#thus I am slain
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My little winter rose (Aemond Targaryen x Little red riding hood!Reader)
synopsis: On your way to visit your grandmother, you meet a handsome stranger that points you towards some lovely flowers. Little do you know what else that aquaintance holds in store for you...
warnings: slight dubcon, p in v sex, mention of severed body parts, afab reader
word count: 2.3k
taglist: @hopelesswritergall @urmomsgirlfriend1
(If you want to be tagged for a specific character/fandom or in general let me know in my asks, comments or DMs)
A/N: Thank you to the wonderful @slytherincursebreaker for requesting this piece. I hope you like it as much as I loved writing it!<3
Dividers by @valeskafics
For as long as you were old enough to roam around Winterfell and the surrounding woods, you heard the same thing every time. "Beware of the one-eyed beast in the woods" or some form of that sentence. You knew it by heart, saying it along every time it was spoken. Yet you had never seen a beast, no matter how often you wandered through the trees you called your second home. However, it also led to you becoming less watchful every time, thus not noticing how the so proclaimed one eyed beast very much saw you. Grew taller as you did with age until he towered over you easily, his mind darkening with thoughts as yours brightened with entirely different ideas. Going unnoticed day after day after day.
Another institution set in place that you remember ever since you could think was a group of hunters going out every night. Their torches burning like the fear in their hearts, sharp swords, spears and weapons of any kind held close to their bodies that would always return marred. Sometimes you would hear rumours that people that died at an earlier date were taken by the beast while hunting for it alone.
You understood all of it, though that didn't mean you liked it. The sight of the hunters was one you hated. It was a surprise that with their viciousness the "beast didn't las out more or come closer to the village. Not even all the understanding of the human mind in the world could have saved you from hating the head of the hunters with a passion that burned even brighter than any fire ever could. Howland Reed and his relentless pursuit of trying to win over your affection by bragging about hunts long over and how well equipped he was to hunt the one-eyed.
"Red! Where are you off to?" He yells from a distance to stop you, as he trots over to you.
Cursing him out in your mind in return, you oblige and wait for him to catch up with you, putting a smile on your face as you did so. Even the nickname everyone called you due to the red cloak you wore at every given time, sounded so gross from his lips you wanted to puke.
"Oh, I am merely off for a visit to my grandmother." You chirp in the politest tone you could muster.
“Well, how lucky I must be to catch you then? You see, I just had some modifications done to keep you safe better.” He presents you with one of his hands and you see exactly what modifications he talked about. His nails had been filed into sharp points and seemingly coated with silver to harden them, just like claws. The pride in his face makes it hard for the polit mask to stay on yours.
“Say, Howland.” You take a deep breath in to keep it together as you speak. “I have been wondering something lately. Mayhaps you will be able to answer the question.”
“Ask me anything you wish and rest assured that the smartest man around will surely give you an answer.” He makes it so hard not to throw up right then and there.
“You are too kind. Now my question is, if you are as smart and strong and skilled in hunting as you proclaim… How come that one-eyed beast has not been slain yet?” You don´t stay to hear his answer, instead you hide a giggle behind your hand and go off on your merry way.
With the light of the early afternoon sun in the sky you have little concerns or cares about the safety of the forest. Humming the sweet tune of a song that you had often sung with your grandmother when you were younger, you skip along the way.
The deeper you get into the wood, the colder it gets and so, while you wrap yourself tighter into the red cloak, you almost run into what you at first think is a tree. As it turns out it is another human, a man and a tall one at that. His silver hair reaches down to the middle of his back, covering one of his eyes and the other you are sure shone in a pretty lavender hue once. If it did it had since dulled to a darker tone. The creases in the pale skin on his face speak volumes on how hard his life must have been. Yet when he looks down to meet your eyes, there is a charming smile set in place.
“My apologies, ser. I should have watched my steps.” You apologize before he even opens his mouth, looking up at him with the most innocent eyes he had ever seen.
“Oh no, by all means, I am the one that has to apologise. You are not the only one that should have watched where they were going.” The beautiful stranger replies in a velvety smooth voice.
"Please, I insist. If I would have stopped for a moment, I would not have run into you." You reiterate.
"Alright." The stranger lifts his hands in mock surrender. "May I ask where a young maiden like you is headed? All alone in these big woods."
"Well, for one I am not alone. Clearly." You go to answer with a waggish smile.
His grin widens in response and his voice deepens for a moment as he speaks. "I would not be so sure that is such a good thing."
His words hold a sense of warning that you swiftly ignore to tell him where you were going. "I am on my way to see my dear grandmother. She lives not far from here."
"My, what a sweet girl you are. Your grandmother can count herself lucky to have you." You hadn't even noticed so far, but when he continued speaking his voice registers almost right beside your ear. "If you want to bring her some flowers, the winter roses are blooming beautifully not too far from here in that direction."
You follow his finger with your eyes, to see that it isn't that much of a detour.
"I will be going right away. Thank you, kind stranger." You turn your head back to him.
"Oh no, I have to thank you." He murmurs. “And you may call me Aemond.”
“Aemond…” you test the way the blonds name rolls off your tongue and then let your smile widen as you give him your name.
You happily skip along the way, giving him no chance for further conversations as you only turn once more to wave him farewell.
While you busy yourself with making the most beautiful bouquet of winter roses and greenery, Aemond goes off with a new plan in mind to finally get you.
The task takes you longer than you would have thought and so the sun stands high in the sky when you continue the way to your grandmother's house. It begins to grow dark when you arrive at the small house in the middle of the woods, so it is no wonder you find your grandmother asleep in her bed.
Gently you shake her awake by the arm. “Grandmother, are you well? I came to visit you."
"My sweet girl, is it really you?" The old woman's voice sounds different than normal, though you can't quite put your fingers on the exact way it does.
"It is. I brought you some flowers and a cake I baked." You set down the flowers in a vase on the bed side table and sit on the edge of the mattress beside her.
"Oh, you are so good to me. Come, lay down. You came all this way and I could not possibly send you home in the darkness." Without any questions you obey her, pulling off the cape and dress until you are only left in your small clothes.
Through the thin fabric the cold air makes your nipples harden and so you hurry to climb underneath the blanket.
Once in bed, you notice the long scar over the left side of her face, with the eye seemingly missing entirely. “Grandmother, what happened to your eye?” The words come out dripping with uncertainty.
“Bad men took it, but you need not worry about it. They are not able to hurt anyone anymore now.” The answer does little to quell the questions on your mind.
"My, what big hands you have, Grandmother?" You continue questioning.
"All the better to hug you." Comes the quick explanation.
"And what sharp teeth you have..." Your skin begins to prickle and the air becomes harder to breathe. Something in the way your grandmother pauses before answering, makes the hair on your neck stand up. Too late to react, as you get pinned to the mattress with surprising strength.
"All the better to eat you!" With a swoosh the blanket and who you thought was your grandmother's clothes get ripped away, to reveal Aemond sitting on top of you.
He grabs your shift and easily rips the fabric off your body, leaving you gasping, wide eyed and unable to cover yourself as he still pins your wrists above your head with one if his large, strong hands.
The cold air, that streams in through the cracks in the window frame, has your nipples harden even further, until they stand painfully against the heat of your admirers’ chest. Instinctively you lean further into him to catch more of his warmth. Aemonds hard cock presses between your folds, twitching against your entrance, to collect some of the juices that flowed between your thighs.
“Will you be a good girl if I let you go now?” He growls lowly into your ear, eliciting a quiet but eager nod from you.
Slowly the pressure around your wrists vanishes to come down to hold you by the hips. Aemond leans down to capture your lips with his. The slow, but nonetheless passionate nipping at each other’s mouths gives the perfect way for him to express every last bit of longing and yearning that had coursed through the blond’s body ever since he first laid his eye on you. The kiss deflects your attention from the way Aemond rubs his erection against your dripping centre until he has buried himself entirely in it. His tip nearly kisses your cervix and the way your cunt adjusts to his form makes your entire nervous system burst into flames. The flames lick only higher as Aemond absolutely ravages you, rutting into you with inhumane pace and without abandon. It seems he fucks deeper into your tight channel with every thrust, that is accompanied by breathily whispered praise of how long he had waited for this moment and how well you took him. Every once in a while, when a pained whimper leaves your lungs, he kisses your forehead, rubs a few circles with his thumbs into your hipbone and shushes you in the most loving tone anyone had ever used on you beside your family. Yet Aemond doesn´t slow down. Not until you are first to reach your peak and he had made sure to shoot his seed so deep into your core it was sure to take.
Aemond slides out of your sensitive cunt and sits back to catch his breath.
“Are you alright?” he inquires short of breath.
“I am. Perhaps I will be a bit sore for the next few days.” You jested back with a raw voice.
“Ah, my apologies. I simply found myself unable to hold back any longer. I have been watching you for so long, my little winter rose. Imagining how it would be to touch you, to claim you, to finally take you as my wife in the face of the seven…” The one-eyed man sheepishly rubs his neck as he confesses to his desires.
Desires that make your face feel like it is on fire once more and your brain is entirely empty. “Is that the truth?”
“I could never lie to you about the graveness of my affections towards you.” Gently, Aemond takes one of your hands into his and presses a kiss to the palm of it.
“Oh, Aemond…” You melt at the show of affection. “I wished nothing more than to be able to be with you for the rest of our days, but I fear it is not possible. For my parents have already promised me to another.”
“Worry not. I have already taken care of that.” The blond stands up to offer his solution to the issue. A severed hand lands between your legs on the bed.
You gasp and raise your eyebrows, but before any question can claw its way out of your lungs, the sharpened silver nails catch your attention. It was Howlands hand that lay there presented to you as if it was a trophy. However, it does not disturb you. On the contrary, it makes you feel strangely appreciated, that someone would go so far as to secure you being with them.
“How dare that son of a whore go after my wife.” Aemond growls and his forehead lays into deep creases.
Careful not to kick around the severed body part, you stand up as well now, stalking over to Aemond on mildly trembling legs. When you reach him one hand goes to his shoulder for stability and the other rises to his face to run the thumb over the space between his eyebrows until it is even again.
“There is no reason to get angry about him anymore. My heart never belonged to him, but it will forever belong to you.” The two of you share one more kiss. This one much more slow, but just as emotional, to seal your future together.
#aemond#aemond one eye#aemond targaryen#aemond x reader#aemond x you#aemond targaryen x reader#aemond targaryen x you#hotd#house of the dragon#hotd fic#house of the dragon fic#hotd x reader#hotd x you#fairytale au#little red riding hood au
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If in danger of being captured, the Cuarrion will take on the appearance of its last victim, assuming it has already consumed enough of their body to facilitate the transformation. It will speak with its victim's tongue, show recognition in their eyes, throw wide their arms in embrace and cry out with all their heart, having been rescued naked and quivering from the beast's den.
Thus discovered, the Cuarrion will allow itself to be led back to civilization to be embraced and wept over and tended to, steadily convalescing, wearing its victim's footsteps to trace out their old habits. As the attentiveness of its companions wanes, the Cuarrion will take the first opportunity to escape back into the wild, taking on its true form again, usually claiming another victim along the way.
If, however, the Cuarrion is kept under constant scrutiny, it will find no opportunity to revert and instead will settle deeper and deeper into its disguise. It no longer needs to hunt: it bears its victim's stomach and intestines and so can subsist happily on their diet. The gestures of familiarity, rather than being second nature to it, will simply become its nature. There are stories of Cuarrion who have lived for decades in the same village, borne children, presided over local festivals, lived to bounce hosts of grandchildren on their knee, been interred in the village cemetery with all the honors befitting an elder of their repute.
There are also stories of Cuarrion who, after decades of peaceful cohabitation, have reverted to their monstrous natures for seemingly no reason at all. When a reason can be located, it is usually some sort of violent shock to the self: a stroke, an assault, an infidelity, the death of a loved one, the uncovering of another Cuarrion.
The ethics of keeping a Cuarrion in captivity are hotly debated. It is difficult to blame the family of a child slain by the Cuarrion, who, having recovered a child in the exact image of theirs, calling out familiar names in a familiar tongue, miraculously alive and whole, will insist on treating it exactly as their child.
Scholars of the Cuarrion's anatomy maintain that even if some vital portion of the victim remains within the beast, it will be inevitably digested over time, as evidenced by the fact that victims who have gone missing weeks prior are found gibbering and semi-feral and must be rehabilitated back into their previous states, if ever; whereas a victim who has gone missing just that day will be found talkative and spry and seemingly unharmed. If the Cuarrion can copy a person identically, the scholars say, it is only through habit and mimicry, blood congealing into the shape of its mold.
If the Cuarrion themselves are asked for input, opinions vary. Most are circumspect. Many prefer not to discuss it at all. The elders among them, who have lived out their lives, tend to speak more freely. "Yes, I consumed the child I was to become who I am, a long time ago, a long time ago," says one, eyes clouded and distant, remembering. "A tragedy, yes. But, eh, so do we all."
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Smoke, Fire and Ash
Warnings: This fic includes noncon, dubcon, manipulation, violence, death, forced marriage, and inc3st. Tags will be added as the fic goes on. Blood, gore, major character deaths.
This is a dark!fic. 18+ only. Read at your own discretion. Please read the warnings before continuing.
Summary: You are the eldest daughter of Rhaenyra and Daemon Targaryen. You are forced to navigate the difficult surroundings of your upbringing and the eventual disintegration between your family and the Hightower's relationship. What will happen when your older and estranged uncle suddenly takes a more sinister interest in you? (Dark!Aemond x Reader)
Masterlist
Characters: Aemond Targaryen X Reader, HOTD characters.
Note: Oh my god.... Everything is happening ARGH! I'm actually going to try and post updates daily now for this, bar Sunday for the next Sublet chapter. I am just so excited to finish this series! Hahaha, anyway, I've loved seeing all your reactions and theories!! <3
Chapter 102: Envoys to Dragonstone
When you had returned to your chambers, it was a blur of movements and thoughts, but one in particular seemed to absorb all the rest. Its dark tendrils wrapped around the others, pulling them into the dark with it, thus making its size almost immeasurable until all other thoughts were devoured by it, gone from the light, and all that was left was it.
War was coming.
With shaky hands you grasped a piece of parchment and sat at the table. With the ink pot and quill, you rolled the parchment flat beneath your palm and began to write.
You wrote as though your life depended on it.
Because it did.
And with each swift flick of your script, a blaring word in particular seemed to have broken loose from the feeling of hopelessness. A word which had been whispered and cried. Spoken and sneered. A word that had fuelled your hope, and created your despair. A word that you knew, now more than ever, was a need to act.
Dracarys.
And so you wrote until the page was full, and tears leaked from your eyes at knowing what was to come next.
Loss.
‘Mother and Father,
To write to you under the present circumstances does little to steady my beating heart, but it is something that I know will ensure that it keeps doing just that. Beating.
Aegon is dead. Slain at the hands of Aemond.
And now he is King. And I, Queen.
The treaty is lost, and at the risk of another war coming to take us all, I must beg you, bend the knee.
Bend the knee to Aemond.
If you swear him as King, he has said that he will allow you to live on Dragonstone and carry out your days there safely and happily.
If you do not bend the knee, war will break, and I will not survive it.
You will not survive it.
None of us will.
My only consolation is that if you do, we shall all live, and that I will be able to see you again soon.
I suspect I am with child, Aemond’s child. And if the promise of your own flesh and blood upon the throne does not satiate your need to rule, then know I hold no grievances towards you. It is your birthright, just as it is mine.
If you do not bend the knee, you must send star fruit to the Keep so that I know of your decision, and may feel its sweet nectar upon my tongue once more before war breaks out. It is the only way I will survive this all, and it is the only way that I will know that you do not hate me for asking you of this.
It was not my wish to depose my mother of the throne, nor my father, or my dearest brother Jacaerys. I beg for your forgiveness. I shall go to the Godswood and pray that you will forgive such an offence, and pray that the Gods will forgive my sins too.
Until then, I wait to hear of your acquiesce to Aemond and I's rule, or the delivery of star fruit to the keep in barrels full.
Yours forever,
Queen Y/n.’
Tears slipped past your eyes, and you had not even heard Aemond enter the chambers, nor sense him standing behind you as he read your letter. It was only until he touched a lock of your hair at the back of your head did you know that he was there.
“Are you ready?” He asked softly, cool patience in his tone.
You turned your head to look up at him.
Were you ready?
Would you ever be ready for what was to come?
If your parents bent the knee, that meant you would rule as Queen, like you had always wanted, and at the side of Aemond.
But if they didn’t?
No.
They would come.
Just as you asked.
More tears fell, and Aemond swiped them away gently with his thumb, “Issa iā qopsa geralbar bona ilagon gō īlva. Yn nyke gīmigon bona hēnkirī, hae mēre, kosti.” It is a difficult road that lays before us. But I know that together, as one, we can.
“Iksan nāpāsagon ñuha lentor.” I am betraying my family, You sniffed, another tear trailing down your cheek hotly.
Aemond frowned sadly at you, helping you to stand.
“Iksis ziry drēje?” Is it true? He asked quietly, “Issi ao lēda riña?” Are you with child?
You knew in your bones that you were.
Although there were not many symptoms but the inklings of sore breasts, you just knew. You knew instinctually that it was true. That the Gods had given you and Aemond another chance of being parents, and you would not lose that opportunity again.
You nodded, another tear rolling down your cheek, one of sorrow and joy.
Aemond bent his head down to kiss you gently, lips brushing against your own in reverence, but his hands upon your face showed the true excitement that he held back. They were firm, and tight, and almost tingled against your skin.
“I am scared.” You breathed.
“I will keep you and my child safe.” Aemond looked you in the eye, sincerity on his face, a hand coming to press gently at your stomach.
You smiled sadly at him, “Not if war breaks.”
“Even then. I will not lose you, or our child. You are the most precious thing in the world to me, my one and only love. Not even the Gods could take you from me.” He promised.
Your heart soared as you nodded up at him, rising on your tiptoes to capture his lips once more. He whispered an apology against your lips, and you couldn’t help the small sob that escaped.
“Please do not make me choose.” You whispered, hands holding the sides of his face, stubble brushing against the scar of your palm, the reminder of your union and love always there.
“You have already made your choice. Now they must make theirs.”
Aemond left you in the chambers alone to deliver your letter to Otto Hightower and Ser Criston Cole, who readied themselves to leave by ship that very evening. They would arrive to Dragonstone by morning.
And you would get your answer from the skies.
DRAGONSTONE POV
The morning broke the same way that it had before.
The sun rose above the waters surrounding Dragonstone, and cast the volcanic island in a glow of golden light. There was a light breeze that morning as the maids had opened the windows and balcony doors to Queen Rhaenyra and King Daemon’s quarters.
They had been dressed and readied, and broke their fast together. Little Viserys and Aegon the Younger tottered around their chambers, playing with tiny toy dragons that had been carved from wood.
The couple eventually made their way down to the study, Rhaenyra having gotten word from the men at the Red Fork that a certain war dragon had been spotted in the skies, and not seen to have left until almost a dozen days later.
As Rhaenyra shifted the letters at the large desk and Daemon sat lazily before the fir with one leg crossed over the other as Little Viserys sat on his knee, stories being whispered into the young boys ear as Aegon the younger sat on the floor playing with his toys, the door to the chambers were rapt by knuckles thrice in quick succession.
“Come.” Rhaenyra beckoned, and watched as the doors were opened swiftly by a Ser Erryk Cargyll.
The twin gave a short nod in greeting before apologising for his intrusion, “Your, Grace, there is a ship, just west of Dragonstone.”
Rhaenyra stiffened in her chair, and Daemon snapped his head to the man, quietening his whispers.
“It flies the banner of your brother.”
Rhaenyra stood from her seat slowly, Daemon going her with his son in his arms, the boy nestled against his side.
There had not been a ship to Dragonstone since the day Otto had come to watch her daughter be wed to her half-brother.
“Notify the council, have them be ready.” Rhaenyra commanded, and Ser Erryk bowed his head, leaving the chambers at once.
Rhaenyra and Daemon stared at each other, Viserys fussing in Daemon’s arms, sensing the tension that mounted in the room like a storm.
“Do you think it’s a trap?” Daemon breathed heavily, smoothing hair away from his sons head as two of Rhaenyra’s maids entered the chambers.
Daemon kissed the top of the boys forehead before handing him to one of the girls, the other scooping Aegon the Younger into her arms before exiting the chambers.
Rhaenyra moved around the desk, coming to stand in front of Daemon, “I believe we should be ready for it.”
By the time the two entered the Chambers of the Painted Table, the Small Council of Queen Rhaenyra were already standing around it in wait. Jacaerys stood off to the side, his Lady Wife, Baela beside him.
Lord Corlys stood to the side of Baela with Princess Rhaenys and their other granddaughter Rhaena, all who wore black and red, with hints of blue, as was their new and old House colours.
All other Lords and Maester’s stood at the other end.
“When should they arrive to shore?” Rhaenyra asked, forgoing a greeting as she walked swiftly to the head of the table with her husband.
“Within the hour, Your Grace.” Came the response of Maester Gerardys.
Rhaenyra nodded, looking amongst the table before she jumped into action.
“We need to be ready for whatever my brother Aegon has planned. Patrol the skies and the sea. Have men at the ready for anything.”
Jacaerys stepped forward, “I shall ride Vermax.”
Rhaenyra nodded, though her heart raced in her chest.
The last time she had allowed her children to take to the skies, only one came back.
“I’ll take Moondancer, Your Grace.” Princess Baela declared.
Rhaenyra gave the girl a small smile, “Good.” She turned to face Rhaenys, “Take Meleys to the sky. If Aegon or Aemond are to come on the backs of their dragons, we will need numbers and you are one of our best.”
Daemon was the next to speak, “I shall take Caraxes-”
“-No.” Rhaenyra argued, “You will stay with me. I need you at my side.” Turning to Lord Corlys, she requested the presence of his ships, “Have four of your ships ready at port.”
The older man nodded, moving swiftly out of the chambers to command them.
“You said there was only one ship?” Rhaenyra questioned the Maester.
“Yes, Your Grace. Only one has been spotted.”
The crown weighed heavily atop the Queens head in that moment, the first time she had ever truly felt the weight of it.
At first when Daemon had crowned her, it was foreign, but with time, she grew to not notice its presence, as though it was another set of braids atop her head. But now, she felt the heavy weight of it all, pressing down on her skull, hyperaware that she had a duty, and it was about to be tested.
Once the ships had been pulled to the docks, and her dragon riders had taken to the skies, Queen Rhaenyra and her King Consort, Daemon Targaryen, moved with the Queens Guard down to the meeting point of the path where they had stood before.
When greeted with Aegon’s terms.
And then later with the return of their daughter.
But this time, they waited and watched as the heads and banners of the Green three headed dragon came towards them, and they did not once sense that they would be reunited with their daughter once more. Instead, Ser Otto Hightower was flanked by Ser Criston Cole and members of her brothers Kings Guard.
Above them, three dragons flew in circles, watching from above.
Waiting.
Ready.
Ser Otto Hightower, in all his lithe glory, came to a stop before Queen Rhaenyra, looking all the more like a weevil that had crawled into a farmers grain.
For he was a pest that had wormed its way into her fathers life, and become the driving force of the usurpation of the throne, her daughter and sons deaths, and the removal of her surviving daughter to her half-brother.
Ser Otto was a man that Rhaenyra as a child had hoped and prayed that her father would have seen through. That Viserys could have seen the man before him was a mask, a shell, and hid his true intentions behind duty and tradition. But Viserys had been blinded by the wolf in sheep's clothing, and Otto’s lies had been strengthened by Daemon’s love for her.
Viserys never did get to see the ruin that his inaction would become.
Daemon, the once Rogue Prince, stood at his wife’s side diligently, as he had promised to do, large palms resting upon the two swords that flanked him, one being the Dark Sister blade. He struggled to not sneer at the man who had taken everything from him.
Taken his daughter from him. His brother.
“We come as envoys.” Otto began, Ser Cole staring at Daemon, his own hand atop the hilt of his sword.
Daemon had not forgotten Cole's place in all this either.
Crispin Cole.
Rhaenyra looked down at the men from her nose. Despite being shorter than them, she stood uphill, and gave the illusion that she was above them.
And she was.
Where she was Queen, they were mere Ser’s.
“King Aemond the First-“
“-Aemond?” Rhaenyra interrupted sharply, worry coursing through her chest, “Did my brother Aegon drink himself to death in his cups?”
Otto reached into his coat pocket, the Queen’s Guard shifting as they watched his movement carefully. Long fingers pulled apart his lapel and dove into the inner pocket, grasping the rolled parchment from their daughter.
Daemon shifted atop the balls of his feet.
Lord Hightower held out the scrolled parchment, green insignia stamped into its papery surface with wax, “A letter from the Queen.”
“Queen?” Daemon snipped, looking at the parchment.
Ser Erryk stepped forward to grasp the letter, armour shuffling as his eyes darted to his twin, Arryk Cargyll, who stood behind Otto Hightower.
It was a sad day for either twin, seeing their other half on different sides of a silent war. Their eyes met, if only briefly, all hurt and betrayal, before Erryk took the scroll and delivered it to Rhaenyra.
“King Aegon is dead. And in the line of succession, Aemond has taken his place.”
“What about his remaining son?” Daemon questioned, looking at the scroll briefly before back at Otto.
Otto held his hands behind his back, “Maelor is too young to rule at such a time, and Aemond has taken the Iron Throne.”
Ser Erryk held out the parchment for his Queen to take, which she took whilst keeping her eyes upon Otto, much like her husband, who continued to talk.
“Bend the knee to the King, swear your fealty to him and he shall allow you to remain here as the Lady of Dragonstone, whereafter your son Jacaerys the Lord of Dragonstone, and Joffrey Lord of Driftmark. The Queen has agreed to send word to you now that the treaty has ended with Aegon’s passing.”
Rhaenyra hastily unrolled the parchment, ripping the green wax insignia of the three headed dragon off the paper, the wax crumbling onto the stone below. Violet eyes roved over her daughters script whilst Daemon read over the top of her shoulder.
The Queen felt a tide of rage.
“I will not bend the knee to a usurper and kinslayer who is not even second in the line of succession. He has no right to the throne.” She hissed at the Hightower Lord, “Where is the Princess?”
“She is Queen Consort now, and shall live her days with the King in peace and safety. Your blood sits upon the Iron Throne, Rhaenyra, something that should satiate your desire for war. Bend the knee to Aemond, blood not be needlessly spilt again.”
Otto spoke like an old man telling his daughter or wife to buy something from the market that was not needed, and not at all like a man who was preventing a war.
Daemon quietly seethed beside his wife, looking at Otto, and having read two words that gave him the permission he so desperately sought. Daemon shifted, hand pulling the Dark Sister blade from her sheath and stormed forward.
“Fuck this.” Daemon sneered.
Ser Cole stepped toward him, and from above a dragon screeched.
It was a blur of guards, and the sound of men and their blades being unsheathed filling the air.
Ser Erryk Cargyll stepped to the side of Daemon, if not slightly more forward, blocking the blow of Ser Cole’s blade as Daemon moved towards Otto, whose eyes were wide in shock. Queen and King’s Guards met in the middle, a blur of bodies as Rhaenyra stood firmly, planted as she were.
Watching.
With a swing of the Dark Sister blade, Daemon sliced through Ser Otto Hightower’s shoulder, the blade cutting through flesh and bone as though it was butter, carving down to the middle of his chest.
Blood sprayed from his wound, and the older man cried out into the air, the beating wings of dragons loud above them.
As the King Consort pulled his blade from the Hightower Lord, who stumbled backwards on shaky legs, Daemon swung the Dark Sister blade into the air once more, connecting with his neck.
His body landed on the floor before his head did, which rolled downwards into the chaos of the guards and knights who fought, mouth open and eyes wide.
Ser Erryk blocked another swipe of Criston’s blade, who came at him harder and faster, anger and desperation in his eyes. Ser Arryk, his twin, steadily approached the two as he battled through the sea of fighting.
A few of Aemond’s men had turned back, running down the path to try to get back to their ship, to send word to the King, but a large shadow loomed above them, and with a cry, Baela screamed out her deathly command for the very first time.
“Dracarys!”
Moondancer, a slender and pale green dragon with pearl like horns, opened her jaws and a plume of fire was cast over the Green deserters. The flames devoured the men entirely, who screamed in agony, trying to outrun their burning flesh, before dropping to the floor below, silent and stiff.
Baela, to prevent any more attempting to escape, landed against the path, the large claws of her dragon digging into the stone sides, much like how Rhaenyra had, many moons ago.
Moondancer screeched, head down and long at the backs of Aemond’s men who turned to face the dragon in fear, swords lifted in a pathetic last chance of defence.
It was an opportunity that Rhaenyra’s men did not let pass.
And an opportunity Daemon didn’t either.
The Dark Sister blade cut through three men, and Jacaerys upon Vermax landed behind the Queen and her men, a subtle threat, and a vow of protection for his Queen Mother.
Vermax growled deeply, teeth bared, whilst Rhaenys continued to circle atop Meleys from above, searching the skies for any sign of her cousins.
Ser Cole, sensing that he was fighting a losing battle, did not give up, and came at Ser Erryk brutally. The twin stumbled backwards, Arryk moving towards Cole’s side as Criston's blade barely just missed the twins face.
But as Ser Cole was occupied, and Rhaenyra watched from behind stony faced, he did not see the shadow that passed behind him, nor did he anticipate the thrusting of the Dark Sister blade through the pummel of his chest.
Ser Erryk Cargyll took advantage of the opportunity, and turned to face his twin brother, a man who was the exact image of him bar small scars upon their bodies, and if you had asked Arryk a year before, he was taller. Their swords clashed together, moves and skill mirrored as both men had grown and trained together side by side.
Daemon Targaryen, the once Rogue Prince and now Rogue King, a man who was seasoned in war, and battle, and swordsmanship, stood behind Ser Criston Cole, blade in hand as it penetrated through the top of his chest under his shoulder. Blood dripped from its tip thickly as he looked down at it, eyes wide in shock.
Daemon’s silver hair, now streaked in blood, lifted gently in the breeze that rolled past.
The drops of Ser Cole’s blood was loud in Rhaenyra’s ears as she looked at the man dubbed ‘The King Maker’.
With a large boot, Daemon kicked the knight off of his blade, and onto his knees.
Ser Criston Cole landed with a thud, looking up at Rhaenyra, eyes darkened by hatred. The blade in his hand had fallen to the ground, and blood dripped down from his wound thickly, splattering across the stones like many of his other men.
Rhaenyra looked down her nose at the man, lips pulled back in a sneer.
It was quiet on the path, the only sound Rhaenys’ dragon calling out from above, and the sound of blood on stone. All other fighting was drowned out by the rage that pumped through her veins.
And as though connected through a bond, like rider and dragon, Daemon stood behind Ser Criston Cole, The King Maker; a man who had been sworn to Rhaenyra once before, a man she had once been intimate with when she was a young girl, a man who had witnessed the Gods affirmation that she was fit for the throne, a man who had aided the usurpation of the throne, a man who had broken his oath to the cloak, and Daemon heeded the Queen’s wordless command.
Daemon swung the Dark Sister blade one final time.
Thanks so much for reading along with me, if you wish to be added to the tag list please let me know :) Likes and reblogs are greatly appreciated ! Enjoy <3
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#aemond targaryen fic#aemond targaryen#aemond targaryen smut#aemond targaryen x y/n#aemond x reader#aemond x fem!reader#aemond x you#aemond x y/n#aemond targaryen x you#aemond targaryen x reader#aemond smut#hotd smut#dark!aemond targaryen x reader#dark!aemond x reader#dark!aemond targaryen#hotd#house of the dragon#hotd fanfic#dark!aemond#dark!fic#fic#series#aemond one eye#aemond the kinslayer#aemond targaryen fanfic#aemond#smoke fire and ash
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Knife Prty
AN: gang. I've not published anything in like. Three months. For me, this ""piece"" is more of a way to break the ice of my mind that's since frozen over. Overall, I am very reluctant to write, let alone publish, Astarion for various reasons, but I was listening to Deftones one day and was feeling devious.
Synopsis: In which you hold the memory of your first encounter with him very near and dear... He uses it to his tactical advantage...
Pairing: Astarion x fem!reader/tav
Warnings: MDNI, knife play, most definitely would not recommend fucking or getting fucked with a knife handle, sorry it sounded hot,
WC: ~2.3k
A knife balanced against your neck, a familiar blade, increasingly warm with your heat. It was a grave distraction as it teetered threateningly along the grain of your skin, but you’d made a purposeful mistake of telling Astarion how nice it felt to be not just beneath him, but his dagger. It was objectively dangerous, the feeling wasn’t conveniently replicated, thus it felt… real this way, vital. His hand had an instinctual way of slotting itself between your thighs, the heart of his palm blanketing your blooming clit. Two fingers coaxing slick sweetness and moans from your body that twined around him.
“Is this…” Your hand searched behind you to grab at his right upper thigh, pulling him into your backside, “...What you needed, my love?” His words, shrouded in his misty tone, implored you in tandem with his hand.
He was in too many lovely places at once, your muscles slacking in unison as you both stood bare in the middle of the large bath in the vacant House of Hope. Fresh killers you were, in need of a cleanse in every sense, but something about finally taking out Raphael and his accessories had you both at peculiar odds. Astarion was made to witness your vulnerabilities to Haarlep, and despite knowing you well at this point, he found he was unable to accept that you were actually susceptible to its charm. Even if that weren’t the case, he wasn’t about to say he was basking happily in the image of you being ridden by an incubus who ought to just be Raphael himself. The more he was made to think about it after the fact– fighting beasts to save Hope, slashing down Raphael himself… His mind deviated drunkenly back to your body… You. With someone… Something else.
He decided he’d have you in that very spot, right in the Hells where his heat in this moment would make even the waters here boil over.
You two haven't really spoken about what happened in the graveyard, perhaps enough had already been said and done. It’d been weeks since, and no matter how paramount it was to you both, in different respects, Cazador had virtually nothing to do with the looming Elder Brain.
But Astarion’s declaration of his new ‘life’, or an amendment of his living death, still prevailed. This revitalization of sorts stood prominently, following him decisively like a shadow he didn’t have. Constant proof of him as him.
The sharpened metal at your throat was an afterthought to you at the time, but a thought nonetheless– one Astarion had hung onto dearly. Ever since you’d told him in a passing moment that you found your first encounter with him haunting your more unsavory moments, he couldn’t rid himself of the reminders.
“Gods, yes…” You shamelessly ground your hips into his beckoning hand, requiring his attention like nothing else. He was, needless to say, extremely turned on by you in any case, but here… Like this, adorned with his blade that had just slain that imbecilic devil, in addition to his enslaver just weeks prior. He could hardly allow his mind to wander trying to understand, but here his knife somehow signified something of untouchable worth. Trust… A morbid reenactment, sure, but how he adored you so, obsessed with how he was able to thrill you in such an asinine way.
You could feel him straining against you, that familiar sensation of his needing you… Though, he enthusiastically opted to see how long he could play with you, guiding your orgasm through the thickets of his teasing maze.
“Sick little love… I can feel you pulsing against my fingers, so fucking hot and wet.” His remark was serpentine and crude, hips rutting his cock ever so slightly between the swells of your perched ass, “How many times have you thought about this…?” He needed to sift through your tainted mind, needed to hear of your hunger, starvation, for him, as much as he tries to pretend he doesn’t love the assurance. Does your mind, too, think of him like he does of you? Remind me… He’d think– You must keep reminding him of how he tears your sanity to such decadent shreds.
His pace slowed only to allow for precision, his middle and ring finger hooked inside you knowingly as he worked at your left shoulder with his tongue.
“Fuck…” Your small, overwhelmed squeak indicated he was doing exactly as he should, rubbing the velvety spot just past the threshold of your cunt that made you shudder in his embrace, “I don’t even know…” He felt your head fall back on his right shoulder in blissful dejection, “It was more than a few.”
“My routine of devouring you isn’t enough, hm?” His fine-pointed fangs indented your skin on cue, not yet drawing blood.
You let out a breathy laugh, “Admittedly… I was nervous about the pain at first, but… You always manage to make such reckless things feel so good…”
“You drive me insane, darling. Utterly insane. Especially when you say deranged things like that…” Still hooked, his fingers sped up with dedicated intent to make you cum, skin sticky with sweat as you were sealed against his front, “A knife to your sweet neck is all it takes to make you drip down my hand?” You made him feel murderous, vulturine… Alive? Your adorable reactions picked at all the right places within him like crows.
You hummed a dizzied whine in time with his firm pace, a rush of everything creating a cyclone deep within your core, “But, you’re holding it…”
“That I am, dear. Watching you fucking lose yourself like this is truly a sight to behold.” The knife pressed its taunts as he fucked into you while you tried to keep steady.
“Don’t stop…” You couldn’t and didn’t want to fixate on anything else but the pleasure he was giving you, “Please…” Your free hand subconsciously rushed to blanket the one that worked at your beckoning hole, making him gleam beneath your needy touch. His precum began to gradually garnish your backside– Why in the Hells would he stop now?
He need not hide his satisfaction, never with you, a grin causing his words to fray upward with lust, “Pretty, pretty thing… Cum for me.” He sprinkled your shoulder with nipping kisses once more, “ Give it all to me…” He crooned right into your center, his tone broad and smoky.
Hardly needing much past a syllable, your violent shakes when you cum were one of his favorite things to witness, let alone cause. His hand was caught in a vice grip between the tide of your plush thighs as he continued to press into that perfect spot as you came, your moans resonating through his cock. He loved the way your nails dug into the back of his thigh to bring him impossibly close, the other hand around his wrist… Holding onto him for all that you were worth in this moment.
“So divine…” He dragged the knife torturously down your chest, its fine point flicking just barely at your nipples, circling them, “I know how much you like when I tease here…”
You wanted to cry out, every nerve ablaze after your orgasm as you warmed his coated fingers. Instead, you gnawed on another dulled groan in your mouth as the metal tip tickled your areola.
“Let me hear you, darling… There’s no one around.” His voice enveloped your mind like a lecherous fog, words enunciated as they cut into you, “I’d almost say that’s a shame, as I can’t decide if I’d want everyone in all the Hells and beyond to hear your little noises, or have you all to myself.”
“Astarion…” He was breaking you, collecting your pieces, and puzzling your lust-drunk self back together as he pleased.
It seems everyone at camp has been reaching the apex of their struggles at once, especially since reaching Baldur’s Gate– seeing an unwanted face or two is inevitable. It’s been a smothered blur, and to put it more plainly, you and Astarion have not really been afforded time together. It was absurd, fighting almost toe to steel toe beside him, but this was the case day in, day out, everything else had to wait. You’d begun to miss him… You’d tried to brush it off, perhaps it was just you and some arrangement of irrational justifications. His biting quips seemed more distant, even when he held you after a long outing, he felt… Far. And the only reason for this was the non-squirmy affliction you both shared for each other. Of course, he missed you dreadfully. Hence his body currently being superimposed onto yours, an eclipse of raw, splitting desire.
“Give me more… Say it again.” He urged feverishly as your hips still twitched here and there, your movements waking through him.
“Astarion.” You trailed a caressing hand up the arm he latched around your front, just listening to what little was left in your mind. You found the hilt of his dagger gripped in his other hand, guiding it so the fuller would rest on your flattened tongue. Licking a careful stripe towards the tip, he watched in an attentive daze, your projections onto the knife translating to his groin just as you’d hoped.
“Yes, darling…” He finally pulled his fingers from you, experimentally wiping your slick onto the knife. You could feel his smirk radiating beside your cheek as he tugged the blade to his lips. Making sure to secure your eyes, you watched as he tasted your sweet mixed with metallic, making you writhe beneath the image before you.
Swiftly, as he does, he flipped the dagger to lead the rounded pommel down over your stomach, slowly flowing over your pelvis, ultimately pressing down on your clit. He managed to grip it in a way so as to avoid cutting his own hand, running the ball between your swollen folds.
“Mm, I wanna touch you…” You whined pitifully as you writhed, wanting to make him feel as good as he was making you feel, lavish him in pleasure as you’d been ceaselessly imagining.
The moonlight was damn near blinding that night on the overgrown plot of his not-so-restful place… How he pushed you back, fiercely, claiming everything as his own– most importantly, himself. You almost giggle at your spontaneous recollections, how forceful yet tediously careful his movements were as he made it no secret that he’d take you then and there. How his knee swiftly presented you to him, his relentless, passionate kisses…–
“Perhaps I want to be sure that we are on the same page…” The pommel grazed your quivering center, rolling your arousal to a fro, insinuating his intent, “Do you think I enjoyed watching you moan beneath that infernal wretch?”
“I was truly trying to sort out the hammer business… I can’t say I was willingly enthused, he had to charm me just to get me to consider taking my clothes off.”
“It was certainly a… production… But I must be frank, it was not something I ever dreamed of being made to see. How that… Thing nearly made you succumb to its little tricks.” He angled the dagger so as to push it inside you, just a bit, dragging out another melodious moan from you.
He chuckled at this, deciding to drop the matter for the moment, “My filthy darling… You wouldn’t cum around my dagger, would you?” He chided, knowing full well that he’d see to that being the case, “It seems… You just need to be fucked, no matter how.”
The hilt was thick, stretching you generously as its smooth leather pushed further into you. He gripped the guard to avoid splitting his hand, but the risk of a small injury paled in comparison to this, “Maybe there’s something about Avernus, this house… I just feel… Hot,” You debated momentarily, wondering if it’d be more of a burden to speak from what little of your mind remained, “...And I didn’t want to bother you by telling you that I missed you. In any capacity… I’ve missed all of you.” You forced coherence despite him establishing a cyclic rhythm.
He kissed your cheek a few times in response, though found himself quickly perplexed, “Bother me– Darling, never. You’ve… Missed me?”
“It’s been fighting nonstop for weeks, and save for… A few instances, the last few months. All I’ve wanted was to just be able to relax with you, to truly just be.”
“You’re going to tell me this as I’ve buried a dagger handle inside you? You’ve got peculiar timing, my sweet.” His movements subconsciously stilled as he was looking to you for an unknown kind of answer.
“Gods–” You clenched as he kissed your neck this time, allowing his fangs to indent just enough to make themselves known again, “I’m sorry… I guess I could’ve said it any time… I don’t know what I was thinking.”
“No, no, no– love, so could I,” He opted to always shower you with every pet name he could recite, perhaps as a habitual hedge, perhaps to drown you in his doting, “I’ve most certainly missed you, too.” He could feel you attempting to move onto the dagger, sending his body and estranged soul into a frenzy, “So, so much…” He found he just wanted to make you scream, in this particular instance. He’d been rearranging the meaning of intimacy in his mind slowly but steadily alongside you. While harrowing associations would inevitably remain attached to the act, he wanted to overwrite as much of that as he could with images of you. Of true rejoice, pleasure. He swore, his cock twitched upon reminding himself just how good you make him feel, body and beyond.
#i need to get out of this stagnation so here's more garbage#again this is kind of an abrupt end bc i didn't like the rest of it as much#astarion#astarion x female reader#astarion x tav#astarion x reader#bg3 smut#astarion smut
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wherefore art thou romeo | yang jeongin
SCENE ONE ・❥・ break a leg (6k words)
directory
SCENE ONE ・❥・ ACT ONE
"If you don't start enunciating your words, I'm going to bite you."
You give Jeongin a nasty look, rolling your eyes at him from where he sat behind the counter. Unfortunately, before you could get the chance to offer a sharp tongued rebuttal, two customers walk up to you, hand in hand.
"Two tickets for, Last Christmas, please!" The woman in front of you says gleefully whilst her partner kisses her on the check. Oh, how naive, you thought, knowing that in the movie, the main love interest is actually dead the whole time. You'd been through the trauma of watching the movie yourself, so you could understand the pain they'd be in, in approximately an hour and forty five minutes.
"Here you go," you say, plastering a fake smile on your face as you hand over the tickets, turning back to Jeongin once they leave. The best thing about working in a cinema? Minimal customer interaction. Plus, as a film geek, you got 50% off movie tickets, which meant you and your coworkers spent as much time in the cinema chairs as you did cleaning them.
"Better yet," Jeongin continues, grinning up at you from where he sat on a stool, leaning against the back wall. "Every time you mumble, I'll throw a piece of popcorn at you."
"I'll just catch it in my mouth, dipshit," you tease, sticking your tongue out at him as you pick up your script again. As much as Jeongin was an absolute nuisance, he was helping you prepare for your audition tomorrow, so you couldn't be too annoyed with him.
"Oh yeah? You really think you've got that level of coordination?" He teases more. "Might I remind you, you're the same kid that tripped over every hurdle at sports day circa five years ago."
You huff, fully turning around to lean against the counter as you eyed the boy below you. He was grinning up at you, his perfect teeth gleaming as he pushed some of his dark hair out his eyes.
"Shut up," you huff, folding your arms over your chest. "Can you actually be constructive with your criticisms instead of just bullying me?"
Jeongin laughs at you, shaking his head and pouting. "Come on," he tilts his head at you, waving the script he was holding in front of you. "These lines aren't going to memorise themselves."
You sigh, knowing he's right. You didn't usually get nervous over auditions, since you were more than used to them by now. You'd been acting since you were a toddler, whether that be putting on shows for your family or in your local theatre group, and you had the confidence to soar through them, but this was different. Going to a prestigious school for the arts meant competition for the top roles was more than tough, and your end of year performance was the most important and well attended production each year.
Romeo and Juliet, was this years choice. Sure, it was only because your head of department had just recently got engaged and made her sappy love life everyone's business, but you actually loved the play, so you weren't mad about it. And, of course, you were trying out for the part of Juliet.
"Romeo can, Though heaven cannot," Jeongin starts, putting on a girly voice as he pretends to act as Juliet's nurse for the chosen audition scene. "O Romeo, Romeo, Whoever would have thought it? Romeo!"
You have to admit, you loved practicing with him. Jeongin, being on the same acting course as you, was amazing at performing, and put his all into it every time - even if it was just a silly practice audition.
You laugh as you begin your line, trying to remember your monologue without a script. "What devil art thou that dost torment me thus? This torture should be roared in dismal hell. Hath Romeo slain himself? Say thou but "Ay," And that bare vowel "I" shall poison more...than...than-"
"Than the death-darting eye of cockatrice. I am not I if there be such an "I," Or those eyes shut that makes thee answer "Ay." If he be slain, say "Ay," or if not, "No." Brief sounds determine my weal or woe," Jeongin finishes the part you couldn't remember for you, reading directly from the script in a whimsical voice as you sigh.
"Why did they choose the original play script," you whine, grabbing the script off Jeongin to reread the line. "Surely they could have adapted the language to make it easier to learn. I feel like I'm summoning serpents right now."
Jeongin laughs at your dismay, shrugging his shoulders as he stands up to deal with the group of customers he sees walking in and letting you have time to look over your script. "I dunno, I like the original. That bullshit Di Caprio version - you know, the movie with the guns - that sucked. It was all over the place; you can't have them speaking Elizabethan English and then make them shoot each other in the street and drive sports cars."
You give the back of his head a smile as he serves the customers, giving over their tickets and making up their popcorn. It was just the two of you on shift tonight until the cinema you worked at closed at 12, which you didn't mind at all since Jeongin could help you with you with your lines. That, and the fact that out of your friends, he was the most calm - which was saying something, because Jeongin was loud for an introvert.
"I liked the movie," you say once the customers leave, Jeongin coming over to stand beside you. "I thought it was an interesting take."
"You just fancy young Leo," Jeongin points out, making you scoff and push his shoulder. "Don't even pretend you don't! I was sat beside you in the lecture hall when we watched it for our extra curricular last semester and I watched you physically drool when he showed face."
You frown, knowing he's exactly right. The fact you were slightly infatuated with young Leonardo Di Caprio was not a secret.
"Oh, look how handsome he is," Jeongin continues to tease, pretending to be you fawning. "He looks like a dream!"
"Oh, come on," you laugh, using a phrase you'd picked up from Felix. Working with your best friends meant you'd adopted a lot of their habits, which you'd only realised when Felix had pointed it out. "I wasn't that bad."
"You didn't have to sit beside you."
You stick your tongue out at him, picking up your script again. "Are you not more nervous? Considering you're also auditioning tomorrow?"
Jeongin shrugs, manoeuvring so that he's facing you and gently tapping your feet with his. "Not really. I'm auditioning for multiple parts so I don't really mind what I get."
"Are you going for Romeo?" You ask him, glad the conversation has turned somewhat serious.
He nods, frowning. "Yeah, don't see why not. The more parts I go for the more options I have. You must be pretty dead set on playing Juliet if you're only auditioning for her."
You can't help but to feel nervous, knowing that you were taking a risk by only going for the role of Juliet. Jeongin seems to notice this, though, moving his face so that you look at him and giving you a smile.
"Hey, I'm sure you'll get it," he says, before breaking out into a cheeky grin. "If you remember your lines, that is."
You wish you could be annoyed at him, but you appreciate how he tries to keep the situation lighthearted. You'd always appreciated that of him. He was good at reading a room, and knew how to dissolve tension. It came in clutch when you and Jisung got into a tiff about god knows what whilst you worked together.
Jisung's parents owning the local cinema you worked at meant he liked to, well, not do his job, which you could get pretty annoyed at as much as you loved your friend. There was perks with working with your friends, but there were also downfalls, such as Jisung refusing to do certain tasks.
Jeongin snaps you out of your thoughts, taking the script back from you.
"You're going to do your own head in if you keep going over it," he points out. "Remember that one time when we were auditioning for that play in middle school and you memorised the script so much you started saying other people's lines out loud?"
You laugh at the memory. "That witch of a teacher shouted at me in front of everyone. It was so embarrassing."
"Mhm," Jeongin hums, tilting his head at you. "That's why you should put this down for a bit."
"The only thing worse than over-knowing your lines is not knowing them at all," you groan, stretching your limbs and rolling your eyes at a group of teen girls talking way too loudly for 10pm. Jeongin senses your discomfort and deals with them, unaware of the looks they all give him. Working with Jeongin so often, you'd come to realise he didn't know how handsome he was, evident when he let flirtatious opportunities go amiss. He'd been like that since you'd met him in middle school, though.
You'd first met when the two local middle schools in your area moved into the new, larger and more modern school that had been built to allow the two older buildings be knocked down. After the awkward tension between the two different school groups in one classroom dissolved, your friend group (consisting of you, Yunjin, Jisung and Minho) collided naturally with Jeongin's. Hyunjin, Felix, Seungmin and Jeongin merged well with you and your friends, and thus your new, much larger group was formed.
"Enjoy the movie," Jeongin smiles, finishing up with the group of girls.
"Oh, we will," a particularly bold girl says, turning away with their giggling friends. Jeongin turns to you with a raised eyebrow.
"What was that about?" he questions sincerely, coming back to lean against the wall with you. You shake your head in response.
"You're so niave," you chuckle, knowing even if you tried to explain to him why those girls were so giggly around him, he probably wouldn't understand anyway. "Now please help me memorise these lines."
"Nope," Jeongin says lazily, running a hand throw his curly black hair. "You're done for the night."
You grown for what feels like the millionth time of the night. "We've still got two hours before our shifts end. What the hell else am I gonna do?"
"Hang out with me," Jeongin replies, turning to face you, a smile etching his eternally happy face. "We never just talk about normal stuff anymore. It's always about uni."
"Yeah, well, our lives revolve around it, now."
Jeongin seems as though he doesn't like your answer, scoffing and hitting his shoes off of yours. "I know but - come on, surely you've got some gossip for me."
"Jeongin, we have all the same friends!" You laugh, shaking your head. "If I have any gossip I'm pretty sure you'll know it, too."
"Well how about this," he says, turning fully to face you. "Did you know that Jisung and Yunjin had a thing for each other back in middle school, but neither of them acted on it?"
Your jaw almost drops. Yunjin, your best friends since infantry, had never once divulged this interesting piece of information to you. Plus, Ji and Yunjin were your friends before they were Jeongin's, and it felt wrong that he knew more about them than you.
"How the fuck do you know that?" You ask in disbelief. Jeongin only taps his nose.
"Trade secret," he says ominously, so you lightly punch him on the shoulder. He giggles, pretending to stumble backwards. "Okay okay, Jisung told me at the time and Yunjin told me when she was drunk a few months ago."
You sigh, promising yourself to bring it up to Yunjin when you go back to your dorm later. "Why does everyone tell you their secrets when they're drunk? Nobody tells me anything."
"Cause you're a blabbermouth," Jeongin says with no hesitation, so you give him a look. "What? You have been since middle school. I told you I had a crush on Yeji and you told everyone."
You huff, remembering the event. You were only, like, thirteen in all fairness, but you did feel bad about it even after all this time. Jeongin didn't speak to you for weeks after Yeji shut him down.
"I apologised for that a million times, I didn't even mean to let it slip!"
"Yeah, well," Jeongin rolls his eyes. "I'm still mad at you."
You give him a grin, knowing he's completely lying, and he can't help but crack a smile right back at you.
"See? Isn't this nice?" He says, his eyes glistening from the overhead light. "We've not talked casually like this in ages."
"Aw, are you missing our conversations, Jeong?" You laugh, reaching over to shake his shoulder. He swipes you away, always hating physical affection, laughing.
"I wouldn't go as far as to say I was missing it, but I do enjoy talking to you about non school or work related things," he says honestly, and you can't help but nod your head in agreement.
Once the movies let out around the same time, all you and Jeongin have to do is clean the two theatres, make sure everything is prepared for the day staff tomorrow and lock up. It doesn't take you too long, and Jeongin connects to the speaker system to play his music, which passes the time even quicker.
You're exhausted by the time Jeongin locks the back door, pocketing the keys and leading you to his car. He'd saved up for months to pay for it, claiming he was fed up with Jisung driving him around like a maniac.
"Fifteen minute drive home," Jeongin says out loud, pulling up the maps on his phone despite knowing the route back to the on campus dorms. "You should go for a nap, you look tired."
"Thanks, Jeong," you say with a roll of your eyes, getting yourself comfortable in the passengers seat.
"Not like that," he says lazily, looking behind him as he pulls out of his parking space. "Here, I'll even crank up the heating like you enjoy. I'm sacrificing my own comfort for you, here."
You give him a fake smile, unable to help yourself from curling up as soon as you feel the heat blast your face. Jeongin's body temperature was always much warmer than yours, so you'd always fought about the heat of the car when you were the passenger.
It's not long until you arrive back to the dorms, Jeongin having to gently push you awake after you'd drifted off. He stops off at your dorm first, of course, halting right outside the door. He roomed with Seungmin, Felix and Hyunjin five minutes away whilst you shared with Yunjin and two girls you weren't all that close with. Jisung and Minho had moved into their own flat a month ago.
"If you're not fast asleep in the next ten minutes I'm coming over and forcing you," he says, his face serious, and you know he's only half joking. "Get a good sleep for tomorrow and you'll be fine."
"Same goes for you," you say, stretching your limbs as you open the car door. "I'll see you tomorrow?"
"See you tomorrow," he firms with a nod, giving you a grin after and starting the car as soon as he watches you open the main door to your dorm building.
Yunjin's already dead asleep in her room when you go in, which leads you to crash in your own bed as soon as you've finished brushing your teeth and changing out of your work uniform, the script pages of Romeo and Juliet floating around in your mind.
SCENE ONE ・❥・ ACT TWO
When the time flashes on your phone reading 9:46am, it doesn't compute in your brain that you've slept in. It's not until you hear Yunjin banging on your door, shocking you out of your system and causing you to jump up in terror, that the realisation hits you.
You've slept in. On audition day.
Despite remembering setting your alarm for 8 sharp, you were fourteen minutes away from missing the auditions and getting stuck as a background actor. You fling open your door, revealing a panicked Yunjin on the other side.
"Did you -"
"Yes, I know I've slept in!" You answer, leaving the door open and turning to get changed out of your pajamas at lightening speed.
"And you -"
"Auditions start at ten, I'm fully away," you rush out, able to practically read Yunjin's mind at this point. You'd laugh if you weren't so stressed.
"Jesus, you're giving me so much stress right now," she says, taking a deep breath in and out. "I'll make you a coffee and you'll be out the door with time to spare, okay?"
"Okay!" You shout back, pulling a hairbrush through your hair as Yunjin hurries through to the kitchen.
Thankfully, within five minutes, you look somewhat presentable. You grab your black uni bag, containing your script and other necessities, before scrambling to the kitchen and taking the coffee Yunjin has made you in your favourite travel cup.
"Good luck!" Is the last thing you hear her shout, giving her a hasty thumbs up as you flee out of your dorm building and practically run towards the theatre building, where the auditions were being held.
Luckily, the theatre building was only a five minute walk away from your dorm, so you managed to get there just in time. Everyone from your course was gathered in the hallway, and you spot Jeongin talking to some of his friends by the entrance.
You're huffing and puffing as you walk up to him, resting your hand on his shoulder as you fold over, breathing in and out heavily. He turns around, his eyes widening.
"You slept in," he says instantly, and all you can do is nod. He chuckles, moving himself to face you fully and abandoning his conversation with the guys behind him. "You're such an idiot. I was about to come and break your door down."
"Yeah, well, I've made it," you breath out, standing up right and taking your hand away.
"Thankfully," he says, tilting his head and giving you a smile. "You have two different shoes on, by the way."
You look down, and of course he's right. One black converse and one blue. Groaning, you slump against the wall behind you.
"Have you seen the audition schedule?" You ask, knowing they put out a list of who will audition in what order. There was about fifty or so people on your course, so auditions usually took most of the day, but once you were finished you could go home.
"Yeah, and you're one of the first people to audition, so you're lucky you made it in time."
"Of course I am," you say, knowing it's just your luck. "When's yours?"
"I'm a couple people after you. They say the auditions should finish around 4pm, then roles will be released around 8pm," Jeongin explains. Usually, you're not nervous about auditioning, but since you were going for the main lead, the stakes were high.
Jeongin gives you a nudge. "Don't be nervous," he says, as if able to read your mind. "You'll be great. You've practiced more than enough."
"I know, but still. I really want this part," you say honestly, and he nods knowing exactly how you feel.
"We'll try our best," he says, tilting his head with a grin, his dimples showing. "And I tell you what - no matter what parts we get, I'll get the guys together later for a drink and we can celebrate."
"Or drown our sorrows," you say, which he laughs at. Your conversation is interrupted, though, as your head lecturer comes out to bring the first person in for their audition. Everyone starts to sit down, knowing they'll be waiting around for a while.
Jeongin and you sit cross legged on the floor, going over your lines until you're called in for your audition. He gives you a grin and a thumbs up as you leave, which surprisingly seems to settle your nerves.
Taking a deep breath, you follow one of the student advisors who helped with the audition process through to the large stage room, where the auditions were being held.
Although it was your third year of university and you'd been in this room numerous times, a shiver ran down your spine at the thought of auditioning. Like a true professional, however, you walked with an aura of confidence; standing on the black 'X' taped onto the floor in front of the panel of lecturers assessing your audition.
"You may begin when you're ready," your head lecturer states with a smile, nodding her head at you. With the countless study sessions you've done of the Juliet audition script, you're able to recite your lines with ease, it all flowing back to you in the heat of the moment.
Acting is second nature to you. It had been since you were a kid, putting on performances for your family. It continued through middle school, as you signed up to every school play and scored the lead in every single one. And it shined now, as you spoke your lines out perfectly.
You finish your audition feeling as though you couldn't have tried harder, which was all you wanted. Of course, you realised you wouldn't get the lead role in everything, but there was something so captivating about playing Juliet - you just had to get this role.
Your head lecturer, Miss Choi, smiles at you warmly as you bow, a standard practice after auditioning. She doesn't say anything but nods her head as if to say, 'you may leave.' The audition process of your university was something you'd become very aware of - you knew your lecturers would not be allowed to give any indication of who got what roles until they posted the notice in a few hours.
So, you left the exam hall, feeling all eyes on you as you exited. You walk up to Jeongin instantly with a small smile on your face, not wanting to boast about how well your audition had gone in front of your peers.
"So?" He asks quietly, patting the space next to him as you crouch down against the wall and plant yourself beside him.
"It went well," you whisper, leaning in so that those around you can't hear. People are chatting, but there's a quiet and antsy aura surrounding the hallway space, so you don't take any chances.
"Of course it did," Jeongin says with no distaste to his tone, a grin lighting up his features. "I'm pleased for you!"
You knew he would be as he always is. It was one of the reasons you got along so well - being the only two of your friend group to be interested in acting in middle school caused you to instantly click, but what solidified your friendship was the fact that no matter who got what role, say Jeongin got a 'better' part than you, there was never any controversy between the two of you. You were always genuinely happy for each other.
You help Jeongin go over his lines as the next few auditions go by, listening intently as he says his audition piece. He was such a captivating performer, and you truly had no doubts in him getting the lead. You might have been biased, since he was one of your best friends, but you felt he fit the role of Romeo better than anyone else on your course.
As soon as his name is called, he stands up, throwing you a smile as he enters the hall. You wait patiently for him, scrolling aimlessly on your phone until he comes out, walking towards you and giving you a hand.
You take it, standing up and heading towards the buildings exit. "So?"
"Went good," he says lazily, holding the door open for you since you were both finished and could now do whatever until the roles were announced.
"Yeah? Remember all your lines?" You tease, walking out into the warm September air. Jeongin playfully shoved your side, watching with a laugh as you stumble, nearly missing someone walking in the opposite direction.
"Yeah, I did," he mocks back with a face. "Now, want to go to Eden or Pod?"
You weigh up the options of the two coffee places on your campus. "Eden," you answer. "It'll be quiet right now."
How mistaken you are. The place in general isn't busy, but you walk in to find Jisung and Felix slumped over a table at the back of the café. They notice you straight away, so after ordering your regular, they force you to sit with them.
"Are we looking at the new lead roles of the end of semester show?" Jisung asks instantly. "Or are we looking at the future owners of the cinema?"
"Shut up, Ji," Felix whines at him, nudging his leg from under the table for mocking you and Jeongin. He turns his attention to you. "Are we, though?"
"Calm down," Jeongin rolls his eyes as he pulls over a chair for you both to join the two boys at their table. "We won't know which roles we get until 8pm."
"Pity," Jisung huffs, moving his chair over slightly so Jeongin can sit beside him. "I was looking forward to hearing about it."
"You'll hear soon enough," you remind him, sitting in your seat beside Felix. "And even if we didn't get the leads, I'm sure we'd manage to find work out with the cinema."
Jisung scoffs, waving his hand. "Why would you want to?" He questions. "Best job on earth. Free popcorn, discounted movies - plus, you get to work with me!"
"The last of those is not a bonus," Jeongin teases, making a face when Jisung gives him his middle finger. "I was thinking, despite which roles we get we could all get together and have a drink tonight?"
"I'm up for that," Felix grins, closing his laptop as if he knows he's not going to be getting anymore work done. "Our dorm?"
"Yeah, if the other guys agree," Jeongin confirms. "I'll text them. You up for it, Jisung?"
"I'm always up to get drunk," he points out, which you all know to be true. "Plus, it's a Friday and I have no plans."
"So we're your last option?" You tease. He gives you a frown.
"Of course you are," he says as if it's obvious, no hesitance. "If I had a gorgeous girl to go and see, you guys wouldn't even be in the equation."
"Maybe you will be seeing a gorgeous girl tonight," you say all knowingly, giving Jisung a wiggle of your eyebrows.
"If you're talking about yourself, you're highly mistaken, and that's gross," he says, grimacing. You only roll your eyes and give Jeongin a smirk which he responds to with a laugh, knowing exactly who you were talking about.
"Why are you guys even here?" Jeongin asks, changing the subject. Felix huffs dramatically, turning his laptop around to show Joengin his work, displaying a word document that he'd written all but ten words on.
"Am I supposed to be looking at something substantial?" Jeongin questions cheekily, raising an eyebrow at Felix with a blank expression.
"It would be substantial if I understood the fucking assignment," Felix groans, turning his laptop back around. "You don't understand how much this course sucks now that I'm on my own."
You ruffle his hair gently, giving him a pouty face. Poor Felix was on the dance course at your school for the arts, which he used to enjoy greatly when Hyunjin was also on the same course.
Unfortunately for him, Hyunjin had switched to an art and design course halfway through last semester, claiming that art was his passion and dance was more of a hobby. Despite his warm aura and bubbly personality, Felix was as quiet as mouse around people he didn't know, thus making it impossible for the boy to make friends on his course. Thus, he's been struggling alone since Hyunjin's departure.
"You guys are so lucky you can do all your schoolwork together," Felix says to you and Jeongin, jealousy making him pout. All you do is shrug and give Jeongin a smile.
"He's not wrong," Jisung adds. "I wish I had someone to help with all my schoolwork."
Jeongin screws his eyebrows up, turning to face Jisung. "You have both Seungmin and Yunjin on your course," he points out, which makes Jisung roll his eyes.
"Seungmin is too goody two shows to ever give me the answers to stuff, and Yunjin is an idiot," he replies nonchalantly. Yunjin, Seungmin and Jisung were on the classical music course at your uni. It was kind of inevitable most of your middle school friend group would end up at a university for the arts, considering you'd grown up with a love for it. The only person from your friend group who didn't attend your university was Minho, who ended up going to a culinary school ten minutes away instead.
"Speaking of, aren't you supposed to be in lectures right now?" you point out, thinking about how you knew Yunjin's schedule and she was definitely in class right now.
"Don't care. Didn't ask," is Jisung's response. You roll your eyes, looking toward Felix. He shrugs.
"We do, but we ditched to write this assignment," Felix responds. Jeongin laughs, shaking his head.
"Good thing you've done a lot," he says sarcastically, which Felix gives him the evils for. Jeongin's phone pings then, which he attends to, pulling out his phone and checking the notifications. "Oh my god!"
"What?" You ask, watching him scan over the contents of the message.
"The auditions are finished," he says, eyes not leaving the screen. You don't have time to stress, since Jisung gives you all a grin.
"Excellent!" He claps his hands. "We will all be drunk when you get the results, so no matter what you get we'll have a good night, right?"
"Right," Jeongin confirms with a smile, flashing you his set of pearly whites. "On that note, we should all probably head and get ready."
"Sounds good to me," Felix sighs, closing his laptop down, ridding himself of the assignment he'd written nothing of. "I can't wait for a drink."
"Ditto," you chuckle, ruffling the boys hair. "We'll see you guys later then?"
"Yes you will," Jisung winks, which you gag at. With a nod toward Jeongin, the two of you leave the coffee shop, walking towards the dorms. The two of you say your farewells when you reach your dorm, making the plan to go to Jeongin's dorm for drinks in two hours.
SCENE ONE ・❥・ ACT THREE
"Look what the cat dragged in!" Minho grins when you and Yunjin walk into the boys dorm. Him and Jisung had arrived before you, clearly, and the boys had already started drinking. You give him a quick hug, letting him ruffle your hair. He gives Yunjin a side hug too, whilst Felix walks up to you both with drinks in his hands.
“Audition went well?” Minho asks as Felix places the cups in yous and Yunjin’s hands, which you gladly accept.
“She only made it by the skin of her teeth,” Yunjin giggles, which you roll your eyes at fondly, laughing when she sticks her tongue out at you.
“I think so,” you respond honestly, smiling when he gives you a thumbs up in response.
“Good, come join us. Hyunjin has Jisung in a headlock,” Minho chuckles, ushering you towards the living area of the dorm.
“Classic,” Yunjin laughs at the scene, in which Hyunjin truly does have Ji in a headlock. “Another bet?”
“Of course,” is Felix’s response. You wave towards Seungmin and Jeongin, the two boys waving back with beers in their hands. “Jisung is refusing to pay up.”
“What was it this time?” You laugh. The two boys were terrible for betting each other about anything and everything, which often ended up in debt and arguments.
“Something about Jisung being unable to ask some girl on a date,” Jeongin answers as he walks towards your group, Seungmin making an attempt to split the two boys up. Yunjin audibly scoffs at that, which you send Jeongin a look for. He shrugs his shoulders with an expression you read as, ‘I told you so.’
“Excuse me,” Jisung intervenes, shooting Hyunjin daggers. “I would have asked her out, but she literally wasn’t in class yesterday! Why would I give him money?”
“Because there was no sub rules stipulating her presence in the university building, all you had to do was ask her out by this morning - you could have sent her a lousy text for all I care,” Hyunjin shoots back nonchalantly, giving the two of you girls a nod hello.
“Wah wah, shut the fuck up the both of you,” Minho yawns, checking his phone. “There’s half an hour until your roles get released, so I say we play a drinking game until then?”
“Sounds good to me,” Seungmin grins, opening up a cupboard and pulling out a deck of cards. “These two are giving me a headache.”
Your drinking game flies by. You’d all created it years ago, the easiest game if all you had was a deck of cards. Everyone was dealt three cards, and the person with the highest score got to direct a question to whoever had the lowest score. You could either answer, or take the number of shots as your lowest card.
The last round, for example, concluded with Hyunjin pulling three kings (which Jisung deemed as cheating, since he dealt), and Yunjin ending up with two twos and a three. Instead of answering the incredibly invasive question Hyunjin had directed her, she’d taken two shots.
It was at that point you noticed it was past 8pm, and a notification pinged on both yours and Jeongin’s phone. You send him a nervous glance as you open it, the beady eyes of your friends watching you both cautiously.
“What did you get?” Seungmin asks, impatient as ever. You can’t hold back the grin the spreads on your face as you read ‘Juliet’ beside your name on the cast list.
“You got Juliet?” Jisung grins back, able to read your face a mile off. You nod, whilst your friends erupt in cheers so loud you can’t even think.
“I got Romeo,” Jeongin says then, increasing the noise tenfold as your friends hug you both, congratulating you on getting the leads. Jeongin hugs you tightly, dimples flashing as he tells you how proud he is. When it’s Yunjin’s turn to squeeze you, she pulls back with a weird look on her face.
“What?” You ask her, tilting your head as the boys start pouring celebratory shots, chatting amongst themselves.
“You’re Juliet and Jeongin’s Romeo,” she says, and you think she’s just stating the obvious. “You get what that means, right?”
You scrunch your nose up, not following where she was going with this.
“You’re playing love interests! You’re gonna have to kiss and, like, die for each other and stuff,” she says, flipping a strand of hair behind her ear.
And oh Christ, because no you didn’t think about that, and she can clearly tell as you watch Jeongin down a shot in horror. You’d have to kiss one of your best friends. You’d have to act as though you were in love with the boy you’d grown up with.
Yunjin only laughs, shaking her head.
“Oh girl,” she grins. “Break a leg.”
so after almost a year (I’m so sorry tf) the first part is here!! Lmk if you like it, I’m super excited about this (mainly because I’m biased I heart jeongin) but the concept is so cute too hehe
#stray kids#hwang hyunjin#jeongin#lee know#felix lee#han jisung#skz#seungmin kim#romeo and juliet#stray kids fic#yang jeongin x you#yang jeongin x reader#yang jeongin#yang jeongin smut#jeongin smut#jeongin fluff#jeongin angst#stray kids reactions#stray kids x y/n#stray kids x you#stray kids x reader
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Catelyn, Arya, and Alyssa Arryn: unshed tears + weeping statues symbolism
The half-mythic, half-ancestral figure of Alyssa Arryn furthers themes connecting Catelyn and her daughters (Arya in particular) and grief.
Alyssa Arryn had seen her husband, her brothers, and all her children slain, and yet in life she had never shed a tear. So in death, the gods had decreed that she would know no rest until her weeping watered the black earth of the Vale, where the men she had loved were buried. Alyssa had been dead six thousand years now, and still no drop of the torrent had ever reached the valley floor far below. Catelyn wondered how large a waterfall her own tears would make when she died.
Catelyn VII, AGOT
Alyssa was cursed by the gods because she did not grieve/weep for her family. Catelyn wants the war to be over so that she can weep for her family and grieve her losses.
I want to write an end to this. I want to go home, my lords, and weep for my husband."
Catelyn XI, AGOT
She woke aching and alone and weary; weary of riding, weary of hurting, weary of duty. I want to weep, she thought. I want to be comforted. I'm so tired of being strong. I want to be foolish and frightened for once. Just for a small while, that's all... a day... an hour...
Catelyn II, ACOK
However, she can't, because she's emotionally exhausted and burdened by her duties, and because she thinks she has to be strong for the sake of Robb.
Does he see Bran and Rickon as well? She might have wept, but there were no tears left in her.
Catelyn III, ASOS
Six Brave men had died to bring her this far, and yet she could not even find it in her to weep for them.
Catelyn VI, AGOT
The parallel between Catelyn and Alyssa is furthered when Bronn breaks the statue of Alyssa during the duel and subsequently uses it to pin his opponent to the ground and kill him, thus shattering Catelyn’s hopes of justice.
The Eyrie's plump septon escorted him to the statue in the center of the garden, a weeping woman carved in veined white marble, no doubt meant to be Alyssa.
Catelyn VII, AGOT
Jon Arryn's beautifully engraved silver sword glanced off the marble of the weeping woman and snapped clean a third of the way up the blade. Bronn put his shoulder into the states back. The weathered likeness of Alyssa Arryn tottered and fell with a great crash, and Ser vardis Egen went down beneath her.
Catelyn VII, AGOT
Catelyn dies in ASOS and is resurrected as a vengeful, inhuman fire wight, Lady Stoneheart. Lady Stoneheart demands vengeance, but that's not the true route to rest for Catelyn’s soul. In order for it to rest in peace, Catelyn needs to grieve her dead family members properly. She needs to let her tears fall. Mother Merciless needs Mercy. It has been theorised that her path will intersect with Arya's for this reason.
Art by Nejna on devianart
There are several passages in the books connecting Arya in Braavos to weeping statues of stone, unshed tears, and Catelyn/Lady Stoneheart.
Arya and Cat/Catelyn/Lady Stoneheart:
Cats never weep, she told herself, no more than wolves do.
Cat of the Canals, AFFC
Braavos was a good city for cats, and they roamed everywhere, especially at night. In the fog all cats are grey, Mercy thought.
Mercy, TWOW
Arya thinks cats are grey, and cats do not weep, paralleling the symbolism surrounding Lady Stoneheart.
Grey was the color of the silent sisters, the handmaidens of the Stranger. Brienne felt a shiver climb her spine. Stoneheart.
Brienne VIII, AFFC
Arya and unshed tears:
Some nights she might have cried herself to sleep if she had still been Arry or Weasel or Cat, or even Arya of House Stark… but no one had no tears.
The Blind Girl, ADWD
Arya and Weeping statues:
I am carved of stone, she reminded herself. I am a statue.
The Ugly Little Girl, ADWD
The nearest was a marble woman twelve feet tall. Real tears were trickling from her eyes, to fill the bowl she cradled in her arms. The Weeping Woman was the favorite of old women, Arya saw.
Arya I, AFFC
The statue outside the shrine of the Weeping Lady of Lys was crying silver tears as the ugly girl walked by.
The Ugly Little Girl, ADWD
It can be fairly reasoned that Arya and Lady Stoneheart's paths will intersect at some point. She is the Mercy to her Mother Merciless.
#arya stark#catelyn stark#asoiaf#alyssa arryn#lady stoneheart#cat of the canals#catelynisms#aryaisms#asoiaf character parallels#alyssa's tears
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Chosen of the Sun |
| dawn // fifty-two
| @rollingsim | @catamano | @keibea | @maladi777 | @poisonedsimmer | @amuhav | @sani-sims | @mangopysims | @izayoiri | @thesimperiuscurse
next / previous / beginning
THERION: What do you mean “King”?
ELION: Yes, pray tell, what do you mean?
TAYUIN: Why should we discuss anything in front of you? Can’t you wait outside?
KYRIE: Tay…
ELION: Rest assured, Prince of Faeries, I’ve no love in my heart for the Church. I won’t betray you to the clergy. I’m just here to keep your sainted priest safe and sound.
KYRIE: He’s true to his word. At least, he’s kept it thus far.
EIRA: What happened to your respect for authority?
ELION: Darling, the only authority I’m interested in is in this room.
EIRA: You really need to evaluate your priorities.
KYRIE: Enough. Can we please focus? Lord Tev’us, care to explain?
TAYUIN: I wouldn’t. We have no idea who this guy is.
SARAYN: And why should I care either way? As far as I can tell, no one is trying to murder us. To these so-called vigilantes, the Chosen Ten must look like helpless victims drafted into a merciless battleground. If they’d like to bring the fight to our front, I am more than happy to accept the challenge.
EVE: Let’s not be unreasonable. I’m sure most of us here would prefer to avoid violence. At least we should all be fully aware of all the stakes. So, if you will, please proceed. Let’s put everything out on the table here and now.
SARAYN: Very well. It’s no secret. When the Valkyrie and I were transported into the past— thanks to your charming display of self-control—
EVE: That’s so unnecessary!
ASTER: If this whole magic tradition thing falls through, we ten would excel as a theater troupe!
KYRIE: Lord Tev’us, do continue.
SARAYN: We were witness to, what I assume to be, some sort of cover-up. One of the Chosen murdered by elves of the royal guard.
KYRIE: Are you certain this is what you saw?
SARAYN: Without question.
ÅSE: Deathling is not wrong. It was all very confusing. Though, it seemed that all were familiar. They knew each other. Still, they killed him all the same…
SARAYN: Before he was slain, the elf, Castien Thallan, alluded to having angered his father. The ambush seemed to be the escalation of a particularly long-standing conflict. Either Thallan’s father had substantial pull in the royal sphere, or was one who could command such an attack. Someone like the King.
THERION: Killing his bastard and hiding the evidence? That’s low.
SARAYN: Perhaps. In any case, the guard made it clear that Castien was not the first.
#ts4#ts4 screenshots#ts4 story#ts4 bachelor challenge#chosen of the sun#oc: kyrie loren#cc: åse dalgaard#cc: aster songleaf#cc: eira#cc: eve ravenclaw-silvermoon#cc: indryr#cc: sarayn tev'us#cc: talila#cc: taiyo hayashi#cc: tayuin eth'salin#cc: therion erandaer#oc: elion maharis
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DAVID TENNANT AS RICHARD II FOR THE RSC (2013)
no matter where, of comfort no man speak. let’s talk of graves, of worms, and epitaphs, make dust our paper and with rainy eyes write sorrow on the bosom of the earth. let’s choose executors and talk of wills; and yet not so, for what can we bequeath save our deposed bodies to the ground? our lands, our lives and all are bolingbroke's, and nothing can we call our own but death and that small model of the barren earth which serves as paste and cover to our bones. for god’s sake, let us sit upon the ground and tell sad stories of the death of kings; how some have been deposed, some slain in war, some haunted by the ghosts they have deposed, some poison'd by their wives, some sleeping kill'd; all murder'd. for within the hollow crown that rounds the mortal temples of a king keeps death his court, and there the antic sits, scoffing his state and grinning at his pomp; allowing him a breath, a little scene, to monarchise, be fear'd and kill with looks, infusing him with self and vain conceit as if this flesh which walls about our life were brass impregnable, and humour'd thus, comes at the last and with a little pin bores through his castle wall, and farewell king! cover your heads, and mock not flesh and blood with solemn reverence; throw away respect, tradition, form and ceremonious duty, for you have but mistook me all this while. i live with bread like you, feel want, taste grief, need friends; subjected thus, how can you say to me, i am a king?
#still processing it all. aumerle tenderhearted cousin thou weep’st…..#my edit#david tennant#richard ii#shakespeare
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'Can I not, can I not, Mablung?' cried Túrin. 'But why no! For see, I am blind! Did you not know? Blind, blind, groping since childhood in a dark mist of Morgoth! Therefore leave me! Go, go! Go back to Doriath, and may winter shrivel it! A curse upon Menegroth! And a curse on your errand! This only was wanting. Now comes the night!’ [...]
But Mablung came and looked on the hideous shape of Glaurung lying dead, and he looked upon Túrin and was grieved, thinking of Húrin as he had seen him in the Nirnaeth Arnoediad, and the dreadful doom of his kin [...] Then Mablung said bitterly: 'I also have been meshed in the doom of the Children of Húrin, and thus with words have slain one that I loved.'
— THE CHILDREN OF HÚRIN, CHAPTER XVIII: THE DEATH OF TÚRIN
#silmedit#tolkienedit#tolkiensource#cohedit#túrin#mablung#the children of húrin#silmarillion#tolkien#fancast#moments and words that haunt me....#cradling their relatioship close to my heart#also mablung remembering húrin at the nirnaeth aughhh#*
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I really dont think laudna and ashtons anger at the gods is as misplaced as reddit makes it seem , cause like
Laudna:
was hanged on the tree of a god, by an acolite of an upcoming god. As far as she knows no god helped to prevent this.
She was also chased out by a bunch of people, typically in the company of some priest.
Their cleric godly friend keep being a shit about using an ability that instills fear of the gods into her, saying she needs to respect the gods after it even.
It could be entirely true that clerics get their ability not from gods, as fcg was able to be a cleric without it. Thus it is not weird to think that pike was the most important reason of her ressurection, not the everlight.
Ashton:
thought the gods were passive for a while, which would explain why he (cult victim, chronic pain) and people around them in their youth (greymoore orphans, bassuras in general, people in the inside of the core sprire) weren't helped with their problems.
then when they attacked the temple, they realized that representatives of the dawnfather would come to the aid of his acolites.
I dont think the bigger point is that the dawnfather(s representatives) didnt like them because they attacked their temple (because duh). I think its more important that the angel of the dawnfather helping these people proves that the gods aren't passive and will ''actively'' participate into things that help their goals.
Which looks kinda bad when you realize the gods and their followers were seeking power and influence around these nexus points so no one else could use it, even if it distrubed the community around the nexus point.
Yet it won't help prevent something like, for example, the blowing up of a town via cultists, the apex war, the hanging of multiple townspeople on one of his trees, etc.
The gods seperated themselves from humans to prevent all out divinity wars like the calamity again (they say ofc) but they do still have influence and they will use it for their own goals.
I do think that Ashton has a bunch of issues that they need to adress to make their opinion a bit more ''healthy'' and less ''personal''. Although I think its rooted in truth, they seem to think of it as a personal slight, while its more a ''the gods will do things for their own agenda'' type of thing.
The whole of bells hells also saw the judicators, which are basically people devoid of their personality that serve the gods. They saw people getting slain for simply knowing of predathos, which eventually imogen would also fall under. (even if they never got the information via stolen papers). And every believing person has been recruited to participate in the fight surrounding the red moon, while a lot of them will probably die.
Ofcourse critters know all the good (and bad) things some gods have done, but as for characters goes I do think their takes are pretty logical and I am tired of pretending it is not <3.
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In a little glade not far from the lake he found Boromir ...
He was sitting with his back to a great tree, as if he was resting. But Aragorn saw that he was pierced with many black-feathered arrows; his sword was still in his hand, but it was broken near the hilt; his horn cloven in two was at his side. Many Orcs lay slain, piled all about him and at his feet.
Aragorn knelt beside him. Boromir opened his eyes and strove to speak. At last slow words came. 'I tried to take the Ring from Frodo ' he said. 'I am sorry. I have paid.' His glance strayed to his fallen enemies; twenty at least lay there. 'They have gone: the Halflings: the Orcs have taken them. I think they are not dead. Orcs bound them.' He paused and his eyes closed wearily. After a moment he spoke again.
'Farewell, Aragorn! Go to Minas Tirith and save my people! I have failed.'
'No!' said Aragorn, taking his hand and kissing his brow. 'You have conquered. Few have gained such a victory. Be at peace! Minas Tirith shall not fall!'
Boromir smiled.
'Which way did they go? Was Frodo there?' said Aragorn.
But Boromir did not speak again.
'Alas!' said Aragorn. 'Thus passes the heir of Denethor, Lord of the Tower of Guard! This is a bitter end. Now the Company is all in ruin. It is I that have failed. Vain was Gandalf's trust in me. What shall I do now? Boromir has laid it on me to go to Minas Tirith, and my heart desires it; but where are the Ring and the Bearer? How shall I find them and save the Quest from disaster?'
He knelt for a while, bent with weeping, still clasping Boromir's hand. So it was that Legolas and Gimli found him. They came from the western slopes of the hill, silently, creeping through the trees as if they were hunting. Gimli had his axe in hand, and Legolas his long knife: all his arrows were spent. When they came into the glade they halted in amazement; and then they stood a moment with heads bowed in grief, for it seemed to them plain what had happened.
JRR Tolkien, The Lord of the Rings, The Two Towers, The Departure of Boromir
Peter Jackson, The Lord of the Rings, The Fellowship of the Ring, Extended Edition
#the lord of the rings#the two towers#the departure of boromir#jrr tolkien#amon hen#rauros#aragorn#boromir#peter jackson#the fellowship of the ring#extended edition#movie pics
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If I thought the Transformers (Aligned) timeline was convoluted, god the Trollhunters timeline is fucked beyond all hell, and worse of all because they use Merlin - bloody MERLIN - as a character that created the amulet there's an upper limit of time Trollhunters have existed before, heck even Myrddin Wyllt his welsh name (and canonical alternate name in the show), Merlin stops being the Merlin from human myth and starts becoming Merlin a similarly named folkloric character in troll myth-
I wonder if I, a fan coming in at minimum 2023, am arriving to this a little late but- if this isn't going to be a timeline rewrite then let me complain about how specific canonical details contradict with one another, including the glaringly obvious issue of Wizard's addition to the timeline, making Deya the Deliverer the first Trollhunter and thus practically erasing most of the historical Trollhunters or conforming to fit them all in a timeline of 900ish years.
I'll address the elephant in the room when we get to it, but let's set up the basics, both for me and any viewer not already in the know (given that my audience is mostly from transformers and ben 10, I'd say it's a lot of you).
Trolls and humans got off to a bad start, humans living on the surface and trolls having originated from a realm called the Darklands, accessible from a bridge (a gateway) Kilahead bridge. Like with any civilisation there are good and bad trolls, the baddest being Orlagk the Oppressor, leader of the Gumm-Gumms. Having been introduced to the surface, trolls fought with the humans who already lived on it creating the War for the Surface Lands, and their fighting lead the first Heartstone (a gigantic magical gem that serves as the centre of troll caverns, healing them and providing power) to corrupt and birth Gunmar. This war lasted for millennia, Gunmar taking over leadership of the Gumm-Gumms after slaying Orlagk at some vague point, up until the Battle of Kilahead Bridge where the Gumm-Gumms were sealed away in the Darklands again thanks to the Trollhunter Deya the Deliverer.
Okay, sure, that doesn't sound very bad at first, up until you realise that the Battle of Kilahead Bridge was 900 years prior to the series (2016 was it's release date) and thus in the year 1116 AD give or take; the legend of Merlin as a magician, a wizard, was in the 12th century which would've been instead at minimum 1300 AD that's 200 years of difference. Not to mention Angor Rot - a character and antagonist in the show - came begging for magic to stop Gunmar's armies from destroying more and more independant troll tribes, like his own, in 1200 AD at least. Why in the fucking hell would Angor Rot bother to risk his own soul asking for magic, from a sorcerer known as (among many things) the Eldritch Queen, if Gunmar and his Gumm-Gumms were already kept within the Darklands. Gunmar's son Bular, the one Gumm-Gumm to not be banished, is surely not that much of a threat to not one but multiple villages it would send someone to the doorstep of the Pale Lady. In addition, Angor Rot was responsible for killing at least a few Trollhunters, one known and named being Voltar the Voracious, who was the only Trollhunter given an exact year of choosing in 1578. And the fucker is listed BEFORE Deya on the wiki but that alone doesn't mean anything, however she does die in 1620 to Bular, 396 years before the show.
Alright then, so you look at Merlin's mythological existence and go 'now what about the whole thing about millenia' because 12th century doesn't allow the War for the Surface Lands to have a Trollhunter, even with 11 named Trollhunters that come presumably before Deya (Unkar the Unfortunate, despite being trained by Blinky who in human standards - assuming his human body tells us his age - is probably about middle age give or take, fought in the time Gumm-Gumms were still around even if slain by Bular). Given that Trollhunters itself references Merlin's original Welsh name Myrddin (and his in show last name is Ambrosius, which would be Emyrs in the original Welsh, as opposed to Wyllt for 'of the wild), I thought that potentially looking into when Myrddin first came around I would be able to get a better timeline; Myrddin Wyllt was said to have been born - and not just the legend - in 540 AD, which gives between that and 2016 1476 years to work with, allowing the 400ish years ago that Deya died (and the 438 years from when Voltar had the amulet) and the millenia's worth of war the War for the Surface Lands took.
Done deal, right?
Well guess what, some fucker named Spar the Spiteful (not even the first Trollhunter like Deya so proclaims to be) died 5200 years before Jim, our protagonist and first HUMAN Trollhunter, ever picked up the mantle. 5200 years before 2016 is the bloody fucking 4th millenium BC. This period included the beginnings of the Bronze Age, and was the bloody time WRITING was invented! And in Spar's time, there was no DOMESTIC HORSES! HORSE RIDING DIDN'T BLOODY EXIST WHEN SPAR DIED HOW FUCKED IT THAT!?
God FUCKING DAMN IT!
Fine, I can work with this.
Merlin in the show is all the old man we think of him as in myth, but he's also still old when we go back in time to when the Battle of Kilahead Bridge takes place, albeit it without a full head of grey hairs (how does the old man age more than his teen/young adult apprentice) potentially as a young sorcerer/wizard/whatever they use these terms interchangeably, Merlin or Myrddin created the Amulet of Daylight. You could even give more wriggle room between whenever trolls came to the surface and when Merlin made the amulet, because although Orlagk was a figure explicitly older than Gunmar, there is no mention of an amulet without Gunmar simply a time when he was still not a leader. In fact, given that Merlin's original name - Myrddin - came from a riddle designed with the intent to kill Gunmar, a piece informing the Trollhunter teams how to kill Gunmar rather than Orlagk the original leader, perhaps it's befitting to make Myrddin technically younger than the trolls; given that the original purpose of the Amulet of Daylight was not to kill Gunmar but to protect trolls, seeing as how one of the keys to Gunmar's destruction is a Triumbric Stone (one of 3) that resulted in the death of Orlagk, the amulet can date to before Gunmar and have been made after the Gumm-Gumms took out their rage on other trolls instead of humans alone.
The Trollhunter after Spar the Spiteful was Boraz the Bold, named that specifically for taking on 1000 Gumm-Gumms, was killed by Bular who was - as I said - Gunmar's son. While that does not mean that Spar the previous Trollhunter existed before Bular did, it does mean that by the time Boraz was selected after Spar's position Bular was competent enough to slay a Trollhunter, especially one as 'Bold' as Boraz who felled a thousand Gumm-Gumms before falling to 1001. It would mean that his father Gunmar would be much older, potentially tracking further and further back in time and putting Orlagk's death deeper and deeper into the War for the Surface Lands, potentially even aligned Orlagk's death and the Triumbric Stone's creation to a period humans heard of Myrddin, the death of Orlagk potentially landing in 540 AD, perhaps even in 573 AD where an actual battle took place, the Battle of Arfderydd; this details a Riderch Hael, King of Alt Clut (Stratclyde, a Brittonic kingdom in northern... well... Britain, which got annexed in the 11th century AKA 1000 AD to become part of the emerging Kingdom of Scotland) slaughtering the forces of a Gwenddoleu ap Ceidio, Myrddin having gone mad watching that defeat.
The remaining named Trollhunters, ones that weren't explicitly dated and timed, are in a bullshit order on the Wiki that I just have to piece together what is being said to put together a timeline.
Maddrux the Many, he/him in the show and she/her in the comics, was canonically an active Trollhunter before another, Araknak the Agile, was either born or an actual functioning adult; Araknak is the ancestor of the previously mentioned (and assumed to be) middle aged Blinkous Galadrigal and his brother (an older brother or twin depending on who you quote) Dictatious Maximus Galadrigal, the pair being present for the Battle of Kilahead Bridge and still alive by 2016 and idk about Tatious but Blinky appears in 2017 or at least whenever RoTT takes place. To use the term ancestor instead of grandparent or even parent, which technically ancestor can be used on either anyway, means that the exact family history is undetermined. However, we can place Maddrux at the very least on the timeline where Orlagk was still active in, seeing as that was her major enemy in the comics.
At the end of her service instead of going directly to Araknak, a Trollhunter preceded him in Magmar the Molten, the only known mountain troll to be a wielder of Daylight. Interesting to note, Araknak learnt from Magmar a certain combat move so, even before his selection by the amulet Araknak was already preferring the lifestyle of a warrior in comparison to his scholar parents; a trait that outlasted the warrior spirit and descended to the Galadrigals however many years later. Mentioned specifically as preceding not only Araknak but Tellad-Urr, we have another date to place as Tellad-Urr the Triumphant - very soon to be Tellad-Urr the Terrible - was active until 501 CE where Orlagk was still alive; how convientient. It helps that Gogun the Gentle - his immediate successor - would be the only Trollhunter to die of old age, potentially because Gunmar was too busy killing Orlagk and Orlagk too busy being dead for either of them to do anything.
Hopefully Gogun was already an old fart because the oldest recorded troll Chokeenamaga lived to 5352 years and I have no idea if that's slightly above average, notably old, or specific to a troll type (like for example, mountain trolls may have the longest average lifespan of all trollkin), and it's not like I can look at the show for any reference because Draal the Deadly, son of Kanjigar the Couragous and the previous Trollhunter did not age between 900 years yet there are no troll whelps in modern Trollmarket, let alone the fact that the Battle of Kilahead Bridge according to our established Trollhunters could not have happened before 1578 but must have happened between then and 1620. And Draal is an adult in modern day but is rather impulsive and I do not know if that is simply a troll trait or the trait of a twenty something year old that should've had a different design in the past but couldn't because of the limitations of 3D show animation (Prime fans would know or at least see visually that you can't just design a cybertronian version of a bot's root mode without things getting expensive, it's why Skyquake couldn't fly despite looking the same before and after alt mode acquisition).
Speaking of age, this is also the time where Aaarrrgghh!!! was a teenager, which either means that Blinky is actually much younger than Aaarrrgghh!!! or there is another Trollhunter or few between Araknak the Agile and Tellad-Urr the Terrible; 5200 years is a lot of grounds to cover, especially with a Trollhunter dying of age between it. Tellad-Urr has an appearance similar to Kanjigar, and given that it's a book cover rather than a 3D model there may be grounds for him being of the same tribe as Kanjigar if not an ancestor like Araknak to Blinky. It could work give or take, especially since 'ancestor' is less of an official word and more of a footnote for someone's opinion, but it isn't word of god nor anything found in any media.
And keeping with age (last one I promise) Gorgus the Gorgeous, referenced in terms used by modern trolls 'By Gorgus' or 'Great Gorgus', was one of the youngest Trollhunters to be chosen. Whether he was younger than Jim Lake Jr, 16 years old at his time of getting the amulet, depends on what the hell the age of 24 fucking means to a troll. Is it the equivalent of 24 years in troll years? If so then why the hell does he begin training 32 troll years later at age 56 if he wasn't chosen to have the amulet at 24 human years old. What is 24 human years to a troll. NotEnrique, a changeling (troll whelp cursed to change into a human, can do so at will) is canonically a few centuries old, and he is fresh from the Darklands after replacing a human baby Enrique. He at a few centuries old is able to throw and host a troll party at his age, and maybe changeling's age differently and a changeling hosting a troll party would be very new because haha discrimination, but no troll flinches at the concept. And a few centuries could be considered more than 2 (being a few it's already more than 1) so the more centuries you tack on to this college type frat party host the more and more Gorgus' age becomes terrifyingly young like exorbitantly so.
If a few centuries means 'ability to host a party where full grown trolls do keg stands' then 24 probably means whelp, baby, a fucking toddler by troll standards, assuming changelings follow troll aging standards against their human mimicking physical development standards. If a 24 year old Trollhunter is only ONE OF the youngest Trollhunters, who was the youngest? Predestined at bloody birth!? Gorgus started training at age 56, presumably when he was old enough to wield a sword, being trained by none other than Kanjigar himself; Gorgus died during training when a group of Gumm-Gumms attacked, an arrow hitting him in the head. If NotEnrique was an adult, or at the very least on the cusp of it, at a few centuries old - more than 1, probably more than 2 - then what of someone at age 56, less than a few centuries, less than one. Whether Kanjigar was a father at the time or not, loosing a kid under his guidance - to death no less - would've stuck with anyone. Why was this child sentenced to death, and so young too. One can argue all the Trollhunters to failed to live up to legacy, who became their own version of Unkar the Unfortunate, were sentenced to death and fated to die young. Gogun may have defied fate and beat the ticking clock, but Gorgus the Gorgeous - a gorgeous child, a son to parents that will never see their little boy again - proved that there is no outrunning the clock for the bells toll for thee.
If Unkar was before Gorgus, then it is to be presumed that by dying on his first night - after 6 hours of training - that Gorgus the Gorgeous was failed by Blinkous in the same way Unkar had been. The next Trollhunter in line was summoned too soon, so because of Blinky's failure the trolls against Gumm-Gumms were without a defender, potentially reducing the remaining candidates for better trainers by slaughtering them before the Trollhunter was of age. If Unkar was after Gorgus, then Kanjigar needed to step away from training, even as it was his task given to the aging elder Rundle, potentially a younger but very busy Vendel, an elder by proxy of everyone else dying on the edges of Gumm-Gumm blades. He couldn't sacrifice another child to death, and as the amulet falls onto the arrogant overconfident Unkar, Kanjigar could not bare to have stone dust on his hands again. Blinkous Galadrigal (there is no mention of Dictatious despite the presence of Gumm-Gumms in Unkar's time) is tasked to train Unkar, to teach him the tennants of Trollhunter and put to good use his scholarly teachings and pray that the soul of his Trollhunter ancestor guides him. Unfortunately - as Unkar will be enshrined in by title - you cannot let a scholar do a warrior's duty.
However way it plays out, Blinky was young (or at least younger), and his failure marked his reputation for centuries.
There is a Grimbald the Grave, trained with Kanjigar AND Deya, which would definitely place that before 1620 and potentially before 1578; Voltar wasn't mentioned to have been trained by either, but given that he was the last Trollhunter before Deya (at the very least in close proximity), Grimbald most likely came before. Now this seems like a non-issue, if you consider Grimbald against our timeline nothing seems to be wrong, potentially Kanjigar's age since he's been around for a while but his son's an adult in the modern day so he could potentially be older than Blinky who knows. But I have an elephant to address and since it's been so long since I brought it up it's been drinking tea this whole time.
Wizards, the third installment of the Tales of Arcadia series, sequel to Trollhunters, introduces to audiences that Deya the Deliverer was originally Callista the Calamity, a troll who's tribe had been wiped out by humans and had been living in human custody since she was a whelp (or of an age that she had forgotten her name). Deya makes the timeline such a mess, because her first appearance in the comics, she was of an age where Rundle - Vendel's father - was the elder of Glastonbury Tor Trollmarket at the time of Deya, the Trollmarket before Dwoza which is the Trollmarket before Arcadia. Rundle was around in 501 AD, but it was his father Kilfred who was the elder and his son Vendel was of age enough to help in consulting, however old that is. In Wizards however, Vendel was the elder of Dwoza before Deya was Deya and when Callista was still an outcast, and even then he was only the elder by proxy, signs of his father Rundle or of Kilfred missing. Of course however Rundle could have been elder of Dwoza, as his father before him was elder of Glastonbury Tor, simply that he was potentially slain potentially died of old age and that Vendel being one of the few older than most of the Dwozan trolls took over in his father's stead.
The issue with Deya is that I really like the Callista part of her backstory, of being an outsider, an outcast, in the world of trolls that still hated humanity but held a deeper fear of the Gumm-Gumms. Diaspora for trolls, Callista the Calamity is seen as a human pet despite her wanting to find her way home, a home she can never go back to because it had been destroyed long ago; the one place that she could be accepted don't because they see her as too human, a far cry to being called a monster by humans but certainly not relieving. But she had become Deya, and found her footing as the Deliverer, by turning the Trollhunter from a single force to fighting alone to rallying a bunch of... gravellors? (Whatever, I like to think of Dwoza as essentially a refugee tribe given it's diversity in comparison to the Krubera tribe who are only krubera and the Quagawump tribe who are only - save for the generic troll king Angor killed - quagawumps) to fight one last fight against the Gumm-Gumms and ending the War for the Surface Lands.
...SO... that probably means that Grimbald was trained exclusively by Kanjigar after the whole Unkar and/or Gorgus ordeal and eventually got the Trollhunter's amulet himself when Deya was slain, her sacrifice delivering the migrating trolls of Dwoza a chance to get to the New World (or the Americas). Oh and their migration was after Vendel and some king wrote a truce called 'The Pact', which - I mean - it's described as a feeble truce and with a name like that I don't blame it, where they promise to stop eating humans and limited their diet to cats and used clothes which well- they might've broke on the journey to the New World because hiding in the cramped ballast of a 1600s era boat isn't fun nor is it fast. But regardless-
I think for a sense of cohesion, let me pull out an almost timeline for this post.
Trolls who had previously been in the Darklands somehow get to the surface
Tensions between trolls and the already present humans grows beginning the War for the Surface Lands
The intensity of the war corrupts the first Heartstone, giving birth to Gunmar
A young wizard Myrddin creates the Amulet of Daylight and gifts it to the good trolls
Spar the Spiteful gets the amulet. He dies 5200 years ago
Boraz the Bold gets the amulet. He dies to Bular, Gunmar's son.
Maddrux the Many gets the amulet
Magmar the Molten, the first mountain troll Trollhunter, gets the amulet
Araknak the Agile, ancestor to Blinkous and Dictatious Galadrigal, gets the amulet
Tellad-Urr the Triumphant, turned Tellad-Urr the Terrible, gets the amulet. He is killed in 501 AD
Gogun the Gentle gets the amulet.
Orlagk the Oppressor is slain by Gunmar. Gunmar loses an eye
Gogun dies of old age.
Angor Rot makes a pact with the Pale Lady, trading his soul for her magic
Unkar the Unfortunate gets the amulet. He dies 6 hours later
Gorgus the Gorgeous, one of the youngest Trollhunters, gets the amulet. He dies at age 56
Grimbald gets the amulet
Voltar the Voracious, born of two minds, gets the amulet in 1578. He dies to Angor Rot and his soul is stolen
Deya the Deliverer, previously Callista the Calamity, gets the amulet
The Battle of Kilahead Bridge is fought. Gunmar is defeated and the Gumm-Gumms (+ Dictatious Galadrigal) are trapped in the Darklands
Deya dies against Bular, last remaining Gumm-Gumm on the surface, in 1620
Kanjigar the Couragous, trainer of many Trollhunters, gets the amulet. He dies to Bular in 2016
James Lake Junior gets the amulet, and the events of the series take place
So, members of the Trollhunter fandom, how'd I do? If you stuck around this long, welcome to my gimmick, long posts :)
Hoo boy how should I tag this?
#trollhunters#toa#rambling#headcanon#idk this is a timeline rewrite but not a rewrite yaknow#like i'm interested in what the book timeline might have to offer#but idk#this took me several hours to write#give or take 4 hours maybe#not every trollhunter in the history of trollhunting is named because not every trollhunter has been listed#and kanjigar is only noted as the trainer of trollhunters because he's the one trollhunter to have experience with trollhunting i suppose#also- its one thing to have longevity as a species (i come from the transformers fandom those robots are fucking old)#it's another to have fathers and ancestors and dying of old age without considering how that shit works#like the oldest lived troll is in the 5 thousands right? is it the equivalent of 100 years old for humans?#like is the typical age of an elder troll 4000? is it just as likely they might cark it at 3000?#that's 80 and 60 in human terms- maybe the common age of an elder troll is 3500 at a human 70 equivalent#24 years in comparison to 5000 years is like a 6 month old human baby#56 compared to 5000 is 1 year old but surely that is not the case#trolls are apparently born egg-like... as egg-like taking a piece of each other literally and putting them together as one object#that eventually hatches into a troll whelp is egg-like... the parts i mean are heartstones which i think are hearts#draal is described to have hatched this way with ballustra and kanjigar splitting their heartstones#what the hell are gronknuts then meta answer kicking people between the legs is integral to kid comedy#okay i'm going to stop looking at my screen i don't have a mirror but my eyes feel like they're red
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“Not planning to stick around for a cuddle?”
It was one particularly uneventful night, a rare occurrence during their travels in the Underdark thus far. There had been no minotaurs, no bulettes nor spectators, nothing to interrupt their rest. Sindyrdra and Lae’zel had snuck to a small alcove not far from where their companions slept, an opening carved from the rock surrounding them. It was their first tryst since they’d ventured into the Underdark. The gith was a wonderful way to let off steam, but Sindyrdra found herself wishing for something more when they’d finished. Silly of her, for certain. She’d become somewhat sentimental from her years spent on the surface.
“Chk. You bring this up again?” Lae’zel had risen to fetch her discarded clothing. The Underdark was devoid of moonlight, but the glowing mushrooms in the cavern around them illuminated the glistening sweat on her skin instead. “This act you speak of is frivolous and wasteful. Come, let us return to camp and make better use of our time.”
Sindyrdra didn’t move. “And yet,” She began, a smirk playing on her lips. “You admit you’ve never tried. How can you be so certain?”
“How does a varsh know when a pupil shall be slain by their betters?” Lae’zel rolled her eyes. “If there were any useful function of this cuddling, Githyanki would have implemented it into our training regimens.”
The image those words brought to mind had Sindyrdra stifling a laugh. Laughter, however, would taunt Lae’zel too far. There was a delicate balance in convincing the woman of anything. It was easy to go onto the wrong track. She had learned that the hard way, when she’d failed to persuade her to lie to the Kith’rak at the bridge. That had been a long and bloody fight, even against only a few other gith. How they’d managed to survive fighting their way out of an entire créche later on, Sindyrdra did not know.
“It seems as though the mighty Lae’zel is scared of that which she does not understand,” Sindyrdra raised an eyebrow. “Try it, and understand. If you don’t enjoy it,” She shrugged. “I’ll shut up about it forever.”
“I am not scared!” Lae’zel snapped, but shifted uncomfortably. Sindyrdra held out her arms wide, luring in her catch. It was all she could do not to smile the widest smile when Lae’zel’s shoulders fell and she began towards Sindyrdra, huffing, “g’lyck…”
Stiff as a board, Lae’zel stood above Sindyrdra, frowning. She hadn’t a clue what to do next. Sindyrdra took pity on her and opted to help her rather than watch her squirm, which would have been cruel but shamefully entertaining. Leaning forward, she took one of Lae’zel’s hands that hung limp at her sides, and pressed her lips to the second knuckle. Their eyes didn’t leave one another’s for even a moment. She coaxed Lae’zel forward and she bent down to her knees, hesitating before falling completely into Sindydra’s arms, her face unsure.
“I do not–”
“Shh,” Sindyrdra shook her head and carefully guided Lae’zel down to her level, taking both her wrists and wrapping her arms around her torso. Tentatively, Lae’zel laid her head upon her breast, and Sindyrdra brought a hand to rest on the back of her head, raking gentle fingers through her hair.
All words seemed to have left the headstrong gith as they sat entangled. A sigh fell from her lips, and her eyes fluttered closed involuntarily. Sindyrdra was careful not to spook her, not allowing herself to adjust even when her right shoulder began to scream in protest. This was farther than they’d ever gotten, and she wasn’t about to let something as insignificant as comfort ruin this for her. Just as she wouldn’t listen to the warnings shouting at the back of her mind. There was nothing wrong with this. There was nothing weak about this. She would say it to herself a thousand times over if she must.
“Your heart,” Lae’zel said suddenly, her voice small and soft. “It thrums as quickly and as elegantly as a war drum.”
If she had turned her head up to look at her, Lae’zel would have seen Sindyrdra flushing a deep purple. Her heart was beating rather fast. But Lae’zel hadn’t meant it as a tease. Her words were spoken almost with awe, and Sindydra noticed she was clinging to her tighter than she had been before.
Sindyrdra cleared her throat, ignoring the growing bloom in her chest. “Is that githyanki for ‘this is nice’?”
Lae’zel only hummed, rubbing her face against Sindyrdra contentedly. The two laid in silence for some time, listening to the drip of water in the cave and the hauntingly beautiful sounds of the Underdark outside. Eventually, the rest of camp would wonder where they’d run off to, but Sindyrdra couldn’t bring herself to care. In fact, she couldn’t bring herself to care about any of the things she’d been agonizing over in that moment. Not even the tadpole could bother her here.
As the night went on, Sindyrdra found herself slipping into a trance involuntarily. It had been too long since she meditated, she realized. She was about to stir and tell Lae’zel they should head back, as random caverns weren’t the safest places to rest in the Underdark, when Lae’zel spoke; half-asleep, her voice hoarse from being unused.
“This is nice,” She said.
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I just realized that every time I answer a LotR Silmarillion lore question or make a lore dump post, the way I talk about the setting low key implies I lived through all the events and am struggling to remember every last detail when spitballing the facts.
Which does fit since LotR's metalore is that the books are being translated from Hobbitish/Westron and Quenyan/Sindarin/whatever into English by JRR Tolkien. Except I'm not an long-lived species be it elf or ainur.
I know I've seen a lot of people talk about Elrond or Galadriel, or Legolas or straight up Gandalf just breaking the minds of the shorter lived species with weird historical facts.
Elrond actually did it in canon. Just... straight up dropped the fact that he remembered the final fight with Morgoth at the end of the First Age - the destruction of Thangorodrim and thus so too Ancalagon.
On a related note Elrond seeing Isildur look at the One Ring... you know he would've been groaning. Because I'm sure he's seen that exact sort of face before. And Elrond knows exactly how much obsession with a mystical artifact can warp the mind and twist common sense. Hell, the fact that no one even knew that the Ring was taken...
Look, Boromir said that no one knew what happened to the Ring. That the men of Gondor thought it was destroyed with Sauron's domain. And the 'few' who knew what happened with Isildur and the Ring was as Elrond put it "He alone stood by his father in that last mortal contest; and by Gil-galad only Círdan stood, and I." Implying that the other fighters were too far away or slain by Sauron. Also? Elrond was serving as Gil-galad's herald. Which is a job, and to my understanding a mix of messenger, diplomat, and knight tournament referee.
#just talking#lord of the rings#the silmarillion#elrond peredhel#isildur#gil galad#cirdan#sauron#mairon#morgoth#melkor
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The Fool
i was tagged by @purdledooturt to do WIP wednesday and here i am! i had the idea for a postgame ascended astarion fanfic, but with my own little twist, lol. here is the first chapter!
Summary: With no other options left to expend, Tav implemented a temporary solution. If the Vampire Lord could not be killed or saved, they would have to dull his strength - severely. And unfortunately, there is a ranger in Faerûn who is naive enough, kind enough, to feel bad for him.
Word count: 2.2k
Pairing: Ascended Astarion x Ranger!Female OC, but he's cursed to be a bat, because it's funny
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The woods communicate, the soil must feel. Eyes etched into the bark of oaks, ears tucked into leaves. A hidden pact between the forest and wolves, roaches, beasts. It all sang to her, the tune that had been ingrained in her blood since birth. Pyryeva ran over her memories of lycanthropes in her head: the followers of Urdlen she had come across and slain, the petulant werecats clawing at her ankles in the defense of Shar, the wereboar who rammed into her tent and could not be convinced to just talk it out.
In fact, she often preferred to just convince creatures to leave - to stop harassing villages, or trampling beloved buildings. Other people found her a bit odd, something foreign and drifting behind her eyes that must have uneased acquaintances. But animals… understood. Scaled, hairy, or vicious, they paused to listen all the same.
And so this troop of lycanthropes, she prayed to Ilmater, would stop their ravaging and just listen. Her passing through the Wood of Sharp Teeth was meant to be swift, just a stop on her journey toward the Reaching Woods. The shreds of the High Moor Heroes’ Guild summoned her back home to Elturel, tearing her away from the outskirts of Candlekeep.
Candlekeep, she had once dreamed, would be the city where she finally became an academic, a scholar. Instead, she was promptly declined from every formal institution for her… well, there was a running list. Lack of foresight, short-term memory failure, lack of perception, lack of artistic strength. It took her around thirty minutes to realize that these tests were not actually a qualifier for entry through the Emerald Door, and instead the guards’ cruel way of mocking her.
Her exit from Candlekeep was bittersweet, but she knew that it would lead nowhere. As had many of her ventures - a poor attempt to be anything but a ranger with impressive aim. Politics slipped from her fingers before she even grasped it, an incomprehensible block of information that she could not register, let alone wield. Then there was fiction, song, welding. Fiction felt as though it was holding her mind and wringing it of all its joy, so she quit. Song tumbled from her mouth like a dreary scratching. She actually quite liked that hobby, but that time it was the protesting of her peers that willed her to leave it behind. Weapons were too heavy and domineering in her thin hands, fingers too fitted for a sleek bow to keep something formidable in her hold.
Embroidery stuck, her quick fingers weaving through fabric easily. That was enjoyable, for a while - the outstretched hands of Ilmater twined through her leather armor. And then, once her God had been preserved on all of her belongings, she was out of ideas. Nature was the next obvious option, but the badger she wanted for her gloves muddled into splotches in practice. The lovely frog for her blanket resembled more of wretched Grung.
Thus, Eltruel called to her, and she harkened back. Only the Wood of Sharp Teeth bisected her path home, and when the renowned storyteller Pallidor pleaded for her help against the plague of lycanthropes - was she meant to decline?
Werewolves, Pallidor had described them, cunning and volatile. They were still reeling from their loss alongside Grand Duke Valarken, though that man was long dead. She would have loved to live to see that battle. Pyryeva found humanity one of her greatest pleasures: their intense emotions, vulnerability, and courage lended themselves well to sex and gluttony, two of her favorite pastimes. However, she felt torn over the human lifespan. It was 1500 DR, the dawn of a new generation, and nothing exciting was happening. The monsters had been slain, most notably The Absolute. She loathed having not been a part of the “Heroes” troop. But she assured herself that she was meant to be alone, and meant to like it, and meant to give and give as Ilmater commanded.
As ridiculous as it may seem, she wished that new monsters would rise up in the coming years to give her a title of her own. Good things come to those who wait, as her scripture alleged. She smiled, padding along the damp forest floor, imagining beasts scurrying away under her command in exchange for heaps of gold.
Lycanthropes came in many forms: beautiful elven women or menacing orcs, their transformations ranging from a delicate swan to a dreadful wereserpent. Her awareness stirred, the woods calling out to her.
Deep musk, wiry fur tickling her fingers as if she was touching it freely.
The sight of her targets were just as she had pictured - goring, rabid werewolves. Like gnolls, but hopefully receptive to a little charisma. Curiously, though, their focus was completely rapt on the trees overhead, paws swiping at the air with no success. Had they taken it upon themselves to hunt a squirrel? Or a bird?
“Going after a squirrel? They’re defenseless,” Pyryeva watched them, like puppies chasing a toy. The pack of three whirled on her, snarling. The tallest one of the group ducked to all fours, lunging at her. The ranger’s nails dug into tree bark, crumbling under her force, as she leveraged herself atop the oak.
“I don’t want to shoot you, but I could,” The bow was already in position, an arrow tipped with silver aimed for his yellow, feral eyes. “I’m good at this. It’s kind of my job.”
He only responded with a grunt, before clawing his way up the base. Fine.
Blood squirted from his right eye socket, a dog yelp escaping his snout as he loosened his grip on the tree.
“Had enough?” She muttered, another arrow taut, suspended by her bow, immediately. The two lackeys in his wake deliberated amongst themselves, weighing the benefit of their previous prey with the supple-fleshed human hanging in a nearby tree. Apparently, Pyryeva was a better target.
“No way!” A huff escapes her as she hones her focus on one of her most consumptive spells, Speak with Plants. A waste in a battle so easily winnable such as this - as mother would scold - but Pyryeva was hired for her ability to win, not her ability to devise. The roots of the wide birch beneath the two lycanthropes rose from the dirt, entangling their massive paws.
“Your friends are trapped, and you’re about to be blind!” She called down to the leader. “Come out of your wolf forms, and talk to me!”
Instead, the werebeast opted to shake the oak with all his might, interrupting her balance. As a teenager, she despised when her instructors would force her to stand on one leg, books piled atop her head, for hours on end. Balance this, balance that. As if she had been training to join the circus, to tiptoe across rope. But it was as if novels depicting fairytales and wizard battles were resting on her skull, pressuring her to still.
“I don’t have to spare you, you know! I’ve just been hired to get your group to go away, and I’m trying to be kind!”
This wolf was relentless, yanking the arrow from his eye with a deep grunt.
“Damn you,” She hissed, her silver arrow heading for his throat, rather than another eye. The yellow of his iris was consumed by black, staring her down as he collapsed onto the leaves and soil. With a flick of her wrist, a swarm of pixies gathered around her frame, swirling down to the ground with her as she plummeted off of the tree.
The two final opponents stood, ankles beginning to look raw from the friction of their incessant wriggling.
“Will someone please just listen to me,” She panted. “I am Pyryeva. You are free to leave these woods - I will not harm you. All I ask for is peace.”
“And if you don’t give me peace, I will stick my pixies on you, and leave you for dead.”
The green fairies around her cheered with fanatic anticipation. No peace! No peace! No peace! Shrill giggles fell flat around the three of them, lost to the dank vines and stumps.
A burst of energy from the left side, dissipating to reveal a thin elven man with black curls. Pyryeva sighed with relief, ready to start speaking instead of threatening, but he offered her no such grace.
“We, the true lycanthropes of this realm, will not be outcast to other planes for any longer!” He bellowed. “Vehlarr will be restored in Faerûn! It must be done!”
Foam spilled from the corners of the right’s muzzle, teeth bared. Pyryeva gave them a long stare, waiting for the dam to break, waiting for them to see sense and reason with her. But when she studied the elf’s dark eyes, she found no such thing.
“Kill them,” She murmured softly, and the pixies whirled ahead. The ranger shut her eyes tightly, rushing away from the sight, leaving the desperate yelping of dogs behind.
That was, until, her neck was alight again; senses tingling and buzzing with… with nothing at all. Not nothing - it was all consuming, gnawing and starved. Blood sapped over hundreds of years, icy flesh, and then pure depravity. Women and men scattered across the floor, necks torn through. Whips, scars. And a heartbeat pounding, so loud it takes all of Pyryeva’s constitution not to keel over and sob.
Something rotten, something unholy and corrupt, something undead. Her instincts forced her to sprint, she was sure, to make quick work of the earth beneath her and vanish between the wood. And yet, when her eyes opened, that was not her view at all. A white bat was crumpled on the forest floor beneath her, and it reeked of undeath. But it was so… small. Fluffy. She knew that her senses had never been wrong, honed so particularly by her instructors that an error would never occur.
But she wasn’t in the habit of persecuting small creatures, no matter how undead they may be. A vampire bat, to be sure, but not one she couldn’t befriend. Pyryeva crouched, searching for visible wounds.
“You okay, little guy?” She cooed, and the white lids snapped open to reveal ruby eyes. In moments, it was latched onto her neck, stabbing through her flesh.
“Wha- Ow!” Pyryeva wrapped a fist around the little beast, ripping it from the wound. “You fucker! You fucking… fucker! Ow!”
It strained against her grasp, clawing at her thumb fiendishly.
“Let me go, you wench!” A deep voice emanated from the creature, so ironically demanding from such a cute face. Involuntarily, Pyryeva giggled.
“At least someone is talking to me today,” She flipped him upside down wordlessly, studying his form. “You’re so cute!”
“I will fucking destroy you, tear your muscle from bone!” His best attempt at a threat. She brought him a bit closer to her face, sniffing the air between them.
“You aren’t a normal bat,” She asserted.
“Well, aren’t you a scholar?” He spat, still wiggling in her hand.
“Vampire bat,” She ignored his slight toward her. “Are you here with the lycanthropes? The werewolves?”
“Those miscreants?” He hissed, offended. “Absolutely not.”
“Then why are you here?”
“Just flying by, of course,” The bat hummed.
“Well, I hope your travels are safe, little guy,” She smiled earnestly, lowering him to the ground and loosening her grasp.
“You are so trusting, little human,” He purred. “Who taught you to be so… docile? It’s fascinating.”
Somehow, he was animated when he spoke, one wing covering his chest as if scandalized.
“It’s just… how I am,” Pyryeva replied softly. She felt an inkling in the back of her skull - a warning that despite this bat being adorable and small, something devoid of soul hid inside. “I really should be going now. More werewolves to catch, and all.”
“Ah ah,” He corrected her. “You will be going nowhere at all.”
“What?” She stared down at him, now standing five and half feet taller than his tiny stature. His wings flapped, and he buzzed up to her face, meeting her gaze.
“My name is Astarion, and I have endured a terrible affliction, you see,” Astarion began, clearly preparing to delve into a story.
“Astarion? Like, "Hero of Baldur’s Gate Astarion?” Her voice was shrill. “Like, Vampire Lord Astarion?”
A killer. A shameless, overgrown child in the form of a handsome, elven man who had gone sick with power. Infamous for his parties and their gore, the feasting on innocents that he indulged in, day or night. The fearsome Vampire Lord who could not be stopped, no matter how many high ranking officials came knocking at his door. Their remains scattered through the streets - a demonstration - and a subsequent silence from the public.
He was corruption born from flesh, a demonic bastard who emerged from the fantastic defeat of the Absolute a vile, psychopathic monster.
“You are a scholar!” His red eyes beamed.
“I want nothing to do with you,” Malice twisted in her words, unlike her usual cadence.
“Oh, my dear, you want everything to do with me, because your sappy, frivolous God says so,” Astarion crooned, glaring at the symbol of Ilmater on her chest. “And if you don’t help me, I will transform and devour you.”
That was a bold-faced lie, of course. The reason he so desperately required her assistance is because he could not transform at all, not since last Uktar. And poor Pyryeva, not studied in her Baldurian literature or news, completely unaware of that fact.
She stumbled back from him, “You wouldn’t.”
Astarion laughed in her face, “Oh, I would.”
“What do you want from me?” Pyryeva forced out the words.
“Walk with me, dearest, and I will tell you the whole sordid tale.”
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i tag @tequilya and @syoish for next week! <3 :)
#fanfiction#ao3 author#astarion#ascended astarion#ascension#astarion fic#baldurs gate 3#bg3 companions#bg3#bg3 astarion#baldurs gate#fanfic#bg3 fanfiction#bg3 fanfic idea#wip wednesday
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made a design for what i believe would be the third prime soul - odysseus prime. in game he'd probably look less glossy and more vibrant. lore dump below!!!
once was a noble king of the fraud layer, king odysseus had felt he had betrayed the angels, whom he was very respectable for, to the point that he though he essentially was twofaced the whole time (which isn't the case btw, the angels screwed him over and he took the guilt on himself). the angels were afraid that he'd start a war against them, as the last time this sort of thing happened with king sisyphus, he was nearly able to destroy heaven. but they were surprised to find out that odysseus came to them himself, asking to be put away from any civilization. and thus, he was placed in a flesh prison. basically, he could leave at any time, just like sisyphus prime was able to break out of the flesh prison himself, but he chose not to, and sat through his sentence instead. until the day V1 arrived and destroyed the flesh prison, after which the dialogue starts:
"It appears that I have been freed from my own selfmade prison against my will. Mankind's creation, by just looking from here, I already can tell that thy have taken such a long journey just to reach me, and that I won't be the last to be slain for pure hunger. But I won't give up just yet, not until I am able to forgive myself for my crimes. Prepare to be perished, fellow sinner."
and the fight starts. during the fight, his mask cracks more and more, until the end, where he says:
"Just as predicted, my fate has been sealed as long as thy have stepped into this chamber. I have tried my best to stop this unreasonable slaughter, but alas, I was only delaying the inevitable. Farewell, I am off to meet the others."
and to add salt to injury, he doesn't scream or laugh, he just disintegrates like that minecraft sans gif, making you question on was it worth it all this trouble in the first place.
#artists on tumblr#artwork#digital art#my art#justdenys1s art stuff#ultrakill#oc#prime soul#odysseus prime#prime soul concept#long post lmaoooo
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