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humanpurposes · 3 months

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We're Born At Night

Chapter 2

Lady Rhaelle Targaryen of Runestone travels to King's Landing to plead for her sister's life, though the King she must bow to is a kinslayer three times over, and the very man who slaughtered her father

Series Masterlist // Main Masterlist

Aemond Targaryen x Rhaelle Targaryen (OFC)

Warnings: 18+, eventual smut, politics, mentions of death and war, Aemond is a bit of a dick but that's his job

Words: 5.9k

A/n: I was aiming to post this on Sunday (but a pretty girl said I was cute and I went a bit insane 😌)

“Cheat!”

Rhaelle conceals her delight as she claims the ivory King piece from the cyvasse board. “It is not cheating, dear sister, it is strategy.”

Sunset is not long away. Rhaelle and Daena have spent most of the day in their chambers, waiting, flicking through the small collection of books from the shelf, playing cards and games of cyvasse which all end in the same way, a decisive victory for Rhaelle.

She cannot stomach the thought of food or sweets, cider or wine. She just feels her heart drumming in her chest, pulsing through the blood that runs under her skin. Aemond’s voice is still a whisper in her head and the other faces in the throne room are a blur, like trying to remember details from a dream. She should have been more attentive. The number of potential allies at court might be few but they will be invaluable if they are to advance here.

So they wait. Wait for Lord Corlys to give them some indication that the King has acknowledged their cause, that he has even heard it.

She glances down at her fingers wrapped around the King piece, at the hand he kissed a matter of hours ago. Aemond had been rather welcoming in the throne room, she supposes, at least publicly.

“But you tricked me!” Daena protests, looking in despair over the few pieces she has left on the board.

“I acted within the rules of the game,” Rhaelle says simply.

Daena makes a disheartened but determined huffing sound and starts to set the pieces out again, when there is a knock at the door. Morra answers and returns with Ser Willis, donned in his white cloak, with his helm under his arm and a broadsword proudly by his side.

Rhaelle taps her fingers on the table in front of Daena to get her attention and rises. “Lord Commander,” she says, “to what do we owe the pleasure?”

“Lady Rhaelle,” he greets with a small bow of his head. “I have a request from the King.”

Her heart leaps. Finally the waiting is at an end, but she contains herself. “Which is?”

“His Grace often takes his niece and nephew for a walk about the gardens in the evening, before the Prince and Princess are put to bed. He is unable to fulfil this duty tonight and asked if yourself and Lady Daena would like to take his place?”

She catches Daena’s eye for a moment and sees the same brightness in her gaze, the same hopefulness.

Aegon, her heart whispers to her. Aemond has invited them to meet with their brother.

Ser Willis leads the way, Morra following behind as they head towards the courtyard, to the lowered drawbridge of Maegor’s Holdfast. The halls here are closer than inside the rest of the castle and the windows are smaller so the light is lower. Ser Willis leads them through locked doors and flights of stairs, until they come to a series of apartments that are bright and grand, with wide open rooms and paler stone walls that reflect the light.

At last they come to a room where pale blue is the most prominent colour. The stonework is adorned with images of flowers and dragons alike, and a fire crackles pleasantly in the hearth.

There are two settees in the centre of the room. On the one facing the door, a little girl with silver hair in a light blue gown stares intently at the book on her governess’ lap. Her lavender eyes follow the words as the woman reads to her.

And perched on the windowsill is a boy, a little older, with a wooden knight in his hands. He turns his head when he hears the door open and stares right at them, with his lips downturned and his violet eyes wide and unblinking. He looks like Daena did when she was small, with neatly combed silver hair instead of her dark brown curls.

The governess closes the book and gathers the children to stand before their visitors. “Forgive us, my Ladies, we have been waiting patiently for you, haven’t we children?”

The girl clings to the woman’s hand, staring up at them like she is holding back tears, while the boy stands straight with his hands behind his back.

“Princess,” the governess says, ushering the girl forward, “these are your cousins, the Lady Rhaelle, and the Lady Daena.”

Jaehaera, the orphan Princess, the last of her family save for her uncle Aemond. She had a twin once, and a baby brother. Prince Jaehearys was beheaded only a short walk away from this room, before the eyes of his mother, his grandmother, and his siblings. It was in the early days of the war, a son for a son, at the order of Daemon Targaryen.

The little Princess takes a tentative step forwards, clinging to the sides of her gown as she curtsies steadily and gracefully.

Rhaelle curties low and rises to offer the girl a sympathetic smile, because losing a mother is a terrible thing, a lonely thing, which she knows all too well.

“Prince Aegon,” the governess says next, ushering him forward, “these are your sisters.” There is no warmth to her voice like she has for Jaeheara, but no contempt either, just an unsure sort of bluntness.

Aegon looks between them. “My father’s daughters,” he says softly.

Rhaelle extends a hand to him. Those eyes are so precious, she thinks, the eyes that had to see his own mother burned and devoured by his uncle’s dragon. Her heart shatters for him, for both of them, that they have had to witness so much horror.

“We have wanted to meet you for some time,” she says.

Aegon nods and holds her hand tightly. In the corner of her eye she sees the governess watching them.

Ser Willis and another Kingsguard, Ser Gyles Belgrave, accompany them to the gardens. When the governess goes to follow, Rhaelle holds up her hand. “No need,” she says, “my sister and I should like to acquaint ourselves with her family. We will be no longer than an hour.”

Neither the governess nor the guards protest.

The gardens are nothing like the countryside around Runestone, gravel paths and fountains, rows of carefully trimmed hedges, walkways covered in red ivy and trees that have begun to shed their golden leaves. They stay in sight of the castle, and Ser Willis and Ser Gyles are never far behind them.

Daena is delighted with young Aegon. She runs her hands over his hair, kisses his cheek, asks him about his favourite books and if he has held a sword yet.

Jaeheara was quiet at first but has warmed up, letting Rhaelle take one hand and Morra take the other. Her hand is small, soft and delicate, so much that Rhaelle worries she might break her if she holds her too tightly. She babbles on about the things children do. She says her favourite colour is blue, like her gown and like the sky. She says her governess is teaching her how to read, count and dance, but she wants to learn to sew.

“What would you sew?” Rhaelle asks.

Jaeheara knits her brow in thought. “Butterflies,” she says, “and spiders, and ladybirds.”

“You like insects?” Morra says.

“I can’t decide,” says Jaehaera, “but mother liked them very much.”

Rhaelle so desperately wants to bring her into her arms and hold her close to her chest. “Did your mother sew too?” she asks.

“Oh yes, she had a gift for us every day.” She keeps her eyes on the gravel shifting beneath her feet. “That means she was kind, doesn’t it?”

Rhaelle stops and turns to Jaehaera, bending her knees a little so their eyes meet. A flash of silver catches her attention instead, back towards the castle. She looks past Jaehaera’s shoulder, to a balcony overlooking the gardens. She knows it’s him, if the hair doesn’t give him away the black eyepatch against his pale skin does.

“Your mother was kind to me, when I knew her,” she says, gently.

Jaehaera’s eyes widen. Rhaelle worries she might start to cry but instead she smiles. “Uncle Aemond says she was kind.”

Her heart is humming again and her hands are starting to tremble. He must be watching them, watching her.

A little further down the path, Aegon and Daena are picking blackberries from a bramble bush, giggling as they place them in their mouths.

Rhaelle can hardly help herself but cup one of Jaehaera’s plump little cheeks. “We might find some insects in the bushes, what do you think, little Princess?”

“I often see ladybirds on the bramble bushes,” Jaehaera says. “I think they must like blackberries.”

Aegon calls his cousin’s name and waves at her with one hand, while cupping something in the other. He has found a caterpillar and shows it to Jaehaera. She stares down at its little green body with an endearing wonder, before deciding she wants to hold it too and show Morra.

While the children are distaced, Rhaelle steps close enough to Daena that they can speak softly to each other, without having to lean in too obviously.

“He said he knows all about us from Alyssa,” Daena says, “she used to tell him about us, about Runestone. Then he asked me if she was dead too.”

Rhaelle almost flinches.

“He is not yet seven years old and he has watched most of his family die,” Daena whispers bitterly, glancing towards the guards, out of earshot.

Rhaelle watches them too, far too busy with their own conversation to be listening to them and only sparing occasional glances towards the children. Then she looks back to the castle, hoping Aemond is still there, and he is.

When Ser Willis says it is time for the children to be taken back to the Holdfast, Rhaelle and Daena oblige. Jaehaera’s hands and mouth are covered in purple fruit juice and she is delighted with herself.

They pass under the balcony where Aemond stands as they reenter the castle. Daena and Morra are walking arm in arm. Aegon and Jaeheara are excitedly talking about caterpillars and butterflies and all the places they would fly to if they could grow wings.

Rhaelle sees him though, and catches his lone eye. His face is unreadable, stern and soft, dark and light.

Instinct, a reckless urge that she justifies as a risk, drives her towards a doorway leading off from the entrance hall. Daena and Morra will wait for her in their chambers once the children have been seen back to the nursery. The doorway leads to a hall, then a small winding staircase. She hitches her skirts and climbs it quickly, ensuring not to lose her footing in haste. She feels like she is chasing something intangible and follows it along a gallery, then to the balcony beyond that.

Aemond is still standing there with his hands behind his back and his head tall, looking south, over the gardens and Blackwater Bay beyond that. The noise of the castle does not reach her ears here, only the sound of the wind and the waves rolling over the shore beneath the Keep. In the west the sky burns like fire and in the east it is already getting dark.

She approaches him slowly, her shoes making enough of a noise against the flagstone floor to alert him of her presence, but softly enough so as not to disturb him. She comes to stand beside him on his seeing side, keeping her head straight but watching him, always watching him. “Your Grace,” she says quietly.

The corner of his mouth is curled. Is he smirking? Or is he irritated by her presence? “My Lady,” he returns.

Her hands are shaking. She brings them before her, clasping them together so she cannot fidget. “I had assumed you had other business this evening.”

“You assumed,” he says without looking at her.

“Ser Willis said you invited us to see the children.”

“I thought you might like to.”

“I did,” she insists, turning her head to face him. “I did. I am grateful. Daena and I are both grateful.”

Aemond hums, low and cryptic. It makes her feel weightless for a moment. He finally turns his head towards her. “The boy has mentioned you before, his Royce sisters, each of you.”

Coming from any other’s lips she might have taken her mother’s name as a compliment, and it could almost be that given the softness of his voice as he says it. But something else is written in the way he holds himself, the intensity in his eye, the striking gleam of silver hair falling over black leather: he is a true Targaryen, and she is an outsider.

Perhaps if she looks into his eye for long enough she’ll be able to read his thoughts. She finds nothing, save for an unsettled feeling in her chest and stomach. So she looks away, back out over the gardens. “I am glad my brother is being treated so well,” she says.

“Why should that surprise you?”

She tilts her head and gives him a rather pointed look. She asks herself if she would dare answer that question seriously. He still has the knife on him, maybe he’ll draw it and cut her throat for treason if she presses him hard enough.

Instead he hums a small laugh. “Prince Aegon is my heir until I have sons of my own. You needn’t fear if your brother is being mistreated.”

For now.

Then he adds in a quieter voice, “he is good with Jaehaera.”

Aegon was an older brother after all, and meant to have a younger sister of his own until the outbreak of war.

“The Princess is a delight,” Rhaelle says, “she is easy to love.”

Aemond’s eye lights up and he almost smiles. “She’s a sweet little thing, just like her mother was. Jaehaerys was the same…” he seems to regret this train of thought when he takes a slow breath and frowns to himself.

Rhaelle watches his chest rise and fall, this formidable man, a King forged in a time of war, determined not to crumble in the face of his own grief. She can almost pity him, and perhaps she does when she feels a gnawing sort of feeling knotting and twisting inside of her. She aches for him, for his losses and for her own.

“I see my own mother in many ways,” she says, taking a step into him. Aemond looks to her again, darkly but patiently. “I see her in my sister when she is stubborn. I see her in myself sometimes, all the times I thought she was being overbearing. I see her when I ride through the hills at Runestone. I feel her hovering over my shoulder when I draw a bow.”

Aemond has turned his body to face her now, not completely, just a little. One of his hands rests on the balustrade brought into a gentle fist, and he’s standing close to her, enough that she can hear each breath he takes and smell the leather of his jerkin.

“Because we don’t truly lose them,” she says, “at least I hope not. I can scarcely remember my mother’s face but I still know her love.”

“And that gives you comfort?” Aemond says.

“It does.”

“And what of your father, what love do you have for him?”

His question steals the air from her lungs. What love does she have for him, the man she hardly knew? The man her mother hated. The man who gave her his name and the burden of his legacy. Daemon’s blood runs through her veins as much as Rhea Royce’s does, life beyond death, enduring and damning.

Aemond is watching her intently, waiting for her answer, searching her face for a sign of weakness, but always with that gleam of amusement. Did he look for weakness in Daemon before they mounted their dragons at the God’s Eye? Did he find the fear he seems to feed off?

“The same all girls have for their fathers, I suppose,” is her answer.

“And do all girls love their fathers?”

“As best we can.”

“How diplomatic of you,” he says, smirking. He’s toying with her, testing her like a hunting trap.

“You distrust me,” she says.

He tuts. “I would very much like to trust you.”

“Yet you do not.”

“Do you trust me, cousin?”

It’s like asking if she would trust a snarling beast with a taste for her blood. “You are my King,” she says.

“And as King, it is my duty to identify threats, to my rule and to the realm.”

His gaze does not falter, and so she will not allow hers to either.

“Am I a threat, Your Grace?”

He considers her for a few moments, like he did in the throne room, studying her as closely and thoroughly as a scholar studies an ancient tome. All the while he curls his lips like he has a secret. “My brother was King before me,” he says in a low voice, taking another small step into her. “You are aware of the end he met?”

“Poison,” she says.

“And I took Larys Strong’s head for it, a man who served my mother for many years, who saw Jaeheara to safety during the war, who helped Aegon return to King’s Landing when it was taken from him. I could have all manner of enemies in these very walls, those who might seek to replace me with a child, more easily controlled than I am. Wearing a crown did not spare my brother from death and it will not spare me.”

He can trust no one, he means. A crown has become comparable to a death sentence as of late, and Kings and Queens are perhaps not as invincible as they once seemed.

“You are not your brother,” she says.

“No. What am I then?”

She parts her lips to respond, but she cannot give him an answer. In truth, the thought of being face to face with him, to ask for his mercy had terrified her when she first left Runestone. Aemond Targaryen, the man who started a war when he killed his nephew, who burned armies and put innocent men, women and children to the sword, who killed her father.

She has often wondered how he did it, if the battle was quick, or if it was long and bitter. She has wondered if the dragons tore each other to pieces, or if Aemond had been able to look his uncle in the eye as he claimed his life.

Before all of that he was a child with a gruesome gash in his face, who had tried so hard to hide his pain from her.

He hums cryptically and she feels him lean in closer to her, coming close enough that she can see the imperfections and the details in his face, the lines around his mouth and the texture of his skin. The edges of his scar appear as thin lines now. It is a striking element to his appearance, but other than that, she supposes he is merely a man.

“I have asked you once but I shall ask again: have you come to ask something of me, Lady Rhaelle?”

Lord Corlys would warn her to be patient. There is a strategy that must be employed, a set order in place for making a request of the King. She must be delicate, for Alyssa’s sake.

She spots his hand on the balustrade and places her own over it, barely tracing her fingers over his. She feels his gaze on her all the while. “Our house has been divided for too long. Shouldn’t we seek to heal this rift between our families?”

He watches where their hands meet and lifts them until their palms are against one another. Rhaelle’s fingertips press into the grooves of his fingers, against his warmth and the rough calluses of his skin.

“Hmm,” he says, threading his fingers through hers, closing over her knuckles. “You have a way with choosing your words carefully.”

Naturally. Her survival depends on it. “As must we all, Your Grace,” she says.

He mutters under his breath, like she’s played a winning move in a game of cyvasse, “very good.”

She can still feel him when she returns to her chambers, the gentlest brush of his fingertips and the heat of his hand against hers. She can mistake a gentle draft or breeze for his breath ghosting over her face, the sound of the wind beyond the window as the sound of his voice.

Lord Corlys visits them after dinner. She offers him some of the leftover roast beef but she shakes his head and instead asks for a cup of wine as he makes himself comfortable in an armchair before the hearth.

Rhaelle joins him, bringing two cups with her while Morra carries the decanter of wine. Daena gathers a fur throw, a pillow and a book, and settles on a chaise by the window. She doesn’t usually like to read, especially not at night when she can scarcely see the words.

Rhaelle smiles at her, sceptically. Daena shrugs her shoulders and lowers her eyes to the page.

“I have news from Driftmark,” Lord Coryls says, “Baela and Rhaena have accepted their invitation to the King’s Tournament and will set sail for King’s Landing in three days time.”

This is supposed to make her happy. From what she remembers at their mother’s funeral and the wedding feast, her half-sisters were agreeable enough but still unfamiliar. Baela, the older twin, was a little more forward than her sister, a dragonrider from a young age and it showed. Rhaena was far quieter and more cautious. They must be changed now, being right in the heart of Rhaenyra’s war.

“The King’s Tournament?” Daena’s voice calls from the window.

“Tourneys, feasts, dancing; a celebration to mark the betrothal of the King to Lady Floris Baratheon,” Corlys says, raising his glass.

A romance for the ages: he barged into Storm’s End looking for an army to support his brother’s claim, and she was the most agreeable of four sisters.

“The eyes of the realm will be on the two of you,” Lord Corlys says.

“I do not see why we would attract such interest,” Daena says.

“Aemond still needs to secure his rule. His heir is a child and the son of his brother’s rival. After that his closest competitors for the throne are his uncle’s daughters.”

“My sisters and I have no desire for a crown, Lord Corlys,” Rhaelle says.

“You are Targaryens and you have a claim to the throne whether you desire it or not. That invites challenge. Half the country has been devastated by war and the rest will struggle through winter. I’m afraid your matter will take time.”

“How much time?”

He gestures vaguely with his hands. “You will appear before the King tomorrow. You will renounce your father, your step-mother and your late betrothed. The King will accept, and you will ask only that Lady Alyssa be spared from the headsman.”

“He would have her killed?”

“It is a matter of contention amongst the members of the Small Council, but as I understand it, His Grace has little desire to spill any more blood than is necessary.”

Daena chuckles quietly to herself.

Lord Corlys’ brow raises, but he does not comment on it. “In return for your loyalty, I expect the King to welcome you wholeheartedly into his court. When Aemond and Floris are wed you may be given positions in the Queen’s Household. You’ll be able to stay here permanently, you’ll get to see your brother and sisters often, and eventually you’ll make good matches to rich and powerful husbands, as befitting your royal blood.”

She wouldn’t have her mother’s cousins pestering her about the absence of the Lady of Runestone, eyeing the seat that belongs to her sister. Hers and Daena’s futures would be secured.

“And what of Alyssa?” she asks.

“I will ensure she is kept alive and well, and in time, we may convince the King to release her.”

May convince. The thought does not feel particularly assuring, but what else can she do?

She wakes at dawn the next morning, dresses and readies herself for court as she had done the previous day, taking her sister’s arm as they walk into the throne room. There is no grand entrance this time, they are led to an adjacent chamber and enter through a small doorway that leads them to the far end of the hall.

She and Daena stand to the right, below the steps that lead to the throne, behind the members of the Small Council, Lord Corlys, Lord Tyland, Maester Orwyle, Lord Unwin Peake, Martyn Hightower and his brother, Garmund. These men have no doubt argued over the matter of her sister’s imprisonment. “A matter of contention,” as Lord Corlys had said.

Aemond sits upon the throne again, comfortably poised, and she is amongst the first to lobby him.

Lord Corlys steps forward to announce her as she approaches the Iron Throne. She comes to her knees before him and allows herself to look up. She half expects to find him smiling, but his lips are in a thin line, not amused or prideful, but curious, his eye fixed upon her face.

“Your Grace,” she says, mustering all the courage she can to give her voice a clear demand without pushing too far. “I come before you once again as your loyal subject, to speak for myself and for my sister, Lady Daena.”

Aemond crosses one of his legs over the other, with his arm resting upon the throne, amongst the sharp edges of the blades. He brings his fingers to his chin and tilts his head, a command to continue.

She feels her pulse quicken, the words threatening to catch in her throat as they had done before, but she forces herself through it. “I renounce my late father, the traitor, Daemon Targaryen. I renounce my late step-mother, Princess Rhaenyra and her attempt to supplant the true line of succession. I renounce my former betrothed, the late Prince Joffrey. I–” she catches Lord Corlys’ eye and he nods to her.

She thinks of Alyssa, her brave, beautiful sister, who held her and soothed her when Ser Gerold explained that their mother would never return to them, whose wisdom she worshipped and whose arms she sought comfort in until the day Daemon took her to Dragonstone. Once the future Queen of the Seven Kingdoms, now condemned to death if Rhaelle does not save her.

“I come before you again, to pledge my loyalty to you, and to our house,” she says, keeping her head down, waiting for the sound of Aemond’s voice or his footsteps.

“Come to me,” he says.

It’s like her body is set alight, heat, fury and excitement rising in her belly, her blood running hot beneath her skin. There is anger too, because she cannot read him, because she cannot tell if this is a show of favour or if he means to insult her somehow. She resents his incessant staring. She resents his cold, impassive nature. She resents the light feeling in her limbs as she climbs the steps to stand before him.

He rises to meet her, his hand outstretched and his lips threatening to break into a smirk.

Most of what she had heard of her father was that he was a jealous and ambitious man. He coveted this seat, held by his brother, promised to his niece, ultimately claimed by his nephew. Daemon killed for it, he died for it, and now she is close enough that she could reach out and touch it.

She places her hand in his and he holds her gently, stroking his thumb over her knuckles. She clenches her jaw as she tries not to shudder.

“I accept your pledge,” he says, then loudly, so the others in the room may hear him. “It is not my wish to punish you for the sins of your family.”

The room hums with curious murmurs, nods of approval and whispers.

“Forgive me,” Rhaelle says quietly, as if this were a private exchange, as if they were not on display before the court. “You asked me yesterday if I had something to ask of you, and the truth is I do.”

Aemond’s brow raises, but the rest of his face is solemn. “Go on,” he says.

“My sister, Alyssa, is currently your prisoner, declared to be a traitor by your brother’s order. Spare her life, cousin, I beg you.”

Suddenly the silence in the hall is tangible. What must they be thinking, the Lords and Ladies before them, the men of the Small Council, Lord Corlys?

She does not spare a glance for any of them. She tightens her grip on Aemond’s hand and when she looks into his eye she does not plead for pity or sympathy. She is a Targaryen just as much as he is, with fire in her blood and pride in her heart.

“Lady Rhaelle,” Aemond says, “you are the acting Lady of Runestone.”

“I am, Your Grace.”

“You do a fine job of it, so I understand?”

She hesitates. She ensures the castle, its lands and people are kept well. She advises Lady Arryn when it is required of her. “As best I can, Your Grace.”

He leans in closer to her, close enough that she feels his breath on the shell of her ear and her neck. “Do away with modesty, it is a waste of my time,” he mutters. When he pulls away the corner of his mouth is curled so that it could almost be a joke. “Lady Rhaelle,” he announces, addressing the room, “in return for your loyalty to the crown, I hereby grant you the title of Lady of Runestone and all its inheritance.”

The room applauds this decision but Rhaelle is struck by dread. She looks to Daena, equally surprised, equally powerless. She looks to Lord Corlys, who seems to accept this too. The faces of Lord Tyland, Lord Unwin, and the Hightowers are less pleased.

She turns back to Aemond and keeps her voice low, “Your Grace, I cannot accept–”

His grip on her hand becomes a painful one as he turns his face in towards her. “You will accept,” he says with a cold fury. “While I am moved by your devotion to your sister, she must remain a prisoner and forfeit any and all claims she was previously entitled to.”

His face is dark and severe and her stomach drops like she is standing at the edge of some great height, one step away from a fall. She might be wise to fear this side of him, she thinks, but she is tempted to refuse him, to take that final step from the edge if only to see what anger he can truly unleash. She’d take pride in it, and maybe it’s her Targaryen nature, but suddenly something in the back of her mind thirsts for chaos.

It is her choice to make, but her life and the lives of her family will be at risk if she makes the wrong one.

And so she must choose her words carefully, unsure if it will bring her closer to her goal or drag her further from it.

“It would be an honour, Your Grace.”

Rhaelle and Daena dine alone that night. She is starving, but then the meat is brought out, a cut of roasted lamb, rare meat still on the bone that bleeds when Morra starts to carve it for them. It repulses her. She cannot even look at it. She downs a cup of apple cider instead and manages a mouthful of bread.

Daena can see that something is wrong, but does not question her.

Morra, on the other hand, offers her more cider and something that might be softer on her stomach. “Blackberries?” she suggests with a kind smile.

“Please,” Rhaelle mutters.

Morra brings her a small bowl of them, dusted with sugar. At first she is thankful for how refreshing the taste is on her tongue, until she looks down at her fingertips and sees them stained red.

She forces her hand away from her lips in a sudden jolt of movement, and in her haste knocks her fork to the floor with a jarring clatter of metal against stone.

It doesn’t matter, she thinks, starting to wipe her fingers against her napkin, but the red will not fade. She tries harder, dragging the fabric against her skin until it almost burns, but it won’t come out, it will not–

“Lady Rhaelle?”

She throws her napkin down on the table and covers her mouth, fighting the urge to gag. “I’m fine,” she tries to whisper, “I feel unwell is all.”

“I’ll draw you a bath,” Morra says.

Rhaelle shakes her head. “No, I just…” but she cannot find the words. She cannot decide what she needs.

“Come, sister,” Daena says, having risen from her seat and come to place her hand on her shoulder. “I think you need to rest.”

Rhaelle lets herself be led away into her bedchamber. Daena helps her to remove her jewellery and lays out a night shift on the bed for her. Once Rhaelle has undressed, she reaches for the pins in her hair.

“Let me,” Daena says softly, and Rhaelle’s hands fall away. Daena’s touch is unsure but gentle. She would never have had as much practice at doing another’s hair, not as the youngest sister, but it is a welcome comfort.

Rhaelle stares at her reflection in the mirror as Daena brings a brush through her hair. She watches candlelight and shadows flicker over her face, over both of their faces. Their eyes look dark in the lowlight, almost black, like their mother’s, not the striking violet that makes them their father’s daughters.

“Do you think the Gods will punish me for this?” she utters.

“Punish you? Whatever for?”

She swallows thickly, her vision starting to blur. “I offered a hundred men at arms to Lady Jeyne to fight in the war. I could have offered more. I could have mounted a horse myself and met our father at Harrenhal. I could have written to Rhaenyra and asked her to send Alyssa back to Runestone. I could have offered men to defend King’s Landing, or to hold Dragonstone. There is so much I could have done, and now I have forsaken our family, our own blood because I was too weak to do anything before–” she gasps to catch her breath. The tears have spilled from her eyes now, they sting against her cheeks and taste salty and bitter on her lips.

Daena’s hands vanish from her hair. Rhaelle instead finds herself cradled in her sister’s arms.

“Alyssa is our family,” Daena says. “It was not Daemon Targaryen who protected us when mother died, it was our sister, it was our cousins, it was House Royce. We remember, you taught me what that means.”

Daena presses a kiss to her head and strokes her hand over her hair, like Alyssa used to when they were girls, like the way she has always imagined her mother would. “Aemond will favour our cause,” she whispers. “He has to. He has to.”

Tags (comment to be added)

General taglist: @randomdragonfires @jamespotterismydaddy @theoneeyedprince @tsujifreya @dreamsofoldvalyria @lacebvnny

Series taglist: @adragonprinceswhore @persephonerinyes @gemini-mama @aemondzyrys @snh96 @magnificentdelusionr @aegonx @xxxkat3xxx @dahlias-and-marigolds @mandiiblanche @thaisthedreamer @heavenly1927 @herfantasyworldd @heimtathurs

#my fics #aemond targaryen #aemond targaryen fanfic #aemond targaryen fanfiction #aemond targaryen smut #aemond targaryen oneshot #aemond x reader #aemond x you #aemond x ofc #hotd #house of the dragon fanfic #house of the dragon fanfiction #hotd fanfiction #smut #aemond fanfiction #aemond fanfic #aemond oneshot #aemond one eye #hotd fandom

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rottenpumpkin13 · 3 months

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Ok, Genesis is pulling a Valentine’s Day prank and writes fake love notes “sent” from different people around Shinra (the Turks, Rufus, Hojo, etc.) and addresses them to his friends without anyone knowing.

What happens when the ASZC squad finds these valentines in a basket on a table in the Shinra lounge? 💌

The Valentine's Day prank

*Sephiroth and Angeal walk into the lounge, where Zack and Cloud are already sitting down and looking over a basket of valentines*

Angeal: What are you guys looking at?

Zack: This random collection of valentines addressed to each one of us.

Sephiroth: Who are they from?

Cloud: We don't know yet, the cards don't say.

*Cloud hands Sephiroth a light blue card with his name on it*

Zack: Open it, maybe they're all from the same person.

*Sephiroth hesitates before ripping open the flap and fishing a glittery card out*

Sephiroth: It reads—to Sephiroth, my heart aches to hold you close in my arms..... signed, Tseng.

Everyone: WHAT!??

Sephiroth: It says his name right here on the card.

*Everyone looks at each other before rushing to rip open their cards*

Zack: Aw, man. I'm screwed! It says—Zack, I cannot hide my feelings for you any longer. My love for you will never change. Signed, LAZARD DEUSERICUS.

Cloud: I think I'm gonna pass out. Look at who mine's from.

*Zack leans over and reads Cloud's valentine*

Zack: PROFESSOR HOJO!???

Sephiroth: I wasn't aware we were all homosexual.

Angeal: That's strange. Mine's from Lazard too.

*Zack snatches it out if his hand and reads it over*

Zack: This can't be.

Angeal: Weird, right?

Zack: How dare he assume he can have us both.

Angeal: ......

Sephiroth: I must see Tseng immediately. This has got to be a mistake of some kind.

Cloud: And I'm gonna go.... somewhere else....

*Both of them run off, leaving Angeal and Zack alone*

Angeal: Zack, this is clearly a prank. Why would—

Zack: I'm ready to fight you for his affection. It's the fair way to settle this!

Angeal: What? You can't be serious.

*Zack angrily grabs his broadsword and lunges at Angeal, screaming*

Angeal: oh yoU'RE SERIOUS FUCK

*Zack chases Angeal down screaming*

*Sephiroth knocks on Tseng's office door before opening it*

Tseng: Sephiroth, how may I help you?

Sephiroth: I regret to say your love is unrequited. While I admire you as a colleague and as a professional, my feelings for you are purely platonic.

Tseng:

Sephiroth: I understand this may be painful for you to hear, which is why I'm allowing you a single hug before I walk away from this regretfully awkward situation.

Tseng:

*Sephiroth approaches*

Tseng: Sephiroth if you step any closer I will shave your head.

Sephiroth:

Tseng: Why in Shiva's name would you think I have feelings for you?

Sephiroth: Because of this.

*Tseng takes the valentine from him and skims over it*

Tseng: Rhapsodos wrote this. I can smell the mediocrity and feminine perfume on the parchment.

Sephiroth: It's okay, Tseng. You do not need to deny this.

Tseng: No, Sephiroth. This letter is fake. I didn't write this.

*Rufus Shinra appears at the door*

Rufus: What didn't Tseng write?

Sephiroth: He has given me a Valentine's day card detailing the extend of his feelings for me. I've come here to reject him.

Rufus: You two-timing bastard.

Tseng:

Rufus: Do you not care for our relationship Tseng? Do the nights we spent together mean nothing to you?

Sephiroth: I can't believe this. Tseng, why would you betray Rufus's trust like this? I expected better from you.

Tseng: Sir, I have no idea what relationship you're talking about. We are merely coworkers and—

Rufus: How dare you try to deny us. You know what? Screw you!

Sephiroth: You deserve better, Rufus.

Rufus: Agreed! Come on, Sephiroth. We don't need this.

*They leave, Tseng is left standing there with a raging headache*

Tseng: I wonder if the company therapist has a two-for-one deal.

*Lazard is peacefully working in his office when he hears a commotion outside. Screaming, glass breaking and swords clashing sound very familiar*

Lazard: Hm. Genesis must've provoked Sephiroth.

*He gets up and opens the door. Right outside his office are Angeal and Zack engaged in an avid fist fight, their swords completely discarded in favor of the childish display*

Lazard: What is the meaning of this!? What's gotten into you two!?

Zack: Director! Good! Tell Angeal that you like me more! Tell him that you only want me and not him!

Lazard: ZACK LET GO OF HIM ANGEAL IS TURNING BLUE.

Angeal: HELP.

*Lazard jumps in and forcibly separates the two*

Lazard: Can either of you explain what's going on?

Angeal: We both got these valentines from you that are clearly fake. But Zack seems to think otherwise.

*Lazard reads over the valentines*

Lazard: Zack, why would you ever think that I wrote this? I'm not interested in a relationship right now, let alone one with one of my Soldiers. That would be entirely inappropriate.

Angeal: Thank you.

Zack: Wha? So it was all a lie? Well, that sucks! You had me feeling special for a bit!

Lazard:

Lazard: Zack, where's YOUR GIRLFRIEND?

Zack: Oh yeah! I'm gonna go call Aerith. She's never going to believe this, haha!

*He bounces off excitedly*

Angeal: I'm gonna go lay down.

*Sephiroth, Angeal, Zack and Genesis are all sitting in the lounge. Genesis is laughing so hard, he's in tears*

Genesis: I cannot believe you all fell for it! This is my best prank yet!

Sephiroth: I can't believe Tseng refuses to acknowledge his relationship with Rufus.

Angeal: Sephiroth, for the last time, they're not dating. They never were dating. The only thing faker than their supposed relationship is Genesis's hair color.

*Genesis stops laughing immediately*

*Cloud walks into the lounge*

Cloud: Hey guys. What's going on?

Zack: It turns out the valentines were all a part of Genesis's prank.

Cloud: THEY WERE FAKE?

Sephiroth: Faker than Genesis's hair color.

Genesis: OKAY.

Cloud: Aw, man. I'm gonna get dishonorably discharged.

Sephiroth: Why?

*At that exact moment, the distant sound of an explosion reaches their ears. The floor beneath them shakes*

Cloud: Because I planted a pipe bomb in Hojo's office.

#⚠️Q: I have the fic version of this halfway done. Is that something anyone's interested in?#ffvii #ff7 #final fantasy 7 #sephiroth #ffvii crisis core #final fantasy vii #genesis rhapsodos #ff7 crisis core #angeal hewley #lazard deusericus #zack fair #cloud strife #tseng #rufus shinra #storytime

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the-wintry-mizzenmast · 7 months

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When a dao isn't just a dao 笛飞声的刀不只是刀

A quick and dirty analysis of Di Feisheng's dao

Following up from my previous post speculating about Di Feisheng's dao 刀, I think the configuration of Di Feisheng's dao is quite clever and consistent with his character, despite looking like nonsense at first glance. I know more taiji and kung-fu 刀 dao forms than I do 劍 jian forms, and this is what I choose to do with my knowledge and time, I guess.

Before I launch into his dao in particular, I think it's important that you understand what a dao is, and how you are supposed to attack and defend with one.

When you say 刀 dao (in English, it's also been called a Chinese saber or broadsword), this is what it's supposed to look like (I've annotated the image below from the Wikipedia entry on dao). They are by definition single-edged, and the majority are slightly curved (though there are some variants such as the Nandao 南刀 which are straight). A dao should have a point, a sharp edge (in red), and a blunt edge (in blue). The blunt edge (short edge, or inner edge, since the thing is curved) is usually quite thick.

One of the main ways that a dao does damage is through slashing/chopping motions, either down, sideways, or upwards (which my sifu always called uppercuts). All upwards slashes with the dao require that you turn your wrist so that the sharp edge, which usually faces down, faces upward instead.

The other way that a dao does damage is via forward thrusts, where the point of the dao is supposed to pierce enemy flesh. The basic attacks I've mentioned above are in the beginning of this clip, and I've added text to the original video below to highlight what's what and what they're supposed to look like.

(n.b. I was just randomly searching for videos to show what I'm trying to describe, no endorsement intended).

One of the things you'll notice from the above video as well is that the master is putting his hand on the blunt edge. This helps stabilize and give more power to the dao through its various motions, and is a basic part of how dao forms are supposed to work.

The blunt edge is also important because it helps in defense. One of the cardinal rules of a dao is that when you are defending, the dao should be kept close to your body, with the blunt edge facing your body. This is what a basic block looks like:

Should you get hit, you can brace the blunt edge of the blade using a shoulder or upper arm. In certain positions you can also use your hand as a brace on the blunt edge to stop (or execute) a particularly strong attack.

These are the dao basics. Now you have enough background to know what makes Di Feisheng's dao so unusual: it is double-edged, and it has a blunt tip.

These two things must follow if you have a dao that has two edges and is blunt at the tip:

You are limited to slash and chop attacks as your main blade damage. Thrust attacks won't penetrate flesh unless you have a serious amount of qi behind it.

Your defense is limited, because you can't use your dao to defend in the usual way.

But wait, does Di Feisheng's dao really have two full edges?

If you're a details guy like me, and completely obsessed over Di Feisheng (guilty as charged), you'll notice that one the edges of his dao doesn't actually extend the full length of the blade:

From the way that light reflects off the edges of his dao, you can see a bit on the short (inner) edge of the dao where the blade seems to transition from sharp to blunt:

And this shot, it's confirmed that there is a short blunt area on the inner edge of his dao:

In this memorable scene, Di Feisheng uses his hand against the very short blunt part of his dao to press his attack into Li Xiangyi's cheek:

One of the upsides of his unusual dao is also that he can use the inner edge for attacking as well. Upward sweeps using the inner edge aren't possible with usual daos (because they are blunt), but are possible with Di Feisheng's dao. I think we see an example of that here in the way you see his arm sweeping upward. (He has also added a substantial amount of qi to this sweeping strike, most of us plebs don't have enough qi to do anything like this.)

You can see how he gains some flexibility to his attacking capabilities, when he flips his blade mid-block into an attack:

While a double-edge gives him more adaptability in terms of attack on along the slashing and chopping edges of his dao, what he is losing out on because of the blunt end is thrust. You almost never see Di Feisheng thrust his dao forward because his sword just doesn't work like that.

In this final scene in the episode one fight when they are charging at each other, Li Xiangyi thrusts the Shaoshi Jian forward, but Di Feisheng, due to the design of the dao, has to slash:

However, most of the power of a dao is in its slashing and chopping motions. This is where the weight of the blade and its curved design (plus gravity and force) result in the most damage. Unlike the jian, the dao's thrusts do less damage. My conclusion about this is that it's a purposeful trade-off that Di Feisheng has made. He would rather maximize his offensive capabilities where they are strongest.

In terms of blocking, the design of Di Feisheng's dao means he's at a defensive disadvantage, since there's no blunt area to brace his body against for blocking (he can use his hand on the bit that is blunt, but because he has an edge along the rest of it, he can't use a shoulder or upper arm). This is a key feature of the standard dao that Di Feisheng's dao is missing.

In this move in the Battle of the Eastern Sea in episode 1, we see Di Feisheng execute a block, but he's got both of his hands along the hilt instead:

At this point, it should be noted that the standard dao is typically a one-handed weapon. The hilt is slightly curved, so you can get a good downwards chop with your wrist. There are other daos that have straight hilts and can be two-handed like the Miaodao 苗刀 (which is more similar to the Japanese katana 刀 than most Chinese folks like to admit). Di Feisheng's dao being straight-hilted and two-handed isn't that unusual because it's a feature that can be present on certain types of dao (it's way less unusual than the two edges!), but I thought it was worth pointing out in case any eagle-eyed readers noticed the difference between the Wikipedia image and what Di Feisheng has.

I could wax on about Di Feisheng's dao and his fighting style forever, but I think this thread has gone on for long enough.

I believe that the design of Di Feisheng's dao is very clever. At first glance, it seems utterly silly (what kind of dao has two edges?), but on deeper inspection of his style and how he uses it, it is consistent with his character.

He is always playing on Hard Mode because he is trading defense for more flexibility in his offense. And he is maximizing his offense where it is strongest (slashes and chops), and choosing to forego the offensive capabilities where it is weaker (thrusts).

...And that really is Di Feisheng's martial arts style in a nutshell, isn't it?

#mysterious lotus casebook #di feisheng #笛飞声 #meta #莲花楼 #Di Feisheng's dao #which is just named 刀 #刀就是刀要什麼名字 #i know more 刀 forms than 劍 forms and this is what i do with the knowledge #笛飛聲 #蓮花樓 #cdrama #cdrama meta #I'm sorry the GIFs are terrible quality I can't be bothered #also at some point I really want to an analysis of the choreo in the final fight #there was awesome shit being pulled by the choreographers that I've never seen in a wuxia

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celtic-crossbow · 3 months

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The Itsy Bitsy Spider, Part Deux

Pairing: Daryl Dixon x Fem!Reader

Setting: Alexandria

Warnings: Extreme violence against eight-legged hell spawn.

Summary: You were the brave one. Right?

A/N: Based on the way I actually disposed of an arachnid.

Daryl enjoyed the days he was given the okay to relax. You would make sure you were not needed, so the two of you would laze about in bed, usually finding some way to contend over who would get up to throw together something to eat. He always won. Well, not always, but most of the time. Today’s decider had been a ‘thumb war.’ Given your petite hands versus his long digits, it was no ‘war’ but a mere scuffle. With a yawn, the archer folded his arms behind his head and closed his eyes, allowing himself to drift off.

When he heard you scream, his heart leaped into his throat and he moved with inhuman speed, throwing back the covers and sprinting from the bedroom. He snatched up his crossbow before he was ascending the stairs, weapon in hand and ready to fire when he entered the kitchen. It took a moment for him to register what was happening, but when he did, he straightened and watched with an expression of bewilderment.

You were on the kitchen counter, in one hand was a can of hairspray and in the other was a spray bottle of something he didn’t recognize. You were screeching at a large spider on the ceiling, spraying the hairspray with reckless abandon until the arachnid twitched and fell slightly, dangling from a thread of webbing. The movement only served to freak you out even more. You momentarily ducked and covered as if the thing was striking back, but you were soon back to spraying.

Finally, the unfortunate creature tumbled to the floor, twitching and unable to crawl to safety. You jumped from your perch and landed a safe distance away, discarding the can of hairspray to grab the spray bottle with both hands. Daryl’s jaw was still hanging open, eyebrows elevated as you bludgeoned the poor spider until it was nothing more than a smear across the kitchen floor.

You stood over your victim, holding the spray in front of like a broadsword while you panted and grit your teeth. “Let this be a lesson to all your little buddies!”

Waving a hand in front of his face, Daryl coughed, the chemical scent of aerosol tickling his lungs. You noticed him just as he set the crossbow against the wall.

“Oh, hey! You’re awake!” You beamed.

“I am.” He deadpanned. “And m’pretty sure I just witnessed the most brutal murder I ever seen ‘fore or after the end of the world.”

You straightened and placed a hand on your hip, still catching your breath. “Oh, come off it, Bowstrings. It wasn’t that bad.”

“Thought ya weren’t scared of ‘em.” Daryl teased and arched a brow.

“Well, that one was huge.” You pouted. When the archer smirked, you picked up the can of hairspray and aimed it at him. “You wanna be next?”

He held up his hands with a chuckle. “I surrender.”

“Smart man.”

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minticecodes · 2 months

Text

A (late) piece for dmcweek2024 day 4! I was buzzing to put forward something for the week. Prompt was alt universe.

AU where Eva survived the fire and had to figure out a way forward, believing the twins dead. She becomes an RPG shopkeeper selling wares ranging from antique books to magical goods (Devil May Scry). She's also out for Mundus' blood.

Image descriptions are the same as in alt.

[ID: 7 Digital illustrations and sketches. 1: Coloured illustration of a bookshop at sunset. Eva, a pale blonde middle aged woman mans the bright patterned counter. She wears a turtleneck and red shawl, has shoulder length hair, and diagonal facial burn scar and scarring on her left hand. Light rays illuminate her gently smiling face. Besides packed books, on the shelves are potion bottles, statuettes, succulents, and a displayed katana. Roses and plants decorate the shop. On the counter are a thick hardback, bookscanner, and crystal ball. Cards are displayed inside the counter. On the wall hangs a price sign, featuring doodled vital stars (large star drawn with sunglasses), holy water and fortunes. Beneath it is a rose wreathed divinity statue display, with 2 red orb offerings in a dish. 2: Eva from behind, sitting hunched alone at a table where a birthday cake sits untouched. It's a two flavour cake. By her clenched hand are crumpled tissues. Caption: 'Vergil...Dante...happy birthday...' 3: Eva bracing the Devil Sword Sparda across her shoulders, aimed at the ground. She wears a bell sleeved, ruffled funeral/wedding dress with a slit for leg movement. A veil trails behind her like a ribbon. Close ups of her show the headpiece design; a pacifier made of a long bird skill, feather, rose, and four skeletal 'legs'. 4 & 5: Trish taking on teen Dante's image: a tan teen in black, with chin length white hair, a halter neck tank top, leather pants, kneelength boots and black polish. Her leather jacket collar resembles lightning bolts. She leans against an invisible wall, one leg bent to brace her foot against it. She looks askance with arched brows, lifting shades from her face. The 2nd image is a 3/4 profile with shades perched on her forehead and popped collar. 6: Helmetless portraits of Dante and Vergil in armour, expressionless. Dante's hair is shoulder length and falls across his face. 7: Full body of 2 somewhat lanky demonic knights. One (Nelo Angelo) in black and blue with droopy horns rests his palms atop his blue broadsword's pommel, the sword upright against the ground. He stands straight, staring ahead. The other in white and red and curled horns has a palm clapped on Nelo Angelo's shoulder, other hand at his hips. Somehow the eyes on his helmet express playfulness. At his back is the hilt to a flail, the spiked ball resting on the ground by his armoured heels. They're labelled '~16' . End ID.]

Read more for some wordy backstory and sketches. TW for mentions of torture, abuse and solitary confinement surrounding the twins.

I had...so many more ideas that I'm leaving out to keep this short. It's fun to think how she'd mesh with the cast.

Like! her and Lady. Mother that lost her kid and kid that lost her mother. It writes itself how much unwitting projection can go wrong. And pretty much everything about her, the twins, and Trish :)

In terms of backstory:

After the fire she's alone. Her birth family disowned her long ago. She thinks about revamping the mansion but the idea of staying in that empty space with only memories for company is too much. So she eventually opens a small store.

Starts off paranoid and distant. Still is distant but gets entangled with the local community overtime. Greets people by name and they'll chat about how life has been going. This includes demon hunters and demons and supernatural beings living peacefully; her shop becomes a small safe haven to exchange information to stay safe.

Gets very good at forging protective charms. Haunted by the memory of the enchanted closet, smashed in and empty.

A regular is a schoolgirl who originally came to pick up reserved books for her father but stuck around because hey, this place is quiet and interesting, and the owner serves stellar teacakes. Great place to study. To Mary, Eva's kind, though odd, secretive and a little lonely.

I got inspired by Eva's association with the bangle/bracelet of time and the amulets for her fighting style. It's based around item crafting, like an RPG character slapping on every stat boosting item.

She stitches together different outfits for different needs Cardcaptor style. They're all exceedingly dramatic. It's not clear here but I wanted a bird motif to eventually come through. Phoenix motif, really.

[ID: Rough sketches: A magician esque outfit with vest, feathered tophat and cape. A longcoat with long skirt and long scarf at her back like a cape. The cape is tagged with 'spells stitched into fabric'. Close ups on the coat lapel show two pins (strawberry and wing), labelled 'charm lapel pins.' Close up of the shoes show sharp heals and ankle bracelets. Eva leaping in a black bodysuit and leotard, with feathery collar, quill behind her ear, and ballet shoes with a claw at the heel. Eva making a triangular 2 hand sign in a hooded cloak and longskirt. Around her shoulders are claws. At her hips is an hourglass. Above her heeded head is a clocklike halo. Beside her is a sketch of a woman with a lionhead mask. A funeral and wedding dress inspired outfit. Eva crouches, wielding the Devil Sword Sparda in scythe form. Her face is covered by a tattered veil. She wears a knee length ruffled dress, black gloves, and a long, ruffled cape. Close up of her left hand shows a ring and finger claws Rough comic. Chibi lady talks to chibi Eva. Lady holds up a black body suit with billowing sleeves and a cleavage window. Lady: "Eva what is this" Eva (smiling cheerfully): "Oh - that old thing!" Eva: "My old hunting outfit. Gosh I'd almost forgotten about it. Not the most comfortable thing - so skin tight..." However Lady fixates on 'my old hunting outfit'. The words go in one ear and come out as a younger Eva in a catsuit, pointing a gun with a serious expression, wind blowing through her hair. Lady stares into the distance, bewildered, and slightly blushing. End ID]

Meanwhile the twins are having a terrible time but they have each other, even if they don't remember they're brothers. I think it'd be sweet if they have a bond anyway. Everyone else thinks they're rivals at best.

(Nelo is Mundus' favourite to toy with as the proud, eldest son. But when he gets rough, Bianco butts in and acts up for Mundus' attention. This gets him sent to solitary confinement; Mundus figured out Bianco hates small spaces and designed an iron maiden for him. Others think Bianco is a brute who acts out for a fight. But that's ok. It means Bianco can keep buying Nelo time.) (When lucid, Nelo despises his own weakness when this happens.)

[ID: 2 Images. Nelo and Bianco Angelo in fisticuffs in a cartoony dustcloud, glaring at each other as they fight. They're captioned 'Mundus' most competent generals'. Additional text: 'silent, obedient, crushing force when apart. Perfect soldiers. ... until they're put together. Complement each other's battle style OR clash terribly. Nelo Angelo staring off, arms crossed and furrowed eyes somehow expressing being completely fed up. Behind him, Bianco and Griffin talk at each other. Griffin's glaring. Bianco has a hand up to gesture. End ID]

#dmc #dmcweek2024 #devil may cry #dmc eva #eva sparda #dante sparda #dmc dante #vergil #nelo angelo #dmc vergil

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badass-queer-couples-battle · 2 months

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Sword gays showdown, round 3, bracket three

Propaganda:

For Inigo:

One of the best fighters ever. Killed the six fingered man. “My name is Inigo Montoya. You killed my father. Prepare to die”. Fights with his left hand even though he’s not left handed. He’s bisexual in my heart.

All I'll say is that sword fight with him and Westley had sooooo much sexual tension.

fights with his off hand to give other people a fighting chance

his true love is justice where justice is cutting the heart out of the man who killed your father

[go watch the entire count ruben fight scene and i dare you NOT to vote for this man!]

For Gideon:

she's incredibly good w/ her two hander and less good with her rapier but she's still pretty good!! she is a horny lesbian who's taste in women seems to exclusively be "girls who have tried or are going to try to kill her". she's a redhead. i love her

Gideon’s a HUGE Butch lesbian and literally always wanted to use a broad sword. Specifically a broad sword. She said fuck rapiers. Uhhh literally dies to save the girl she cares for and the sword she uses then becomes like an altar for said girl. Gideon Nav Supremacy <3

oh she is the most badass swordswoman lesbian in media. she’s her gf’s cavalier, defends her in battle, she’s incredibly butch and buff

C'mon shes THE sword lesbian like... canonically

Loves her broadsword more than anything on her home planet and practices whenever she can. Spoiler it’s possessed by her mom. Gave everything so her best enemy could eat her soul and become the new saint. The character of all time child of two separate threesomes, child of the god emperor, she’s dead, she’s butch, she’s a dork, she’s doomed by the narrative. She’s my favorite.

girlie is literally the swordswoman supreme. she’s the cavalier primary to her necromancer. she has a fuckoff huge longsword. she gets absorbed into another person SPECIFICALLY to swordfight for them. in a gay way too.

While everyone else was developing common sense, she studied the blade. This dyke's main weapon and true love is the long sword, but she's also passable with a rapier. The sword is, in her own estimation, pretty much all she's good for. That and her smoking hot bod and terribly charming sense of humor.

"While we were developing common sense, she studied the blade." (Direct quote from the book). She's the most useless lesbian to ever exist, and she's obsessed with an absolute wet cat of a woman. Learned longsword mostly on her own and is such a genius with the sword she learned rapier in a few months (by personal experience, it's really really hard)

Most badass broadsword wielding lesbian easily slaying bone monsters and evil space wasps

The cavalier to her necromancer. very gay. in a complicated codependant lovehate relationship with the only other person her age she knew growing up.

#sword gays showdown #inigo montoya #gideon nav #gideon the ninth #the princess bride #the locked tomb #tlt

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crustacean-menace · 8 months

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I am very intrigued by how the "Toa Tool" thing works.

Like, yeah, some are made by Arthaka or other famous universe toolsmiths, but for many matoran-turned-toa, their tools are often related to their professions or straight up are tools they had in hand that are transformed alongside them during the metamorphosis.

Vakama was a mask carver, carving masks from kanoka disks, and his tool turned out to be a launcher that could use the raw materials of his profession as projectiles (well, not a hard thing considering they already are used as projectiles by many, but still...).

Takua's Chronicler staff became Takanuva's Staff of light, a powerful weapon that, coincidentally, could also function as a rather deadly version of a Kohili Stick.

These items also seem to be strongly tied with their own wielder physical being, as the toa Hagah weapons were transformed along their users, but despite this, they can also be left behind for the sake of better equipment (Mahri Kongu) which, although understandable in some cases (Two hands), still feels weird. That's not just a weapon, that's a part of you.

Its such an interesting concept that seems so often discarded in favour of elemental powers and mask, but like... Its YOUR weapon. It is related to a matoran entire being, their life, their experiences and things they enjoy. It's a way to use one's passion in a way that lets them protect others, and often also have additional functions based on what they may need. How cool is that? Think about it.

There could be a toa of ice whose job as a matoran was janitor and their weapon is a mop that can freeze its tendrils and become a morningstar, or generate a frozen layer over what its passed over, painting ice paths in an instant.

There could be a toa of air who had a passion for botany and took care of the MU version of bonsai trees, their precision shears turned into a huge, bulky pair of scissors that can be used as a broadsword that can also manipulate air currents to cut things from distance.

There could be a toa of iron whose main job was welding, and lo and behold, the clunky, cumbersome equipment he struggled to drag around became a big flamethrower that it wears like a backpack, complete with a welding mask integrated on top of their own kanohi as a visor.

There could be a Toa of stone who enjoyed the life of a performer, juggling, somersaulting, doing precision throws and whose tool is now a set of spiky or bladed clubs that can bounce on surfaces and enemies alike and then return to them.

A toa of Psionics whose dream to write stories manifested into a strange staff, originally their writing stylus, able to manifest masterful illusions by writing words inside the enemy minds and trap them in stories through the mere strength of their narration.

#bionicle #crab says stuff #idk there is a LOT to think about this concept #it has incredible creative potential #its a shame we only had mostly standard ``cool`` weapons.#we did have some notorious exception #Krakua sound staff for example was interesting #and who can forget Pohatu steel kicks #but #what about a TOA OF FIST? what about TOA OF WRENCH? what about a TOA OF ROLLERSKATES? what about a TOA OF FISHING POLE?#endless possibilities

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soliarus · 7 months

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Fangs and Claws pt 3

- fluff, angst, fantasy world, vampires, werewolves, elves, ect ect... a bit of suggestiveness

: temptations have begun to brew...

Part One Part Two

words 1.3k

werewolf!momo x vampire!sana x gn!elf!reader

—

Momo woke up with her surroundings in a blur. People kept rushing past her—people in gold painted armor. Pushing at her shoulders as she stood still and stared straight ahead, confused. She looked down and noticed that, in one hand, she had a long broadsword and a wooden stake in the other. She gasped, backing away. Anxiety rushed through her. Where was the tiny cottage? Where was the stream? And the little garden? Where were you?

Where was Sana?

She took shaky steps, too lost in her head to know what was going on. Suddenly a figure runs up towards her, and out of instinct, she raises her sword to block. The two swords meet with a loud clang, steel against steel, metal against metal. She grunts at the sheer force, pushing all her weight into blocking the strong swipe. Her eyes squint, and she can just make out the matted black pieces of armor in front of her, plus the glint of bright red behind the helmet.

But what she really notices are the familiar red feathers that adorned their helmet.

“S-sana? It’s me! Momo!” She stammers out, and the figure in front of her grunts, raises her sword, and swings down.

—

Momo groans into the pillow; the morning light has clearly disturbed her, and she’s willing to make it known. Her arm reaches towards her left, but all she finds is an empty spot next to her, so she reaches to the right. Another empty spot

She groans again, this time louder; the empty bed has now clearly disturbed her, and she’s more than willing to make it known. She lays there sprawled out, letting out an annoyed huff. Suddenly, through the slight crack in the doorway, a smell starts to waft through—a good smell, a yummy smell.

No time is wasted, a quick hop off the bed, a skip to the bathroom and a rush out the room. Sana came in front of the front door, carrying in some cooked salmon. You were setting up the table, preparing other dishes such as rice bowls and zucchini pasta.

“Oh Momo! Just in time for lunch!” You smile, taking her hand leading her towards the table.

Lunch?

“You slept for a long time today, you must have been really tired” You mumble, pushing her hair back behind her ears, pecking her forehead before filling up her plate for her.

Sana sits at her end of the table, Momo was confused, not a single word fell out her mouth, no snarky comment or flirty quip or anything. Very unusual.

Momo tilts her head towards Sana, What’s up with her?

You sigh in return, “poor baby as been acting like this since the moment she woke up” you sigh, moving to put food in Sana’s plate, “I know you don’t feel hungry, sweetheart, but you need some food” you lovingly mumble into her hair, snuggling her a little before rubbing her shoulder. Sana lets out a shaky sigh, not looking up at all and takes her fork before picking at the salmon.

Momo notices how Sana’s eyes flash red for a moment, a familiar glint. She feels a shiver down her spine but doesn’t think anything of it.

Maybe it’s the breeze…

Sana was quite all day long which was… abnormal. She was always quick to make a flirty joke here and there. She just wasn’t herself and Momo was worried.

Hopefully things go back to normal tomorrow.

The three of you got ready for bed, Sana and Momo actually surprised you with a larger bed for your second month anniversary as an official throuple, even if it took up like eighty percent of the space, the three of you were now able to cuddle together.

—

“S-sana! What are you doing?!” Momo tried to get out of Sana’s grip but it was to no avail, she was questionably strong. Sana was panting, hard. Her eyes were bright red and dilated. It was almost like she wasn’t there. Sana leaned forward as she held Momo’s wrists tight in one hand, her other hand dragging itself on her neck, she trails it down until it rests just above Momo’s trousers. Her nose brushed against Momo’s neck. The werewolf could feel her heart beat against her ribcage as Sana presses herself onto her body.

“Sana please…what’s wrong with you? Why are you acting like thi-” Sana covers her mouth with her hand before opening her own, her fangs shining, and she swiftly pushes herself into Momo’s neck.

“Wake up, wolfy! It’s cleaning day!” You jumped on top of Momo, abruptly waking her up.

“Ahhh!” Momo screeches her arms wrapping around your body, as she holds you close, her eyes shut tight. When she looks up she only sees you looking at her confusedly, and she’s quickly letting go and scratching her neck “oh– uhmm…w-where’s Sana?”

“Sana? She’s right there” You point to the doorway and there’s Sana, wearing gloves, a cleaning apron, a mask on her chin, and a bandana wrapped around her head. She looks way less scarier than in Momo’s dream.

—

Momo and Sana was busy cleaning the living room, after you found out that there was a shortage of cleaning syrup you threw a hissy fit before literally running out the cottege to get more from the village. Leaving Sana and Momo in charge of cleaning the rest of the interior. It was an awkward silence, Sana was the same as she was the day before, no flirty quips, no “hey wolfy”, and no snarky comebacks.

But Momo, oh clumsy Momo, she accidenlty dropped the vase she was cleaning, and it shattered everywhere. “Shit! Shit! Y/N is gonna kill me!” She panics, and suddenly bends down to pick up the pieces only to cut her finger, but she ignores it. It’s not until her hand is harshly pulled back,

“Hey! What-” Momo’s words stop as she looks into Sana’s eyes, they were just like in her dream, red and dilated. She follows Sana’s eyes to her cut finger which was oozing blood.

“S-sana?” Momo mutters trying to pull her hand away from Sana’s hold but her grip is too strong. Slowly Sana brings Momo’s cut closer to her. She looks into Momo’s eyes, and as Momo gets a good look she notices it’s slightly different from her dream, yes it’s red and dilated filled with hunger but instead of harshness she’s met with softness, like she’s asking for permission. Momo gulps, and then slowly and caustiosuly, she nods.

Sana hums, she brings Momo’s fringer slowly to her lips and softly tastes the blood, licking it clean.

Uhhh, okay that’s super weird.

Momo thought. She looked at Sana with a slight grimace on her face. And as Sana was going down town with her finger the door flings open,

“They only had three bottles! What am I supposed to do with- holy shit!” You drop the bottles on the ground as you look at the scene in front of you, a shattered vase on the ground, with glass everywhere and your girlfriends literally inches apart from one another, one in pure ecstasy and the other in…pain? Pleasure? You don’t even know anymore.

“How come I always find you two in these positions?” You sigh, walking over to the two. They both had nervous blushes on their faces looking away. You sit next to Sana, running a hand over her back.

“Wolfy?” You ask, eyeing her.

“Wha- what!? Why me? She started it!” Momo squealed pointing at Sana, who was looking down with a blush on her face, Sana murmured something under her breath, something you didn’t get.

“What was that, batsy?”

“I drank her blood!” She shouted, you’re taken aback, looking at Momo, who slowly nodded.

“Uhh okay, honestly I didn’t think you would cave that fast, batsy” You tuck her hair behind her ear, “are you feeling better now?”

Sana nods nuzzling her face into your neck, “aww you’re so cute you big baby” You coo petting her hair.

Momo sits there flabbergasted, “Am I missing something here?”

“Oh just that batsy here has been hiding drained rabbits behind the tool shed”

Sana stiffens from the sudden reveal,

“Wait you know about that?”

#sana x reader #twice x reader #twice imagines #sana imagines #twice #momo imagines #sana x momo #momo x reader

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atlaculture · 10 months

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Live-Action Promo Pics: Zuko

I’ve been hesitant to comment much on the the live-action series, as most of the discourse has revolved around the casting. I’ve already made my ideal ATLA fancast pretty well-known and I don’t feel comfortable harshly critiquing children/teens for not looking like my favorite cartoon characters. At the end of the day, it’s the casting directors that we should hold responsible, not working actors trying to make a living.

However, I have no problem reviewing the costumes--- which I presume were made by industry professionals of adult age. In fact, I’d say the goals of this blog obligate me to give my two cents. So enjoy my completely subjective take on the promotional costumes:

Zuko

What I Liked

They maintained the silhouette of Zuko’s armor. Considering what they did for Sokka’s warrior look, it’s a relief that the FN’s armor is immediately recognizable.

I like the design on Zuko’s spaulders; it reminds me of designs that you see on traditional Thai armor.

I also like that the pattern and other parts of the armor look old and worn. Given that he’s Ozai’s least favorite child and has been banished for three years, his equipment is probably all outdated hand-me-downs.

It appears that Zuko’s live-action armor has two layers of shoulder spikes. I think that’s a good detail, as members of the FN’s royal family tend to sport two or three layers of shoulder pads.

The plume on his helmet is a nice addition. Many historical Chinese armors have plumes, especially the helmets of high-ranking officials. And, in the cartoon, the shape of the helmet almost looks like it was meant to have a plume originally.

The sash is also a good addition. It adds a nice splash of red to the dark tones of his armor. I like it better than the belt in the original show.

What I Didn’t Care For

I’m not an expert on crafts at all, but even I can tell that some very modern, synthetic materials were used for this costume. I know it would’ve been very expensive, but I really wish they had used more metal and leather for Zuko’s armor. Or at least materials that better imitated metal and leather.

The mesh girdle around his waist bothers me. I think it’s supposed to emulate chain mail, but it just reminds me of the polyester mesh they use for basketball uniforms.

I wish his plume was red instead of black.

Overall, I give it 7 broadswords out of 10.

To be honest, this was probably the most difficult of the four promo pictures to review, mainly because I find most armor to be pretty boring-looking. Generally speaking, most practical armors are going to look pretty similar to each other, with the exception of those adapted for extreme climates. I’m basically fine with Zuko’s armor, as its faults are more general issues found in all of the Netflix costumes.

I’ll probably have more to say once they give us a better view of his armor from the front.

#avatar #atla #Avatar The Last Airbender #fire nation #atlaculture #in short #the costume is really more of a meh out of 10 #for me

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blueskittlesart · 5 months

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Hey it's the anon who wants to play BOTW but is egregious bad at video games again. I took your advice and I've shocked myself at how much progress i've made, I got to the goron village, korok forest, and rito village. One current issue is that I am still. SO bad at the combat. Like SO bad. I panic immediately and lose all coordination (which I already had very little of). I managed to get myself killed before I could even get to the point where Sidon GIVES YOU the quest to get to Zora's domain. I completely fumbled through a minor test of strength.

Any tips for improving general combat capabilities. HELP

hi! first of all, i'm gonna go over the basics of combat and how/when you should use them. the game does technically tell you these things, but they come up early game and are pretty easy to miss imo. you might know some of them already tho!

the first thing that's probably going to be really helpful to you if you don't already know about it is enemy targeting. this locks the camera in place on a specific enemy, even within a horde of them, giving you free reign to abandon the right stick and focus on button pressing. to target an enemy, get close and press the left trigger (ZL.) this will also equip your shield if you're using a one-handed weapon, but the targeting is the most important. Once you're locked in on one enemy, so long as you keep the trigger pressed, the camera will auto-lock into a straight line from link's back to the enemy, so there's no need for you to worry about camera controls. if you DO touch the right stick while targeting, the target camera will jump to the next closest enemy to link and auto-lock again. in general, when fighting, your left pointer should be pressing the trigger to target at all times, your left thumb should be on the stick moving link around, and your right thumb should be pressing Y and shouldn't move from that button. that's the basic combat configuration and there aren't a lot of scenarios where you're going to have to do much more than that (except maybe the right trigger for your bow.)

next is weapon classes. there are 3 different melee weapon classes in botw--swords, greatswords, and polearms. each weapon class has a different attack pattern and speed, and each class has its own strengths and weaknesses.

swords are any weapon link swings one-handed. (examples include the master sword, broadswords, tree branches, boomerangs, small boko clubs, etc.) they have a decently fast attack pattern and when they're equipped link can also use a shield in his left hand with ZL. this is my favorite weapon class, as it's pretty middle-of-the road, usually they have mid-range attack points, as previously mentioned their attack speed isn't too slow, and they come with the added bonus of being able to use a shield. if you're fighting something like a guardian where shielding is necessary, you should always aim to be using a sword-class weapon as it's the only weapon class that link can also hold a shield with.

greatswords are heavy two-handed weapons (examples include claymores and bigger boko clubs.) they usually have very large attack stats, often in the 50s or above, which makes them tempting, especially early game. however, they have several noticeable drawbacks that make them my least favorite weapon class. because of their weight, their attack speed is very low, and because they're two-handed link can't shield when he has one equipped. I personally stay away from this weapon class early-game--imo they're only worth it if you have both hearts and stamina to spare. I only ever use them for hard-hitting charged attacks after stunning an enemy, and will almost always switch back to a sword-class weapon for regular combat.

polearms are long, light two-handed weapons that link holds like a spear (examples include spears, halberds, and tridents.) these have the fastest attack speed in the game, but because they're two-handed link still can't shield with one equipped. these weapons also usually have a longer reach than swords and greatswords, so they can be useful if you don't want to get too close to what you're fighting (however you forfeit the more reliable protection of a shield in order to get that benefit.) these are useful in a pinch, and personally i won't actively discard them like i tend to do with greatswords, but they definitely don't have the same versatility and ease of use as a sword-class weapon.

for early-game, i'd try to stick to sword-class weapons as much as possible, and ALWAYS have your shield up with the left trigger/ZL when you're in combat. this alone will make you harder to hit and let you last a lot longer. with the limited weapon slots you have early-game, i'd focus on collecting weapons that are easy for you to use rather than the ones with the highest attack stats, especially since they're going to break anyway. be willing to sacrifice a high-attack greatsword for a lower-attack one-handed sword in a pinch.

as for the actual mechanics of combat, there are plenty of fancy things you CAN do, but very few of them are actually necessary to beat the game. you can get through 90% of all combat in botw by just targeting with ZL and mashing Y, maybe occasionally sprinting with B to avoid enemy attacks. there are shrines and npcs that will teach you fancy things like backflips and perfect-dodges, which are useful if you can reliably perform them, but if you're someone who gets easily confused when you have to perform a lot of button presses in quick succession, it'll probably be more useful for you to just stick to Y attacks.

the one special combo attack you ARE going to need to learn in order to get through the game is a perfect shield parry, which is going to sound scary and difficult when i explain it but i promise it becomes like second nature after a while. this combo is the easiest way to combat anything that has a laser-beam attack, like guardians and certain late-game bosses. you hold your shield up with ZL, (this combo can ONLY be performed if you're holding a one-handed weapon, and make sure you're targeting the enemy attacking you and not just holding your shield up at nothing) wait for the laser to lock onto you, (the target line will blink rapidly and then disappear just before the laser fires) and then, right when the laser hits your shield, hit the A button to redirect the beam back towards the enemy. there is some level of danger here, because if you press A too early the beam may hit you, but most of the time if you fail to perform a perfect parry the beam will still just bounce off your shield and not do any damage to you. there are plenty of stationary guardians on the map you can use to practice this skill until the timing is ingrained into you, and i would highly recommend practicing it as it's super useful late-game.

as a final note, remember that botw is a game designed for versatility. it seems like you're doing everything very by-the-book--fighting whenever the game tells you to fight, regardless of whether you really WANT to fight. and there's nothing wrong with that, but it's also by no means the only way to get through the game. if you find yourself struggling with melee combat, there's nothing stopping you from buying a bunch of bomb arrows and just firing them off at enemies from afar, or even just eating a shit ton of stealth food and sneaking around them. certain combat scenarios are going to be unavoidable, but botw is a game that prioritizes player innovation, meaning that very rarely is there going to only be one way out of a situation. if you're struggling with melee combat, try something else! try your bow, or a rune, or avoiding combat altogether, until you find something that sticks and makes the game fun for you. there's no wrong way to play!

#also worth noting--if you get scared by the quick weapon-switch mechanics mid battle you can literally just pause and open your inventory #to manually switch if your weapon breaks. you don't NEED to use the D-pad for anything except runes if you don't want to #asks

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