higher beings, and the hard work they devote themselves to every day towards achieving their ultimate combat form.
But if that is so, then why must units fight each other? If you ask them, the answer they will likely give you, and the one they believe in, is this: though no one remembers why or when it started, history has always divided humanity into the defeated and those who defeated them. And so, the question traces back once again to ancient times. And if we ask ourselves who weaves history, then we find ourselves directing the question towards the gods. The two gods that founded the continent of Valentina are polar opposites. They created the units, and so none other than Duma and Mila themselves could be the answer as to who gave units their fate that forces them to fight each other.
Though she fought, Mila's true purpose was creation, and so she grieved the need for war, instead desiring to rule her country through kindness and love. Hers is the gentle and beautiful Kingdom of Zofia.
In direct contrast, Duma believes that war nurtures people like milk does a baby, and desires to rule a country guided by that ideal. His is the Rigelian Empire, home of countless valiant knights.
Because Valentina was the world birthed by two such gods as Duma and Mila, they were fated to rule as polar opposites over the north and the south. Zofia was established in the lands to the south, and Rigel the lands of the north. And so, as Valentina was one continent home to two nations incompatible in their ways of life, it became necessary to establish a treaty.
The Divine Accord stated that the two nations must understand each other - or at least ignore each other - and one must never invade the other. Duma and Mila, unaware of the characteristics of human nature, formed this vow called the Divine Accord, and ruled over Valentina.
But Duma and Mila are different. They had always been different. When water and oil are put together in a pot, they repel each other, separate, then stabilize. At first, they exist in harmony. But once the oil becomes dirty, the water becomes dirty. The boundary between them gradually disappears, and they mix. The resulting liquid becomes cloudy and muddy where the two meet, causing the two incompatible personalities to sharpen the fearful fangs they bear towards each other.
The Divine Accord was nothing more than a short-lived illusion. This mistake of theirs caused Mila and Duma to once again become hostile towards each other.
Meaning that Valentina was now on the verge of its most violent war yet since the dawn of its history.
#fire emblem#fe#fire emblem 2#fe2#gaiden#fe gaiden#fire emblem gaiden#fe15#fire emblem 15#shadows of valentia#fire emblem echoes#alm#celica#japan#japanese#translation#novel#light novel#fe2 novelization translation
19 notes
·
View notes
Text
AU Bot Plots
Detention...
Zuko had detention.
He had never gotten detention before. And it was over such a stupid thing. How was he supposed to know that Zhao would hear him? Zuko had waited until his teacher's back was turned and he was walking away to mutter under his breath where Zhao could stick his constantly changing syllabus. Zhao could have let it go, but instead, he blew up at Zuko, berating him for his lack of respect and finally sentenced him to detention for the first time in his high school career. It was...annoying.
Still, nothing to be done about it. His uncle's slight disappointment that he'd have to find someone to cover Zuko's shift at the Jasmine Dragon that afternoon was worth the hilarity of seeing how many shades of red Zhao could turn over a mumbled, half-heard insult. He had enough homework to carry him through an hour of boredom. It looked like he was in for a quiet afternoon. The only other person in the detention room was some guy in a dark hoodie that Zuko didn't recognize. He was in the back corner, already sleeping heavily. He was snoring, so Zuko took a seat near the front, to be as far away from that noise as possible. No headphones allowed in detention.
Zuko pulled out his econ textbook, notebook, and pencils and set to work. Just as he had just gotten absorbed into his work, the door swung open and a girl stumbled in, out of breath and flushed from what seemed to have been a frantic run to the detention room. Zuko knew her immediately. Katara had made a big splash when she and her brother had arrived at the school at the beginning of the year. She was a consummate overachiever and immediately joined student government, the theater club, and the swim team within her first week. Then it came out that she and her brother Sokka were not twins as everyone had originally assumed, but she was actually a genius who had been moved up a grade. Zuko had been held back a year because of a medical absence, so they were now in the same grade. Although they didn't have the same classes, Zuko, like most of the school knew Katara by reputation. It wasn't her brain she was most known for, though. It was her quick temper and heightened sense of justice. It seemed that Katara had never found a cause except the ones worthy of fighting for. It tended to land her in trouble. Often.
"Imiq," grunted the detention monitor with a level of familiarity that would have caused Zuko to melt in humiliation.
"Kyoshi," Katara greeted her with a casual head nod. Kyoshi arched on delicately sculpted brow at her and motioned to the clock above the door.
"It wasn't my fault!" Katara said defensively.
"It never is." Kyoshi seemed more amused than angry, though. She waved Katara off to her seat. Zuko wondered if Katara would have to serve an extra day of detention. That was the typical consequence of being more than five minutes late. Then Zuko's thoughts came to a crashing halt when Katara turned towards him. He'd seen Katara at a distance before, and he heard people talking about her. He knew she was widely regarded as beautiful, but he'd never gotten the chance to see her up close. Beautiful was underselling her. She was stunning!
No one had ever told him about the sharp intelligence in her eyes, or the mischievous quirk in her pouting lips. Distance hadn't let Zuko see the confident swing in her walk, or her effortless grace when she tossed her long, dark curls over her shoulder. She caught his eye and she smiled, warm and friendly and inviting. Zuko knew he was in trouble. She ignored the mostly empty desks in the large room and sat next to him.
"Hi, I'm Katara," she said, favoring Zuko with a sardonic smile. "What're you in for?"
Zuko knew he was in serious trouble
#atla#zutara#au plot bot#detention au#this is NOT going to be a fic#...probably#fanfic#ficlet#THE YEAR OF CONTENT!!!!
111 notes
·
View notes
Note
Hey can I’m have a platonic request with pitaya dragon cookie ananas dragon cookie lotus dragon cookie lychee dragon cookie and longan dragon cookie x sorbet shark cookie all of them adopt sorbet and become absolutely overprotective parental figures to them please headcanons imagine the reaction of the other cookies soon they know about this lol
Mmmm dragons
I just combined them all into one because yes, didn’t feel like dividing them up only for each one to have one or two
The Dragons & Sorbet Shark
Platonic
ˏˋ°•*⁀➷ It’s basically a custody war between all five dragons. They switch off with Sorbet Shark every few days- all the dragons are just attached to this small mershark cookie.
ˏˋ°•*⁀➷ Lotus was actually the one to originally find them. They decided to being Sorbet over to one of the dragon reunions and everyone basically said ‘Your child? No, communism. Our child.’
ˏˋ°•*⁀➷ Longan was against it at first, but once they found out that this cookie wasn’t even really a cookie- originally being a shark- they started to come around to them. Longan likes to sit down and read books to Sorbet Shark, who is completely enthralled by the concept of stories.
ˏˋ°•*⁀➷ No one except Lotus can understand them, and, as such, Lotus has become the official translator. Sometimes they use this to their advantage, especially when it comes to their turn on taking Sorbet Shark, but the dragons have come to learn what a lot of the little bubbly noises mean, along with the fact that Sorbet doesn’t exactly try to hide their body language at all.
ˏˋ°•*⁀➷ Lychee often takes Sorbet on little adventures! They love getting into mischief with the cookie, and will often prank the other dragons with Sorbet Shark. After the pranks, Lychee tends to use Sorbet as an escape route, basically just telling them that they can’t be angry because it was originally the mercookie’s idea. Sometimes it works. Sometimes it doesn’t. Most of the time it doesn’t, actually, but that doesn’t stop Lychee from trying.
ˏˋ°•*⁀➷ Sorbet Shark has tried to copy fighting moves from Pitaya, which mainly includes charging at a random tree with a stick as a sword. Pitaya finds it amusing, and they go out of their way to try and teach the little cookie the things they’ve learned during fights, and how to defend themselves if need be. They’re a very proud parent whenever they see Sorbet defeat a foe or enemy with a tactic they taught the mercookie.
ˏˋ°•*⁀➷ Ananas likes to take Sorbet flying, often times in their dragon form. They find it interesting how Sorbet seems to communicate with the little fish that swim around their islands, and will often spectate them. The dragon has no clue what they’re saying to each other, but they find it amusing none-the-less.
ˏˋ°•*⁀➷ Lotus will fulfill every little wish the little cookie has with zero hesitation. They’re literally spoiled rotten when they go to the lotus paradise. Lotus loves to walk with Sorbet around the water gardens, observing water lilies and lotuses and all the other water plants.
ˏˋ°•*⁀➷ Sorbet Shark enjoys spending time with every one of their parents, and though they feel a little bit left out at not being a dragon, they don’t mind it too much, and enjoy all the time they have been gifted with!
#cookie run#cookie run kingdom#cookie run oven break#crk#crob#sorbet shark#platonic#familal#lotus#lotus dragon#ananas#ananas dragon#pitaya#pitaya dragon#lychee#lychee dragon#longan#longan dragon#they all adopted sorbet#co-parenting#yes#requests open
34 notes
·
View notes
Note
How do Wukong and macquad act around the kids? Does macquad feel comfortable around the kids? How the like macquad when they first meet hime?
MACAQUE
okay so when macaque first comes into the family bb mk is the one that likes him the most bc well...hes a baby and OOOOOOH SHINY EARRRRSSSS.
bb mk is the first one to accept macaque because hes a baby and easy to persude. macaque is also around alot bc wukong doesnt know how to takecare of a baby monkey demon/celestial like himself. while macaque hasnt done it in a long timesince ffm he still knows what to do and teaches wukong. Macaque is the most comfortable with bb mk bc of tis as well, his lonely and depressed heart just lastches onto the kid as the kid does he and O- now theyre inseperable.
(c!macaque would beat the living shit out of canon macaque without hesitation. one look and suddenly c!mac has blood on his hands)
Mei was a little more hesitant.
you know those kids that ask you a million questions and bother you alot? those kids that just fucking STARE at you? yeah that was mei with macaque.
"why do you have six ears?"
"magic"
"why do you have white in your hair"
"magic made my fur black, it was originally white and then magic turned it black
"why is xiaoxiao furry?"
"because hes a monkey like your father and i"
"why do babies cry so much"
"because hey cant communicate any other way then noise"
"why does he make bird sounds if hes a monkey"
"*chirp*"
"*GAAAAAAAASSSSSPPPP*"
"*tiny high pitched dragon chirping*"
"hehe, thats cute kid"
and suddenly mei is turnign into her dragon form and draping herselfover macaques shoudlers
"BABA!!!"
"hmm?"
"I LIKE THE NEW MOMMY CAN HE STAY???"
"macaque chokes on air"
"yeah sure why not, i like the new mommy too kiwi"
"YAAAAAYYY"
"*loud baby noises*"
"i did not agree to this"
macaque is hesitant at first but after some time he cant seem to pry himself away from ffm and the kids and wukongs constant attention.
nezha is ofc the hardest to convice.
imagine a middle schooler walks up to you, looks up at you angrily, kicks you in the shins as hard as he can then walks away.
yeah. nezha.
at first he does not like macaque and he wants him gone. the only reason he does not kick him off himself is because baba seems to like the dumpster cat and so does bb mk. plus he does not know what baby monkeys need so thats another reason.
He watches from a distance, waiting and watching for any hint of deception. if he so much as makes one of his siblings cry he's setting that fucker aflame.
but he doesnt.
he doesn't catch anything suspicious, he watches the kids drag him around and get attached, he watches macaque's hesitance and the flashes of pain in his eyes. he eventually puts the pieces together and realises that macaque was alone for a long time, he became angry and spiteful towards wukong for what happened. but deep down all he really wants is a home. a loving home.
and the way he looks at the kids. he would never hurt them on purpose. its the same look he and wukong have. that they would tear the earth asunder, shatter the heavens above and overthrow the gods for them.
so as time goes on nezha accepts macaque into the family, hes still a bit awkward around macaque especially when hes in his older form and a little more comfortable in his younger form and when he allows himself to be a kid again. but overall he ends up caring for macaque as another father.
macaque ofc notices how hesitant and supsicious nezha is and doesnt pry, he lets the young lotus prince do as he wishes but wlecomes him whenever he gets more comfortable and begins to close the distance between them. macaque wont push or shove his way into nezhas heart. instead just let the kid decide on his own what to do and when to do it. he has no right to force anything. nezha is smart enought to make his own decisions.
Macaque knows the lotus princes tale, he knows that his original family was harsh and never understanding of such a young mind.
they eventually bond tho and become the only braincells in the family.
Macaque is the more stern parent of the two, not very stern tho.
SUN WUKONG
so its complicated with nezha.
nezha and wukong having a father son relationship is just a general hc and im working on a 3pt comic for it.
but to summarise. nezha and wukong met before nezha died. before the whole dragon thing happened. nezha never had a real and kind father and during wukongs trek to find a teacher he met nezha. he stayed around for a bit and they often played outside and away from nezhas home. although wukong did have to leave so he promised to come back after he was done learning from a teacher and take him to ffm to visit. nezha ofc agreed to this.
although when wukong came back nezha was...gone.
from what he heard the young boy had died.
he mourned for the child then continued his way back to ffm.
although he was quite shocked to find a soldier amongst the celestial army that resembled the young boy alot. he couldnt believe it when he saw that little boy in celestial armor, taller then he should be, older then he should be. he might not have his golden eyes of truth yet but he can clearly see the disguise (nezha wasnt very good at it bac then)
he let nezha go and nezha retreated.
after another couple of hundred years nezha and wukong met again and this time they got to really talk, talk about everything.
then wukong brought adoption papers to nezhas place.
Nezha laughed more then he had in ages, the kind of laughter that makes you tear up. and hold your stomach, at first wukong was confused but then nezha stood up straight and handed the papers back. while he cant sign that bc he doesnt want his "biological father" to try and mess with wukong and nezha bc of this he would be honored to be swk's son. then he moved to fmm.
when he and nezha brought mei home though it was different.
wukong was devestated for the child. she no longer had any parents, the samadhi fire was too much for any other family member to take care of the child. wukong and nezha were the only ones able to take care of her and her powers.
he blames himself for what happened, if he had just never tripped and lost a piece of the fire. then this child would have had her real family.
despite this wukong takes the role of father in full stride, she is the type of parent to spoil her kids like its christmas. at least she did alot when they were babies. shes the parent that makes sure the other isnt looking then sneaks the kids some candy. anyways.
wukong loves mei with all her heart. she would never abandon her, sometimes though she wonders if she'd be better off with her biological family. although mei makes it clear she loves her mother as much as she loves her.
when wukong brought baby mk home she was once again devastated, desnt help that she had to deal with macaque too.
she went through that grief all over again, because of her this childs parents are gone.
he will gladly welcome this child into the family, its just...why do children have to lose so much at such a young age because of him.
she loves baby mk, she loves mei, she loves nezha. she loves them so much and would tear the earth apart if anything ever truly hurt them.
she is a very kind and patient parent, she never raises her voice in anger, never raises her hands, and she doesn't believe in any of that and growls at the sight of other parents pulling that bullshit. dont even get me started on entitled teachers and caretakers. let's just say there's a reason mk and mei went to a private celestial school filled with young dragons and spirits and non-human beings like them. also why they never went to a daycare when they were babies.
"You put your hands on my child and i'll send you to diyu in a box"
meanwhile macaque and nezha are behind her, glaring daggers into the person wukong is mad at. .
soooo yeah macaque and wukong, overall chill and patient parents, wukong is ussually the one chasing after the kids and dealing with thier overflowing energy. ynow that meme where one dad is holding his kid by the ankle over water ont he beach while the other dad has thier kid cuddled up on thier chest. yeah.
wukong is the one in the water, holding mei by the ankle while macaque is holding mk and little nezha
#owlgirljocey#consequencesau💫#six eared macaque#liu er mihou#sun wukong#monkey king#mk#qi xiaotian#long xiaojiao#mei#ask#spring gardens#shadowpaches#purple hyacinths#nezha
69 notes
·
View notes
Text
Fandom: Dragon Age: Origins
Characters/pairings: Alistair x Cousland
Chapter: 1/?
Rating: G
Warnings: None
Fic Summary: The story of the Fifth Blight, in a world where Alistair was raised to royalty instead of joining the Grey Wardens.
Read it on AO3
--
The boy narrowed his eyes at the line of weeds and decapitated them with an angry swing of the willow switch. As the flowers dropped to the ground, the stalks waved a little in the violence of his strike, but it didn’t make him feel better. With strands of hay caught in his tawny hair and his simple, oversized tunic splashed with mud, he was hardly a sight fit to be seen at the arlessa’s party, or by any of the noble guests who had come to pay court to her in her condition. He told himself he preferred the stableyard anyway. He preferred to stay out of the way.
But it was starting to rain. Fat, heavy clouds had been looming closer since the morning, swallowing up the sun to the north even as they drove the hot, cloying summer wind before them like an omen, and now the first drops, scouts for the impending deluge, smashed into flagstones, into the weeds he had yet to cut down, and onto the tip of his nose. The temperature dropped. He shivered as the scent of slaked dust rose around him, half tempted to stay out in the downpour to spite the efforts of the cook to keep him presentable, but he was old enough to know the punishment he would receive wouldn’t be mitigated by sympathy if he caught a cold.
He huffed and skulked towards the stables as a second drop landed square on the top of his head – the midden-side entrance, opposite to the tack room where all the visiting drivers and retainers would be gathered at drinking and cards while Their Graces rubbed elbows upstairs. Some treated him kindly enough, but more than once he had seen a gleam of cruelty in the eyes of those who would have found a scrawny kitchen orphan good sport, and so he preferred to slip quietly past, into the gentle company of the horses. They didn’t care what he was, or who his father was, and as long as he showed them due respect, he could curl up in a corner of the loft and wait out the weather. Somewhere that smelled nicer than the kennels.
The storm broke just as he stepped over the threshold. A couple of the horses stamped and whickered nervously at the sudden staccato noise against the wooden tiles of the roof, but the straw of their bedding was thick, and cosy, and their haynets full of the sweetest meadow grass Arl Eamon’s fortune could provide, and when nothing emerged to threaten their comfort, even those more skittish mounts settled down to munching again. But something was still off. The boy cocked his head at the odd, stilted sniffle that reached him from the dark corner at the far end of the building. The door in the wall there led to the main keep, and that meant it was usually given a wide berth by the arl’s servants. It was unlatched.
He caught a flash of movement in amongst the straw as he sneaked closer, the switch still in his hand held out to the side like a sword, ready for quick action. Definitely – there was definitely someone there. The drumming rain on the roof echoed the rise of his heartbeat. He breathed deep, in through his nose, imagined a thief or an assassin. Imagined the look of pride and gratitude on Arl Eamon’s face when he found out just who had stopped this interloper singled-handed. He readjusted his grip on the switch, and with a battle cry leapt around the corner.
He found a girl.
The first thing he noticed was blue. A silk dress with vining leaves embroidered in green and gold around the hem, with just the tips of pale satin shoes poking out from underneath where she had tucked up her legs against her chest. In age, she looked a little younger than him, though brighter and better fed. He lowered the switch as his gaze moved on to the sight of blotchy, tear-stained cheeks and the tumble of black hair down her back, a frown knitting over his brows in confusion and not a little annoyance that she wasn’t an invading qunari twice his size. For a moment, the shock of being discovered made her stare blankly at him, but then her eyes, stormy with crying, flicked down to his hand and back to his face.
“Your grip is all wrong on that, you know,” she said.
He pouted, glancing down before he remembered you should never take your eyes off your opponent. “Who are you?” This was his hiding place, not hers, even if she was a noble.
She sniffed, indignant. “I’m Rosslyn.”
“Why are you crying?” The name didn’t mean anything to him, though it rankled that she clearly thought it should.
At the question, Rosslyn looked away and drew her arms around her knees. “Mother got angry because Arlessa Isolde thought I called her a walrus.”
His mouth fell open. “Did you?”
“No! I said she wasn’t as big as a walrus. And I don’t know why everyone even cares so much,” she added, dashing a new tear away from the side of her face. “She’s only an arlessa.”
Feeling a new glow of sympathy warming for this unexpected stranger despite the oddity of her last remark, the boy smiled and crossed the space to sit next to her on the bale, careful to leave a gap between them so his dirty tunic wouldn’t rub off on her dress. That she didn’t object he took as a positive sign, but he found he couldn’t quite look at her close to, and had to drop his gaze to his boots instead, kicking the heels against their shared seat.
“I can’t believe you did that,” he told her. “I would never have been so brave.”
Rosslyn bobbed her head at the compliment, and he caught a smile out of the corner of his eye.
“But she does look a little bit like a walrus, doesn’t she?”
She giggled. “And she behaves like one. Nobody likes her. Mother said we had to come today to show respect to Arl Eamon, but I heard her and Lady Landra talking in the hall before we left.”
“Arl Eamon likes her,” he said, still looking at his boots. “He likes her a lot.”
“Oh.” She shrugged. “I suppose someone has to.”
The boy kept his thoughts to himself. The arlessa had only been part of Arl Eamon’s household for a few months, since Harvestmere, but even that short time had been enough to rob him of all illusions. In the lead-up to the wedding, the servants had fluttered and fawned over the idea of the arl finally having a wife; yes, she was Orlesian, but those below stairs had heard great reports from the arl’s valet about the lady’s beauty and how thoroughly she had won his heart. She had brought her own elven maid, and her own money, and if there were worries about Orlesian pretension, they were soothed by the hope of Orlesian glamour. The problem was that nobody had told the new arlessa about the young bastard living under her husband’s protection in the castle kitchen.
He shook away the dark thoughts and cleared his throat. “Why did you come down here? People must be looking for you.”
“At first, I didn’t know where I was going, but…” She smoothed her palms over her knees. “I like horses, and it’s not like I really wanted to run away properly.”
“Sometimes I want to run away,” the boy offered, unsure of what else to say.
“Yeah?”
“I’d become a dragon hunter, or a Grey Warden, maybe.”
“Not holding a sword like that,” she replied. “Here.”
Before he understood what she meant to do, she had leaned across him and plucked his left arm from his side so she could rearrange his hand around the end of the switch, guiding each digit into a lighter hold and moving his thumb so it no longer pressed over the backs of his fingers.
“That way your wrist is more mobile, and you can meet strikes at more angles,” she explained, turning to smile at him with big, grey eyes. “If you were in the army they’d make you fight with your right hand to be part of the shield wall, but if you’re going to be a hero, left-handed should be alright.”
“Uh…” His face heated; she sat close enough for him to smell whatever noble perfume had been brushed into her hair, but she didn’t seem to mind the contrast with the odour of dogs and manure that clung to his own clothes. “Thanks.”
She sat back. “Is it… alright if I stay here for a little while? I wouldn’t want to intrude.”
“Of course you can stay.” He smiled at her. “I know where there are some kittens – do you want to see them?”
He had discovered the alley cat and her litter some weeks before, and had since spent his free time carefully coaxing the whole family to trust him by bringing scraps he could slip from the kitchen in the moments when the cook was distracted. Carefully, because the cook had no fondness for cats, and a plentiful supply of sacks, and only a short walk to the nearest stream. Now, however, as he led Rosslyn up the ladder into the hay loft, then higher still into the rafters by the tack room chimney, his stomach lurched with excitement at being able share the secret with someone who might appreciate it. She followed him gamely, not tripping even once despite her flimsy shoes and long skirts, and when she spied the three kittens gambolling about beneath the small window at the far end of the eaves, she gasped.
“They’re so small!” she whispered.
“They were smaller,” he whispered back.
The kittens, all tabbies, noticed them and left off their pouncing game to back up against the far wall of their den with pointed, fluffed-up tails and uncertain hisses, but only until they recognised their visitor and heard him trill a greeting like the one he heard their mother use. He uncoiled a piece of cord from the pocket of his breeches and tossed it towards them like an angler before trailing it slowly back along the floor. The kittens watched. After several repetitions, the bravest sank into a wobbly crouch, crept forward, and pounced on the end of the string.
After a little while, in which Rosslyn joined in with the silver ribbon that had tied her hair back from her face, the mother cat returned through a hole left by a broken shingle, calling to her litter with a low, rolling inquiry that brought them tottering to her side. She washed their faces as they mewled and pawed at her legs, then with a brief tail-flick at the two interlopers flopped down as if exhausted. The boy flicked the end of the cord for her as the kittens suckled, and she followed the movement with slitted, barely-gold eyes.
“Do they have names?” Rosslyn asked, after a moment of rapt silence.
“You’re not supposed to name cats, my mother said,” he replied, dangling the cord a little higher, “because then they couldn’t come and go as they please.”
“I’ve never heard that. Nan says –”
“Rosslyn!”
The voice echoed from below, rich and worried, startling the cat with a low growl that bristled her fur and sent her slinking away, driving her kittens before her like a gooseherd until they disappeared from sight. Left alone, the two children exchanged nervous glances.
“Rosslyn! Pup, are you here?”
“It’s Father,” Rosslyn breathed, eyes wide.
They heard the heavy tread of boots on the loft ladder. The boy reached for her arm, an unfamiliar panic clawing in his throat at the thought that she would leave, and take her brave disdain for the arlessa with her. But the words jumbled on his tongue, kept from spilling by another fear, that they would both be punished for being found together in such a place away from the people who obviously cared about her wellbeing, and that whatever her noble father said, it would be enough for Arl Eamon’s thunderous gaze to descend upon him and finally cast him out like all the gossipmongers in the kitchens muttered when they thought he couldn’t hear.
A head appeared at the top of the ladder. In the low light it was difficult to see any strong resemblance between the lord and his daughter – hair sandy brown instead of black, shoulders broad, jaw square behind a trimmed beard – but when his eyes pierced the gloom and caught sight of the two children huddled like mice under a pantry crock he let loose a sound somewhere between a gasp and a shout and leapt the last rungs into the room, arms already held out to gather her into an embrace. Rosslyn’s arm slipped free, and with that tether gone the boy shrank back against the wall.
“Oh, my darling girl,” the lord sighed, dwarfing his daughter as he knelt to hug her. “We’ve all been worried – Mariwen feared you’d run into the city.”
“‘m sorry, Father,” Rosslyn mumbled in return. “Is Mother really mad?”
“No, Pup. And she’ll be glad to see you safe.” He pulled back to brush his large hands over her hair as if to reassure himself of the fact. “But who is your friend here?”
Rosslyn turned then, smiling, but it faltered as colour flushed her cheeks. “This is…”
The boy dropped his gaze to his shoes. Hot shame tightened along his spine, stinging at the back of his throat. Of course he wasn’t important enough to warrant a name.
“He’s my friend.” She stepped closer into a formal bow with her hands crossed over her chest and his head snapped up. “Forgive me, ser, for not asking who you are. What should I call you?”
“Oh.” Nobody had ever bowed to him before. He felt his mouth drop open without any words yet scrambled to fill the space. “I – it’s alright. My name’s Alistair. My lady.” To follow up, because it felt proper, he tried to return her gesture, though far more clumsily and probably to far less effect in his rough-spun, dirt-spattered tunic. But she smiled at him again, and it straightened his shoulders.
They nearly crumbled again when he caught the lord’s gaze over his daughter’s shoulder. The look in the eyes was gentle but guarded, and clever, like he could see everything. He was taller than Arl Eamon, a little younger in the lines of his face, and his open fondness for Rosslyn awoke a wriggle of envy in Alistair’s belly that felt a lot like when the cook decided he’d been bad and locked him outside the keep at dinnertime.
“Thank you for keeping my daughter safe, Alistair,” the lord said, with a nod of his own. “I hope she hasn’t been too much of a menace.”
“We’ve been playing with kittens,” she told him. “But they went to hide because you spooked them.”
“Did I? Well, I’m sorry for that – I’ll be quieter next time.”
“Do I have to go now?” she asked.
He smiled at her and nodded, holding out his hand. “I’m afraid so.”
“Do I have to apologise to Arlessa Isolde? I never even said she looked like a walrus, even though she does a little bit.”
“I didn’t know you’ve seen a walrus,” her father replied mildly. “But come, and on the way back I can teach you an extra lesson about diplomacy.”
Rosslyn groaned, but nevertheless placed her hand obediently in her father’s larger one. “It was good to meet you,” she said to Alistair. “Thank you for showing me the kittens.”
“You’re welcome.” He smiled, even though she was already turning away. When she looked back over her shoulder, a faint hope surged that she might break free of the lord’s grip and run back to him – maybe insist he come with her – but instead she watched her father go down the ladder and then turned to follow him. There was a brief pause, one last look, and then Alistair was alone. With a shuddered sigh, he slid his back down the wall and sat, drawing his wiry arms around his knees.
#dragon age#dragon age: origins#dragon age origins#da:o#alistair theirin#warden x alistair#alistair x warden#alistair x cousland#cousland#warden cousland#grey warden#rosslyn cousland#as the world falls down#my writing#ferelden
40 notes
·
View notes
Text
I posted 1,743 times in 2022
That's 226 more posts than 2021!
924 posts created (53%)
819 posts reblogged (47%)
Blogs I reblogged the most:
@onetrickponi
@thebigchoo
@goodlucksnez
@thescarlettletter
I tagged 1,039 of my posts in 2022
Only 40% of my posts had no tags
#kushami asks - 365 posts
#snzblr - 227 posts
#not snz - 213 posts
#snz kink - 207 posts
#snzfucker - 202 posts
#sneeze kink - 144 posts
#snz - 100 posts
#kushami wavs - 96 posts
#snz wav - 34 posts
#b/akugou - 30 posts
Longest Tag: 100 characters
#knowing that you all care so deeply for a stranger on the internet has restored my faith in humanity
My Top Posts in 2022:
#5
CW: Sneezing, Stifles, Wet Sneezes, Half Stifles, BakuBrats stank attitude, embarrassment, 3 noseblows.
One morning at the local hero agency, the newest generation fresh to the scene is called to a meeting by their serious colleague, Tenya Iida. Everyone is in attendance, including Ground Zero and Deku. But as they get settled in, a strong smell in the cramped room begins to set off Deku’s nose...this won’t end well.
FIRST wav since...the dragon!baku one? That was done a hot minute ago I feel like but whatever lol. I cant find the proper anon question atm and to be honest I dont remember if its the same person but when you see this, I hope it’s alright! All I remember was that someone asked for D/eku dealing with someones strong perfume either in a mission/meeting/college lecture so I went with a meeting setting. I put my own little spin on it with music from the OST and using background sounds and stuff to give it more...immersion? idk lmao.
Anyway! It’s bedtime for me but horni hours for you guys. Enjoy! <3
102 notes - Posted April 6, 2022
#4
After waking up with a terrible fever, D/eku finds himself being taken care of by B/akugou, who’s usual rash behavior covers up his worrisome feelings over his lovers illness.
CW: Sneezing (dur) Baku being a tsundere mother hen, bratty sick Deku, Baku getting sneezed on (twice I think?), general caretaking, you know the drill.
OK guys wtf HOW did this get so goddamn long!? This is my longest wav YET! And yet...I don’t think it lived up to the hype? Im just being hard on myself I guess, you all be the judge.
I really missed doing Deku and I got like, REALLY mess and REALLY stuffy during this wav and you can totally hear it nearer to the end/in the second half.
This was originally for THIS ask and Im sorry if it sucks (I know you said soft caretaker Baku but he’s pretty angry in the first half) but HEY its super long so there’s that? Lol. I also apologize for the quality, I had to knock it down during the export cause it was too big for Discord lol...
Anyway, um...enjoy I guess! It’s been a harsh week so Im gonna go eat something and watch anime I guess @-@
102 notes - Posted January 29, 2022
#3
CW: SLOW BURN, B/akugou being tied up/restrained, slight BDSM vibes, feather use, a LOT of sneezing (like...a LOT) long, drawn out holdbacks/build ups, some NSFW sounds if you squint, mess/hints at a lot of mess, feather allergy, my OC Tsumeko being a real bitch to blasty boi, established Pro Hero AU, hands free stifles, forced stifles, B/akugou being loud and having an absolute potty mouth, growly noises (cause yknow angry B/akubrat), forced false starts (if thats a thing), B/akugou being winded/out of breath on a few occassions, cameo from T/odoroki and D/eku at the end, shirt being used as a tissue/noseblowing into shirt.
CHARACTERS DEPICTED ARE IN PRO HERO AU AND ARE 25+!
K/atsuki wakes up tied to a support beam in a structurally unsound building seemingly underground. When he realizes his captor is a well known thief he's been chasing for weeks, he's completely seeing red. Will he be able to tough it out against her strange test of endurance or crack under the pressure with a weakness he didn't even know he had?
Holy fuck guys...this shit is the length of a full on anime episode and idk whether to be proud of myself or ashamed like...idk what to think. All I know is that a LOT of anons wanted this wav and well...here it is lol. It took like 3 - 4 weeks of repeat sessions of JUST sneezing and also holdback training if you will. Most of them were seperate but 90% of the holdbacks in this are 100% real so enjoy my genuine battle against fresh vials of Chinknii xux;
I'm also sort of on the fence with this one, cause it's been a hot minute since I've done a B/akugou wav and I pretty much forgot how to sneeze like him, and I rerecorded certain sneezes but without much improvement so sorry about that u.u Hopefully they get better as I do a few more wavs with him coming up.
SO! Um...hopefully this does some numbers cause I have to be up early and I stayed up to finish this and um...yeah! Im gonna go pass out now-
102 notes - Posted October 22, 2022
#2
CW: Nose blowing, wet sneezes, sniffling, buildups/hitching breaths, somewhat horny Bakubrat, very teasing and dominant/demanding! Listener is in a servant position so there’s that if you’re into domestic servitude lmao
After a long day away from the palace, B/akugou returns from an outing drenched in freezing rain, and sneezing almost uncontrollably. He claims he’s fine...typical B/akugou. But once Y/N pesters him enough, he admits that he may have caught himself an awful illness by the name of Dragon Fever. With human blood running through their veins, Y/N is immune to this disease, so it’s up to them to nurse the suddenly teasing and feverish king back to health...
AS YOU CAN SEE, this file was too big and too horni for tumblr so I had to use soundcloud instead. A lot of people have been waiting for this, so I really REALLY hope it came out OK. You guys know Im too hard on myself these days like, ugh. The self loathing is so real...
But, it’s here. And I’ll probably take some time to write scripts and maaaaybe write a short fic? I dunno yet, Im really tired, lol Enjoy!
Minors DNI. Non-Kink blogs DO NOT REBLOG! Love you guys!
103 notes - Posted February 23, 2022
My #1 post of 2022
A shy, nerdy type of guy you've been friends with for so long that you've decided to tell about your kink. He thinks nothing of it, even reassures you that it's natural and it's not weird at all! He even totally forgets it...even as he's struggling with his usual hayfever.
You can't help but squirm as he's humiliating himself by struggling to fish out his used tissues to wipe his streaming nose, holding back his sneezes with messy half stifles into his hands. He looks down at the shiny mess in his palms as he hides himself from you, flushed red in the face. That's when he remembers.
"W-wait...y-you...l-like this sort of thing...don't you?"
133 notes - Posted March 25, 2022
Get your Tumblr 2022 Year in Review →
20 notes
·
View notes
Text
Dragon Age: Origins OC as PC - soundset and banter edition
Thanks to @wild-houseplant for putting this meme on my dash - I love banter memes for my OCs. :D
I'm not sure who has and hasn't done this yet, so I'll just leave it at whoever wants in, do the thing and say I tagged you. Better yet, @ me so I can see your answers!
Warden’s name: Revka Tabris
Voice option: Curt, clear, and lower pitched than expected with a thick Ferelden accent. Listed in the voice options menu as "Blunt".
Soundset
Select PC: "Ready." / "Let's get on with it." / "Shall we?" / "Excellent."
Bonus options -
High approval: "I'm with you." / "I've got your back."
Low approval: *irritated* "Again?" / "If we must."
Unselect PC: "Really?" / "Sod it." / "Maker's ass." / "Alright."
Bonus options -
High approval: "Be careful." / "Are you sure?"
Low approval: "Make up your blighted mind." / "*disgruntled sigh*"
Combat attack: "You're going to regret this!" / "Didn't think this one through, did you?" / "The big one is mine!" / "*sigh* By the Void, it never ends." / "Hit them where it hurts!"
Mana/stamina low: "Come on, Tabris, keep it together!" / "Getting tired of this shit!" / "The Void do they keep coming from?!" / "This isn't going to end well." / "*angry, violent yell*"
Heal me: "Alright, that one hurt." / "Won't last long like this!" / "Nothing a salve won't fix." / "That's going to leave a scar." / "I'm fine, keep fighting!"
Near death: "This *gasp* isn't good." / "Shit shit shit blighted bloody SHIT!" / "Andraste give me strength..." / "I'll take this bastard with me!"
Bonus options - if Broken Circle is completed / the party has met her brother: "Tell Ceral *pained noise* I'm sorry." / "Mam... Da... I'll be with you soon."
Enemies sighted: "Eyes up, marks ahead." / "Give me a moment, I'll slip behind them." / "Lovely. More idiots to knock sense into." / "Here I thought we'd seen the last of them." / "Sod off already!"
Dragon sighted: "Holy Maker... it's huge!" / "Right. 'Spose we know which way not to go." / "Thought they were supposed to be gone. How in the Void does something that massive hide?" / "...We can turn back any time, you know."
Bonus options - if Warden instigates fight: "Are you MAD?!" / "We're dead. We're bloody dead." / "I ever tell you you're an ass? Because you are."
Spell/attack failed: "Damn it!" / "Shit, that wasn't right." / "Oh, you lucky son of a..." / "Sit still, would you!"
Fight over, enemies killed: "Everyone still breathing?" / "*grunt* What a waste." / "Hardly broke a sweat." / "Check their pockets. Won't need their coin any longer." / "Could've turned out worse, I 'spose." / "One of these days we'll go somewhere folk don't want us dead."
Companion KO’d: “[Alistair] "Alistair! Shield, damn you!" / "Hold on, Alistair, we're here!" [Dog] *to the one who fell Titan* "Blighted coward! You'll pay for that!" / "Titan! No!" [Leliana] "Someone help Leliana!" [Morrigan] "She's going to be furious when she gets up." [Oghren] "Damn it, Oghren is down!" [Shale] "Oh. Shit. How'd they manage to do that?!" [Sten] "Cover the Qunari!" / "Sten! The Qun demands you get your ass up!" [The Warden] "Hold on! I'm coming!" / "Oh no you don't - you're not allowed to die yet!" / *If in a romance with Revka* "No! Not you!" or "*Name*, don't you dare die on me!" [Wynne] "Shit! Mage down!" / "Wynne needs help!" / *if the truth of her condition is revealed* "Haven't you had enough of dying?" [Zevran] "Zev, if you're faking I swear to the Maker..." / "Zevran doesn't look so good!" / *If in a romance with Revka* "Maker, no! Zevran!" / *to the one who fell him* "I'll kill you!"
Trap sighted: "Watch your feet, trap ahead." / "Trap. Cowards couldn't be bothered to face us themselves."
Bonus option - if Warden triggers trap after being warned about it: "...Really?" / "Are you bloody deaf or just stupid?"
Open chest: "Let me have a go." / "Don't ask why I know how to do this, and I won't ask what you do with what's inside." / "Should have something worth a few coins in here."
Cannot do the thing: "Not happening." / "Shit." / "Right. Plan B?" / "Want me to powder your ass as well?"
#dragon age#dragon age origins#revka tabris#warden as a companion meme#well shit#didn't realize this was sitting in my drafts#it's only two years old right? heh. heh heh...
10 notes
·
View notes
Text
4 of 1001
Today's album: King Crimson - In The Court of the Crimson King (1969)
Oh man, here we fucking GO! I love this album. Can and will turn you into an evil scientist.
(in case that's a lost reference:)
youtube
So, spotify only has the "expanded and remastered original album mix", but whatever it's king goddamn crimson.
Now, i can already hear people saying: "wait a minute, The Doors are 'tedious' but King Crimson isn't?" Yeah, i like bizarre spacey prog rock better than drunken meandering calliope bullshit. Sue me.
Gonna just go track by track, since there's only 5 of them here.
21st Century Schizoid Man - starts off amazing and never lets up. A killer first track. Unrelenting guitar noodling, a drum set that sounds like the irritated finger tapping of an angry god who's just about to lose their shit entirely, and the trumpets, my god, the trumpets.
As much as i may love strings, i grew up on a heavy diet of Oingo Boingo and 70s funk, and i love a good brass section at least equally, if not even more than a good string section.
I Talk To The Wind - whiplash engaged! 7+ minutes of drums and trumpets, and that mellow flute intro immediately calms you back down, brings you right back to earth.
I've always loved this song, despite being one of the slower ones here. The lyrics are beautiful and just a bit depressing/haunting, to be honest.
And, not to keep going back to the "religious trauma" well, but 'talking to the wind' always felt like a metaphor for prayer to me. Like: 'I'm just saying these things, casting them out into the void, and the void clearly isn't listening.'
Epitaph - Confusion will be my epitaph. What was i saying earlier about beautiful string sections? Well, here's a great one. And the lyrics are just outstanding.
"Knowledge is a deadly friend
If no one sets the rules,
The fate of all mankind i see
Is in the hands of fools."
I'm just gonna say 'Elon Musk' and walk away from that one. I know it was likely about politicians back then, and it still very much is, since they're damn sure not making politicians any smarter than they were a half century ago, but there are decidedly more powerful fools nowadays.
To call this song prescient sells it short.
Moonchild - upon seeing the name, all i can think of is the kid from The Neverending Story weirdly screaming that word at the end, so, uh, yeah.
A lot of prog rock gets maligned for being "25 minute-long songs about hobbits and elves and dragons and shit" and i kinda feel like this song is pretty guilty of that. 2.5 minutes of weird flowery hippie poetry in a 12 minute long song with A LOT of nonsense and jangly filler.
At least "The End" had the weird "faTHUUR, i WaNt To KEEL youuuuuu..." part to keep it somewhat interesting, this is just plinks and plonks and 'sOuNdScApEs'.
The first half feels... Tolkienesque. Tom Bombadilian, even. The second half feels like: 'everybody in the studio is on really strong acid and we ALL just peaked, time to make some fuckin NOISES!'
The Court of the Crimson King - back from the goddamn brink. The lyrics feel like something i would use for d&d campaign inspiration, but unlike in moonchild, this is actually rad and creepy and evocative instead of just "hey so there's a moonchild, doing their usual moonchild shit in the forest where the moonchild is...'
And the flute soars once again.
The melody throughout is so beautiful and mournful, and the drumming comes back so hard at the end. God damn, what a great song.
I fully believe that Stephen King did a shitload of something and hallucinated The Dark Tower while listening to this song specifically.
Favorite Track: 21st Century Schizoid Man, no doubt. If you haven't heard it, just listen to it and you'll see. You'll know.
Least Favorite Track: yeah it's moonchild. Way too long of a song for not much at all.
3 notes
·
View notes
Text
Grimmsvant (Experiment Number: 001)
Gender: Male
Background: Grimmsvant was the very first (and first surviving) living dragon experiment of the Alchemy Cult long before they decided it was easier to control and experiment primarily on children (Grimmsvant is a short burly old dragon). Little is known about Grimmsvant before he became an experiment of the Legion but the younger test subjects had horror stories about him: Some claim that he was once an old gladiator who had slain thousands in the arena and then slayed the entire arena out of spite. Others say he was a death row criminal who betrayed and destroyed his kingdom. Because he was so early in the testing phase their methods back then were very different and a lot less refined than their current experiments. Grimmsvant is a lot closer to the original Zelophbog, the actual artificial God of Destruction than any other experiment, Taken apart gruesomely put back together. This has given him a few interesting and unique features; Unlike other Tannin Dragons he does not need Nature Magic from his environment in order to fuel his elemental power, his power is innate to his body and he gets stronger through his Rage, so there is nothing that cut him off from using his powers. After the Legion was done using Grimmsvant they struck a deal with the Imperial Military to use him as a Weapon and he became one of the Claws of the Empire, an elite knights who are only sent out when they don't want to expend a whole army and need a more precise job to destroy an enemy of the empire.
Personality: Grimmsvant's wrath burns cold. He often has a bad attitude and a grim expression but he hardly ever needs to raise his voice or lash out in anger in order to be intimidating. His seriousness, level head, and rational thinking make him more effective and less predictable, and the control he has over his rage makes him more dangerous.
Strengths: Controlled Anger, Unique Power, Rational Thinking
Weaknesses: Lack of Mobility, Advanced Age, Lack of Charisma
Powers: Ice, Fire-(Endothermic Flames) The Process of giving him a new element was not completed back when they first tested on Grimmsvant. Instead of him having 2 individual elements His Ice and Fire combined natures to create Endothermic Fire: It is Hotter than normal fire but it feels cold. Instead of radiating heat outwards it absorbs heat into itself sucking the thermal energy out of everything it comes in contact with and leaving everything it comes in contact with reducing them to cold blackened ash.
Stats
Elemental Energy: 10/10
The only limit to his power is his wrath. As long as he is angry he can keep going. Grimmsvant almost constantly has a bad attitude.
Elemental Control: 10/10
Grimmsvant has mastered control over his element. He is able to fire concentrated beams of Endothermic Energy.
Intelligence: 8/10
Grimmsvant is wise and very tactical given his old age and lack of mobility he's had to plan and be smarter than his enemies in order to catch them.
Combat Ability: 10/10
Grimmszant is like an unstoppable force of nature, he was trained as an elite soldier in the Imperial Army, he has mastery over his Elemental powers, he doesn't run out of energy, his only downside is that he's slow, but once you are his target he doesn't come charging at you, he'll simply march toward you at his own pace and there is nothing you can do to stop him from getting to you. All of his claws are coated in metal, he has two heavy shields permanently fixed to his wings which are equipped with a razor edge and a rough file-like surface, and when he flaps them they make the a horrifying screeching noise that can briefly shock and incapacitate dragons who were not expecting it.
#dragon#elemental dragon#fantasy#magic#soaring dragon#soaring#Ice#fire#Destruction#Grim#Shield#experiment#test subject#Knight#imperial#imperial agent#cuffed#endothermic Fire#Metal#Heavy#Elite#first creation#Rage#Wrath#Cold#cold fire
0 notes
Text
#3 (choice) Continuation
[spoilers for early bozja i guess, and this is a continuation of.... the time travel au i was writing last year]
Qahs'a breathes as slowly and quietly as he can as he watches a Garlean patrol march by. They're not paying that much attention, but he's very bad at being stealthy, and the absolute last thing he needs right now is to alert anyone to his existence. He's honestly not sure if there's any other Miqo'te within a hundred malms, and it would probably be a major warning sign if one did show up at random, trying to sneak through back streets.
Gods, what he wouldn't do to have Yugiri's help right now. At least she was good at hiding from Garlean patrols.
Still, he could trust the Echo to usually not lead him directly into trouble, unless he really needed to, so he felt somewhat confident when he darted out after the footsteps had faded away.
He might not know where he was going, due to how absolutely different the city is from the blasted ruin he's actually visited, but he's fairly confident that the building he's reached is the one that he's looking for.
The labs are quiet and dark as he walks. At this time of night, most of the researchers appear to be resting. Still, he can faintly hear the sound of raised voices, and that's the cue he follows through the building.
And then, suddenly, a gunshot.
Oh, Qahs'a realizes, feeling vaguely sick. Of course it'd be that night. Of course the Echo would lead him straight to the absolute worst time.
The plan was to let Cid defect on his own. He was not going to change that. No matter how awful it felt. Biggs and Wedge deserved their future as well. So he was stuck waiting in a side room until he heard someone stumble away and could finally act.
Midas looks… pretty much the same as he'd appeared in Cid's memory. Qahs'a isn't sure why he was expecting otherwise. Probably because of the extremely weird Galvus thing that followed, actually. He's muttering to himself as he leans over a bunch of screens, but… Qahs'a is pretty sure that things won't end well if he realizes Qahs'a is there.
So he casts a sleep spell on him.
Midas slumps in place, and something from the screen he's fallen against starts making angry noises. Okay. Step one complete. Now what?
The screen makes angrier noises.
It dawns on Qahs'a that he doesn't actually have a clue what the facility does, besides… explode an entire city within the next, what, month? Week? He probably should've asked more questions about the Bozja Incident at some point before he got flung back in time and decided to try to undo it, but… Well, too late now.
He digs around in his pouches until he finds some spare fabric to tie Midas up with. And gag him. Hopefully Bahamut won't do… too much… He can handle Midas, he handled both Bahamut-possessed-Nael and Louisoix-Phoenix and the primal on a smaller level than it is now, but that was after Bahamut got depowered. Okay fine, he'll just hope that whatever bond he has to the dragons through Midgardsormr will stall Bahamut.
Okay.
Deal with the angry screen.
Qahs'a has absolutely no idea what any of the screens are for. However, there is a convenient red button. That the Echo really likes the look of.
Well. It's probably not going to blow up the city. He just has to hope Cid is safely out.
He presses the button, picks the unconscious Garlean up, and runs.
He's a couple of streets away when the lab makes a weird thump noise and collapses in on itself.
Okay. That's… step two? and three? complete?? Now he has to somehow get Midas back to Eorzea without triggering Bahamut to do anything and also not kill the man. …he probably could kill him, but he's going to do his very best to try to untemper him and see what he can do when not under the thumb of a primal. If he's willing to do anything. If not, Qahs'a is willing to shove him off the edge of Idyllshire. Sharlayan. …whatever.
[after this, in the original plotting, qahs'a was going to get stopped by a member of the bozjan resistance. when i was first plotting this au it was oh… 5.4? and i absolutely could not complete even the first zone of bozja, so a plot point was bozjans going WHY do you have one of THOSE weapons, without having any… real concept of what might be going on with said weapons (it turned out: not a lot). since qahs'a's weapon is now absolutely NOT from bozja (it would probably be… moonward…. or possibly current relic idk i'm not sure where they're all from, timeline-wise. 6.4 would be the most sensical because at least pandae's wrapped up or maybe the future 6.5 so void is ALSO wrapped up notthatiknowhowthat'llgo. and rapier's also glammed to hailstorm to match alisaie ANYWAY, and the spear is glammed to gae bolga and...) that changes the dynamic a wee tad. so now.... congrats qahs'a you're going to escape completely free of suspicion and also not having any contact at all! bozja will just never know the explosion they dodged. probably have to deal with fallout from the research lab hitting apparently a self destruct but uhhhhh idk if it'll ever come up but my original thought was that somehow it became clear to garlemald that midas went completely nuts, tried to kill his own son (as evidenced by cid fleeing the city while bleeding) and then apparently hit the self destruct himself. originally the bozjan resistance helped set that up but now we can just claim it had something to do with those screens midas fell on. clearly he was on speakerphone the entire time. oops just hit the force delete for all backups of all research isn't that a shame. oops i guess midas was a traitor the entire time what a shame.]
1 note
·
View note
Last Seen Blogs
lovemotransa
Old Male Men
feedery-kinkorporated
Nothing But Sin All Across The Board
disenoyestrategiaswebganadores
Diseños y estrategias web ganadores
dianadelmiau
LOOK UP FIRST