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purpleqilinwrites · 3 months

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better than.

a/n: i fell in love with danmeshi over the weekend! i have so many thoughts and feelings about chilchuck and his wife and their daughters, so i wanted to write something about them. i wish we knew her name! since there's no canon name for her (yet??? please! i'm manifesting), i gave her one mostly for ease of fic writing but also because i think she should have one haha.

fandom: dungeon meshi

pairing: chilchuck tims / chilchuck's wife

genre: angst, general

info: told from the perspective of the wife; she is named (junnimay); takes place pre-canon

warnings: might not be canon-compliant

synopsis: for the better, she comes to learn that moving with the tides of life is a mercy in itself.

word count: 3.3k

Chilchuck Tims / Chilchuck's Wife

The apple trees were starting to clothe themselves in pale pink blossoms, releasing a sweet fragrance into the air. Kahka Brud took it as a sign of the winter's end, shedding off the furs and double-lined coats of the coldest months, and so did Junnimay. Reaching for one of the thinner woollen cloaks hanging by the front door, she whispered, "I'll be back soon, Fler," to her still-sleeping daughter before setting out for an early morning walk.

A contrary breeze made it difficult for her to shut the door quietly, a rather unceremonious slam of wood against wood following a series of laboured grunts from her lips. Fler had always been able to sleep through even the most turbulent of autumn storms; a little noise a ways from her bed surely wouldn't stir her from her needed rest.

Junnimay wiped her palms down on her cloak even if they weren't sweaty, and she started on the unpaved path that led to one of the larger streets of Kahka Brud.

At the place where the narrow local paths merged into the cobblestone main street, she greeted the elderly gnome couple having breakfast in their front yard. The younger of the two women stopped her with a shout in Gnomish and then waved for her to come closer. She approached the line of potted miniature trees that formed a makeshift fence between the public walkway and the gnome couple's property, and the elderly gnome pressed a still-warm bun into her cupped hands.

With a smile, she thanked the women in Gnomish, biting into the bread and telling them how delicious it was before she continued down the main street. As she chewed on a particularly large cluster of candied orange peel bits in her next bite, she pondered visiting the farmer's market on the way home so that Fler could have some candied orange buns to share at the tailor shop where she worked. It would be good to make a larger batch to share with the neighbours, too.

A splash of deep reddish brown dragged her attention to the present, the burst of colour out of place among the blush-pink apple blossoms and the grey-brown tree barks and the yellow-streaked blue sky. Junnimay almost dropped the last bit of the bun gifted to her, eyes wide as she took in the sight before her.

There were two half-foots under the large apple tree at the end of the street that opened to the southern market district. One of them shook out a grey bedroll that was much too large to have been designed for half-foot use, and the two of them took turns scooching into it and then reclining to watch the clouds.

The taller of the half-foot pair sported an uncannily familiar head of auburn hair, poking out of their shared bedroll that was made for one tall-man but could apparently fit two half-foots comfortably. She chucked what was left of the bun into her mouth before she took slow steps towards the mouth of the market district, keeping her eyes on the half-foot couple the whole time.

They paid her no mind, even if her gaze never left them minutes and minutes after coming from behind them to appear in front of them. They were too in love to notice her.

Chilchuck was lying in bed next to her, but his back had never felt so far.

Even when Junnimay was a child relentlessly chasing after him and his older siblings in a game of tag melded with hide and go seek, the distance of rows upon rows of tomato plants between her parents' house and his was tiny in comparison to the hand's breadth that separated Chilchuck's sleeping form from her. The entirety of the vast tomato field was easily crossed under her quick and stubborn feet, possible to traverse. She didn't feel the same way about stretching her hand out to touch her husband.

When she had yelled something or the other about getting caught in the tomato vines, Chilchuck would've instantly turned around and run to her. He always did, even if it meant that he would lose to his older brother, the person he hated losing to the most. She remembered that being the reason why she liked him; when she called for him, he made haste to come to her.

If she woke him up at this point in their lives, years and years after playing games with ever-changing rules in the tomato field that belonged to everyone in the village, would he be quick to awaken and ask her if there was anything troubling her? If there was anything he could do to help?

Chilchuck shifted as if her thoughts were so loud that they woke him. She squeezed her eyes and mouth shut, pretending to sleep the way their daughters did when they were still red-faced in the way half-foot children usually were in their most tender years. His blanket swished when Chilchuck pulled it tighter around himself, curling in on himself and inching all the more away from her. All was still on his side of the bed after.

She fell into a true sleep as she pretended. While pretending, she was trying to remember the last time her husband broke out into a run coming to her simply because she had called his name.

The neatly placed line of dark bottles filled with various alcohols that Chilchuck accumulated over the years never looked so inviting to Junnimay.

Between her and her husband, he was consistently the more avid drinker. Since she first discovered she was pregnant with Mei and Fler, she found that she hadn't had the same taste for alcohol that she once had as an adolescent. She used to sneak sips from her father's hidden stash of ales from time to time, careful never to take more than a single large mouthful off the top of the bottles that were full.

With Chilchuck out accompanying yet another party of adventurers to one of the dungeons scattered around Kahka Brud and her three daughters asleep, Junnimay thought it was a better opportunity than ever to indulge in a little alcohol. It has been years since the last time she partook, after all.

She tiptoed to grab hold of the bottle she felt was most appealing, the scarlet label on the front boasting that the mead within contained floral honey from a well-known apiary on the Southern Continent. Pouring herself an economical portion into a dark glass cup, she settled into the alcove overlooking the sea and cracked the window open to feel the salty night-time winds on her face.

"Mama," came a sleep-addled voice from past the kitchen and down the hallway. Junnimay made it to the dining table when she found her firstborn daughter rubbing her eyes at the threshold that separated the kitchen from the rooms.

"Mama," Mei said again, sounding a little more awake than she did the first time. "I think Dad's not coming back yet."

The staunchness in her daughter's statement made her inwardly flinch, and she tried her best not to show it on her face. Mei had always been an unusually perceptive child, and it worried her that her daughter might be picking up on the growing unhappiness between her and Chilchuck. She wouldn't be able to bury it from her girls forever, but she wanted to keep any marital issues hidden from their young and still innocent eyes. The world should be sunny and kind when they gazed upon it, more beautiful and right than when she was the one looking.

Junnimay put on a smile, approaching her daughter and putting her arms around her, stroking at her head of wild ginger hair. It soothed her somewhat when Mei immediately buried her face in her chest, her comparably smaller fingers clutching at the cotton of her sleeping tunic.

"Not for a while, little heart," she said, vacantly running the fingers of her right hand through Mei's hair to untangle the knots. "But he'll be back."

It had only been two days since Chilchuck left for his most recent dungeon expedition. He had never been one to complete a job sooner than he said he would, diligently seeing to it that the task he agreed upon beforehand was carried out as promised. It made him an excellent addition to any adventurer's party, but she realised it also made him an absent father and an unavailable husband.

"He'll miss my birthday again," were the condemning words Mei chose for Chilchuck, muffled from the way she was pressing into her mother and clinging. Junnimay's heart twisted at the disappointment in her daughter's voice, as if her father had let her down for the final time.

Mei suppressed a sniffle and tried to mask it with a sound of exasperation, little fingers starting to pinch at her flesh beneath the fistfuls of fabric already within her hold.

It reminded her that Mei, while able to pick up on subtle things that most children weren't, was still a child. It reminded her that Mei still needed her protection.

It reminded her that she was failing quite miserably.

Chilchuck was at the door for the first time in almost three years, and it was akin to seeing a ghost when she swung the door open, not quite knowing if it was definitely him after hearing his voice on the other side. Junnimay blinked twice, squeezing her eyes shut as she quickly completed a simple incantation of protection taught to her by one of the gnome neighbours, and then opened them once again. He was still there, so she moved aside so he could come in.

"The girls are all out today," she said, leaning against the closed front door to resume lacing up her work boots. "Puck's staying with a work friend in the meantime, so you won't be seeing her until she comes back at the end of winter."

He seemed rather displeased at her lukewarm reaction to his return home, but he didn't mention it. Mirroring the burgeoning pile of her grievances about their marriage, she kept silent when he pretended there wasn't anything to complain about. It was a complicated dance that the two of them had perfected over the years, intimately familiar with each step.

"Where you are headed?" Chilchuck asked, sweeping his eyes over her attire as if he were scanning his lock-picking toolkit for signs of wear and tear. She hated it, and it was bitter when she swallowed the feeling with an increasing level of ease, automatic.

"To the bakery," she said, needlessly undoing the fastening tie of her cloak and doing it up again, tighter the second time around. "My shift ends late, so don't wait up for me. There's leftover cured meat and cheese from Mei and Fler's birthday dinner last week in the pantry, if you want to eat."

Chilchuck crossed his arms rather aggressively as she spoke, and she felt validated at his show of displeasure. She was starting to become suspicious that he believed their marriage to be as intact as it was when they were walking away from the ceremony, but it gave her a twisted sense of unity that they were both looking at the same cracks and being afflicted with the same unpleasant feelings.

"The one along Third Street, right?" he asked.

It sounded to her like he was running out of things to say, and it made her all the more eager to get out of the house and fall back into the safety of her daily routine in which he was entirely absent. She had become comfortable as a mother of three daughters whose father's only contribution was a pouch of gold coins every full moon, delivered to the door by an administrative employee of the local Adventurer's Guild.

The money he provided for her and for the girls has been slowly and steadily increasing over the years, and she was glad that he appeared to be making a name for himself as a skilled locksmith. There was a sudden jump in the weight of the pouch put in her hands a few months ago. She wanted to ask about it since Chilchuck was here, but ultimately decided not to, keeping her questions about his work and his time in the dungeons of Kahka Brud close to her heart instead.

There was once that he had snapped at her for being too curious about his work, and that one time was enough for her to become unnecessarily cautious when speaking to her husband about the jobs he undertook.

She nodded, putting a hand on the doorknob and finding solace in the coolness of the metal against her skin. The silence between her and Chilchuck felt awkward with how large it was, taking more space in the house than even the house itself. When it became apparent that he had indeed run out of things to say, she pushed the front door open and stepped out.

"I'm off," she said, expecting him to regroup with a new adventurer's party on yet another dungeon expedition by the time she returned from her own work at the bakery.

In the early hours of the morning when she found herself home again, Mei and Fler were asleep in their beds. They left a note for her on the dinner table, saying that they ate at the tavern close to the main street and that they brought back a portion of wild boar stew for her in case she was hungry.

For once meeting her expectations at the exact line where she drew them, Chilchuck was nowhere to be found.

Mei was taller than her now.

It was obvious that her daughter was bending at the waist to give her a greeting hug, the height difference between them further exaggerated by the thick soles of Mei's work boots. A bittersweet sense of awe nipped at Junnimay as she was reminded once again how much Mei resembled her father.

"Mama," Mei said, linking her arm with her mother's as the two of them wandered the Central Market on an impromptu stop on the way to Fler's home. Junnimay thought it would be nice to take a long walk with her firstborn, since Mei had taken the opportunity to surprise her by picking her up from the bakery on one of her rare free days. "You deserve to be happy, you know?"

Junnimay froze mid-appraisal of the many kinds of honey on display at the store on her left, slack-jawed and wide-eyed as she turned her head to face her daughter. Where was this coming from? Briefly, her thoughts led her to the husband she recently left, and it brought to the forefront of her mind once again her every reason for finally acting upon what was in her heart.

Mei seemed to be taken aback by her mother's inarticulate but apparently tumultuous contemplation, so she cleared her throat, eyes darting to the side as she visibly mulled over her next words. "I saw you talking with a gnome uncle at the bakery. Your smile was so bright," she said, beginning to pick at the unoccupied holes in her belt with her free hand. "And I can't remember the old man ever looking at you the way the gnome does. I think you can be happy with him, now that the old man's out of the picture."

Bodies were skimming the pair of them in the passing as they stood in one of the many footpaths in the Kahka Brud's largest market. There were many sights to behold and smells to contemplate, and there were even more wares on sale. She had to be mindful of pickpockets in a crowd as thick as the one that eternally thronged this market, but she could only focus on the determined jut of her daughter's chin.

"I'm just saying," Mei said, making eye contact with her after allowing her a moment to ponder. "I want you to be happy. Fler and Puck, too. You deserve it more than most people."

Junnimay moved her arm from its curled position around Mei's and used it to pull Mei into a one-armed hug, squeezing. The wet warmth of tears pricked at her eyes, and she gave her daughter the widest smile she could muster in an attempt to keep her face from crumpling the way it did when she cried.

"I am happy, little heart," she said. "But I think I'm not made for a second marriage."

She watched the gears turn in Mei's head from behind the screen of tears in her eyes. Wiping at her face with the back of her other hand, she apologised instinctively to a male voice that yelled a phrase in Elvish for her to move from somewhere in the mass of people behind her.

Mei sported a scowl as she scanned the crowd over her mother's head to see who was intruding on their conversation. Junnimay laughed, making sure to steer herself and her daughter closer to the wall between the honey store and the one beside it.

"Did the old man ruin it for you? Marriage, I mean," Mei said, after her sweep of the crowd proved unsuccessful. The majority of the market-goers were tall-men who unintentionally blocked her view of the offending elf, lost in the commotion.

Junnimay felt the need to put on a smile, but remembered that Mei was too old to fall for it. Mei had been too old to believe her fanfare of a reassuring smile since she was just a child.

"His father told us that since we liked each other, we should marry. So we did," she said. The memories trickled into her mind's eye slowly, obstructed by years and years of trying to fill the space of both mother and father for her girls. Looking back on her childhood in a small village where everyone was a half-foot was akin to looking into an old spyglass, trying with much difficulty to spot something on the far horizon.

Chilchuck's father was far more authoritarian than hers ever was; if he said something was to happen, everyone around him made sure it happened. Her father, while affronted by the other half-foot's demand, was agreeable to the match and gave her his blessing since she had insisted that she liked Chilchuck enough to marry him.

"I wanted my parents to be happy, and I liked the idea of marriage at that time. I didn't stop to think about if marriage was the right thing for me," she said.

Noting Mei's silence and hoping to assuage any anxieties her daughter might have, Junnimay gave her another squeeze, smiling without the express intention of consoling. "But I don't regret marrying your father. Because of him, I have you and Fler and Puck. I gained the world's best daughters."

Mei chuckled at her bold proclamation, sighing affectionately when she leaned up to press kisses to her daughter's cheek. "Mama, you say embarrassing things sometimes," were the words that Mei spoke, but Junnimay knew her well enough to hear the words she actually wanted to say. She smiled into Mei's jaw.

"Are three daughters better than a husband?" Mei asked, a cheeky glint lighting up her eyes.

Junnimay squeezed her yet again, a tense fist of unease inside her chest loosening with the surrender of a long-kept confession that bared her heart. Even the golden afternoon rays of sun became brighter and more beautiful, her secret feelings being received most graciously by her firstborn. She was sure they would be received similarly by Fler and Puck too; the three of them were all warm-hearted women whom she was proud to have birthed and raised.

"By a thousand tall-men leaps and bounds, three daughters are infinitely better than a husband."

#dungeon meshi #delicious in dungeon #dungeon meshi scenarios #delicious in dungeon scenarios #chilchuck tims #chilchuck's wife #chilchuck tims x his wife #chilchuck tims x chilchuck's wife #fic #angst #general #kaija writes #kaija writes: dungeon meshi #i'm anime + adventurer's bible scans only #so there's still some things about chilchuck and his family that i haven't come across yet #but still!!!#it doesn't stop me from having so many thoughts and feelings!!!#i wrote this from the perspective of his wife #but what i really want to write a little something more from the perspective of meijack #meijack chils i am writing a fic about you next #something about her eldest daughter syndrome makes her a sister to me #i don't know if it comes up in canon #but i know her #it is there and i want to write about it #i also think a lot about the fact that chilchuck and his wife are childhood friends #childhood friends + exes to lovers???#maybe maybe maybe #i am frothing at the mouth thinking about it

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thunderboltfire · 2 months

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I have unwittingly witnessed a new level of the absurd. Behold, the AI-generated equine anatomy models.

Ah yes, my favourite parts of the equine body. Paster and... *looks at the smudged writing on hand* boob. At least this one looks purely decorative and the being actually looks like a horse. But don't worry, it gets worse.

If we completely ignore the hipopotamus musculature of this one, there's still a lot of things that don't make sense in this one, like a tail that ends in a series of bone spikes and a complete lack of molars. You could make a cool pokemon on the basis of this, but it's not even in the realm of being an actual anatomy help.

I'm firmly convinced this is not a horse, this is something that really, really wants you to think it is a horse. The more you look, the more things look... wrong. The more details turn out to be shifted, bones crammed in to fill in the familiar form, its shape merely implied so that the human mind fills the gap. Of course the text seems like gibberish, because its anatomy is incomprehensible. it's either a parasite or a monster and in each case, it's an eldtrich body horror. I'm kind of angry at how well this joke writes itself.

#I'm just angry that despite of the fact I have almost every AI site blocked it still showed up in the search #I don't think these will fool anyone but still - make sure you know the things you reference are actually accurate #I can recommend Herman Dittrich's drawings when it comes to the equine anatomy #This time I was just searching for the anatomy it bc I forgot what's the name of the canon bone #anti generative ai

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egophiliac · 4 months

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CROWLEY SSR THOUGHTS

there is zero basis for this, but I can't get this thought of my head

I don't know why I decided to draw it this way

#art #twisted wonderland #twisted wonderland spoilers #twisted wonderland episode 7 spoilers #twisted wonderland book 7 spoilers #(these will be relevant in a moment)#this isn't going to happen. but WHAT IF.#anyway i didn't get him (damnit birdman come home) so i had to look up his story #and let me tell you friends my findings were SHOCKING #crowley canonically likes vegetables which means that the crowley is revaan theory = BUSTED #crowley is sailor venus = CONFIRMED #(i know 'whip of love' is a saying but that's where my mind always goes)#DISCLAIMER: this is (mostly) a joke please continue to hold whatever theories and headcanons you want #but look. c'mon. look over here at this whiteboard i've covered in red yarn.#revaan being a picky eater has come up multiple times and there is an entire whole bit about how much he hated jerky and refused to eat it #and now they've made a point of talking about how crowley will eat almost anything and loOoOoves wild game meat especially #it's SO stupid but i can't help but read way too much into it #(this is tumblr if you don't want to see incredibly stupid overanalysis of anime guys then why are you HERE)#and i gotta hold on to something because otherwise whenever malleus and crowley are onscreen together i just keep going 'same hair color...#unless this is like. some kind of deep cover thing.#lilia doesn't recognize him because he saw him eat a green bean once and revaan would NEVER #crowley's secret is safe for another day #(serious hat on: i do think they're probably connected in some way)#(but there's something deeper going on that we're just not clued into yet that will hopefully explain things)#man forget revaan what if crowley whips off his mask and it turns out he was meleanor this whole time #wait hold on meleanor loves jerky. IT ALL FITS...

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demaparbat-hp · 1 month

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Almost

#zutara #atla #zuko #avatar the last airbender #katara #zutara fanart #Wip #First page of three is done!!!#Won't be sharing until I have the whole thing but I'm. So. Close!!!!!!!#It's been ages since I started this project omg #But it's worth it #Hopefully I'll get the chance to finish it tomorrow... Won't be making any promises tho #I've missed you guys and I can't wait to share this with you #Anyways I know it's ZK month (and all the content has been WONDERFUL so far) but I won't be participating. Sorry about that.#Working with prompts is such an amazing creative exercise but I know myself good enough to be certain that I'll never get past the first...#... prompt without coming up with seven different AUs and I can't deal with more of those right now lol #Like I've got this Blue Spirit! Katara and Painted Lady! Zuko AU on the works since last week or so. And more lore for the og BS/PL spirits #And also this S3 canon divergence AU... And another one... And another one...#And I need to work on them at my own rhythm otherwise I'll go nuts #So uh #Yeah #Love u all and I hope I'll get to share this one soon (if only to start on yet another comic. I've got ideas for two of them. Yay)#Dema out #(Sorry for the rambling I'm just anxious)#(Don't know why but I stopped caring a long time ago)

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zillychu · 4 months

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Finding out the Danny Phantom pitch bible originally included more creatures other than ghosts really makes me want to just (DUMPS TRANSCENDENCE AU ALL OVER IT)

#Danny Phantom #tau #transcendence au #zilly squeaks #Danny would still be a ghost and not a demon. i think. brainworms pending #oh no here come the crossover thoughts #portal accident happens just years after The Transcendence #hear me out #Danny and Dipper bonding over becoming immortal nonhumans feared by the general public #'i rolled out of bed today and fell into the basement' 'that's rough buddy. i threw up glitter today' 'shit dude'#'you getting unsolicited summoning rituals too' 'yeah i found out how to make an answering machine for that' 'oh no WAY you gotta show me'#no but fr Danny Sam and Tucker deserve to have wacky adventures involving all sorts of creatures #PLEASE everlasting trio + mystery twins being very new and very bad at this and helping each other #are they the same age? canon ages?? i don't know what would be funnier

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hamofjustice · 11 months

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nemona feels like an obscure blorbo instead of the main rival character from the latest pokemon game because to get to her really good content from people who really get it, you first have to wade through the ocean of yandere pervert obsessive stalker annoying punchable bimbo amazon goddess interpretations of...

... a neurodivergent and possibly disabled high schooler who's desperately trying to make any friends or get any support from her rich neglectful family - while everyone in her school is jealous of their own imagined version of a privileged asshole version of her they made up - who deeply and platonically loves and supports the one new kid who agreed to take the time to get to know and respect her and her special interest without having to hold back her true self

unlike her, it's not great!

kinda feels like she has the same problem in our world that she does in hers.

#(except much hornier)#i hate to say it but i think her skin color has something to do with it #nemona pokemon #nemona #pokemon sv #pokemon scarvio #pokemon scarlet and violet #pokemon #nemonaposting #dog girl and goku memes are fine i guess #i legitimately cannot google her without a video of someone being cruel to her on purpose and making her visibly sad coming up #i don't think people like that really browse these tags but i hope they're not the reason she was not in the dlc footage at all #and thus may never get more screen time to actually be her best friend's 'rival for life' as promised before the 3 year cycle marches on #you know the dlc about nemona's best friend and 'greatest treasure' transferring to a school about the hardcore battles she's dying without #potentially abandoning her and sending her back to almost square one on having a reason to enjoy life #don't get me started yelling about that again #also i didn't mean platonically in a don't ship them kind of way you should absolutely do that if it lines up with your interpretations #i usually do in fact #just trying to emphasize the contrast between canon and fanart here #opinions of her already start off so low faith just because she's from the 10 fps pokemon game and i'll be real i wish she wasn't #i wish she and her friends were somewhere i could trust that they would be treated respectfully by their copyright holders

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starry-bi-sky · 4 months

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Clone^2 danny headcanons and/or facts that i wanted to expand on but didn't have the motivation or inspiration to write a ficlet about. Ultimately most of these are ideas that already exist in canon clone^2 but are only now being expanded on/explored/stated specifically.

Because I'm procrasinating cfau and passively thinking about clone danny and damian again.

1 - As he's liminal, Danny generates his own ectoplasm. He generates it at a slower rate than the casual ghost but faster than the average liminal. It's what gives him an ecto-signature and results in him triggering his parents' weapons and ecto-sensors.

The ectoplasm he generates actually has a use, and he tends to burn through his supply while he's fighting because of all the physical energy he spends + the use of his scary eyes requires (albeit really minor amounts of) ectoplasm to use. It also has health benefits, as using his ectoplasm keeps his heartbeat steady and lessens the risk of his arrhythmia flaring up due to all of his physical activity and adrenaline.

It does happen occasionally that he uses up more ectoplasm than he can replace, and this has the expected negative effects on his health as all that adrenaline and stress catches up to his heart without a buffer to mitigate it. He carries a canteen full of diluted ectoplasm with him in order to give his system the boost it needs in order to stabilize itself, which he can usually tell when he needs due to excessive fatigue/chest pains/dizziness/other arrhythmia symptoms he gets that means he's low on ectoplasm.

2 - Danny's arrhythmia is a form of bradycardia (which is a slower heartbeat) -- what type? Unspecified / Unknown thanks to it being ectoplasmic in nature.

3 - In that same breath, Danny also has to burn that ectoplasm off in some form or another because if he doesn't it builds up and causes him the same issues as if he was too low. It also causes him to become more emotionally volatile, restless, irritable, overstimulated, etc, which the stress of that then makes his heart condition worsen. If too much ectoplasm builds up, it'll cause a physical electrical shock/shortage. This is rare however, and usually is the equivalent of giving someone a painful static shock. At best it makes the lights flicker or technology fritz out for a few seconds.

While it doesn't have much effect on the physical world, it does expend a good chunk of ectoplasm. Think like dumping out a heavy bucket of water that you've been carrying for a while, or getting into a hot shower after being outside in the cold for hours. It's emotionally draining but very relieving.

4 - Danny can replenish ectoplasm or generate ectoplasm faster by resting, eating, consuming other ectoplasm (fastest), fulfilling his interests / doing things that makes him happy, or by being exposed to high amounts of ectoplasm in the area. He can also rapidly generate it by being in a volatile emotional state, but that drains ectoplasm almost as quickly, and runs the risk of causing flare ups in his arrhythmia.

5 - this is actually canon to the au but I figured it wouldn't hurt to expand more on it / clarify / confirm, but Danny post-Damian has chronic pain in his hands from the nerve damage he sustained. He has daily physical therapy exercises he's supposed to do that he does in the mornings/evenings and whenever his hands hurt/feel stiff. He wears compression gloves in his day-to-day life and gets Sam and Tucker's help to brainstorm ideas about how to make compression gloves for Phantom that can include his knuckledusters. His grip and hand strength is weakened.

He has bad hand days where his hands hurt more than usual. This can happen at random, but is more common after he's overused/strained his hands either the day before or earlier in the day. His fingers stiffen up for similar reasons, and he gets tremors. It's happened before where (for example) he's braiding his hair and unbraiding it, only to need someone else to finish the braid because his fingers stiffened up and don't want to work like he wants them to.

Massages, heat, pressure, etc. helps soothe the pain, and since Danny's a fidgety person his friends and family can usually tell when he has a flare up because any hand movements he was doing prior ceased/slowed suddenly, or he starts massaging his hands / stretching out his fingers.

Damian very stubbornly insists on massaging his hands for him when this happens, he has a lot of intense guilt for being the reason for Danny's chronic pain so he wants to alleviate it in anyway he can.

6 - Danny has what I like to call "Bruce-isms", a word I came up with just now that means he has Bruce Wayne mannerisms that come from the fact that he's still Bruce's clone. A Nature vs. Nurture thing. His Bruce-isms include the Bruce Grunts Of Ambiguous Tonal Meaning ("hm", "hrm", "hn"), his workaholism, his paranoia (on a milder scale), etc. They're small, relatively non-defining things that are quirks but don't make up his personality.

He's got what Sam and Tucker like to call "Bruce Wayne Moments" which are essentially Bruce-isms but only ones that Danny and his friends are aware of considering they only know Bruce as Brucie Wayne and not Batman. "Bruce Wayne Moments" include Danny being clumsy, doing something air-headed, being oblivious, etc. It's not a common joke among the three of them since Tucker and Sam know that Danny's still pr sensitive to the whole clone thing. So they only bring it up when he's done something stupid but hilarious.

7 - while clone^2 focuses more on Danny and Damian's relationship and Danny helping Damian develop his identity beyond just "Damian Wayne's Clone", Danny still suffers from his own identity crises. He sometimes gets jealous of Ellie and Damian for being "lucky" that they always knew they were clones, rather than finding out later in life.

He's aware that this is not fair to think and that Damian and Ellie both have their own struggles as clones, but he can't help it sometimes.

He tries not to think about it too much, but when things get too quiet or when he's not busy, Danny can't help but wonder how much of himself is things he's learned on his own and come from him, and how much of it comes from being Bruce Wayne's clone. He has to stop and count how many things are unique about him specifically when he starts to emotionally spiral. It's not rational, but it's not supposed to be.

As a result Danny kinda, hm, clings to his identity as the Phantom, just a little bit? He thinks it's one of the few things that he has autonomous control over as "Danny Fenton", rather than it being a result of him being Bruce Wayne's clone. Because Bruce Wayne isn't a vigilante! Right? Right?

Consequently this becomes one of the reasons that Damian keeps mum about Bruce Wayne's identity. The original reasons were because Danny asked not to know much about the LoA beyond what Damian already told him, and Batman was technically "apart" of the LoA, and secondly because he just didn't want Danny to get involved with Batman and co and Danny knowing about Bruce Wayne's identity could potentially cause that.

But as time goes on Damian kinda notices like, just how being a clone is affecting Danny even if he hides it from Damian pretty well. He can't really comprehend what it was like for Danny to grow up thinking he was normal like everyone else only to find out he was a clone, but he does see the hurt it's causing his brother. And he does notice that Danny was holding onto being Phantom quite a bit, and figured that if he found out Bruce Wayne was also a vigilante, it would hurt him beyond belief.

8 - So Danny's creation has been kept relatively,,, mmm,,, vague? considering I've been struggling for a time how I could plausibly have his creation happen without Bruce finding out about it immediately. And my conclusion is that around the time Danny was created, Bruce met up with the Fenton parents again for some reason or another -- checking out their tech under the guise of wanting to catch up with them.

And I can imagine that, due to being close friends in college, the Fentons literally just outright told him, "Hey we wanna 'nother kid but don't want to go through the risk of pregnancy again, so we're gonna make a clone of one of us instead"

and in true Bruce fashion, he mentally went "wow i should learn Everything And Anything About This Thing Specifically. Just In Case." and outwardly went "woah cool! ahaha how does it work"

and since the Fentons consider Bruce a close friend and are also incapable of Not Talking About Science, turned and went "OH WE CAN SHOW YOU" and showed Bruce their entire cloning process up to and including how they (safely) extracted the DNA they were gonna use. of which they already had. they were gonna just extract Jack's DNA a second time as an example, but it was Bruce who said "hey you should try me instead" in order to gauge how exactly safe this was and if there were any symptoms he would need to recognize in cloning.

so with his consent they did, and then showed him how they were going to use the DNA to make a clone without actually going through the process. Without prompting from Bruce, the Fentons went "we're gonna throw your DNA away though since we don't want this lying around and because we have no use for it" and visibly showed him that they were disposing it.

Bruce came to the conclusion that the Fentons weren't planning anything nefarious, they just really wanted another kid, and (reluctantly) left afterwards. The mixup comes when Maddie, surprisingly, misplaces the cartridge with Jack's DNA in it and while they could have always gotten another sample, it was better and safer to just try and find the original before that.

Jack finds Bruce's in their disposable. In his excitement, he forgets that it was Bruce's DNA, and manages to get it out safely. Maddie wasn't looking when he found it, and in her excitement also forgot to ask where Jack found it. They used that cartridge instead.

When they found out they used the wrong DNA, Danny was already about year old and while Jack and Maddie are morally dubious, they're only morally dubious towards ghosts. Danny was their beloved human baby, they would never do anything to him.

That being said, they were still horrified when they found out, and really, they genuinely did consider reaching out to Bruce to tell him. They thought it was something he deserved to know since it was his DNA that got used instead, and they felt awfully guilty after he trusted them enough to let them draw DNA from him. The only reason they hadn't is because, at the time, Bruce had been really busy with something in his public life and they didn't want to bother him during such a stressful time.

So they were going to wait, and in Fenton-like fashion, forgot to tell him. When the subject came up again sometime later, they assumed they already told Bruce and went about their day.

#dpxdc #dp x dc #danny fenton is not the ghost king #dp x dc crossover #dpxdc crossover #dpdc #clone^2 #danny fenton is a clone #bruce you getting cloned by accident is technically your fault man. you knew the fentons in college you know what they're like /j #i kept kinda vague about danny's chronic pain prior since i don't have it myself so i didn't want to portray it incorrectly. but i want to #confirm it now that danny has chronic pain in his hands. and also that his arrhythmia does affect him more than just “slow heartbeat”#and the ectoplasm he makes acts more like a weird pacemaker than an actual cure for his arrhythmia.#clone^2 au might be more about danny and damian and damian's issues but by god does danny have his own too that he just. shoves to the side #danny canonically has only known he was a clone for a year before he got damian. thats not a long time for something that substantial tbh #and he was still in the process of coming to terms with it when damian ended up in his life.#danny started carrying his canteen of ghost juice with him after he passed out one too many times after a fight when he was low on ectoplas #danny hinges a little too much of his identity on being Phantom because he thinks it's the only really major thing about him that isn't #a result of him being a clone. so uh -aha - him finding out bruce is a vigilante too is gonna be pretty ugly.#arrhythmia isn't always permanent but it CAN be and in danny's case it is

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canisalbus · 5 months

Note

About the accents: if someone has a very "proper" Italian they are either foreigners or politicians/dignitaries/etc. So that fits perfectly for Machete, but I think it would be so funny if he sometimes slipped up and used a Nepalese word bc he forgot one in "proper" Italian lol

(Funny to me cause Naples has its own language in addition to accent, and most people don't actually know those words)

#ah that's good to hear!#glad it fits him #there's no way he gets it perfect every time #especially in the absence of widely used standardized Italian in the original canon era #there's bound to be a mix up every now and then #I don't know how likely it would be that he absorbed much Venetian at the time he lived there #I remember reading that lectures in medieval and early premodern universities were held in Latin but I could be wrong #even though his original native language is Sicilian I think he has probably lost a lot if not most of it due to lack of use #but it would be kind of funny if the Neapolitan and/or Sicilian influences resurfaced occasionally in private casual conversations #and Vasco who to my knowledge has never been to the south would be left guessing what he was even trying to say #I'm taking the easy way out and lowering their language barriers a bit out of convenience bear with me #I'm not competent enough to deal with all the different languages and dialects and the communication issues that would come with them #answered #anonymous #sorry to point out an obvious typo but I think you must've gotten Neapolitan/Napolese autocorrected to Nepalese by accident or something #unless Machete has secret ties to Nepali that I'm not aware of #which would be quite a twist

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muzzleroars · 9 months

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Lucifer, as he once was

As a seraph, Lucifer was always consumed by the fire of divine love, yet his devotion ran so deep even his insides were devoured in flames. He was God's first creation, and so became His assistant in forming the primordial chaos which later evolved into his role as Prince of Angels. However, Lucifer was soon rejected from Heaven for his rebellion against God's rule - the narrative would see him twisted into a prideful and arrogant traitor, yet in truth Lucifer had only refused to accept Hell as a part of an all-good creation due to its inherent cruelty. For calling God's Goodness into question, Lucifer became the first resident of the very prison he opposed and resides there still, in one form or another.

Some additional notes under the read-more

#happy anniversary! i have only brought a new oc bc i don't know dates. ever.#like i said i wanted lucifer much simpler than the other angels #he is sort of meant to be an angelic prime #just barely contained divine fire into a form with thought and will #he had difficulty coming together and when he can manage it...#he thinks about that troubled creation. why did god even bother #ultrakill oc #lucifer #doodle tag #i'll do his fallen form....when i can get up the gumption lol #also promise i am working on strictly canon stuff #this design just kind of got me in a chokehold so i had to get him out there

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softichill · 1 year

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Playing around with ideas

#I call it buttonrune #Cricket doodles #Deltarune #Deltarune au #Noelle holiday #Carol holiday #Drmv #Buttonrune #Tried to come up with an ambiguous design for Carol since we don't know what she looks like in canon yet #Dess is here too but we don't know what she looks like either #Coraline #Coraline au

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glorfindel-of-imladris · 2 months

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The Case of Erestor Half-elven

It’s been a hot minute since my last fandom meta, but this one I accidentally stumbled upon gathering notes for—would you believe it—a Glorfindel meta I intended to write. Man, I’m not even going to question the process, so let’s just get right on to it!

I like to joke around that there are only six instances when Erestor was mentioned in the entire legendarium, and by this I mean in The Lord of the Rings, The Hobbit, and The Silmarillion (in which he does not even appear in the latter two).

But let’s talk about the early draft of him that is often referenced in fandom. If one extends the search, in The Return of Shadow, which details the writing process of what ultimately would be The Fellowship of the Ring, Erestor does get a mention, and is described as follows:

“There were three counsellors of Elrond’s own household: Erestor his kinsman (a man of the same half-elvish folk known as the children of Lúthien), and beside him two elflords of Rivendell.” -- In the House of Elrond, The Return of Shadow

By the final version of The Lord of the Rings, however, there is no more reference to Erestor as Half-elven. The final published version goes:

"Beside Glorfindel there were several other counsellors of Elrond's household, of whom Erestor was the chief..." -- The Council of Elrond, The Fellowship of the Ring

By this final version of the story, the Half-elven trait no longer made sense for Erestor, and was replaced instead by him being Elrond's chief counsellor.

The nature of Half-elves

Tolkien acknowledges three unions of Elves and Men:

“There were three unions of the Eldar and the Edain: Lúthien and Beren; Idril and Tuor; Arwen and Aragorn. By the last the long-sundered branches of the Half-elven were reunited and their line was restored.” –Appendix A, Return of the King

One of the later themes Tolkien came up with surrounding the Half-elven line (which likely did not yet exist at the early stages of the story when he was first forming the fellowship) was how they united and reunited all the houses of the Eldar and the Edain. Beren was a descendant of the three houses of the Edain—the Houses of Bëor, Haleth, and Hador—while Lúthien was the daughter of a Sinda (Teleri) and a Maia. Idril was the daughter of a Ñoldo and a Vanya. Lúthien and Beren had Dior, who then had a daughter, Elwing, who wed Eärendil, the son of Idril and Tuor. Elwing and Eärendil then had Elros and Elrond, and the line was separated for many generations when Elros chose to be counted among Men, and Elrond among Elves. The two lines were reunited with the marriage of Aragorn and Arwen.

One important detail here is that before the “Choice of the Half-elves” that was later gifted to Eärendil, Elwing, and their children, the children born out of an Elf-Man union led lives akin to Men. Dior was able to rule Doriath at age 33, and Eärendil and Elwing married at 22. These, as we know, would have been too young for Elves, given:

“Children of Men might reach their full height while Eldar of the same age were still in the body like to mortals of no more than seven years. Not until their fiftieth year did the Eldar attain the stature and shape in which their lives would afterwards endure, and for some a hundred years would pass before they were full-grown.” -- Laws and Customs of the Eldar, Morgoth’s Ring

and

“The Eldar wedded for the most part in their youth and soon after their fiftieth year […] Those who would afterwards become wedded might choose one another early in youth, even as children (and indeed this happened often in days of peace); but unless they desired soon to be married and were of fitting age, the betrothal awaited the judgment of the parents of either party.” -- Laws and Customs of the Eldar, Morgoth’s Ring

After the events of the War of the Wrath, Eärendil, Elwing, and their sons Elrond and Elros, for their deeds in the war, were gifted with the choice to be counted either among the Eldar or the Edain. Eärendil, Elwing, and Elrond chose to be counted among Elves, and the choice continued on to Elrond’s children: Arwen, Elladan, and Elrohir. Elros chose to be counted among Men, but in his case, the choice no longer extended to his descendants; every descendant of Elros was mortal.

The only thing I can conclude for why Elros’ line did not get to choose is because the Gift of Ilúvatar—that is, a death that transcends the world of Arda—trumps all other gifts. It is a blessing that followed the line of Elros—never mind that the latter Númenóreans did not all agree that this was a blessing at all.

A similar sentiment can be found in earlier versions of the Quenta Silmarillion, where Manwë said to Eärendil:

"Now all those who have the blood of mortal Men, in whatever part, great or small, are mortal, unless other doom be granted to them; but in this matter the power of doom is given to me." -- Quenta Silmarillion, The Lost Road and Other Writings

Although this was no longer included in the published Silmarillion, Christopher Tolkien still considered this in judging that Dior, son of Beren and Lúthien, would have been mortal, regardless of whether Lúthien was Elf or mortal when she begetted him.

Bonus extra: The fourth case of Elf-Man union

Despite the excerpt from Appendix A, there is another case of Elf-Man union that we know: Mithrellas and Imrazôr. This was alluded to in Return of the King when describing Prince Imrahil:

“...and with him went the Prince of Dol Amroth in his shining mail. For he and his knights still held themselves like lords in whom the race of Númenor ran true. Men that saw them whispered saying: ‘Belike the old tales speak well; there is Elvish blood in the veins of that folk, for the people of Nimrodel dwelt in that land once long ago.’” The Siege of Gondor, Return of the King

Although it seems as though this was only a rumor among Men, in the wider History of Middle-earth, Mithrellas is indeed mentioned to have been the spouse of Imrazôr who bore him children, of whom Galador was the ancestor of the princes of Dol Amroth. Of their line, it was said:

“But though Mithrellas was of the lesser silvan race (and not of the High Elves or the Grey) it was ever held that the house and kin of the Lords of Dol Amroth were noble by blood, as they were fair of face and mind.” The Heirs of Elendil, The Peoples of Middle-earth

The princes of Dol Amroth, of course, are mortal, and this does not contradict anything that has already been established. It is easy to imagine how, in a world where Elves and Men co-exist, there could be many other undocumented cases throughout the years. But what we do know is that no other Half-elf outside of Eärendil’s line would have led a long life by choosing the path of Elves. Therefore, if there were any other Half-elves in the Council of Elrond, aside from Elrond himself, they would have been not much older than Aragorn or Boromir.

Erestor’s age and role in Rivendell

We now return to Erestor. One of the clearest things in “The Council of Elrond” is the Elves’ reluctance to take the One Ring. Erestor is one of the most vocal about this, and this is one of my favorite themes to explore about his character in the Third Age.

Thematically, Erestor represents the fading of the Elves. He is most known for his quick suggestion to give the Ring to Tom Bombadil. This tells us:

The Elves do not want anything to do with the Ring anymore, a sentiment that would be especially potent for one who was there during the Last Alliance, in the Second Age when Sauron was at the peak of his power; and

The time of the Elves is ending, and there is little more they can give to Middle-earth.

Granted, Legolas remained a member of the Fellowship and thus represented the Elves, but by Elven standards, Legolas was young, and did not have the weariness that someone older would have. Erestor reads to me as someone older, even older in spirit in comparison to Glorfindel.

‘We know not for certain,’ answered Elrond sadly. ‘Some hope that the Three Rings, which Sauron has never touched, would then become free, and their rulers might heal the hurts of the world that he has wrought. But maybe when the One has gone, the Three will fail, and many fair things will fade and be forgotten. That is my belief.’ ‘Yet all the Elves are willing to endure this chance,’ said Glorfindel, ‘if by it the power of Sauron may be broken, and the fear of his dominion be taken away for ever.’ ‘Thus we return once more to the destroying of the Ring,’ said Erestor, ‘and yet we come no nearer. What strength have we for the finding of the fire in which it was made? That is the path of despair. Of folly, I would say, if the long wisdom of Elrond did not forbid me.’ -- The Council of Elrond, The Fellowship of the Ring

Erestor has a weariness to him that is even notable especially beside Glorfindel's vitality, whom we know was reborn in Aman as though young again, with "the primitive innocence and grace of the Eldar" (Peoples of Middle-earth). Glorfindel, however, is a special case even among all Elves in the Third Age, while Erestor arguably would have been more representative of them, at least of the ones that remained in Middle-earth.

Another case to be made about Erestor being one of the oldest in Rivendell is by virtue of his status as chief among Elrond’s counsellors. Considering the population of Elves in Rivendell, this is no small feat. As Gandalf told Frodo:

‘Here in Rivendell there live still some of [Sauron’s] chief foes: the Elven-wise, lords of the Eldar from beyond the furthest seas. They do not fear the Ringwraiths, for those who have dwelt in the Blessed Realm live at once in both worlds, and against both the Seen and the Unseen they have great power. [...] Indeed there is power in Rivendell to withstand the might of Mordor, for a while: and elsewhere other powers still dwell.’ -- Many Meetings, The Fellowship of the Ring

So what is he?

The last quote about the Elf-lords of Rivendell is one of the main reasons why I say Erestor is likely of the Ñoldorin Calaquendi. This makes the most sense given his position in Elrond’s household and given the sorts of Elves that dwell there. Fortunately, this still gives us many options: he could be an Elf from Gondolin, from Nargothrond, even among one of the many houses of the Fëanoryn.

Could he have been any other kind of Elf? Sure! I even particularly have a soft spot for Erestor being Sindarin, but again, given his position, I would guess one of the older lines. Doriath, in particular, would make sense. Given how Elves seem to be “ranked” by wisdom defined by their exposure to the Valar and the rest of the Ainur, Doriath, with Melian’s influence, would have been a special kind of place.

Could Erestor still be Half-elven? My easiest answer would be that it’s unlikely. But! Do not despair! With fiction, really anything is possible. Erestor could be an exceptional Half-elf and that is why he is chief counsellor. He could still be a kindred of Elrond’s by some obscure line, such as an unrecorded child in the line of Beren and Lúthien, or as a popular fanon, either Eluréd or Elurín survived. Or he could just be the son of some other Elf and Man. But whatever version it is, Erestor Half-elven would not have had the choice of the Half-elves, and so likely would not have been alive beyond the lifetime of a Númenórean.

#erestor #meta #the way i accidentally churn out meta sometimes is just #i don't know #wow this took up a sunday #but!#i'm glad to have been able to lay down my notes for it #i do love erestor a lot #and i love the challenge that comes with piecing together canon for all fandom character studies #erestor's obscurity and the challenge he gives me is probably why i like this guy a lot #that and because #he stood beside glorfindel at a wedding #LMAO #let's not pretend it started as anything more than that #90's things #tolkien #the lord of the rings #the silmarillion and other histories

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writeshite · 1 year

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Puppy Love

Summary:

“One would think you’ve become besotten with me, Lord Stark,” you quip, circling each other at a slow pace. “I would agree.” His arm moves up, and you meet it, wrists side by side, “dragons are a rare sight in the North; anyone would be enamored.” You chuckle, “I should say the same; wolves are equally as captivating."

Pairings:

Robb Stark x Male Reader

Tags:

Targaryen Reader | Fluff | Smitten Robb Stark

Words: 2122

Author's Note:

I have not actually watched the show or read the books fully 👉🏾👈🏾 I know things, but most of my knowledge is sporadic and random; it'll be like 60% accurate, I think....in my defense, I want dragons, and I also want Robb Stark, so like what else am I supposed to do 💀. Also, sorry if the High Valyrian in here is shit; I'm very behind in my Duolingo course.

“The dragons have taken back the Iron Throne.”

Robb didn’t quite know how to react to the news; his battle had been for the North, and the workings of the other kingdoms and their squabbles had never immensely mattered to him as much as he knew they should. The ball had been his mother’s suggestion, correction insistence, “As king, you should set an example and get ahead of the other kingdoms.”

The Targarayens arrive on dragon back - each on a separate one - the beasts shake the ground when they land, thunderous roars echoing into the skies. Her Majesty, Daenerys Targaryen, is poised, expression calm as she descends her dragon; another figure follows behind her - the Queen's Hand Missandei - the other dragon rider, steals more of Robb’s attention. Expression perhaps more joyful, you appear rather ill-equipped for the weather, furs less than satisfactory in Robb’s opinion. Your attire appears snow-touched, with little color - a touch of red on the collar of your coat - and dragon detailing on the lapels. Your silver locks are platted back in a simplistic rider’s style, held together by an intricate golden band.

Your company trails behind, arriving just moments later. Robb is accompanied by his mother, Sansa, and Arya, the latter of the three stares in awe at the dragons. Robb picks up a bit of conversation as you approach them, dying down when you come to stand in front of them; the words are of another tongue - High Valyrian, he thinks. “Your grace,” he greets, “welcome to Winterfell.”

“Thank you, Lord Stark,” she gestured to one side, “you know of my wife and hand, Missandei,” Robb nods, and she gestures to you, “and my cousin.”

“A pleasure,” you greet him.

Robb had yet to follow etiquette, and in the spirit of that, he responds to your greeting and awaiting handshake with a kiss - placed on the back of your hand. Your skin trembles in the cold, cool to the touch; he rubs his thumb along it in an effort to create some heat. The purple of your eyes was entrancing, deep pools that drew his gaze easily. His mother’s cough draws him back; her disapproving and mildly irritated glance is counteracted by Sansa and Arya’s amused ones. The servants lead you to your temporary quarters, and Robb’s linger on your retreating form; his mother’s lecture drifts elsewhere in his mind, barely settling before it’s tossed aside by the glee of seeing you once more at the welcoming banquet.

Winterfell was colder than you expected.

The invitation had seen no hurried response - with the rebuilding of King’s Landing, a new Dragon’s Pit, and many other matters - coming to Winterfell had primarily been driven by the need for a break. You rode on Morghon, Daenerys, and Missandei rode on Drogon, with Rhaegal and Viserion following and a company of Dothraki followed from the ground. The cool weather had been the first thing you’d noted, the second being the admittedly attractive King in the North. He donned a thick fur cape overtop his attire, a ringlet crown surmounted by iron spikes, and three wolves at the central front.

“Dubāzma,” you shrug at Daenerys’ warning tone; you hadn’t done anything; you simply glanced at the man.

You counter such, “Eman gaomagon daorun, ivestragon zirȳla Missandei.”

Missandei shakes her head, amusement in her tone, “Iā bughegon isse suvion iēdar kostilus,” she jests.

You shake your head, and the conversation breaks off as Lord Stark welcomes you to Winterfell. Daenerys responds with light introductions for both Missandei, then you.

“A pleasure,” you say once introduced, hand held out, ready for a handshake. Lord Stark does something far different. Taking your hand, he turns it over and lays a peck on the back of it, causing Lady Stark’s eyes to grow wide in surprise and his sisters’ expressions to morph into grins.

“The pleasure is all mine,” he replies, eyes locked on yours as he does so. His hand remains with yours for seconds longer, thumb caressing the skin, and when her ladyship breaks the brief haze with a cough, he leaves behind a phantom warmth.

The temporary chambers are cozy, readily warm, and stocked with furs; you set your luggage by the bed and don’t dwell too long on them - furs, a bed, fire, and comfort - as the welcome banquet requires far more attention. You replace your traveling coat with one more suitable for festivities - dark with gold embroidery and light fur trimming on the bottom. You exit the room to find Lord Stark’s figure leaning against the wall opposite, and a smile lights his face at the sight of you.

“Have you come to escort me, Lord Stark?” you inquire.

“If you’d allow it,” he responds with a hint of hope. You chuckle and nod, drawing out a broader smile on his face. The hall is not as far off as you’d imagined; light chatter filters through the open doors as people mill into the open-spaced hall. Far from the entrance sits a horizontally set long table - the Starks on the right, Taragrayens on the left - the other tables line the sides, leaving the middle empty.

“Lord Robb of House Stark, King in the North, Lord of Winterfell…” the announcer declares, drawing attention to you both; he announces you next, “...of House Targaryen….” It had been your idea to drop your name of Velaryon, “...Dragonheart of Old Valyria, and Prince of The Ashes.” The latter of the titles stood more as a slight mockery, with your old life on the remnants of Old Valyria, those that had spotted you and Morghon had called you that in whispers.

You take the two remaining seats at the long table, Robb near the center, you near the edge, close to Missandei. The food is wonderful; meats, deserts, ale, and various Northern delicacies are brought to the tables - the honeyed chicken may well become one of your new favorites. People begin to mingle after the main courses as music fills the halls in steady beats; you follow suit at Lord Stark’s request to dance.

“One would think you’ve become besotten with me, Lord Stark,” you quip, circling each other at a slow pace.

“I would agree.” His arm moves up, and you meet it, wrists side by side, “dragons are a rare sight in the North; anyone would be enamored.”

You chuckle, “I would say the same; wolves are equally as captivating,” your arms turn, both palms now against the other; he laces his fingers with yours, a cheeky grin on his face. You turn to circle in the opposite direction, the crowd around you filtering out as you remain fixated on each other. You draw back, hands still intertwined; coming back again, he places his other hand on your shoulder as yours goes to his hip. A few paces and you should separate from the other, turn to another person and carry on the dance, but you don’t, remaining in each other’s grasp as you drift across the floor.

The music changes and a joyful beat begins; the formality is lost as the crowd of dancers switches to more upbeat and expressive movements. Lord Stark tugs at your arm, head tilting towards the doors; you turn briefly to glance at the long table - Lady Arya is immersed in conversation with Daenerys; Missandei and Lady Sansa are the same; Lady Stark herself, however, appears to have swallowed a lemon, eyes glaring daggers at his Lordship. You return your attention to said man and allow him to drag you away from the hall.

Robb hadn’t paid much attention to his mother’s lecture; her words went in one ear and out the other; she wasn’t angry, not truly, merely cautious. The interest seemed mutual to some extent, though the matter of marital affairs would be complicated - gods know the Lords of Westeros would turn their noses high in disgust - his almost engagements had all fallen through when he’d paid them little mind.

“Robb Stark!” His mother’s voice cuts through his thoughts, “I understand your attraction circumvents what the realm would regard as suitable, but that is no excuse, do not trifle with him; we don’t need them setting our lands ablaze.”

“You’ve outdone yourself this time,” Sansa comments after their mother leaves.

Robb purses his lips; a wise man would take the words to heart and cease whatever he was doing - even if this interaction bore positive fruit, there was no certainty it would be in the best interest of the North. Her Majesty could have him abdicate his throne in favor of moving into the Targarayen household, or she could disapprove of him and feed him to her dragons. Robb was a man of heart, the kind that intercepted the servant at your chambers and took it upon himself to escort you personally to the dining halls.

Your previous coat has been replaced by a darker one; golden dragon heads decorate the cuffs, and it sits tighter on your person, with the fur trimming at the bottom fluttering delicately as you walk. “Have you come to escort me, Lord Stark?”

“If you’d allow it,” he responds, and gods, he hopes you would. He feels himself smile wider at your agreement, arm threaded with yours; the short walk to the dining halls leaves him ecstatic.

“Lord Robb of House Stark, King in the North, Lord of Winterfell…” the declaration echoes in the hall; brief glances become more fixated on your intertwined arms. His mother’s eyes squint, a frown on her face, “...of House Targaryen, Dragonheart of Old Valyria, and Prince of The Ashes.”

Robb thanks the gods; his mother’s seat is further from him; if looks could kill, he’s certain he’d have died at the entrance. “You’ve taken to my cousin quite quickly, Lord Stark,” Her Majesty’s voice draws his attention.

Her gaze is steady as she regards him, “I suppose, your grace, is that a problem?”

It’s no secret that certain parts of Westeros and their rulers disapprove of other attractions; Robb’s not quite sure where his father would have stood on the matter - he imagines him supportive - he knows his mother prefers he be less expressive on the subject. Queen Daenerys had been quite clear on her stance, disregarding the disapproval of her new laws and marriage, though that’s not to say she would like to have him as her in-law.

“Not as long as he is happy, and well,” she answers, “I have little family left; I cannot help my worry.”

There is an underlying threat to her words, and Robb nods in understanding, and it satisfies her enough to turn away from him. The food is brought in just after - honeyed chicken, venison pies, cod cakes, ale, candied bread - the music begins near the tail end of the feast. Some sway to the tune, conversations carrying in the air, as the music changes to something more befitting a dance. He stands and moves down the long table towards you, “Care for a dance?”

“One would think you’ve become besotten with me, Lord Stark,” you quip.

“I would agree; dragons are a rare sight in the North; anyone would be enamored.” Your arms meet in the middle, level to your heads, as you circle each other; even as the other dancers switch partners, you remain together. Up until the music changes and a less formal tune carries in the air, you follow suit, hand in Robb’s as he drags you from the hall. You stroll idly through the halls, hands held together and swung lowly and sharing idle chatter.

“What do you call your dragon?”

“Morghon,” you respond, “it means death, a fitting name. Would you like to see him?” Robb pursed his lips, and you chuckled at his hesitation, “Don’t tell me you’re scared of dragons,” you teased; coming to a halt, you tugged him closer, “certainly not after flirting with one.”

He can feel the heat creep up his neck and imagines his skin pinker at the moment, “What if he bites?”

“He won’t,” your graze drifts a little lower, “but I could.”

“Is that an invitation to your bed, my prince?”

“If you’d like, you could show me how warm the North could be. I’m sure a few hours of demonstration should suffice.”

“The demonstration will have to wait for another time, your grace,” his mother’s voice cuts in. You both jump apart, hands loosely held together; she grabs Robb by the arm, “I apologize for the interruption, your grace, but we have some familial matters to attend to.” His face pinches into a frown as his mother leads him away; he remains turned enough to send you a brief wave and a smile and is thrilled to see you return it.

End Note:

Hope you enjoyed this mess. Stay hydrated.

#robb stark x male reader #robb stark x reader #game of thrones imagine #shut up i want dragons alright #i am disregarding canon because i think he's too hot to die #and also cause there's like a few solid male reader fics i think and the rest aren't so here comes the petty dragon riding bitch #if you came here expecting canon accuracy go touch some grass this is fanfic we don't know the meaning of that word

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