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dilatorywriting · 1 year

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Monster Mayhem: Donkeys & Dragons [PART 4]

Gender Neutral Reader x Malleus Draconia Word Count: 6.7k

Summary: 'Never tickle a sleeping dragon.'

🌶️Obligatory Warning for Some Descriptions of Violence & Mild Suggestive Content

[PART 1] [PART 2] [PART 3] [PART 4] [EPILOGUE]

As detestable as they were, at the very least your assailants were well organized.

You were plopped neatly at the center of the room, in a very conspicuous location that would have made it difficult for a hypothetical someone to, say, just flat-out torch everything in sight without also catching his very tiny, mortal, companion up in said firestorm.

The group of them split off to tend to their tasks with a frankly shocking level of competence and foresight. Was this how adventurers were actually supposed to work? They didn’t just—I don’t know—saunter into an abandoned castle on a whim and a prayer, with no real end goal in sight and nothing but the perpetual bounding of a singular, shared, braincell to keep them on their toes? There was a plan? What was this madness.

“How much time do you think we have?” one of them called, busy working to set up some sort of wire trap that, in your humble ‘I have faced this legendary dragon and survived’ opinion, looked like it would do exactly diddly squat.

“Enough,” the Elf Wizard shrugged, thin arms crossed tight across his equally gaunt chest. “These vermin don’t have the same concept of time as we do. It may return soon, but we may also be waiting hours.”

Hours? Hours? You fought the urge to groan. And then remembered it hardly mattered if you did or not, because you were still trapped in a bubble of perpetual Silence, and that just made you want to groan louder.

Assumed-Rogue nodded tersely in response and continued constructing his pseudo-trap. The long, red, stripes of his sleeves were odd things—very in-your-face bold for a dude whose job you assumed it was to slip through shadows unseen. But then you noticed that the threads he was spinning were pooling from those slashes of crimson, and alright, that was fairly cool. ‘Your failure of a stealthy design gets a pass this time, good sir.’

“You’re certain this is one of the Briar Beasts, Lord Flamm?” Armored Lady piped in, busy shifting through the various swords strapped at her hip.

“Of course,” he hummed, flicking through his spell tome. “Have I ever led you astray before?”

Armored Dude snorted from his place across the room. “You’re not the issue. I just have trouble believing one of those monsters would still be alive at all after all this time.”

‘Lord Flamm’ snorted. “And why not? They’re like cockroaches—thriving through the worst of the world and gorging themselves on its corruption. This one is no different.”

Your brows twitched irritably.

Thankfully, Silence was not an indefinite spell. And after about ten minutes of muzzled misery, you felt its sticky, gauzy, gunk wash itself out of your throat.

“I’m getting the impression that you’re really not a fan of dragons,” you said, testing your volume.

Lord Flamm stared down at you with a hawk-eyed sort of sneer. His pale, green, glare felt like a tangible thing crawling along your skin.

“They are unnatural,” he huffed after a moment. “No creature should walk the planes of this world for such a great span of time. Immortality is a perverse transgression against the sanctities of life and existence.”

“You are literally an Elf,” you replied, incredulous. His face scrunched up like you’d forced a whole lemon into his mouth, and then he dropped another dome of Silence over your head.

Another ten minutes crawled by, and words returned to your tongue.

“Don’t you think you’re being a bit hypocritical?” you hummed, casually testing the arcane restraints binding your limbs. Those seemed to hold themselves in place with a great deal more fortitude than his on-again-off-again Mute Button, which was as frustrating as it was respectable.

“It’s not nearly the same. I was born into my burden,” he sniffed.

You blinked, confused. “I mean, so was Tsunotarou.”

Elf Wizard made a punched-out sort of noise, like you’d decked him right in the spleen.

“You named the beast?” he gawked. “Like a pet?”

“Look, man,” you grouched, offended on your scaly friend’s behalf. “If anyone’s the pet here, it’s me!”

Lord Flamm’s face went white, to red, and then nearly puce.

“Wait,” you spluttered. “That came out wrong—”

And then you were gagged once more.

The next time your muzzle was lifted, Lord Flamm was already pacing along the little, invisible, edge of the spell’s cage. You cleared your throat and he came to a stop a few feet away from where you were bound.

“I can see what’s happened here,” he said, stern, and you arched a brow in disbelief. You didn’t even have any solid idea what the fuck was going on, and you’d been living it for the past few weeks. He cleared his throat and glowered down at you. “You’ve been taken in by the monster’s wiles.”

You spluttered. “Not to just keep repeating myself, but really, if anyone did the ‘accidental seducing’ thing here, it was—”

He waved you off with a puckered grimace. “That hardly matters. At the end of the day, you are still the creature’s prisoner, and it is my duty as a man of integrity to assist you however I can.”

You frowned. Because while this whole thing had technically started as a hostage situation, it hadn’t really felt like one lately. Sure, Tsunotarou still threw tantrums that shook the foundation when you’d tried to put up a makeshift bathroom door, but he also listened to all your stories with the rapt attention of someone genuinely invested in the garbage pouring out of your mouth. He tucked you into your big mattress nest at night with his scaly nose, and endured all your griping with nothing but good humor. He showed you his treasures and told you terrible, dry, jokes that you were sure you only found so funny because he certainly hadn’t meant to be.

You sighed and dipped your head, expression shuttered.

Lord Flamm stepped forward and you felt a thin, gloved, finger tuck itself beneath your chin to tilt you back up to face him.

“I will save you,” he promised, something genuinely sturdy and righteous coating the words. “If you ask it of me.”

You took a deep breath in through your nose.

“There once a man from Trebucket,” you chirped, letting the jaunty tavern melody roll off your tongue like any good Bard ought to.

Lord Flamm arched a thin brow, in equal parts amusement and exasperation.

“Who really only wanted to find the dragon so he could fuck it—”

His face twisted in rage, and to the surprise of literally no one, you were Silenced yet again. Though this one felt the most like a victory so far.

And thus, the cycle repeated itself. Every quarter hour or so, the spell would drop and you’d start babbling some sacrilegious, borderline pornographic, nonsense that had him cursing you all over again. You counted each round of mockery softly in your head. Half to keep time, half to—

Your gaze trailed past the intricate, stone, entryway and caught. Perched atop the overhang were two gargoyles. Which was quite odd, seeing as you’d spent half a month living out of this room now and had never noticed them before (and you certainly would have, what with your host’s propensity for pointing out the gothic carvings each and every time one popped up in the castle’s architecture). Not to mention, they looked an awful lot like the pair of grey monsters which had been guarding the entrance when you’d first slunk in—the very duo that you’d sworn had tracked you and your friends with beady, gemstone, eyes and dug their pointed talons through solid rock.

Ancient buildings always seemed to have a life about them—never quiet, never still. Always settling with strange noises and shifting shadows that danced oddly along surfaces that were forever decaying. And this castle was no different. So it took you really listening, really closing your eyes tight and straining your ears against the perpetual white noise, to make out the low grinding of the Gargoyles as they shifted atop their perch and curled their sharp claws.

You tilted your head at them, curious, and the one on the left seemed to bristle. As much as stone could bristle. The one on the right very softly dipped its chin, almost like a bow. Its purple, glass, eyes flashed in the lowlight.

‘Wait,’ that look said.

And so you did, sitting straighter and at proper attention.

The group of Dragon Slayers was still milling about making preparations. Eventually, one of the two yet-unclassified hench people slunk from the room, and when your gaze slipped back to the gargoyles, the one on the right was gone.

You made eye contact with the remaining carving, and it curled its lip at you like a grumbly hound.

There was a scream from beyond the threshold, and then a great clattering of noise not unlike an earthquake, or the resonating crunch of a building crumbling at its base.

Immediately weapons were drawn, shoulders hunched in panic. Defensive magic swirled through the air like ink in water.

“What’s going on?!—”

With a shrieking roar, the remaining gargoyle lurched forward and collided with one of the armored attackers. The impact was like a crack of thunder, and it rattled around your skull like a gong.

And with that—dragon or no—the battle against the Hunters had officially begun.

With a panicked squawk, you began worming your still very bound self out of the dead center of this tornado of chaos. You flopped across the floor like a particularly determined caterpillar, or someone trussed up a in a sleeping bag with no limbs. You made it almost a solid twenty feet before you were scooped up by the back of your collar and dropped onto your knees.

“Not so fast, you little cretin.”

And then there was a curved knife at your throat and a set of hands trapping your own. You gulped and the blade bobbed against your chin. Stupid rogues with their stupid stealth. You grit your teeth and clenched your fists, willing the meager scraps of magic that twirled in your veins to bob to the surface. You could feel the trace rumblings of a Thunderwave reverberating down your limbs, and it was certainly no Fireball, or Lightning Bolt, but maybe it would be enough to—

There was a spray of red, red, red and the Striped Rogue at your back collapsed in a puddle of gore.

Standing over the corpse of the felled assassin was a boy. Or, well, something that very much looked like a young boy. Or, not young. Just… It was strange. He was small, slight, with a cheerful youthfulness to him. But the mirthful expression lighting his crimson eyes chilled your bones like the seeping cold from a long-forgotten tomb. It was like looking at someone with dozens—hundreds—of faces. A kaleidoscope of lifetimes. It was disorientating.

“Hello, you,” the little demon cooed. He reached out to tap a clawed finger against your forehead and the arcane binds holding your limbs shattered on impact. “Let’s get you out of here, hmm?”

Something tugged at your brain as you gaped at that mess of choppy, black-and-pink, hair, and the glittering irises that matched the blood splattered across his cheeks almost too horribly well.

“Are you… Lilia?” you asked, dazed.

“Well done, little human,” he trilled, lips curling in delight as he hauled you back to your feet. “But there will be time for proper introductions later. Let’s get you somewhere safe first, before my silly ward really does tear this whole castle down.”

“Tsunotarou is here?” you frowned, anxious. “But these people are here to kill him.”

“We’ve done our best to keep him away for as long as possible,” Lilia hummed. “But I doubt he has much more patience for skulking about in the shadows. He never did,” He sighed, long and world weary. “And I loved this old haunt so much too. I hope it survives.”

“You—” you gawked. “You’re talking about the castle?!”

“Of course,” Lilia smiled, perfectly sweet. “Swatting these pests is going to cause more damage than they’re worth to begin with—”

You were yanked out of the path of an encroaching blade, and Lilia sidestepped the pair of you smoothly to safety.

“You’re not going anywhere!” the Paladin thundered, hand whipping out to leash a whirl of vibrating, bright, magic around Lilia’s wrists. “This fight is mine! And you will have no other!”

“Ah,” your savior sighed, looking down at the faint, yellow, glow circling his skin. “Now that is a doozy.”

The great sword came down with a crash, and Lilia ducked away from the destruction with ease. He gave you a light tap on the shoulder, pushing you forward, and you felt the flush of a Haste spell nibbling at your limbs.

“Go on ahead,” he said, with all the nonchalant politeness of someone lamenting that they were going to be late for afternoon tea. “I’ll be with you in a moment.”

BOOM went the now glowing sword as it sliced through the air where your savior had been standing not a moment before.

“Do not take me so lightly, wretch,” the Paladin spat, and Lilia’s civil little smile twisted into something that sent shivers racing down your spine.

“If you insist,” he beamed, with a level of enthusiasm that was bordering on sociopathic.

You didn’t stay to see the fallout. Lilia’s orders to flee aside, you knew well enough what a cat looked like before it pounced—that smug, animalistic, satisfaction that came after deciding that it was going to play with its meal for as long as it liked. And the grinding, snapping, howling noises coming from their direction was enough to reinforce that looking back would be a very terrible idea indeed.

You’d only just made it past the threshold and out in the grand hall beyond when there came a whining groan that sounded familiarly enough like the protesting noises the banister would make whenever Tsunotarou dropped too much of his weight on top of it. You peered back into the room, and from the darkness at its rear emerged a long, thin, snout.

The Great, Ebony, Dragon slithered forth from the blackness like a snake through the grass. The sharp drag of his claws against the stone was earsplitting, and when he spread his wings behind him, he seemed to cast the entire cavern into shadow. Faster than you could blink, one, two, three of the Slayers were scooped up by those massive, pointed, teeth and tossed through the air—wherein the pair of gargoyles descended upon them like a set of well-trained attack dogs. Your dragon swiveled to spit black smoke across the rest of the echoing room and its occupants. Between the swirling smog seeping from his throat and the blackness of his wings, the brilliant, green, glow of his eyes were the only source of light in the gloom. It was all horribly eerie, but mesmerizing in a way that reminded you exactly why so many ballads and epics had been written about the terrible might of Dragons.

He reared his head back and roared. His bellowing seemed to shake the very foundation of the castle, and the sparks jumping from behind his canines bit through the smoke with harsh little pop-pop-pops. And man oh man, he reallymust have been taking it easy on you and your duo of idiots, because this would have had the three of you shitting your pants on the spot.

From there, the battle more or less became a one-sided massacre. The stone soldiers flew through the air, decimating the opponents as their master demanded. Occasionally there was a flash of pink, and then a cheerful laugh followed inevitably by a noise that was all kinds of unpleasant. And at the center of it all was your newfound friend—picking apart the opposition with all the careful rage of someone determined to sear the consequences of these Hunters’ folly into the memories of their lineages for ages to come.

And then—amidst all the quite frankly epic fighting that you would have to tell Ace and Deuce all about when they came back to visit—you noticed that not far from where you were hiding observing was a familiar, angry, gaunt face. Lord Flamm’s elaborate black and maroon robes swirled around his ankles as he paced, and he was leering at the chaos unfolding not a hundred feet away with an expression that calling murderous would have been kind.

You bristled immediately, limbs lancing through with a tight sort of indignation.

He was just—right there! Standing all the way out here! When the rest of his party was busy being chewed to itty-bitty pieces!

And sure, rationally you knew that Wizards were squishy, glass-canons not meant for close combat more intense than a round of rock-paper-scissors. Sure, when you and your idiots had been facing down a dragon, Ace and Deuce had ordered you and your equally ill-armored self to run for it. Someone had probably hurled the Elf from the room the moment combat began, or demanded he whirl away to safety.

But you wanted to be angry. Because this was the man who had strode, eyes wide open, into a hornet’s nest with the sole intention of crushing the poor bugs beneath his heel. He deserved to bear the brunt of the miserable, stinging, backlash.

It certainly didn’t help that he was glaring down Tsunotarou with near frenzied loathing. The tome in his hands was flipped open to a dense spell that you couldn’t even begin to make sense of, and he was casting. Something tedious, and extravagant, and with enough somatic nonsense to make your head spin. His gloved fingers glowed beneath a growing mote of magic that shone horrible and bright in the natural shadows of the castle. Whatever sort of magic it was, it was strong enough to make the hairs on the back of your neck stand on end and push frantic adrenaline through your veins. Sigils swam through the air, and you swore you could feel it sapping at your own tiny pool of mana. If this was some kind of spell that would gobble up magic, then a dragon who was nothing but magic—then Tsunotarou—he would—This spell might actually—

You ran at that wretched little bitch with everything you had, and tackled him to the ground just as a bolt of crackling, pale, force magic boomed from between his fingers. The spell shot wide, and you thanked every divine being you could think of for the enduring shittiness of Wizard Muscles.

“I should have known you’d risk your life to save that unholy monster,” he seethed, rolling back to his feet and sending you tumbling off the side.

You stood firm and silent between this awful, garbage, Elf and the Dragon he so hated.

Lord Flamm raised a hand in your direction, incensed, and then you watched as something sharp and frightened slithered its way across his features. No sparks danced along his fingertips, no black miasma curled from his palms. You shoved your hands into your pockets and rocked back and forth on your heels like the most obnoxious piece of shit you could be.

“Wow,” you drawled, low in your throat. “That was impressive. I mean. How many times did you cast all those spells on me earlier? I’m shocked you have anything left.”

The already dark look coloring his face twitched into something truly foul.

“You were doing that on purpose,” he snarled. “You vile, loathsome, bumbling ignoramus of a bard!—"

“Ah, stop, stop!” You beamed, fanning yourself with a limp wrist. “You’re going to make me blush~”

You ducked out the way with a yelp as a mote of fire whizzed past your ear—singeing far too many hairs at it went. Because fuck fuck fuck. Cantrips were still a thing. And he was powerful enough that those simple, little, bits of magic would still probably be more than enough to fry the meat off your bones.

“It’ll be enough to kill you,” he seethed—like he could read your thoughts—teeth tugged into a hideous, gaping, sneer.

Your mind zipped through every possible escape route and settled frantically on the only option that had ever truly seemed to save your ass.

“What white teeth you have?” you tried.

He roared and another shot of brilliant, red, flames careened over your head.

You ducked out of the way with a squawk just in the nick of time, nearly faceplanting into a wall in your haste.

And thus ensued a terrifying but morbidly hilarious Benny Hill chase through pillars, and behind rocks, and into holes. You killed your singular, daily use of Misty Step just trying to get out of one of said holes. And your brief attempt at tossing up a Mirror Image to throw off his groove did little but get you whacked with a Counterspell that made your bones ache.

Just as you’d burned through the last of your meager magic and were genuinely preparing to just try and deck the guy again, black smoke began to curl through the hall—soon followed by the ominous roll of thunderous growls and the heavy grindingof a gigantic beast clawing its way into the room.

You threw yourself at the dragon with more enthusiasm than was probably proper for a situation like this, and he immediately ducked his head to catch you against his snout. He curled himself around you with a rumbling snarl and your vision was drowned in a shifting sea of ebony scales. You squished yourself into his bulk with a shuddering sigh, fingers clutching a bit uselessly at the slippery surface of his natural armor.

A burst of orange flames rolled harmlessly off Tsunotarou’s scaled side and his lips curled unpleasantly over his canines. You could see the licks of emerald fire rolling off his tongue—dancing along his white teeth and lighting the hall in an ominous, sickly, glow.

Before the pair of you, Lord Flamm looked half-mad. If not fully consumed. His party wiped, his hostage freed, and the creature he hated so fiercely baring down on him with no escape.

He let his head fall back with a discordant trill of laughter and grinned at the approaching dragon without a hint of repentance. Fear, perhaps. Panic, certainly. But no remorse. He raised his hands once more, and another dredge of his own fire sparked along his fingers.

“And he shall smite the wicked and plunge them into the fiery pit.”

The Great Briar Beast of Old opened his gigantic, black, maw and choked the hall in a torrent of emerald fire.

And Lord Flamm and his Dragon Slayers were no more.

You stared intently at the singed corridor, as if waiting for one of the piles of ash to jump to its feet and pull a sword. Which you might have excused as paranoid fretting if you hadn’t heard of necrotic magics capable of doing exactly that. But after a long moment of waiting with bated breath and tight fists, the monsters did not rise from their graves, and all seemed to be truly well and over.

You let out a gigantic gust of a breath and collapsed bonelessly against the dragon at your side. After a solid minute or two of just awkwardly trying to find a good way to hug a giant lizard more than a dozen times your size, Tsunotarou slipped out of his scales, and then he was warm and fleshy in your arms once more. Still too big, still earth-shatteringly strong, but human-shapedenough that you could merrily settle into his embrace without the risk of becoming a pancake.

“Tsunotarou!” you chirped past the lingering haze of smoke. “You’re okay!”

“Me?” he gawked at you. It was an awkward angle to make eye contact, seeing as he’d latched himself onto you like a particularly determined koala, but he managed nonetheless. “You were worried about me during all of that?” He blinked those wide, neon, eyes at you like you were some horribly long and tedious math equation that he couldn’t even begin to make sense of. “You were the one who was captured!”

“They were Dragon Slayers,” you entreated, brow furrowed. “They didn’t need me for much of anything. Of course I was worried more about you.”

When the constipated look on his face refused to fade, you prodded him gently in his side.

“Look, I promise if we ever run into Bard Poachers I will be exponentially more cautious.”

He didn’t look particularly convinced—whether because he was trying to suss out of if something like ‘Bard Poachers’ were an actual, factual, threat upon your person, or because you’d just openly hurtled yourself at a clearly overpowered, feral, wizard with no regards to your already shitty constitution to speak of, so a promise to ‘be more cautious’ was about as good as saying that maybe next time you wouldn’t outright flirt with death. Only subtly. A lil’ bit.

You reached up to smoosh your thumb along the sharp slant of his frown and smooth out the harsh edges that were practically digging into his jaw.

“Tsunotarou, if you keep making that face, it’s going to get stuck like that,” you warned.

“Malleus,” he interrupted, firm. You blinked up at him slowly and your hand fell back to rest in the nonexistent space between you.

“A what?”

“Malleus,” he repeated, and you felt the weight of the word dance through the air like sparks. Like an invocation, or a curse. “My true name.”

You waited a moment in shocked silence before slowly repeating your own name back at him. He startled and snorted a laugh into your neck, some of that lingering, terrible, tension finally seeming to seep out of him.

“I am well aware of what you are called, Child of Man.”

“…I know that,” you mumbled, fighting the urge to fidget. Malleus, Malleus, Malleus. The syllables sat heavy on your tongue, like your mouth couldn’t figure out how to push them past your lips. “I thought you said that dragons don’t give out their real names.”

He drew back just enough to cup your cheeks in his ashy palms, brushing a clawed finger back and forth against one of the small cuts littering your jaw.

“There is power in a name,” he said. “It is not a gift readily bestowed.”

Then why—

You swallowed, nervous, and one of his thumbs tracked the movement along the hollow of your throat.

“This way, if you call for me, I will always hear you,” he promised, eyes going flinty and venomous as he gazed at the cinder piles of smoking intruders. “And something like this will never happen again.”

“I—I mean,” you spluttered. “Me being—And this being—I mean—” You cleared your throat. “That hardly seems like a good enough reason to—to—” To put something so important into the hands of someone who literally broke into your house less than a month ago. To give something so precious to someone so human.

“Isn’t it?” he smiled, that sharp anger melting back into something painfully soft. Your poor heart kickstarted itself all over again. He ducked forward to press his nose into your temple, and you could feel the soft puff of his breath as his grin sharpened into a smirk. “Though I would have liked to bestow my titles on you in other ways as well, if this little hero would be amenable.”

You squawked, and the only thing that shook you out of the immediate spiral into ‘did he really just ask me to—am I really going to be stuck in every goddamn bard’s trope existence of—of—' was the merry laughter that bubbled up from somewhere behind you.

“Careful, my Prince,” Lilia hummed from his place perched atop a particularly large heap of rubble. “If you come on too strong, you’ll only scare them away. Humans are flighty like that, I’m afraid.”

You could feel Malleus’s pout against your forehead.

“Not my human,” he grouched. His hands dropped from your cheeks to encircle your waist and clutch at your lower back. “And that besides,” he continued testily, “you were the one who only just this morning insisted I take decisive action.”

“That’s true,” Lilia agreed with a gentle bob of his head, resting his pointed chin against his palm. “But perhaps three sentences at least before the proposal?”

Malleus blinked, slow and serpentine, before flicking his neon gaze back to you. “That does seem fair I suppose. What do you think?”

“I think,” you gawked, trying and failing to process any of the words that were coming out of their fanged mouths, “that I am having a stroke.”

“NOT ACCEPTABLE!” boomed a voice from overhead. “YOU ARE NOT ALLOWED TO FALL ILL AFTER ALL THE EFFORTS WE TOOK TO KEEP YOU SAFE!”

You jolted in shock, and Malleus’s talons flexed reassuringly at your waist as he gently turned you back-to-chest so that you could face your accuser. He nestled his chin into your shoulder, and you could feel his horns bump against your skull as he tried to burrow in as close as possible. Which all would have been thoroughly distracting, but then you noticed that one of the Gargoyles from early had landed directly across from you. Its spiked head was swiveling back and forth as it appraised you like some particularly ruffled cockatoo. And that in itself was bizarre enough to help you focus on something other than the weight along your back and the steadily rising heat in your cheeks.

“Uhm, hello?” you tried.

“WE HAVE ALREADY MET!” It screeched. “THERE IS NO NEED FOR INTRODUCTIONS!”

“It talks,” you blanched.

“OF COURSE I SPEAK, YOU IGNORANT ENTERTAINER!” The Gargoyle thundered. Its yellow eyes flashed in indignation. “HOW COULD I NOT LEARN TO COMMUNICATE IN A RESPECTABLE FASHION WHEN SERVING SOMEONE SO MAJESTIC AS HIS MAJESTY?!”

“I think,” the other Gargoyle said, slipping forward so silently you could hardly believe it was made of such strong stone at all, “that what Sebek is trying to say, is that we are happy to finally be able welcome you into our home, even if it is under less than ideal circumstances. And that we are very pleased to be able to speak with you.”

“THAT IS WHAT I ALREADY SAID, SILVER!” the spiky one snarled. No one else looked particularly bothered by his ceaseless volume, so it was probably normal. He stuck his carved nose into the air with a harumph. “AND I HAVE HEARD OF THE WAYS OF YOU TRAVELING STORY TELLERS! IF YOU BREAK MY MASTER’S HEART, YOU WILL SUFFER AN ETERNITY OF TORMENT AT MY HAND!”

Malleus growled, low and rumbling, from over your shoulder. Instantly his stalwart guardian cowed—head dipping like a kicked a puppy.

“Of course,” it continued, much softer. “I don’t think this human would do that. And—And I think my master has made a very good choice in his mate, and I will be happy to serve you too.”

Lilia sighed a sigh that sounded very much like a doting mother overflowing with parental affection. Like the kind of noise one may hear on a cozy Sunday afternoon while helping prepare dinner, or while sitting on a little, floral, couch and sifting through little paintings of grandchildren. There was still blood splattered all along his cheeks.

“It’s so lovely to have the family all together again,” he cooed. “And I do think that you will make such a marvelous addition.”

“Oh. Well. Thank you,” you nodded jerkily, just as your knees buckled and you collapsed to the floor.

On the first day of the new month, Ace and Deuce made their way back to the forgotten castle nestled in a pool of lava.

“We should never have left them,” Deuce grumbled for what was maybe the ten thousandth time. Ace was sick of hearing it. He was even more sick of the fact that despite being constantly inundated with various versions of ‘oh, we’re such terrible friends,’ the little, twisting, spike of guilt in his gut never grew any duller. Wasn’t that how it was supposed to work? Something-something-repetitive-exposure-therapy, or whatever? This sucked. He wanted a refund on this whole ‘conscience’ thing. Maybe it wasn’t too late to sell his soul and become a Warlock or whatever. Surely that would help.

“We didn’t have a choice,” Ace reminded him. Again. “They’re okay. I know they are. We’re going to show up and they’ll be, I don’t know, lying in a bed of gold being hand fed grapes or something.”

Deuce made a rumbly, whining, kind of noise that made him sound even more pathetic than usual and Ace sighed, determined to instead focus on the rickety rope bridge swinging beneath their feet.

The ancient, looming, monstrosity of a building was just as cold and dark as it had been the first time. If anything, it was more filthy. With walls stained with seeping ash and the charred, skeletal, remains of something that Ace was definitely, absolutely, not going to think about scattered throughout the grime.

The two of them made their way to the heart of the castle until they were standing at the entrance of a grand, cavernous, chamber that may have once been some sort of ballroom.

Ace didn’t know what he was expecting. Slaver’s coils maybe. A chain around your ankles and rags drooping from your shoulders. Or maybe you wouldn’t even be there at all—long since swallowed down as a little, midnight, snack.

He certainly wasn’t expecting to see you lounging contentedly atop a mountainous heap of soft blankets, with the master of this castle—terror-incarnate, death from above, an eldritch beast ripped straight out of legend—curled along the lumpy hills of your grandiose pillow fort, its great head nestled at your back as you reclined against its scales and chattered away. Like the goddamned, rambling, idiot you had always been.

One of the dragon’s large, green, eyes shifted towards the intruders at its door, and Ace froze in place. You paused your chattering to raise your hand with an excited little wave. Your tattered traveler’s clothes had been replaced with something silken and soft enough that it would probably melt in his fingers, and it swayed like mist around you as you made your way to your feet. You were practically dripping in platinum, and diamonds, and emeralds, and—he was going to stop counting them before he gave himself a conniption.

And yeah… it wasn’t exactly a throne of gold and gemstones, but it was almost just as impressive. And immediately indignation swept through Ace with a horrible kind of vengeance. Because how dare you actually be living it up over here when he had been so fucking worried just lying about all that cool stuff to keep Deuce from storming the castle gates?

“You made it!” you chirped, perfectly merry despite the gigantic maw full of sharp teeth hovering at your shoulder.

“Of—Of course we did,” Deuce stuttered, his blue eyes flicking back and forth so quickly from the dragon, to you, to Ace, to the dragon, to you—that Ace genuinely thought he might be having a seizure. “We promised we would.”

You stopped in front of them with a considerate little hum, sharp eyes tracing and cataloguing their varying reactions. After a moment of what was obviously some very smug preening and even smugger ‘I win this round’ silent gloating, you slipped out of the piles of entangled jewels with an exaggerated shrug. With the exception of an intricately carved emerald pendant hanging softly between the hollows of your collarbones, the rest of the infinitely expensive and rare gems fell to the ground with a series of clattering chatter.

“All that shit is so heavy,” you whined. Whined. Like you had any right to complain about anything at all for the rest of your existence. You leaned forward with a wink. “I was just hoping it’d make your thieving, money-hungry ass, jealous.” You smirked, proud. “And it looks like it worked, you goddamn traitors.”

Ace was about to splutter out the most scathing remark his spiteful little brain could come up with, when Deuce ruined everything by rushing forward like the blubbering idiot he was and scooping you up into a bearhug.

“You’re okay! You’re okay!” he wailed. “We missed you so much!”

“Speak for yourself,” Ace huffed, and twinged miserably when it came out sounding far too soft. He cleared his throat and decided to take a different approach. “You know, last time I was sort of joking about the whole ‘bards and dragons’ thing. But it looks like you’ve made yourself real comfortable. And here I thought you were always super opposed to the ‘fucking my way out of my problems’ stereotype.”

However, because the universe seemed determined not to give Ace any kind of win for the rest of his natural existence, instead of getting all embarrassed and mousey, you just huffed and turned up your nose at him.

“Well obviously not as a dragon,” you complained. “Do you know how big he is? How would that even work, huh?” The aforementioned dragon lowered his gigantic head to settle on the ground at your side, and you leaned against him good-naturedly when he grumbled low in his throat. “Yeah, no,” you said to the beast, rolling your eyes. “Nice try, but no.”

Deuce immediately choked and started hacking up a lung, and Ace wanted to die.

“You can talk to it?” the redhead asked instead of keeling over.

You shrugged.

“Not like this. But I’ve learned to interpret most of it.” You wiggled your fingers. “It’s my sixth sense.”

Ace’s nose scrunched. “Yeah, right. If anything, it’s your ‘I’ve been dicked down by a dragon and think that makes me soooo special now’ sense—”

The great, ebony, monster growled and the Fighter’s mouth snapped shut like someone had taken a hammer to his jaw. You snickered goodhumoredly and elbowed your companion gently at the base of one of its long, sharp, horns.

“He’s just joking around,” you said to the winged horror. “You don’t have to get all defensive.”

There was another grumpy sneer, but the dragon simply settled more heavily at your side with a defeated sort of huff. The gust of a sigh sent a wave of scorching heat along Ace’s front, and he fought the urge to cow immediately and beg for his life. Because apparently that wasn’t going to be necessary, because you had—you had—

“Are you in love?” Deuce blurted, because unlike Ace, the Barbarian was pure, and good, and still didn’t fully understand how eggs worked, let alone the concept of Fuck or Die.

And then you surprised him yet again by getting as flustered as he’d expected you to when he’d accused you (rightly) of bending over for a goddamn fucking dragon.

But before you could answer, the dragon lifted its head to press its temple against yours. Or, as well as it could do that when it dwarfed the lot of you the way an elephant might hover over a mouse. Mostly it just ended up being a very, very, delicate head bump. A deep, warbling, purr started from its chest and rolled all the way up and past its sharp, white, canines.

“Uhm,” you tried again. “You guys are invited to the wedding, I guess.”

“The what?!” Deuce howled, before promptly falling to his knees to fan himself like a devasted matron in a church.

You sighed and rubbed at the back of your head, clearly embarrassed. You mumbled something under your breath that sounded a bit like ‘it’s kind of a whole saga, y’know.’ And Ace, in all his infinite good will, decided to take pity on you just this once. And also because you were clearly loaded now, and all good friends know that sharing is caring, right?

“Come on then, Bardy,” he smirked, leaning down to kick Deuce flatter to the floor—half to knock the guy out of his frantic spiraling, half so he could perch on his back like a chair. Because the stone floor looked really uncomfortable, and he had a feeling that trying to slip into that nice nest of blankets of yours would not end well. “Tell us a story.”

[TAG LIST] CLOSED

@marvelous-maxi, @ilikefanfics4, @jackalope08, @crocwork-clockodile, @cosmicobubisi, @buttplugs-stuff, @pomefleur, @decemebercircus, @ailynyan, @genzombie, @meliade-ot, @sunlightocean, @theofficialantitherapist, @hermiona18, @sailorenthusiast, @fantasy-dating-sim-trash, @thefiasco-onyourblock, @insideous-beez, @its-clockwork-princess, @liliasleftpinkytoe

@novaloptr, @imlost-sendhelp, @matcha-berry @preciosayorgullosa @whoretaglia, @kookygirlwholikescookiesandcoke, @nanauedorian, @trixeraptops, @voxnipop, @starkling25, @thedum1, @horcrux-alchemist, @sleepykitty21, @apathicace, @instantregret101, @nekanecorvus, @looney-mori, @re-ducing, @my2phetaliaheadcanons, @naughtybodypillow, @rendy-a, @carmen-404, @candy284, @thealiennamedterry, @their-name-is-fake, @huetolog, @glacticrose, @seraphinariddle, @rabioa, @sn00zl4x, @dreasimping, @jeidoreech, @ai-dev, @galaxyshine24-7, @fatally-incorrect, @juulranch, @camrastuff, @nocteetdie, @stargaryengirl,

#twisted wonderland imagines #twisted wonderland #twst x reader #Malleus Draconia x Reader #Malleus x Reader #Malleus Draconia #Malleus x Yuu #Dragon Malleus #Monster Mayhem #My Writing #Twst Fantasy AU #Sebek Zigvolt #Lilia Vanrouge #Silver Twst #Rollo Flamm #Slight Rollo Flamm x Reader #Ace Trappola #Deuce Spade #Monster Mayhem Malleus Part 4

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junie-junette · 5 months

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Here's my Christmas gift for Shadowstar on firestorm's discord ! Here's Cid and Clive dancing together as Archduke and Lord Commander because it's my idea of the perfect ending. Them, ruling together and being in love. I'm bad with cloths so I did my best here ! Merry Christmas !

#firestorm #ff16 #ffxvi #cid x clive #clive x cid #cidclive #cid telamon #clive rosfield #drawing #my art #final fantasy #final fantasy 16 #fanart #romance #mm #bal #AU ?

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obscuritory · 1 year

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Realmz is a Macintosh RPG from 1994 that has a ton of content packed inside. It comes with one built-in scenario that doesn't have a main quest line so much as it does a dozen separate oversized sidequests, as well as a bunch of extra scenarios you could buy separately. There's hundreds of items included in Realmz, and I'm not sure how many of them are actually used in the base game, whether they were included for the add-on scenarios, or whether they were just added in the hopes that they'd be used in the future.

The creators of Realmz clearly had fun coming up with all the extra items. Especially all the flavor text! ESPECIALLY for all the cursed items. Here's some of my favorites, taken from the Realmz Character Editor. It was really hard to narrow these down (Reproduced as they were written with typos.)

Broadsword +2 A weapon fit for a lord. This weapon will bring many a jealous stare.

Scimitar of Trickery -2 A foul curse brought upon by an evil druid so long ago. Even the gods do not remember why.

Mace of Destruction +3 This weapon is extremly powerful and has always been in the hands of evil. Until now!

Morning Star of Pain -2 Aaagh! Sharp pains shoot through your arms as you try to bring this weapon to bear. What diabolical force created this?

Flail of Devilish Dare +4 Woe be the netherbeast to confront a foe who brandishes this weapon.

Tip Sword of Stench -2 The olfactory emissions produced by this item cause its wielder to choke and gag whenever need is greatest.

Sword of the Omen -3 This small blade brings visions of horrible destruction. Before the end of the first new moon they invariable come true.

Battleaxe of Death -2 Faaaughh!! What sick wizardry is this? It inflicts damage on the wrong side!

Bow of Thumbs -3 A criminal creation is this. Somewhere a vile wizard laughs.

Bow of Shalomar This mystical weapon was though to have been lost when the golden elves were banished from the Realmz. That does not now seem to be the case.

Throwing Hammer +3 If a hammer could swat a fly on the wall at a hundred paces, this hammer would be the one to do it.

Cobra Strike +4 Though it is disgusting to look upon, it is a mighty weapon in battle.

Firestorm Invented by a senile fire giant who was attempting to construct a interior heating system, firestorm arrows will blanket an area with flames that persist up to five rounds.

Cheters Blade +8 This weapon was once the weapon of Cheter. Cheter was an aid to Charon, ferryman over the river Styx. Cheter was slain while fighting at Charons side battling a powerful demon wishing to cross Styx without paying.

Leather of Darkness -2 Spawned from the pits of hell itself! Woe is the adventurer who mistakes this for a suit of armor.

Armor of Imprisonment -3 This suit looks innocent enough until you try it on. What twisted wizard created such poison as this?

Gauntlets +24 These gauntlets radiate so that none but the moronic will deny the power of their bearer.

Gauntlets of The Void Contemplate what is worst in men, and you will find a portrait of he who created this filth. Baaahhh! They hurt even to look at!

Cloak of Darkness -3 Many have considered the possible good that could have been done with the huge amounts of raw power used to create this cursed cloak.

Salt Table Salt, useful for curing meat and perhaps throwing in the face of enemies.

Gauntlets of Pain -2 This foul curse is considered one of the most painful. One will never play the flute again if worn too long.

Hellsbane +11 Created by Chetnyet the Brave in his quest to rid Hell of all devilkin. Such a fool who believes that hell can fall to the likes of just one man.

Necklace of Shackles -5 At first this necklace appears to be valuable. Hmmmmmph!!!

Shadow Mask A perminent smell of rot pervades this mask. Though it smells disgusting, it's benefits are vast.

Staff of the Ages Can turn any creature into a statue of stone. The mind is not destroyed and the cursed creature often goes mad from boredom over the centuries.

Mystic Luck Stone +20 This unique item is a true wonder. Taken from the dead body of a Vex Witch by "Bolo the Angry". A powerful ogre who found the witch dead of natual causes.

#realmz #RPG #Macintosh #gaming

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dunderella · 4 months

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the firestorm discord was brainstorming some ideas for what Cid would have looked like during his Lord Commander days, but with a slutty twist bc we can, so i had some fun with it

and a fem!cid based on the second design :)))

#ff16 #ffxvi #cidolfus telamon #ff16 cid #fanart #final fantasy xvi #final fantasy 16 #my art #digital #rough #sketch #concept work #genderbend #genderswap #hairy women save us...#cid as a lady would have a bit of visible fuzz and she would make sure u appreciate it #i have a crush on my own drawing dont look at me!!!!!!!!!!!!!

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robsheridan · 5 months

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BATTLE SANTAS trading cards were all the rage of Christmas 1988, hyping kids up for a toy line and film franchise that never came to be after Christian protesters halted production.

The cards, produced before the first film was finished, tell the story of a multiverse of cosmic Santas who arrive from across time on an array of Battle Sleighs to help Earth’s Santa save Christmas future from the forces of Hell. On Santa’s lunar battlestation workshop (where he relocated after the North Pole was ravaged in The Santa Wars), his elves built armed vehicles from old toy parts and the re-animated corpses of reindemons, the hellbeasts of the demon army unleashed on Earth after a portal to hell was opened in the North Pole when oil companies drilled near Santa's Earth Workshop (thanks to Reagan’s deregulation of protected lands).

The early release of the trading cards was meant to generate buzz for the film’s funding and toy licensing, but the plan backfired, as the cards revealed a controversial plot point: Mecha-Jesus, the Cybersavior, a towering robotic kaiju Jesus built by the Battle Santas as their last stand against Satan. Mecha-Jesus is piloted by the real Jesus, who the Battle Santas summon back to mortal form. When Christian groups heard about children trading cards that depicted Jesus eviscerating enemies with Nazareth Napalm missiles and shooting Light of the Lord laser beams from his robo-eyes while shouting “The Power of Christ compels you to DIE!” over heavy metal music, a firestorm of protests made the entire BATTLE SANTAS property toxic to investors, leaving the trading cards the only glimpse of a Christmas epic that never came to be.

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NOTE: This alternate reality story is part of my NightmAIres narrative art series (visit that link for a lot more). NightmAIres are windows into other worlds and interconnected alternate histories, conceived/written by me and visualized with synthography and Photoshop.

If you enjoy my work, consider subscribing to my free newsletter to stay up to date on my projects, or supporting me on Patreon for frequent exclusive hi-res wallpaper packs, behind-the-scenes features, downloads, events, contests, and an awesome fan community. Direct fan support is what keeps me going as an independent creator, and it means the world to me.

#christmas #80s movies #christmas movies #alternate history #80s sci fi #santa claus #rob sheridan #nightmAIres #battle santas #fake movies #synthography #ai sci-fi

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stealingyourbones · 1 year

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DPxDC Prompt Masterlist #451-500

451. John Constantine's Eldritch Friend :) 452. Wes and Dan as Roommates 453. JL Captures Aargon 454. Dan vs. Speedsters 455. Damian's New Dog 456. Werewolf Jazz's 2 Forms (Fav Prompts) 457. Hanahaki Disease + Blood Blossoms (Fav Prompts) 458. Undercover Agent GIW Danny 459. Amanda Waller's Deal 460. Believe In The Power of the Mothman 461. Ghost/Bat Speak 462. Valerie: JL Informant 463. BCPD Valerie Gray 464. Valerie & Babs 465. Red Huntress BoP 466. Danny: Ghostly Medium for Hire 467. Summoning at 3am 468. Danny Chemistry Teacher AU (Fav Prompts) 469. Freak Show in Crime Alley 470. Freak Show and Joker Jr. 471. I Speak for the Grotesques (Fav Prompts) 472. Take A Dip in the Upside Down 473. YJ meets LBM 474. Identical to a Clone 475. Dani: Jr. Writer for the Daily Planet 476. Timeline Shenanigans w/ Cap. Marvel 477. Evil Clone Making Billionaires Unite 478. Lance Thunder: Metropolis Weather (Fav Prompts) 479. Paulina: Reporter for the Daily Planet 480. Super Town School Gossip 481. Jazz's Defense Training 482. Boneless Ghost 483. Danny: Haley Circus Crewman 484. $100 Ectoplasm vs. 1¢ Lazarus Water 485. Water Core Connor Kent (Fav Prompts) 486. Wally and his No Good Very Bad Week 487. Power Ring Ghost Core (Fav Prompts) 488. Demon Knight: Damian Wayne 489. Dash and Jonny in Gotham 490. Tim and Danny: Unsolved 491. Police Code 23152 492. Aged Up!Danny 493. Gorilla City's Endangered Species List 494. Danny Meets Brainiac 5 495. Dr. Fate and Lord of Time 496. Danny and Fate 497. Firestorm's Friend (Fav Prompts) 498. Firestorm's Primordial Ooze (Fav Prompts) 499. General Zod. Meet Phantom 500. Daniel Fenton: Gotham's Latest Mortician

#danny phantom #bones masterlist #dpxdc #got a fuck ton of submitted prompts queued up so I can do these today :)

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ape-apocalypse · 4 months

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Road To The Kingdom - My Planet Of The Apes Retrospective

With the hype for Kingdom Of The Planet Of The Apes on the rise, I decided to do a bit of a deep dive into the trilogy of reboot movies starring the incredible Andy Serkis and the various tie-in titles.

Why ramble on about a series that most people seem to overlook? Well, I think back to an interaction I had here on Tumblr in 2017, just one week before War For The Planet Of The Apes came out. While scrolling through the POTA tags, I found a post that wondered if anyone was actually excited for the new film or if the studio hadn't gotten the message and was making it for an audience that didn't exist. I responded that I was genuinely excited for the new film, that I loved the motion capture apes and the action scenes and the surprisingly engaging story, and would be seeing it opening weekend. The other person seemed surprised by my honest answer and apologized for their snarkiness (a truly shocking turn of events in the history of the Internet!).

I explained that I'd gone into these films thinking of them like Jurassic World series; I wasn't there for a great story and deep writing, I just wanted to see dinosaurs destroy things. So when I went into the POTA films, just expecting to see fun action movies with monkey chaos and apocalyptic results, I was surprised that I was swept up in the characters and their stories. I loved seeing the life of Caesar from tiny carefree baby to resilient revolutionary to fearsome leader, and the lives of all the humans and apes around him. The other poster said they hadn't actually seen the movies, just expected them to be shallow cash-grabs on reboot nostalgia, but they might have to reconsider giving them a shot after my enthusiastic response.

So if I can sway the minds of anyone who has written off these films, more movie tickets sold might mean more films and other media told in this ape apocalypse world!

And even if you already know and love the films, I also want to give some love to tie-in materials. Books, comics, YouTube shorts, video games; POTA has a surprisingly large catalog of bonus material for a series not considered mainstream like Marvel or Lord Of The Rings or Star Trek. I don't see them get many mentions in the fandom so hope a little spotlight on them can help them shine. They have delicious tidbits of world-building and character backstory, filling in gaps between the movies. I already have my fingers crossed there will be some tie-in material covering some of the huge time jump between War and Kingdom. With three hundred years passing between them, there is so much to learn about the ever growing and changing ape societies. I'm eager for any scrap of info they'll share!

But really, even if nothing I write changes anyone's mind about this franchise, it's still fun to gush about one of my favorite fictional universes.

My brief history with POTA was that I didn't know much about the original films before going into the new Andy Serkis trilogy. I'd heard enough about the original film to know the main beats of the first movie (quotes like 'damn dirty ape', the reveal of the planet being Earth with the Statue of Liberty). I saw the Tim Burton film which didn't leave any kind of impression other than the incredibly realistic costumes/make-up, so much so that I was apprehensive of the CG apes. Since getting into the new films, I've started watching the originals and may cover those just for fun.

So whether you're a long-time die hard fan or a fresh face to Caesar's legacy, I hope you'll enjoy my thoughts on the Planet of the Apes franchise!

Links to all my posts as they are released:

- Rise Of The Planet Of The Apes Film

- Prelude and Contagion Comics

- Motherboard YouTube Shorts

- Firestorm Tie-In Novel

- Fall Of Man Comics

- Dawn Tie-In Comic

- Dawn Of The Planet Of The Apes Film

- Revelations Tie-In Novel

- Last Frontier Video Game

- Crisis Video Game

- When Worlds Collide Comics

- War For The Planet Of The Apes Film

- War Tie-In Comic

- Caesar's Story Novel

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wanderingnork · 1 year

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okay because i just can’t keep my mouth shut, major dragon age absolution spoilers and major inflammatory opinions about anders under cut

the fact that this fucking show just confirmed that meredith was actively trying to set off a war in kirkwall and was legitimately manipulating that whole shitstorm has just confirmed for me one thing: the next time someone says that anders started the mage-templar war where i can hear them, i’m going to play that clip of the last thirty seconds of the show at maximum volume two inches from that person’s face

it’s confirmed that meredith was fucking trying to start a war and given everything the lord seeker did in dai i have exactly no doubts that this wasn’t a more widespread thing, at least parts of the templar order were actively trying to kickstart a conflict with the circles/tevinter/whatever the hell is going on there please bioware give me season two i can’t wait for this

no mage in kirkwall ever had a fucking chance. anders was right, peace was never an option because meredith (if not another member of the order) was going to make sure that something, somewhere, set off the firestorm. we can all bitch about him doing something horrible by blowing up the chantry all day but even if he hadn’t, this is is confirmation that meredith would not have stopped at annulling the kirkwall circle. that would not have been the end. and somehow i get the sense that, whatever would have happened, it would’ve been a lot worse than the war that everyone got instead

i’ve been reserved about anders for a hot minute now but screw it: anders was right, destroying the kirkwall chantry was the best course of action because it did bring attention to what was happening and pushed moderates in power to react and it gave kirkwall mages a chance to get the fuck out before they were slaughtered in the circle by templars and (even though i doubt anders fully intended this part) it took someone who was apparently trying to trigger a continent-wide war out of the picture

didn’t expect to get that bit of validation out of this show but here we are anyway

#nork rants #tldr my clown makeup is firmly applied

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imperical-shop · 1 month

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A Moment in the Rain

I made a sticker and this idea popped into my head 😊 So here it is, a short Zutara story! 🔥💧

Summary: Katara came to love the Fire Nation, despite history. The new rule and her role in it proved to benefit everyone. But sometimes, she had those moments when home felt too far away, especially when she hadn’t visited it in years.

Words: 1940+

Tags: Katara is a bit sad but Zuko is here to help; Zutara all the way; fluffy; set into the future

She awoke by the sudden soft thuds on the window. Glancing outside, waiting till her eyes adjusted to the darkness, she noticed small droplets sliding down the windowpane, raising in number the more she stared at them, speeding one after the other.

Her heart leaped at the thought of rain. She had missed it so much. It wasn’t a common occurrence in this part of the world so each time she got even a bit of possibility to see it, feel it, the waterbender grasped it and clung to it tightly. Even as a girl, she had loved the rain. Something about the freedom of the flow and the smell of freshness it lay around.

Katara wasn’t unaccustomed to the heat. But a part of her missed the cold glove each season wore in the Water Tribes and the way it would sneak up on your exposed skin, sending goosebumps down your spine. She’d been mesmerized at how the older benders in her village played with the droplets, putting on a little show for the kids, laughter erupting around them. Those were some of her fondest memories.

Careful not to wake him, Katara slid out of bed and walked up to the balcony window. Her hand on the handle, she lightly pressed it and waited before opening the door, wanting to make sure there was no gush of wind accompanying the rain. When nothing swooshed and nothing pushed against her rigid form, the waterbender relaxed and slipped out into the rain.

⊹₊｡ꕤ˚₊⊹

Zuko felt something cold sweep over his bare upper arm, making him tug the blanket over himself and move closer to the girl beside him. Only he couldn’t find her no matter how much he shuffled to her side. The now Fire Lord roamed the bed with his hand but all he touched were the sheets of the bed - the same ones stretched below him.

He opened his eyes noticing she was nowhere around him, holding his breath for a second so he could hear whether or not she was in the bathroom. But the water wasn’t running, the light wasn’t on. Zuko furrowed his eyebrows. It wasn’t like her to disappear into the night just like that.

At that moment, strange sounds pulled his attention to the side. It was like tiny hands knocked on the window in such a soft manner that if he hadn’t tried to hear her movements, the firebender probably wouldn’t have paid them any attention.

Rain.

Zuko wasn’t keen on the whole precipitation thing in any form. It usually meant cold was either coming or had already arrived. But in the past several years, he found to accept it.

Our blood runs hot, fire lives in our souls and molds our bones, so touching those creatures of the cold can only sting us.

He smiled at that memory of his first teachings. It had been some time since he’d been so strongly convinced of this belief. That water could damage him irreparably. That it could be the destruction of everything he held dear - every moral, every “truth” instilled in him like iron forged under fire into a deadly weapon.

But then her arrival had come like a tide over a firestorm. Water wasn’t his enemy anymore but the means to his survival, the anchor holding him sane, the spark of life he had long neglected in hopes of achieving some indoctrinated belief. Katara had been his fresh start - one where he wouldn’t have to hide behind masks or sentences learned by heart only spoken to please the listener. No, with her he could finally be himself. The lonely boy who had always wanted only one thing - a family.

The sky outside flickered and he saw the rain double in strength. It was no longer soft and drizzling, but it ran with a ferocious force. Zuko felt restless, his heart racing faster. He was safe inside; they all were. But if only he knew where she was and he could fall back asleep soundly. Unfortunately, the firebender was still missing that piece of the puzzle.

So, he got up and was just about to circle the bed and go for the door of the room when he felt the cold grip his ankles and hold tight. Turning around, Zuko noticed the drapes of the balcony door slightly swinging left and right. He didn’t need any more clues because he understood right away.

⊹₊｡ꕤ˚₊⊹

Kami, it felt good! Katara couldn’t remember the last time it had rained in the Fire Nation. Maybe it had been years ago but it had never been this strong. Each drop hitting her face felt like air was breathed into her. Like a flower reviving its roots and blossoms once water touches it, the waterbender stood with her head tilted back and hands limply hanging on her sides, letting the rain pour down on her.

She loved staying in the Fire Nation - the new Fire Nation. Zuko was the most graceful, kind, and compassionate ruler she’d seen. And although some prescribed these traits to her presence, Katara knew they were all but words tossed in the wind. Their King owed nothing to her or anyone else. Everything he was, he had built himself; despite it all going against him. She had only been there to lend her support.

But this newfound admiration for the Fire Nation wasn’t the same as for her tribe. She missed home, missed Soka and Suki, their mischievous daughter; she missed the smell of cold and the way it would engrave itself every morning from the second she’d open her eyes. And the warmth in that coldness… Huddled up in their igloo-like homes, listening to stories about their ancestors and the great Avatar.

She would lie if she said she didn’t miss them. It had been quite some time since she’d been back. Who would’ve thought that being the Fire Lady would be such a tedious task?

A pair of hands snaked around her waist and she felt her back gain the warmth it had lost in the rain. Her head rested on his shoulder, his lips brushing along her clavicle. It was a strange type of magic that wrapped around her when he was near. She was all water and yet his mere presence made her insides burn - a fire ignite in the depths of the ocean.

“What are you doing outside?” His raspy voice told her he was still fighting off sleep.

“Enjoying the rain,” she said, letting her eyes roam around the streets below the balcony.

They had an entire view of the city, keeping a watchful eye over its residents. Zuko had insisted this room had been made into his private chambers, wanting to always be able to jump into action wherever he may be needed. That action alone had told her everything Katara had needed to know.

“We should go inside. You can catch a cold here,” he told her through timid breaths, leaving small pecks on her neck.

“I’m pretty sure a small rain won’t do me harm,” the waterbender chuckled, wrapping her hands around his. “Maybe you should go inside.” Katara felt her clothes sticking to her skin, her hair dripping with water, so she didn’t need to look at him to know he was in the same state. And as much as she loved the water, Zuko…

“I’m good,” he replied as he pulled her flush to his skin.

A part of her wanted to argue, telling him to get inside because she knew he was the one who would get sick faster under the rain. But the other part of her knew Zuko was too stubborn and would rather sit outside in the (what was now) pouring rain than go inside without her.

Seeing no way out, Katara huffed with a smile on her face and turned around to face him. She cupped his cheeks, staring into his eyes doused in drowsiness and in that moment she was sure she had done the right thing by staying.

“Let’s go inside.”

“Katara,” he said with a tinge of worry in his voice, grabbing one of her hands and holding it down, drawing small circles with his thumb over it. “What’s wrong?”

“What do you mean?”

“These,” he lifted his other hand and swept over her face with his thumb, lightly touching his hand to her cheek, “are not just raindrops.” Her eyes opened up - she had no idea she’d been crying. “Are you hurt?”

“No!” She was quick to answer, laughing in hopes that that would ease him down. “I actually don’t know.” Using the root of her palm, the girl brushed over her eyes, rubbing them to get rid of the stains.

“What happened?”

Each word was laced with concern even after she had tried to play it off, but here he was, still insistent on it. That was a trait she found she loved about him. A trait he had learned how to weave into his ruling.

“I was just looking at the rain.” Katara turned around, slipping back into his embrace, her hands pulling his around her waist. “It felt like home. You know, the Water Tribes.” Silence fell upon them, the rain hitting the nearby roofs and tiles being the only thing breaking the void. “I miss them,” she voiced out almost in a whisper. “I miss Soka and Suki. I haven’t seen them in a while. I miss the cold from there. And the water.”

“I see,” Zuko murmured, his head resting on her side.

“But I like it here,” the waterbender quickly added, sensing that her silly wishes could be interpreted as sadness and doubt about her past choices. “I have everything I’ve ever wanted.”

“Except the Southern Water Tribe.”

“I…” She desperately wanted to argue her case, go against his words, but deep down she knew they were right. No matter how happy she was here, she really wanted to see her home. “Except the Southern Water Tribe,” she repeated with much less vigor in her words than before.

They both stood in the rain for a few minutes, simply watching the city and the tiny lights dancing around. Katara noticed in the distance a small figure happily jumping over a few puddles, somersaulting and then going back for it again once it made its landing. She squinted her eyes, but it was still blurry. A flicker of her finger and the rain parted like a curtain being lifted so a bit of sun could enter the area. And there it was - a tiny mouse jumping happily at each drop, dancing around them, and rejoicing in each splash.

It made her smile again. Happiness really was in the small things. Good or bad, storm or rainbow, life was just that. And she would embrace it all!

“Let’s go in,” she said, exiting Zuko’s hug and pulling him by the hand. Just as she was about to enter the room, Katara was lightly pulled back, making her turn around and look at her husband expectantly.

“Are you happy here?”

The sheer sadness in those words broke the sound barrier of the rain around them, echoing in her heart, each soundwave painfully striking her chest. Was he really doubting that? Had her words affected him so much?

Katara moved closer to him, cupped his cheeks, and said, “More than I’ve ever been before.” Giving herself a little push up, she pressed her lips to his, hoping the kiss would chase away any doubt.

“Good,” Zuko said when they moved apart, a smile gracing his features. “‘Cause I was thinking we need a vacation. How about the Southern Water Tribe?”

#zutara #avatar the last airbender #zuko #katara #atla #atla zuko #atla katara #atla fanfic #atla zutara #zuko x katara #fire lord zuko #fire lady katara #imperical #different designs for different needs ✨

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hrodvitnon · 3 months

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Shimo's got a title for everyone she regularly interacts with. The only people she doesn't have one for are those few humans she's on a first name basis with that don't have a prefix like 'Dr.' or 'Executive'. For them, she contents herself with their first names until she learns of the human Mr/Mrs/Ms prefixes for everyone (for example Mr. Russell for Mark and Ms. Madison for, well, Maddie). Here are a few off the top of the noggin.

Godzilla: Established she calls him 'Your Majesty', 'My Liege', etc. Alternate (and more dramatic) ones being 'Lord of Land and Sea', 'Cerulean Monarch', 'For Whom The Gods Sing' (( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)), and 'Roar of the Land'.

Mothra: Uses similar titles she does for Goji. Additionally: 'Heaven's Radiance', 'Eight-Fold Angel', 'The Deathless Guardian', and 'Song of the Land'.

Rodan: Her default is 'Fire Prince of the Skies'. Alternately: 'The Demon King of Hell', 'The Fiery Dawn', and 'The Red Skies of Ruin'.

Ghidorah: Despite having a little beef, she still treats him with some titles- something that seriously strokes his ego. Shimo doesn't mind- if he gets too big for his britches there's always Frostbite Breath... Anyways: 'Scourge of the Stars', 'The Rumbling Skies of Ruin', and 'Infinite Cataclysm'. She has a special one for San: 'The Devil's Angel'.

Kong: 'The Banished King', 'Earthen Fury', 'Voice of the Land', 'The King's Iron Fist'.

Ozymandias: She obviously gave her best friend the most over the top titles. Her default was, of course, King of Kings. Alternatively: 'The Endless Firestorm', 'The Breaker of Worlds', 'Earth's Eternal Sentinel', 'He for Whom the Heavens Rumble', and finally (sweetly as well) 'My Guiding Sunbeam'.

If you can come up with any more, please do so!

Oh dear, now I'm imagining Ghidorah absolutely ruining Shimo's litany of titles in the filthiest way possible.

"Oh, you dirty bitch, work the shaft!"

"Ex...cuse you?"

"Oh, I'm sorry. I like the dirty talk when someone's sucking my dicks."

"...you're as juvenile and crass as ever, Lord Popsicle. You think you can embarrass me, Drumsticks Beyond the Stars? You'll have to do better than that or else I might be inclined to huff and puff and put you back on ice, 'O Frostbitten Slug."

"...you're no fun."

I imagine she'd also adhere to the warrior ethos of chivalry; she has the capability and means to go into battle in service of her King who has the highest authority, and so she does.

#tosho89 #frostbite814 #shimo

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androxys · 5 months

Text

Task Force What? An Incomplete (Yet Still Very Long) Guide to Some of the DCU’s Government Groups [Part 3]

If you’re a glutton for punishment like me, or if something in the first two parts seemed exciting and you want to dive in more, here are a variety of suggestions for further reading. While obviously incomplete, hopefully you find something in here you like! This section also doubles as (some of) my sources cited, if you’re into that.

If you just want a TL;DR recommendation, personally, I would say read Suicide Squad (1987) and Checkmate (2006) for a great sampling of DC’s world of spies and politics.

I say it every time, but really, thank you to my editors and beta readers who helped make this happen. I owe y'all one.

Part 1: Organization Descriptions and Histories

Part 2: Timeline

Part 3: Reading Suggestions

Suicide Squad

For the Suicide Squad, you’re in luck, because there are three titles just about them! Suicide Squad (1987) is the first and, in my opinion, the best. It ran for 66 issues and was revived in 2010 for a 67th issue to tie in with the Blackest Night event. This establishes Amanda Waller’s character and details how she put the Suicide Squad together. The entire series would be published in a series of eight books, published 2011-2019.

If you want to read the Janus Directive crossover, mentioned several times here, you’re in luck! It was collected in 2016 as Book 4 of the series reprinting all of SS ‘87. However, if you want to read it in singles, you can do that as such:

Checkmate (1988) #15

Suicide Squad (1987) #27

Checkmate (1988) #16

Suicide Squad (1987) #28

Checkmate (1988) # 17

Manhunter (1988) #14

Firestorm (1982) #86

Suicide Squad (1987) #29

Checkmate (1988) #18

Suicide Squad (1987) #30

Captain Atom (1987) #30

After SS ‘87 ended, their next main book would be Suicide Squad (2001). This series would spin out of the Our Worlds At War crossover, and is set during the time period when Lex Luthor is the U.S. President and Amanda Waller is the Director of Metahuman Affairs. It is collected as Suicide Squad: Casualties of War, published in 2021. This one has much less Waller in it, and is only loosely connected in the final issues to anything that came before it.

The Squad’s last titular series would be Suicide Squad (2007). This book is set during Amanda Waller’s time in Checkmate, and details the Squad’s involvement in Operation: Salvation Run. It was collected in 2008 as Suicide Squad: From the Ashes. Lots of past Squad members return for this one. If this run really grabs you, you can also read Salvation Run (2008). It was collected under the same name in 2008.

Checkmate

Checkmate has had two primary runs in the post-Crisis, New Earth continuity. The first is Checkmate (1988), which covers the Harry Stein era of Checkmate. It ran for 33 issues, with the Janus Directive crossover happening roughly halfway through. This run follows from Checkmate’s first appearance in Action Comics (1938) #598, also in 1988.

Checkmate pops up a few times during the Bruce Wayne: Murderer? and Bruce Wayne: Fugitive comic arcs. These arcs are too long for me to detail them all out here, but they were both collected in 2014 as self-titular books. For Checkmate specific issues, check out Detective Comics (1937) #768-777. This arc deals with David Said working as a Knight for Checkmate, and the organization’s recruitment of Sasha Bordeaux. If you want to see Said working as King, that’s in Gotham Knights (1999) #37-40.

Checkmate would receive its major revamp in 2005, with Maxwell Lord as King. This saga is chronicled in Countdown to Infinite Crisis (2005) #1, The OMAC Project (2005) #1-6, and Infinite Crisis Special: The OMAC Project (2005) #1.

After the events of The OMAC Project and Infinite Crisis, Checkmate would be rechartered as a U.N. organization and receive a new self-titled ongoing series. Checkmate (2006) would run for 31 issues. This series would crossover with Outsiders (2003) with the story CheckOut, which would run

Checkmate (2006) #13

Outsiders (2003) #47

Checkmate (2006) #14

Outsiders (2003) #48

Checkmate (2006) #15

Outsiders (2003) #49

Checkmate (2005) #1-25 is collected, including the CheckOut crossover, in Checkmate by Greg Rucka Books 1 and 2, published in 2017 and 2018, respectively. #26-31 is collected in Checkmate: Chimera published 2009.

Cadmus

Okay, I’m going to cheat a bit here. Before Crisis happened, Jack Kirby created the DNA Project in Superman’s Pal, Jimmy Olsen (1937) #135. You can read that in Superman’s Pal, Jimmy Olsen by Jack Kirby published 2019. A lot of this stayed on after Crisis, and it’s Kirby, so that’s fun.

In New Earth, if you want to read about Cadmus, I sort of have to recommend The Death and Return of Superman story arc. The thing is, that story is giant, and I can’t list all the Cadmus stuff individually. If you’re interested, DC reprinted the entire arc over four books in 2016. These are The Death of Superman, Funeral for a Friend, Reign of the Supermen, and The Return of Superman. This chronicles Cadmus’ response to Superman’s death and the subsequent debut of Superboy. If you’re interested specifically in Superboy’s first appearance escaping Cadmus, that’s in Adventures of Superman (1987) #500.

The Battle for Metropolis and Fall of Metropolis feature Cadmus’ clone virus and its subsequent fallout:

Action Comics (1938) #699

Superman: The Man of Steel (1991) #34

Superman (1987) #90

Adventures of Superman (1987) #513

Action Comics (1938) #700

Superman: The Man of Steel (1991) #35

Superman (1987) #91

Adventures of Superman (1987) #514

Action Comics (1938) #701

Cadmus continues to pop up through Superboy (1994), which is unfortunately generally uncollected. The first ten issues, as well as the Zero Hour #0 special, were collected in 2018 as Superboy: Trouble in Paradise. You can see Superboy suffering from the clone plague a bit in there, which is a nice bit of continuity, though the series doe not officially crossover.

A.P.E.S.

This group exclusively shows up in the pages of Young Justice (1998), which ran for 56 issues. The entire run is collected in five books, published 2017-2020.

Department of Extranormal Operations

The DEO first shows up in Batman (1940) #550, which is also Cameron Chase’s first appearance. This issue serves as a sort of “backdoor pilot” to Chase (1998), which ran for 9 regular issues and a DC One Million tie-in. This series dealt with Chase’s adventures as an agent of the DEO. Cameron Chase and Director Bones would later become major supporting characters in Manhunter (2004).

Evidence of the DEO’s research camps, orphanages, and training groups can be found in various titles. Notably, Young Justice (1998), Relative Heroes (2000), and Titans (1999).

Wonder Woman’s adventures as Diana Prince, agent of the Department of Metahuman Affairs are chronicled in Wonder Woman (2006). The DMA is heavily involved in the “Amazons Attack” storyline that runs #6-13, but be forewarned, that arc is not exactly… loved… by Wonder Woman fans. The story “Who Is Wonder Woman,” which runs #1-5 is good, and Gail Simone’s acclaimed run starts at #14. Make of that information what you will.

Spyral

As mentioned above, Spyral has a bit of a funny publication history, debuting in the New Earth continuity, but then being largely fleshed out in the post-Flashpoint continuity that directly follows from the pre-Flashpoint timeline.

Spyral first appears in Batman Incorporated (2011) #4. The group would continue to appear through Batman Incorporated (2012). Spyral features prominently in Grayson (2014), in which Dick Grayson is forced to give up the Nightwing identity and becomes an agent of Spyral throughout the comic’s twenty issue run, concluding in Nightwing: Rebirth (2016) #1.

#dc comics #amanda waller #sasha bordeaux #suicide squad #checkmate #meta #my writing #chit chat

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koco-coko · 4 months

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In the Dark, Starry Night

-> Two lovers comfort each other on a dark, starry night.

Jean x Vincent , Ikemen Vampire Fic

Tags/Warnings <--> Oneshot, Angst then Fluff, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, Romantic Fluff, Tickles, Nightmares, Main POV: Jean D'Arc, Description of Burning Alive, Jean likes breasts (canon), Vincent has ticklish knees (also canon), Jean has vague daddy (Comte) issues

Word Count: 1,465 (4 pages!)

A/N <--> once again I meant for this to be super fluff but then i remembered that human flesh doesn't burn but instead melts and I kinda went from there.

i think they might like this: @azulashengrottospiano @natimiles @weirdwriter69 (if you wish not to be tagged please tell me thanks!)

It was hard to tell what these sensations were, at first. They were familiar, something he longed for, almost… comforting. It was so warm, like a loving embrace. He was covered in a bright light, basking him in heat. Was this it? Was this salvation? Was he finally free of mortal skin?

It just kept getting warmer and warmer… Hotter. Burning hot. Scalding. Jean gasped for breath, only to be met with smoke and white heat overcoming his senses. He couldn’t move without pain. He couldn’t move! Something restrained his arms. It wasn’t rope, but… something akin to an embrace. Comte was somewhere there, watching with calm eyes. Jean tried to fight the heat off, scream and plead to be let go– to just let the suffering end!– but Comte was unresponsive. It was like staring at a stone statue, a gentle expression on the pureblood’s face. “Damn you, Count!” Jean choked. Those golden eyes seemed to tear through him. Judging him with the kindest of insults: that he deserved to live, that his suffering would never come to an end.

But then he realized where he was. The heat traveled through him, first piercing the skin on his feet, then reaching up up his legs with smoke infiltrating his lungs. Fire. Hellfire.

It was then he got desperate. The golden man did nothing but smile peacefully as Jean kept crying for release. Even death would be better than this! The agony of charred skin, the horrible smell of melting flesh… At some point, Jean lost feeling in his feet.

He thought he heard a voice crying out for him. He couldn’t tell where it had come from. Above? Below? Next to him? Far? He searched frantically, but all he could find was sunflowers, somehow untouched in the inferno. It finally registered– a wildfire in a field of sunflowers. Some remained beautiful, others turned to ash in seconds.

The fire only grew louder and hotter, overwhelming the senses with ash and flames. Jean couldn’t tell where the blaze started and his body began. All he could do was cradle himself, falling to his knees as he was consumed by the firestorm. A simple shout kept repeating through his head. A cry for help, release, anything… He didn’t care if it was death or Comte that came to him, anyone!

It was familiar, the things he said during his death: the name of the Lord and Savior, screamed over and over. If only there were a cross someone could hold high through the smoke… wouldn’t that be poetic?

Jean gasped as he kicked the blankets off. His chest heaved up and down in an uneven rhythm. It took a while for his vision to unblur and to catch his breath. His body was covered in a cold sweat and he shivered, but his face was flushed red. He tried to sit up properly, but he was shaking too much to do anything other than cling to the cushions of Vincent’s couch.

“You, too?” the sweet angel beside him asked. Jean had to squint for a moment, still struggling regaining his senses. He was all jumbled up, smelling sounds and hearing color, but the voice beside him cut through it all.

Vincent sat on the edge of his couch, a cup of cold water in his hands. He swirled the water absentmindedly, staring down at the floor before he turned to Jean. The sound of heavy panting was a good enough answer. “Yeah. Me, too,” the blonde said with an unexpressive smile. It was clearly forced upon his face, a gesture he was so used to he didn’t even realize he was doing it. Such an expression simply didn’t look right on his face. Sacreligous, some would call it. “You and Theo were there. Well, actually, you both weren’t there, but I wanted you all. It was kind of cold. Really cold, actually. I was just so… alone, and I couldn’t feel a thing. Pretty weird, right?”

Jean stared at Vincent for a good minute or so, observing his messy blonde curls and the soft features of his face. He looked so peaceful yet so troubled at the same time. Something about the calm picturesque smile on his face felt so sad. Despite everything, Jean wanted to hold him so desperately.

“Here. I don’t really need it,” Vincent whispered, handing Jean his cup of water. The soldier’s hands were too unsteady to take it, so Vincent moved closer to his lover and tipped the cup for him. It was an intimate gesture, if a bit embarrassing, but the cold water did help quell the intense heat in his chest.

A moment later, Vincent placed the cup down on the nightstand. “Better?” he asked, placing his hand over Jean’s heart. The beating had slowed to a stable rhythm by now, but it did nothing to dissuade Vincent’s concern.

Jean watched the unwavering kindness in his lover’s sky blue eyes for longer than he’d like to admit, before finally covering Vincent’s hand with his own. “Oui,” he whispered, his voice hoarse. “Thank you, mon ange.” All was still. The stars in the sky burned ever brightly, not a single breeze went by the window, and the moonlight was immobile. Even Brush was sleeping like a baby.

Then, Jean wrapped his arms around Vincent’s waist, pulling him onto his lap. He hid his face inside the painter’s chest, inhaling that comforting scent of oil paints and lead. A hint of pancake batter in there, perhaps some syrup and whiskey from his brother. Vincent giggled, like an angel’s hymn, and his hands ran through the slate navy hair of his partner. He held Jean tenderly, cradling him with love and care. Despite Jean’s usual airheaded nature, the two both knew Jean had an affinity for the chest. Something about the warmth, the softness, the beating of a real heart. The sound was comforting, a conformation of existence. Vincent was here with him, alive and well, and so was Jean. The painter kissed the top of Jean’s head, eliciting a small hum.

“Sunflower?” Vincent whispered, curling his boyfriend’s hair around his finger. Vincent’s warmth was such a beautiful thing compared to the heat of hellfire. Jean gazed up at him, awaiting his words like a sinner listening to a sermon. “Do you… want to talk about it?”

To that, Jean stiffened. He shook his head against Vincent’s chest, causing another giggle to erupt. Did he know he was being this ticklish? Perhaps he did, as Jean reached for the knees by his waist and he erupted into a chorus of soft chuckles and laughter. “J-Jeanie! Stop! We’ll wake everyone up!”

“Who wouldn’t want to wake up to your laughter?” Jean said, only to huff. “I don’t want others to hear that, though…”

Vincent only laughed a bit more at Jean’s possessiveness. “Do I get to hear your laughter, too?” he said, suddenly tickling the areas of Jean’s neck and sides. Before Jean could retaliate, soft chuckles escaped Jean’s stoic exterior. Vincent took advantage of every weakness, planting sweet pecks on his sensitive neck while he tickled his sides. Jean’s true laughter and grin was as light and breezy as the summer sky.

By the time tears gathered in Jean’s eyes, Vincent showed him mercy and relented his attack. He tilted his chin up just a bit, getting a closer look at the scar on his blind eye and the delighted expression on his face, before planting a tender kiss on his lips.

That was one of many. Usually, Jean’s kisses were hungry and passionate, as if he couldn’t get enough of the man in front of him. He wanted the painter all to himself, to love and cherish forever.

The latter was still true, but much more subdued. It was calm, like a frozen pond. So much lay underneath it, but the ice had a certain appeal to it.

Meanwhile, Vincent’s kisses were chaste and sunny, unforgiving in the love he wanted to share. He was soft and light, unrelenting when it came to the swell of his heart.

By the time they pulled away, Jean was softly panting as his head itched just slightly towards his lover, instinctively moving back in for more. Vincent huffed as he had to put his hand on Jean’s chest, lightly pushing him back.

Vincent and Jean stared at each other from there, examining the undercurrents of the other’s eyes. Unspeakable passion, unknowable sorrow, and so much more.

Vincent kissed the top of Jean’s nose, smiling as he did. “You know, I’m feeling some sudden inspiration. I think I’m going to paint something.”

“At this hour?” Jean whispered, peeking behind Vincent to watch the sleepy sky. “You shouldn’t deprive yourself of sleep, mon ange. You’ll get yourself sick.”

The painter’s smile widened and he squinted at Jean. “I’ll stop staying up late when you do.”

Vincent couldn’t help himself as he caressed Jean’s pouting cheeks. The French soldier hid his face into the divet of Vincent’s chest once more. “I… will work on it.”

“As will I,” Vincent said, petting down Jean’s bedhead once more. “Now, Sunflower, why don’t we go take a bath and then I’ll start on my next painting?”

Jean smiled against his lover’s bosom. For once, the heat was comforting. “That sounds wonderful, mon ange.”

#ikevamp jean #ikevamp vincent #ikevamp #ikemen vampire #vincent x jean #ikevamp jean x vincent #ikevamp fanfic

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istumpysk · 1 year

Text

Operation Stumpy Re-Read

ADWD: Jon X (Chapter 49)

"All praise R'hllor, the Lord of Light," the wedding guests answered in ragged chorus before a gust of ice-cold wind blew their words away. Jon Snow raised the hood of his cloak.

Wrong religion, I'm going to need a second ceremony.

+.+.+

The snowfall was light today, a thin scattering of flakes dancing in the air, but the wind was blowing from the east along the Wall, cold as the breath of the ice dragon in the tales Old Nan used to tell.

Jon keeps referencing fictitious ice dragons. He's the only character who does this.

Probably because he's Ashara Dayne's son.

It felt like walking down the gullet of an ice dragon. - Jon VIII, ASOS

The wind was gusting, cold as the breath of the ice dragon in the tales Old Nan had told when Jon was a boy. - Jon VIII, ADWD

The road beneath the Wall was as dark and cold as the belly of an ice dragon and as twisty as a serpent. - Jon VIII, ADWD

+.+.+

Alys Karstark leaned close to Jon. "Snow during a wedding means a cold marriage. My lady mother always said so."

He glanced at Queen Selyse. There must have been a blizzard the day she and Stannis wed.

The first few pages are purposely written in a way where it seems as if Alys Karstark (girl not in grey) and Jon Snow are getting married.

Do you get the sense a certain character was supposed to appear near this chapter?

+.+.+

A strained smile was frozen into place on her thin lips, but her eyes brimmed with reverence. She hates the cold but loves the flames. He had only to look at her to see that. A word from Melisandre, and she would walk into the fire willingly, embrace it like a lover.

Do people not understand he's being critical of her?

Of course Daenerys is next. Daenerys VIII ->

She heard the screams of frightened horses, and the voices of the Dothraki raised in shouts of fear and terror, and Ser Jorah calling her name and cursing. No, she wanted to shout to him, no, my good knight, do not fear for me. The fire is mine. I am Daenerys Stormborn, daughter of dragons, bride of dragons, mother of dragons, don't you see? Don't you SEE? With a belch of flame and smoke that reached thirty feet into the sky, the pyre collapsed and came down around her. Unafraid, Dany stepped forward into the firestorm, calling to her children. - Daenerys X, AGOT

+.+.+

Though only a few men of the Night's Watch had gathered about the ditchfire, more looked down from rooftops and windows and the steps of the great switchback stair. Jon took careful note of who was there and who was not. Some men had the duty; many just off watch were fast asleep. But others had chosen to absent themselves to show their disapproval. Othell Yarwyck and Bowen Marsh were amongst the missing. Septon Chayle had emerged briefly from the sept, fingering the seven-sided crystal on the thong about his neck, only to retreat inside again once the prayers began.

And here I thought Septon Chayle was killed by ironborn in A Clash of Kings.

This is one of those times Jon is completely in the wrong. They have every right to disapprove of this. The Lord Commander should not be playing politics and making marriages.

+.+.+

Alys Karstark slipped her arm through Jon's. "How much longer, Lord Snow? If I'm to be buried beneath this snow, I'd like to die a woman wed."

"Soon, my lady," Jon assured her. "Soon."

Eager Alys.

Eager Sansa?

+.+.+

Jon turned to Alys Karstark. "My lady. Are you ready?"

"Yes. Oh, yes."

"You're not scared?"

The girl smiled in a way that reminded Jon so much of his little sister that it almost broke his heart. "Let him be scared of me." The snowflakes were melting on her cheeks, but her hair was wrapped in a swirl of lace that Satin had found somewhere, and the snow had begun to collect there, giving her a frosty crown. Her cheeks were flushed and red, and her eyes sparkled.

"Winter's lady." Jon squeezed her hand.

Are you ready to laugh?

That's considered Queen Arya / Jonrya foreshadowing. Hahaha.

Similar to Ygritte, we have Jon making a superficial comparison between Arya and Alys, but Alys is OBVIOUSLY A STAND-IN FOR THE OTHER SISTER.

But I don't necessarily want to give away my hand. So, what do I do when I plant the seed? Well, I plant the seed, but I try to do a little literary sleight of hand, and while I'm planting the seed, my other hand is up there waving and is distracting you with some flashy bit of wordplay or something that's going on in the foreground, while the seed is being planted in the background. So hopefully the seed is there, the foreshadowing is there, but maybe you won't notice it, because it's surrounded by so many other things. - George R. R. Martin

+.+.+

The Magnar of Thenn stood waiting by the fire, clad as if for battle, in fur and leather and bronze scales, a bronze sword at his hip. His receding hair made him look older than his years, but as he turned to watch his bride approach, Jon could see the boy in him. His eyes were big as walnuts, though whether it was the fire, the priestess, or the woman that had put the fear in him Jon could not say. Alys was more right than she knew.

This is shit writing. The last time we saw Sigorn he was threatening to kill everyone. Maybe spend a small paragraph telling us how we got to this point, George.

"Fight for you?" This voice was thickly accented. Sigorn, the young Magnar of Thenn, spoke the Common Tongue haltingly at best. "Not fight for you. Kill you better. Kill all you." - Jon X, ADWD

+.+.+

"Who brings this woman to be wed?" asked Melisandre.

"I do," said Jon. "Now comes Alys of House Karstark, a woman grown and flowered, of noble blood and birth." He gave her hand one last squeeze and stepped back to join the others.

"Who comes forth to claim this woman?" asked Melisandre.

"Me." Sigorn slapped his chest. "Magnar of Thenn."

"Sigorn," asked Melisandre, "will you share your fire with Alys, and warm her when the night is dark and full of terrors?"

"I swear me." The Magnar's promise was a white cloud in the air. Snow dappled his shoulders. His ears were red. "By the red god's flames, I warm her all her days."

This is cute.

+.+.+

"Alys, do you swear to share your fire with Sigorn, and warm him when the night is dark and full of terrors?"

"Till his blood is boiling." Her maiden's cloak was the black wool of the Night's Watch. The Karstark sunburst sewn on its back was made of the same white fur that lined it.

Girl not in grey is still not wearing grey.

+.+.+

"Two went into the flames." A gust of wind lifted the red woman's scarlet skirts till she pressed them down again. "One emerges." Her coppery hair danced about her head. "What fire joins, none may put asunder."

"What fire joins, none may put asunder," came the echo, from queen's men and Thenns and even a few of the black brothers.

Except for kings and uncles, thought Jon Snow.

Don't you hate it when queens kings and aunts uncles do that?

Daenerys VIII ->

+.+.+

Like so much else, heraldry ended at the Wall. The Thenns had no family arms as was customary amongst the nobles of the Seven Kingdoms, so Jon told the stewards to improvise. He thought they had done well. The bride's cloak Sigorn fastened about Lady Alys's shoulders showed a bronze disk on a field of white wool, surrounded by flames made with wisps of crimson silk. The echo of the Karstark sunburst was there for those who cared to look, but differenced to make the arms appropriate for House Thenn.

I'm a bit confused, if Harrion dies will House Thenn rule Karhold? Will this be their new sigil? Alys is marrying into his house, not the other way around.

This won't be the last marriage we see between the free folk and northern houses. There's too many unmarried women, and too many wildlings to settle.

"A wolf for every widow," Mushroom japed, "he will warm her bed in winter, and gnaw her bones come spring." Yet hundreds of marriages were made at the so-called Widow Fairs held at Raventree, Riverrun, Stoney Sept, the Twins, and Fairmarket. Those northmen who did not wish to marry instead swore their swords to lords both great and small as guards and men-at-arms. [...] The resettled northmen not only strengthened the riverlords who welcomed them, particularly House Tully and House Blackwood, but also helped revive and spread the worship of the old gods south of the Neck. - Fire & Blood

+.+.+

"Hobb's mulled some wine with cinnamon and cloves. That'll warm us some."

"What's cloves?" asked Owen the Oaf.

"What will you name the babe?" she asked. "Cinnamon if she's a girl? Cloves if he's a boy?" - Alayne I, TWOW

Do you get the sense a certain character was supposed to appear near this chapter?

+.+.+

"Will my lord be feasting with us?" Mully asked Jon Snow.

"Shortly." Sigorn might take it as a slight if he did not appear. And this marriage is mine own work, after all. "I have other matters to attend to first, however."

How can that be? Only kings make marriages.

Marriages and inheritance are matters for the king, my lady. - Jon IX, ADWD

+.+.+

His boots crunched through piles of old snow. It was growing ever more time-consuming to shovel out the paths from one building to another; more and more, the men were resorting to the underground passages they called wormways.

We know how the secret underground tunnels of King's Landing will become relevant, but we haven't figured out the wormways yet.

+.+.+

"I could feel our lord's fiery gaze upon us. Oh, you cannot know how many times I have begged Stannis to let us be wed again, a true joining of body and spirit blessed by the Lord of Light. I know that I could give His Grace more children if we were bound in fire."

To give him more children you would first need to get him into your bed. Even at the Wall, it was common knowledge that Stannis Baratheon had shunned his wife for years. One could only imagine how His Grace had responded to the notion of a second wedding in the midst of his war.

Kill me the day I start fangirling over a man who hates all women and doesn't have sex with his wife.

+.+.+

The royal ducklings fell in behind them as they made their way across the yard, marching to the music of the bells on the fool's hat. "Under the sea the mermen feast on starfish soup, and all the serving men are crabs," Patchface proclaimed as they went. "I know, I know, oh, oh, oh."

You.

The merman feasting has to be Wyman Manderly.

The only crab that makes any sense to me is Godric Borrell, Lord of Sweetsister, who we met in the first Davos chapter.

"A pity. Gella's not. Homely women make the best wives. There's three kinds of crabs in there. Red crabs and spider crabs and conquerors. I won't eat spider crab, except in sister's stew. Makes me feel half a cannibal." His lordship gestured at the banner hanging above the cold black hearth. A spider crab was embroidered there, white on a grey-green field. - Davos I, ADWD

That leaves starfish soup. The general consensus is that this is a clever nod to House Bolton.

I'm not sure, but I don't have a better answer.

+.+.+

Melisandre's face darkened. "That creature is dangerous. Many a time I have glimpsed him in my flames. Sometimes there are skulls about him, and his lips are red with blood."

A wonder you haven't had the poor man burned. All it would take was a word in the queen's ear, and Patchface would feed her fires.

Do people not understand he's being critical of her? Daenerys VIII ->

All it would take was a word in the queen's ear, and Patchface would feed her fires.

What if the word is Shireen?

Maybe Patchface, instrument of the Drowned God, will kill Melisandre.

Kidding, kidding.

+.+.+

"You see fools in your fire, but no hint of Stannis?"

"When I search for him all I see is snow."

Is this regular snow, Jon Snow, or Ramsay Snow? It's not Jon "Azor Ahai" Snow evidence, I'll tell you that much.

When I was reading comments for this chapter it was amusing to see how many people were able to work out that 'snow' is often used to symbolize Jon Snow.

Yet they have such difficulty making that connection when it's drifting snowflakes making out with Sansa.

+.+.+

"He is not dead. Stannis is the Lord's chosen, destined to lead the fight against the dark. I have seen it in the flames, read of it in ancient prophecy. When the red star bleeds and the darkness gathers, Azor Ahai shall be born again amidst smoke and salt to wake dragons out of stone. Dragonstone is the place of smoke and salt."

Jon had heard all this before. "Stannis Baratheon was the Lord of Dragonstone, but he was not born there. He was born at Storm's End, like his brothers."

Great point, Jon. Does anyone know if another character was born at Dragonstone?

+.+.+

"And what of Mance? Is he lost as well? What do your fires show?"

"The same, I fear. Only snow."

Is this regular snow, Jon Snow, or Ramsay Snow?

+.+.+

"I am seeing skulls. And you. I see your face every time I look into the flames. The danger that I warned you of grows very close now."

"Daggers in the dark. I know. You will forgive my doubts, my lady. A grey girl on a dying horse, fleeing from a marriage, that was what you said."

You're pissing everyone off, maybe it wouldn't be such a bad idea to be a little cautious, vision or no vision.

+.+.+

"I was not wrong."

"You were not right. Alys is not Arya."

"The vision was a true one. It was my reading that was false. I am as mortal as you, Jon Snow. All mortals err."

Gosh, it seems everywhere you look someone is misinterpreting a vision!

"Benerro has sent forth the word from Volantis. Her coming is the fulfillment of an ancient prophecy. From smoke and salt was she born to make the world anew. She is Azor Ahai returned … and her triumph over darkness will bring a summer that will never end … death itself will bend its knee, and all those who die fighting in her cause shall be reborn …" - Tyrion VI, ADWD

Anyway, can Melisandre please ask herself why this girl not in grey wasn't wearing grey, and didn't travel near a lake?

+.+.+

"Even lord commanders." Mance Rayder and his spearwives had not returned, and Jon could not help but wonder whether the red woman had lied of a purpose. Is she playing her own game?

Yes.

+.+.+

"You would do well to keep your wolf beside you, my lord."

"Ghost is seldom far."

Ghost would have followed as well, but as the wolf came padding after them, Jon grabbed him by the scruff of his neck and wrestled him back inside. Borroq might be amongst those gathering at the Shieldhall. The last thing he needed just now was his wolf savaging the skinchanger's boar. - Jon XIII, ADWD

+.+.+

"Your niece is wed."

Cregan Karstark's lips skinned back from his teeth. "Alys was promised to me." Though past fifty, he had been a strong man when he went into the cell. The cold had robbed him of that strength and left him stiff and weak. "My lord father—"

"Your father is a castellan, not a lord. And a castellan has no right to make marriage pacts."

"My father, Arnolf, is Lord of Karhold."

"A son comes before an uncle by all the laws I know."

Oh dear, someone is going to be upset when they learn that.

Daenerys VIII ->

+.+.+

Cregan pushed himself to his feet and kicked aside the furs clinging to his ankles. "Harrion is dead."

Or will be soon. "A daughter comes before an uncle too. If her brother is dead, Karhold belongs to Lady Alys. And she has given her hand in marriage to Sigorn, Magnar of Thenn."

She never thought to have a claim, but with Bran and Rickon dead . . . It doesn't matter, there's still Robb, he's a man grown now, and soon he'll wed and have a son. - Sansa II, ASOS

Jon said, "Winterfell belongs to my sister Sansa." - Jon IV, ADWD

+.+.+

"I see what you are, Snow. Half a wolf and half a wildling, baseborn get of a traitor and a whore. You would deliver a highborn maid to the bed of some stinking savage. Did you sample her yourself first?" He laughed. "If you mean to kill me, do it and be damned for a kinslayer. Stark and Karstark are one blood."

"My name is Snow."

I am not the trusting fool you take me for … nor am I half wildling, no matter what you believe. - Jon XI, ADWD

Unless this is Game of Thrones, in which case he is.

+.+.+

"Sigorn leads two hundred Thenns," Jon pointed out, "and Lady Alys believes Karhold will open its gates to her. Two of your men have already sworn her their service and confirmed all she had to say concerning the plans your father made with Ramsay Snow. You have close kin at Karhold, I am told. A word from you could save their lives. Yield the castle. Lady Alys will pardon the women who betrayed her and allow the men to take the black."

He called him Ramsay Snow. Lol

Add two hundred Thenns to Team Stark.

+.+.+

I should make his head a wedding gift for Lady Alys and her Magnar, Jon thought, but dare not take the risk.

Aww, what a gesture.

Sansa stared hard at his ugly face, remembering how he had thrown down her father for Ser Ilyn to behead, wishing she could hurt him, wishing that some hero would throw him down and cut off his head. - Sansa VI, AGOT

Jaime thought back on the head he'd given to Pia. He could almost hear his little brother chuckle. Whatever became of giving women flowers? - Jaime IV, AFFC

+.+.+

Behead this fool, and they will claim I am killing northmen to give their lands to wildlings. Release him, and he will do his best to rip apart all I've done with Lady Alys and the Magnar. Jon wondered what his father would do, how his uncle might deal with this. But Eddard Stark was dead, Benjen Stark lost in the frozen wilds beyond the Wall. You know nothing, Jon Snow.

Sometimes you really don't know anything.

Wonder about the uncle, forget the father.

+.+.+

Old Flint and The Norrey had been given places of high honor just below the dais. Both men had been too old to march with Stannis; they had sent their sons and grandsons in their stead. But they had been quick enough to descend on Castle Black for the wedding.

He's making friends with the mountain clans!

Let them liveeeeeee.

+.+.+

Each had brought a wet nurse to the Wall as well. The Norrey woman was forty, with the biggest breasts Jon Snow had ever seen. The Flint girl was fourteen and flat-chested as a boy, though she did not lack for milk.

A fourteen-year-old wetnurse?

+.+.+

That old rogue Ulmer of the Kingswood proved as adept at dancing as he was at archery, no doubt regaling his partners with his tales of the Kingswood Brotherhood, when he rode with Simon Toyne and Big Belly Ben and helped Wenda the White Fawn burn her mark in the buttocks of her highborn captives.

Why is this here?

+.+.+

"Do you dance often, here at Castle Black?"

"Every time we have a wedding, my lady."

"You could dance with me, you know. It would be only courteous. You danced with me anon."

"Anon?" teased Jon.

"When we were children." She tore off a bit of bread and threw it at him. "As you know well."

Aww, did you dance together when you were children?

What would she do when the music began to play? It was a vexing question, to which her heart and head gave different answers. Sansa loved to dance, but Alayne . . . - Alayne II, AFFC

Every jonsa already knows this, but I will say it again:

Anon means soon; shortly. And yes, you absolutely should be side-eyeing this exchange.

+.+.+

"My lady should dance with her husband."

When the musicians began to play, she timidly laid her hand on Tyrion's and said, "My lord, should we lead the dance?"

His mouth twisted. "I think we have already given them sufficent amusement for one day, don't you?"

"As you say, my lord." She pulled her hand back.

Joffrey and Margaery led in their place. How can a monster dance so beautifully? Sansa wondered. She had often daydreamed of how she would dance at her wedding, with every eye upon her and her handsome lord. In her dreams they had all been smiling. Not even my husband is smiling.

[...]

"Lady Sansa." Ser Garlan Tyrell stood beside the dais. "Would you honor me? If your lord consents?"

The Imp's mismatched eyes narrowed. "My lady can dance with whomever she pleases." - Sansa III, ASOS

+.+.+

"My lady should dance with her husband."

I'm not done!

And there he stood, Harry the Heir himself; tall, handsome, scowling. "Lady Alayne. May I partner you in this dance?"

She considered for a moment. "No. I don't think so."

[...]

He grinned. "I will hold you to that promise, my lady. Until that day, may I wear your favor in the tourney?"

"You may not. It is promised to...another." She was not sure who as yet, but she knew she would find someone. - Alayne I, TWOW

I bet she will. I bet they'll both find their proper dance partners.

Do you get the sense a certain character was supposed to appear near this chapter?

+.+.+

"Different," she said, "but more like us."

"Aye, my lady. The Thenns have lords and laws." They know how to kneel. "They mine tin and copper for bronze, forge their own arms and armor instead of stealing it. A proud folk, and brave. Mance Rayder had to best the old Magnar thrice before Styr would accept him as King-Beyond-the-Wall."

Kneel to whom?

+.+.+

"And now they are here, on our side of the Wall. Driven from their mountain fastness and into my bedchamber." She smiled a wry smile. "It is my own fault. My lord father told me I must charm your brother Robb, but I was only six and didn't know how."

Aye, but now you're almost six-and-ten, and we must pray you will know how to charm your new husband.

Bringing Harry here was the first step in our plan, but now we need to keep him, and only you can do that. He has a weakness for a pretty face, and whose face is prettier than yours? Charm him. Entrance him. Bewitch him." - Alayne I, TWOW

Do you get the sense a certain character was supposed to appear near this chapter?

+.+.+

"My lady, how do things stand at Karhold with your food stores?"

"Not well." Alys sighed. "My father took so many of our men south with him that only the women and young boys were left to bring the harvest in. Them, and the men too old or crippled to go off to war. Crops withered in the fields or were pounded into the mud by autumn rains. And now the snows are come. This winter will be hard. Few of the old people will survive it, and many children will perish as well."

No pressure Sansa, but there's no food.

We could, thought Jon, if we had the gold, and someone willing to sell us food. Both of those were lacking. Our best hope may be the Eyrie. The Vale of Arryn was famously fertile and had gone untouched during the fighting. - Jon IV, ADWD

"Post guardsmen on the docks. If need be, seize the ships. How does not matter, so long as no food leaves the Vale." - Alayne I, TWOW

+.+.+

It was a tale that any northmen knew well. "My father's grandmother was a Flint of the mountains, on his mother's side," Jon told her. "The First Flints, they call themselves. They say the other Flints are the blood of younger sons, who had to leave the mountains to find food and land and wives. It has always been a harsh life up there. When the snows fall and food grows scarce, their young must travel to the winter town or take service at one castle or the other. The old men gather up what strength remains in them and announce that they are going hunting. Some are found come spring. More are never seen again."

Ned Stark's grandmother was Arya Flint.

Arya married Rodrik Stark, The Wandering Wolf.

+.+.+

"When your stores begin to dwindle, my lady, remember us. Send your old men to the Wall, let them say our words. Here at least they will not die alone in the snow, with only memories to warm them. Send us boys as well, if you have boys to spare."

+.+.+

"As you say." She touched his hand. "Karhold remembers."

This is why the House Royce words are so obviously a reference to House Stark.

There's no way the House Royce words are a coincidence.

+.+.+

The letter had been written by Maester Harmune; Cotter Pyke could neither read nor write. But the words were Pyke's, set down as he had spoken them, blunt and to the point.

Calm seas today. Eleven ships set sail for Hardhome on the morning tide. Three Braavosi, four Lyseni, four of ours. Two of the Lyseni barely seaworthy. We may drown more wildlings than we save. Your command. Twenty ravens aboard, and Maester Harmune. Will send reports. I command from Talon, Tattersalt second on Blackbird, Ser Glendon holds Eastwatch.

Four Lyseni ships?

The three Braavosi ships would bring the fleet at Eastwatch up to eleven, including the Ibbenese whaler that Cotter Pyke had commandeered on Jon's order, a trading galley out of Pentos similarly impressed, and three battered Lysene warships, remnants of Salladhor Saan's former fleet driven back north by the autumn storms. All three of Saan's ships had been in dire need of refitting, but by now the work should be complete. - Jon IX, ADWD

That was one chapter ago. You notice the older George gets the more this is happening?

+.+.+

"No, my lady. This news was long awaited." Though the last part troubles me. Glendon Hewett was a seasoned man and a strong one, a sensible choice to command in Cotter Pyke's absence. But he was also as much a friend as Alliser Thorne could boast, and a crony of sorts with Janos Slynt, however briefly. Jon could still recall how Hewett had dragged him from his bed, and the feel of his boot slamming into his ribs. Not the man I would have chosen. He rolled the parchment up and slipped it into his belt.

Not sure what will come of this, if anything.

+.+.+

The fish course was next, but as the pike was being boned Lady Alys dragged the Magnar up onto the floor.

They consummated the marriage!

+.+.+

Axell Florent smiled. "The king might say the same if he were here. Yet some provision must be made for His Grace's leal knights, surely? They have followed him so far and at such cost. And we must needs bind these wildlings to king and realm. This marriage is a good first step, but I know that it would please the queen to see the wildling princess wed as well."

Jon sighed. He was weary of explaining that Val was no true princess. No matter how often he told them, they never seemed to hear.

Wait for it. It's building.

+.+.+

Jon had heard enough. "Ser Axell, if you are truly the Queen's Hand, I pity Her Grace."

Florent's face grew flushed with anger. "So it is true. You mean to keep her for yourself, I see it now. The bastard wants his father's seat."

The bastard refused his father's seat. If the bastard had wanted Val, all he had to do was ask for her. "You must excuse me, ser," he said. "I need a breath of fresh air." It stinks in here. His head turned. "That was a horn."

I know Stannis told him to keep his mouth shut, but I don't know why he doesn't say the quiet part out loud.

Every time Jon reminds us he rejected Cool Girl Val, I laugh.

+.+.+

"Two blasts," said Mully.

Black brothers, northmen, free folk, Thenns, queen's men, all of them fell quiet, listening. Five heartbeats passed. Ten. Twenty. Then Owen the Oaf tittered, and Jon Snow could breathe again. "Two blasts," he announced. "Wildlings." Val.

Tormund Giantsbane had come at last.

He's more excited to see Tormund. Lol

Final thoughts:

A snowflake danced upon the air. Then another. Dance with me, Jon Snow, he thought. You'll dance with me anon.

Soon!

❤️❤️❤️

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#operation stumpy re-read #adwd #jon x

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