#under his current summoned version
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@devkanya replied ; ( ari, greedy: yeah uh can i get like three of these little mahabharata bitches- )
❝ Thanks for inviting me into your team. We’ll definitely beat their asses. ❞
#devkanya#a.sh: -thinks he's teaming up for a competition of sports-#/IM REPLYING WITH A.SH BUT IM POLITELYPUTTING ALL OF THEM NEXT TO A.RI IN THEIR RESPECTIVE UNIVERSES#/ALSO THE WAY I LAUGHED SOHARD WHEN I SAW THIS COMMENT STOOPTOTPPOT#/THE ICE CREAM MEME NOOOOO#he hopes its for basketball or something involving kicking a ball; volley would be nice to him too#he would lit smash the ball against the ground and leave a dent#IN ANY CASE!!#im not talking rn about k.arna and a.rju but feel free to ask at any given time but with ASH-#a.sh is a great bf bc he is ash#its as simple as that#OKOK BUT#i feel like he's the type of person that might be a lil thick headed at the start but once u make things clear#he gets emotional easily; like its v easy to get a reaction from him bc of how intensely he feels things#and under his s.ervant status and how he got summoned in c.haldea; its even double bc#usually he feels this intensity in regards to one main emotion (mostly)#which is anger; rage#so if u present the matter of love into the rooster; its not that he is foreign to it; its just that he might not be used to dealing with th#*that#under his current summoned version#bc his core is focused on these other type of intense emotions#not to mention that in the m.ahab he is quite 'emotional' already#or well im not really sure if that is the proper word to describe it but#a few times he happens to get blinded by the intensity of his emotions in that moment#which later happens to bring him conflict and sometimes regret#BUT IM GETTING OFF THE RAILS- the point is that#despite the image he might give as someone difficult to approach; u can def rely on him when it comes to#the matter of the heart; he'll understand u even if he might not know well how to offer comfort#but he's listening to u okok; and i think thats very cool of him
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gale & curing the orb - early access
writing my current series of cut content from early access made me think a lot, especially about how curing gale of the orb might have originally worked out if larian had kept to what had been set up in early access. it's no secret that a lot of things were changed or cut entirely, big and small, like for instance halsin's involvement with ketheric's fall, isobel and the shadow curse.
gale's condition, too, seemed different then.
what exactly was different in early access?
while only a few body models were unique in early access, gale's key art showed his left arm in bandages.
in early access, auntie ethel had vicious mockery lines, which hinted what might be beneath those bandages:
Auntie Ethel: I can smell what's under those bandages, wizard. You're all rot and ruin. Come to greet death early? You'll be a lovely spectacle.
we also had information from gale directly as to what happened to karsus in the aftermath of casting his spell:
Player: I was wondering about that “mighty lord” you told me about in your story.
Gale: Ah, yes. Karsus Karsus was perhaps the most powerful wizard that ever lived. The child-who-would-be-a-god, the elves called him. And he tried. With a spell of his own devising he endeavoured to usurp in one fell swoop the power of the goddess of magic. Mystryl, she was called then. Imagine what it must have felt like. To be a god. To know yourself to be untouchable. To be mistaken. As Karsus aimed his spell at her she began to unravel, and with her, the entire Weave. Too late did he realize what he had unleashed. It would have been the end of everything had not Mystryl sacrificed herself.
Gale: The goddess of magic is all magic. By dying, the entire weave was lost, and the spell that challenged a god failed. It was the end of Mystryl, the end of Karsus, and the end of an entire civilization. As the child-who-would-be-a-god was turned to stone, his empire came crashing down around him. The floating cities of Netheril were no more. An event that came to be known as Karsus’ folly.
which is in accordance with the lore:
Unfortunately, his choice was a terrible mistake, for one of the responsibilities of the deity of magic was to regulate the flow of magic to and from all beings, spells, and magic items in the world. Lacking the ability to do so properly, magic surged and fluctuated. With her last remaining bit of power, Mystryl sacrificed herself to block Karsus's access to the Weave, causing all magic to fail. The flying cities of Netheril plummeted to the earth. The severing of the link also killed Karsus and transformed him into stone, and the last thing he saw was his entire civilization being destroyed because of his actions. This was to be known as Karsus's Folly. The stone form of Karsus eventually landed in a part of the High Forest, now called the Dire Wood. The city of Karse was built around its base.
Karsus was never accepted as a petitioner by any god, nor did he go to the Fugue Plane when he died. Instead, his soul was bound to the Material Plane. Those with experience in pact magic could call up his vestige, where he appeared as a giant blood-red boulder, like the one found in the High Forest where his petrified form landed. Blood burbles up from the top of the stone, trickling down the side facing the summoner, pooling at the base. When he spoke, the pool fountained upwards, its height varying on the volume of his voice.
the netherese orb then seemed to have a immediate visible physical effect on gale, in addition to the ones that carried to the full release version of the game.
so putting these clues together, i think it's safe to say that the orb caused gale in early access to be afflicted with some form of corrupted petrification, which makes sense given that it's a piece of magic unleashed during karsus's folly.
at that point, this corruption seemed to be affecting his left arm the most, perhaps either from opening the book containing the netherese magic with it, or trying to shield himself with it - but that's just speculation on my part.
so what did the early access set up in terms of curing gale from his affliction?
gale in early access showed a great interest in the astral plane, especially in the absence of time there. he has several banters with lae'zel, which are still in the game now and showing his vested interest in the astral plane as well as any knowledge or insight lae'zel might offer on it:
Gale asks Lae'zel about the Astral Plane. Has she been there?
Gale: Tell me, Lae'zel, what is it like on the Astral Plane? Your home realm intrigues me.
Lae'zel: Githyanki lay their eggs on other planes. They cannot mature in the Astral.
Lae'zel: I will only be welcomed once I obtain a mind flayer's head.
lae'zel notices gale's interest and initiates a banter of her own:
Lae'zel asks Gale what his interest is in the Astral plane, and he equivocates
Lae'zel: Tell me, Gale: what is your interest in the Astral Plane?
Gale: Time. Or rather: the absence of it. In the Astral Plane, everything is eternal.
Lae'zel: It will be my home soon enough, should Vlaakith will it.
in addition to these banters, which clearly show gale's interest in the astral plane - which now in the full release seems merely academic - hinted at another solution to ridding himself of the orb.
what points to that quite conclusively is gale's dialogue when he reveals the truth about the orb to the protagonist.
this reveal differs quite significantly from the full release version. most notably, the protagonist was able to ask him about his own ideas for a what might be able to cure him from the orb.
gale had something very interesting to say to that question:
Player: What would permanently rid you of the orb?
Gale: The orb was kept safe and inert in a pocket of Astral Plane, suspended in time. If I can somehow manage to expel it from my body while in the Astral Plane, it will be rendered inert again.
Alternatively, I could learn to control it’s chaotic magic, that is; to succeed where I failed before. But without Mystra’s favour, I don’t see how that may come to pass.
Of course there could be different answers as well. Faerun brims with more magic than any one wizard could fathom, let alone comprehend. Who knows what outlandish solutions may yet present themselves?
so what does this all mean?
in conclusion, i believe originally there were either more ways to cure gale from the orb - or maybe even in a different manner entirely - than there are in the full release version of the game (begging mystra to remove it, ascension, or accepting/keeping the orb).
perhaps even one that would circumvent having to beg mystra for forgiveness entirely, without gale having to sacrifice his mortality to do so.
i think these banters and lines of dialogue show that the astral plane, which would have rendered the orb inert and stopped the corrupted petrification of his body, would have played a bigger role in gale's quest.
#gale dekarios#gale of waterdeep#karsus#baldur's gate 3#bg3#baldurs gate 3#bg3 meta#bg3 early access#ch: gale dekarios#vg: baldur's gate 3#series: baldur's gate#meta: mybg3
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Fushiguro baby reader staring at the walls of their bedroom/at the door or closet because they sensed 'demons' at that specific place (the demons being random ass kidnappers trying toget reader for some random reason) and just staring
If baby Fushiguro is still with Toji:
Baby Fushiguro is sleeping with her father, Toji, in his bed, and she just suddenly wakes up because she sensed someone was in the house. She crawls out of Toji's arms(who is a light sleeper and knows immeadiately when reader leaves his arms, but thinks nothing of it since she has a habit of doing it often to go roam around the house, maybe go to the kitchen to get herself a cookie or go to her room to find her plushie. He's not concerned).
He is concerned though when reader doesn't return after a few minutes, which then turns into 30 minutes. He gets off the bed, eyes still groggy from sleep as he quietly leaves the room to look for you, only to find you sitting on the floor in front of the back door.
He looks at you, then at the door, then at you. And he signs at you (yes, Toji taught you sign language long before you could actually speak)
'What are you doing here, bub?'
You smile sleepily at him. 'Waiting for my friend.'
'What friend?' He asks, heart sinking.
'The one hiding behind the door. He's brought 3 other guys too, but they're in a van outside. Do you think they brought me presents?' You ask with hope.
And then as Toji looks at the door again, he catches a glimpse of a slight shadow under the door.
Toji looks at you and signs. 'Why don't you go up and get ready with your tea cups? I'll bring them up.' You nod and walk back up the stairs while Toji goes out and obliterates the men who were planning on breaking in and kidnapping the child they'd been spying on and found that lived at the apartment alone often because Toji left for work.
Of course, when Toji returned, he consoled you and put you back to sleep, all while making plans of moving to another safehouse the next day, all while his heart thumps at the fact that you were able to sense that someone was outside your house without any indication, that you weren't just able to sense curses but also humans at your age, it made him uneasy to think that if anyone else were to know about your... powers, they'd make you a target.
If baby Fushiguro is with Naoya/Zenin Clan:
Naoya wakes up to someone screaming, and leaves the room with a groan because he doesn't have the energy to deal with you terrorising yet another servant.
Naoya is only confused as he finds the rest of the Zenin clan outside in the garden, where they're all watching you swing your Hello Kitty katana around at the intruder who was hanging upside down from the tree, his foot held by a tentacle belonging to a curse which apparently you had summoned to hold him from the tree branch while you played a very gory version of "piñata".
"Y/N!" He yelled, startling you. "What are you doing?!"
You explained how you felt someone was outside in the garden, so you went out to see and found the man had "put the head nanny to sleep" (which meant he knocked her out) and said he wanted to play a game with you. He said you could choose any game you liked, if you come outside, so you chose piñata. But since Uncle Naoya had refused to get you a real piñata because "NO CANDY/SUGAR FOR Y/N!", you made him a piñata.
"He said it was okay." You mumbled. Clearly the intruder had underestimated you. "I only got my friend to help me hang him up." By friend, you meant the 14 tentacles monster curse who was currently hiding in the tree. He'll be dealt with by your uncles. Naoya needs to handle the intruder who almost fucking kidnapped you.
"I'll get you the stupid piñata if you if you go to bed right now."Naoya said nodding at Aunty Zenin to lead you back to your room as you beamed and skipped happily.
"As for you..." He turned to the intruder who was traumatised for life. "- You're about to be in a world of pain."
#yandere toji fushiguro#yandere toji#yandere naoya#yandere naoya zenin#yandere zenin clan#yandere jjk#yandere jujutsu kaisen
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I've been reading many posts about Danny being the Ghost King, Jazz being Queen Mother, Dan redemption, Dani being his daughter, Danny and his clones, summonings, hilarious assumptions and so on. So, I thought why not combine them.
A new Ruler of the Infinite Realms has been chosen and all realms can feel the changes. But not everyone is okay with that because it has been a few millennia since the Tyrant King was sealed and there's suddenly this new ruler that they absolutely have no info on. That won't do for them.
So after countless hours of searching, scrying, seance and not so great attempts at summoning, the finally found a very old spell, written in on the wall of an ancient temple that they can barely read or translate, that have a slight higher chance of success. A spell that can reveal the royal succession lines of the Infinite Realms's throne. So naturally people fought amongst each other to have it for themselves and some of it got lost in translation or destroyed.
But the spell still works, not like how they want it or how the original spell intended to work, but it worked nonetheless so nobody think anything was amiss.
Of course, John Constantine got a version of the spell and had to share it with the rest of JL. The spell he got however only give him the barest bones of the succession lineage such as Royal Hierarchy, Royal Titles, Given Titles, Chosen Name and picture of that they look like. And since John is British the spell use the British royal hierarchy as template, meaning instead of conquest through combat, they think it's bloodline.
Most of the lineage are missing since the rulers were either ended and erased or forgotten, so the only thing that was clear was from Pariah Dark and Kronos (which is a shock for Diana) and downwards. So imagine their surprise when they look at the picture under current King of the Infinite Realms and see a being that looks like a teenage boy looking back at them. They were again shocked when looking below the new king and see a list of deceased male heirs with only one surviving princess.
Who is King Phantom?
#Danny Phantom#King Phantom#Queen Mother Jazz#Dan Redemption#Princess Danielle#dani phantom#dc x dp#dp x dc#justice league#ghost king danny#royal lineage
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Gamer ‘Friend’ ☆ Chapter 1: Panty Incident(s)
☆ Pervy!Dom!Idia Shroud x Fem!Reader : On a Thursday night, Ignihyde’s dorm leader, Idia Shroud bumps into a fellow gamer, and that happens to be you, someone that had become infamous on campus. Being new to this world, and having the headmaster stingy with money, you had yet to experience this world’s gaming. But not to worry, after all Idia Shroud the professional gamer that he is, is here to help, in more ways than attended…
(In this version reader eats breakfast alone not with her friends, lol)
Warnings : Mature content, Non-Con, Dub-Con, Somnophilia, Panty Stealing, Masturbating(male), Cumplay(Idia cumming in readers panties), Degenerate Fantasies, mentions of; Choking, Tying up, Spanking, Slapping, Denigration, Humilation, but no actually action. (It’s mention in a book the reader has.) (Okay, it’s my first fic so sorry if tag this wrong). Reader is said to be curvy about twice. IDIA IS CANONICAL 18.
Note: Reader is; a heavy sleeper(or maybe not👀), shorter than Idia, a masochistic degradee, an airhead, fucked up, unhinged pervert. And Idia gets horny very easily around the reader, since they are the first girl he’s ever seen in real life, besides from his family and the S.T.Y.X employees. Things move really fast because Idia is loke an obsessive pervert. Also when y/n is written it only refers to the first name. Idia is a bit/lot occ, not proofread.
Chapter 1 | Next Chapter |
☆ More under the cut. ☆
Idia was walking through the halls of Night Raven College, avidly trying to avoid unnecessary attention. His flame-like hair glowed a light blue, and his yellow eyes darted around the halls. He hoped to reach his dorm room without any issues.
However, that was not the case when he accidentally bumped into you. With his scrawny physique, he was almost knocked over by the collision.
“O-oh, I’m so so sorry! Are you alright? Sorry again I wasn’t paying attention!” You tell him, Idia's eyes widened as he nearly fell over. His hands went out to catch himself on you, grabbing hold of your wrist, leaving faint marks of his presence behind. He quickly let’s go when he realizes he is making contact with you. "Y-Yes, I'm fine..." He muttered softly, trying hard not to sound annoyed. Finally, he gathered enough courage and turned around to face you properly.
"Um- So.. h-hello?" He stammered nervously, unable to meet your gaze directly.
He noticed how small and curvy you were compared to him. Your soft and smooth hair was like a magnet pulling him in, making it difficult for him to tear his eyes away from your features. The way your hips swayed with each step had an odd effect on him; one that made him extremely horny.
“Uh, hi?” You reply, questioning the interaction.
"Umm... uh..." Idia stuttered, unsure of what to say next. His hands fidgeted nervously with his his tablet case. "I-I'm Idia Shroud, the Housewarden of Ignihyde." He managed to croak out finally, offering a weak smile that barely reached his eyes, still unsure of why he was introducing himself. But his brain told him to continue.
"And you are?" He asked tentatively, hoping he hadn't crossed any lines by asking such ‘personal information’ so soon after meeting you. Of course to an antisocial guy like himself, such question was considered personal.
“Oh, I’m f/n l/n, and I guess I’m the prefect of the Ramshackle.” You tell him, with a bright smile. He then remembered the whole story behind the girl who had been summon from another world, apparently she had stop 2 Overblots already, he usually didn’t pay attention to normies so he didn’t look into her. But he does remember commenting to himself how she was like an anime protagonist, getting isekaid into a reverse harem type of world….
“Oh, nice to meet you f/n l/n." Idia said softly, his voice barely above a whisper. He shifted uncomfortably from one foot to the other, feeling heat rise in his cheeks at the mention of being associated with someone so currently relevant, well at least on campus that is.
"So... uh, what brings you here?" He asked awkwardly, hoping it would steer the conversation away from himself and onto something else entirely.
"I was heading towards the library to get some reading material. You would be surprised how many of the books there are not school-related.” You informed him,
Idia blinked a few times, trying to process your words. "R-Reading? That's... nice," he muttered, clearing his throat awkwardly.
"Well, I guess I should get going too then." He mumbled quickly, turning around and speeding away down the hallway, hoping you wouldn't follow him.
“Bye Idia, I hope to see you soon!” You speak up for him to hear,
"Y-Yeah... see you later..." Iida called out softly after you, his voice trailing off as he rushed towards the exit door of the school building. He wanted to arrive at the mirror chamber and reach Ignihyde as soon as possible, in order to return safely to his dormitory. Once alone in his room, he leaned against the door, panting heavily. His heart raced wildly inside his chest, and sweat formed on his palms.
He closed the door behind him, locking it tightly before collapsing onto his bed, burying his face into the pillow. What did you mean when you said ‘You hoped to see him soon’. How could someone like you—so beautiful and confident—possibly find anything interesting about a loser like him? He berated himself internally, feeling more worthless than ever.
Meanwhile, you went to the library and found what you were looking for: smut books. You picked up two books, one with a vanilla and soft theme called 'The White Lily', and another one that was right up your alley - a dark romance novel that contained all hardcore explicit content in its plot. It was called 'The Trap of Mr. Sota'.
Here’s a summary of both of the books.
Title: The White Lily
‘"The White Lily" is an adult romance novel that tells the story of Ella, a successful businesswoman who has everything she could ever want, except for one thing: true love. Ella has never felt a real connection to anyone she's dated, and she's starting to think she's destined to be alone. That is, until she meets Michael, a charming and handsome stranger who shakes up her world in the most unexpected way.
As Ella and Michael start spending more time together, they discover that they have a deep and meaningful connection, and they can't resist the attraction that grows between them. But just as their relationship begins to blossom, past secrets and old wounds from Michael's past threaten to tear them apart. Will Ella and Michael be able to overcome their differences and find their happy ending? Or will their love be doomed to never be fulfilled?’
Title: The trap of Mr. Sota
‘"The Trap of Mr. Sota" is an alluring adult romance novel that delves into the depths of human desires. This captivating story follows Sakura, a young woman on a journey of self-exploration and sexual awakening.
As Sakura explores BDSM, she discovers her masochistic tendencies and finds comfort in the hands of Mr. Sota, a dominant figure who pushes her boundaries.
Sakura willingly surrenders to the degrading words and experiences pleasure through being tied up, spanked, slapped, and choked by Mr. Sota.
But Sakura's desires go beyond that. She enjoys being provocative and being disciplined by Mr. Sota.
In "The Trap of Mr. Sota," Sakura explores her submissive desires, becoming an object of pleasure. As pain and pleasure intertwine, Sakura and Mr. Sota embark on a journey of self-discovery, testing their limits and forming a deep connection.’
As you signed out the books, the elderly librarian gave you a knowing look, ‘they must have read them before-‘.
Afterwards, you left the school building, returning to your dorm, the ramshackle, and followed your nightly routine. This included cooking dinner for you and your magical beast roommate, Grim, taking a shower, doing your skincare routine, completing a bit of school work, and now, the newly added activity before falling asleep, reading a couple of chapters of 'The Trap of Mr. Sora’. And commenting on the books chapters using some sticky notes, after all it was still school property.
The next day..
Idia woke up late, or more exactly, on time, his alarm having failed to go off. He hade made habit of waking up early to avoid interacting with other students at breakfast. Groaning, he rolled out of bed and stretched his stiff muscles before getting dressed in his usual attire: a black t-shirt and his NCR school uniform pants paired with his signature hoodie and shoes. The bayou blue hoodie featured a zippered pocket on the front and a white triangle design on the sleeve, adding a unique touch to its appearance. Its lightweight and breathable material ensures comfort and dryness in various weather conditions and occasions. The shoes, designed with a unique combination of white and blue colors, feature a white sole and a blue stripe.
He gathered his belongings and made his way downstairs to the Ignihyde common area. Stepping through a magic mirror, he arrived on campus and headed towards the cafeteria, where breakfast was being served.
As he entered, he noticed you sitting at one end of the many tables, engrossed in a book. His gaze lingered on you for a moment longer than necessary before he quickly looked away, feeling guilty for admiring someone he shouldn't be attracted to.
"Morning, Shroud," greeted another male student, an Ignihyde student, one he had encountered a couple of times. "You look like shit today." The students adds on.
Meanwhile you were engrossed in your book, currently reading ‘The trap of Mr. Sota’. As you muched on a syrupy pancake for breakfast, a spicier scene form the previous one begin, the sentence were extremely descriptive, which caused you to get a bit flustered, maybe a hint of arousal.
Idia winced at his dorm-mate’s blunt comment, avoiding eye contact as he grabbed himself something on the sweeter side to eat. "Thanks... uh, yeah, I didn't sleep well last night." He told him, trying to end the conversation quickly. As his mind wondered back to the thought of you, he decided to do something extremely bold for someone like him. After Ortho prestred him last night about not getting your contacts, especially after you had told him ‘you wanted to see him soon’, Idia made the decision to seat with you at breakfast or at least try his best to.
He sat down across from you, his eyes flickering involuntarily towards your exposed cleavage when you lifted your glass of orange juice. You usual wear a bow around your neck, but the days started getting hotter since yesterday, so you had opted for no bow and 2 unbuttoned buttons.
‘Damn it’, he scolded himself internally, forcing his gaze back to his own plate.
"So, umm..." he cleared his throat awkwardly. “How was your morning?" He asked, hoping the question would allow him to steer a conversation away from personal topics.
"Ah, hello Idia! I didn't notice you here. My morning has been going well so far. I woke up on time and caught up on some reading. How about you? What have you been up to this morning?” You told him.
"Oh, uh... well, I guess it was alright. Just another morning at school." Idia mumbled, avoiding eye contact with you as he stirred his meal.
In reality, however, his mind drifted back to last night's encounter with you—your soft voice, your scent mixed with the faint hint of vanilla from your perfume, and those enticing curves that made him ache with desire. He shook his head forcefully, trying to banish these thoughts from his mind before they consumed him entirely.
"So, uhm, have... y-you ever thought about joining any clubs or extracurricular activities around here?" He asked abruptly, hoping to change the subject once more.
"Yes, definitely! While there isn't a visual arts club, which was a big disappointment to me, I'm considering joining the board game club. Have you given any thought to which clubs you might want to join?” You asked him.
"Oh, nope, never really had any interest in joining anything like that. Also I heard that club wasn’t so great.." Idia replied nonchalantly, taking a sip of his orange juice.
In reality, he was lying through his teeth; there were several clubs and activities he wanted to join, particularly ones related to technology, plus he was actually a member of the board game club. The thought of being around people was one he disliked,—but an attractive girl like you—made him break out in cold sweats, how was he suppose to beat Azul if you were around to distract, just by exiting.
"I mean... I enjoy playing games alone in my room," he added quickly, hoping it would end the conversation sooner rather than later, this was already too much for him.
“Oh, really, that’s fun! I used to game a lot in my home world, but now that I'm here, I can't. The headmaster is stingy with money, so I can't buy any games, much less a console or laptop to play on.” You explained, begin excitedly but ending with a pout.
"H-Hey, wait a second. I... I could help you out with that!" Idia blurted out before he could stop himself. His heart raced wildly in his chest as he realized what he'd just volunteered to do.
"I have some old games and consoles lying around my room, that I could bring around." he continued nervously, hoping you wouldn't reject his offer. "We could play sometime, maybe after classes?" His palms grew sweaty at the mere thought of spending time alone with you in his messy abode.
"Sounds good! Let's meet up in the library after class. I gotta go now too, so I'll see you later Idia!” You say, putting your school bag around your shoulder, and taking your leave for class.
But what you didn’t realize at that time, was that you had forgotten your two borrowed books on the cafeteria table, ‘The trap of Mr. Sota’ wide open, right at an explicit scene.
Idia's heart had skipped a beat as he watched you leave, his eyes lingering on your figure moving gracefully down the hall. He couldn't believe you had actually said yes to playing games with him.
But before he could savor this victory, his attention was drawn back to the books you left behind. His gaze locked onto the juicy scene described in 'The Trap of Mr. Sora', and despite his better judgment, he found himself unable to look away.
With trembling hands, he picked up the book and flipped through the pages, reading the explicit content with increasing interest. The characters engaged in taboo acts that ignited a fire within him, making his cock throb against his pants.
"What am I doing?" He muttered under his breath, trying to snap out of this dangerous thought spiral. “I can't... I should just put these damn things away." But instead, he continued reading, devouring every word like starved monster.
Idia's heart raced faster as he read through the book, his fingers tracing over your notes in wonder. The way you fantasized about being treated like a mere object, used and discarded without mercy, sent shivers down his spine.
He couldn't help but imagine himself as Mr. Sora, dominating and controlling this perfect girl named y/n. His mind spiraled out of control, filling with images of him tying you up, spanking your plump ass, thrusting into your tight hole—all the things you wrote about yourself wanting.
"No... no, it's wrong," he muttered under his breath, closing the book tightly. Standing up abruptly, he headed back to his room in Ignihyde, pacing the small confines of his room, trying to shake off these forbidden thoughts.
Class was now over, Idia finally managed to calm himself somewhat, although his heart still raced like a wild animal trapped in its cage. Gathering up the courage, he leaves the books on his desk—his mind still clouded with forbidden images of you—and hurriedly made his way to the library.
As he entered, he noticed you sitting at the same table, already engrossed in another book. His gaze briefly lingered on your figure before he forced himself to focus on setting up the old console and games he'd brought from his room.
"Uh, hey y/n," he said nervously, clearing his throat. "Ready whenever you are." He says setting the console in front of you and taking out an old laptop to use as a monitor, or a second control.
“Hey, Idia! Your old console looks great. Also, can you help me familiarize myself on how to operate it? I'm not used to this world's gaming system or games, so your expertise would be a big help. Are you up for a tutorial?” You ask him,
"Oh, it's no problem!" Idia replied eagerly, plugging in the console and turning it on. He selected a simple racing game and handed you the controller.
"Just press these buttons here," he said, pointing to the symbols on the screen. "And use the joystick to move your car around the track." His hands trembled slightly as he demonstrated, his eyes fixated on yours.
The scent of your perfume mixed with the faint smell of books filled his nostrils, making it hard for him to concentrate. "Umm... so, uh, what games do you usually play back home? Maybe I know some similar ones we could try?" He asked nervously, hoping this would engage a conversation.
“Well I like games like open world rpg, where you needed to collect material to craft items, especially the ones where you could choose classes like swordsman, craftsman, mage, etc. But I also enjoyed puzzled games or visual novels type of game!” You state,
"Oh, I know some games like that!" Idia's eyes lit up with excitement. He rummaged through his bag and pulled out an old copy of 'The Ancient text: Cloudium', a game known for its expansive world and flexible character creation system.
"This one fits the bill," he said proudly, handing you the disc. "You can create your own character and choose from different classes like warrior, mage, thief..." His voice trailed off as he watched you insert the disc into the console.
As the loading screen appeared on the laptop screen, he cleared his throat awkwardly. "Uh, so... uh, do you want me to help you set up your character or should I just... leave?" He couldn't bring himself to watch as you crafted your perfect avatar without asking first, fearful of what it might spark within him.
“Oh no stay! I might need you, after all you seem to already know the gimmicks of the game. Plus I wanted to game with you, sure I like doing it by myself, but I also greatly enjoy playing with others!” You explain, bugging him to stay longer.
Idia's heart raced wildly in his chest as you moved closer beside him, your legs brushing against each other ever so lightly. He forced himself to focus on the game screen, trying hard not to think about how your body felt pressed against his side.
"Alright, well, let's start with creating a new character," he said, clearing his throat awkwardly. "You can choose between male or female... and uh, what race do you want?" His fingers hovered over the keyboard, ready to type out whatever you desired.
“Does the gender affect the game experience, like do you get favouritism from NPC if you chose one or the other?” you question, Idia nodded, "No, it doesn't really matter for this game."
“Okay then I’ll go with a female character.”
Idia's typed in your request, his hands shaking slightly. "Alright, female it is," he managed to croak out, “what race?”
“Oh you can choose.”
He decides to select the race of Snow Elf for you due to its ethereal appearance and agility. "And what class?" He asked timidly,
“I want to be a scout.” You inform him.
"A scout, huh? That sounds interesting," Idia replied, typing in the appropriate options. "You'll be able to move quickly and deal damage from range. Sounds like a good fit for you."
He handed you the controller again, his fingers brushing against yours briefly before pulling away quickly. His heart was racing wildly in his chest as he waited for you to continue with the game setup, as you customize your characters clothing.
“Okay, I’m done! Let’s start playing!”
Idia's heartbeat slowed down slightly as he launched the game, and soon enough, you both found yourselves exploring the vast world of Cloudia. Idia guided you through the character creation process, explaining various abilities and skills that would come in handy during the adventure. Than with other laptop he connects to his older game account, and joins your character.
As you navigated through the snow-covered landscape, the two characters interacted with nonplayable characters (NPCs), completing quests, and fighting off fearsome creatures. The atmosphere shifted dramatically whenever they entered dungeons or dark caves, casting eerie shadows across the screen.
"Do you like it so far?" Idia asked nervously, his eyes fixed on yours. He couldn't help but notice how well you controlled your character, effortlessly dodging attacks and landing devastating blows.
“It’s great! Also Idia I got a question for you.” you tell him,
"Yeah, go ahead," Idia replied eagerly, his voice cracking slightly.
“Actually I got two questions, sorry.. my first one is if you know where the book I was reading this morning went, also the other book that came with. When I realized I had forgotten them it was to late and I had to go to class, but when I came back to the dinning hall during lunch they were gone. So I’m wondering if you saw anyone take them when I left?” You ask him.
Idia's heart skipped a beat as you mentioned the book he hadn't been able to resist peeking at earlier. "O-oh, uh... I... ah..." He cleared his throat nervously. "I-I didn't see anyone take them," he lied, hoping you wouldn't press further.
"But I did notice they were left on the table we shared today," he added. "Maybe one of your friends picked them up accidentally?" His mind raced with guilt and excitement, wondering if you would confront him about it later.
“Oh okay!”
Idia's heart was pounding in his chest, as he tried to focus on the game. His mind drifted back to your body moving so gracefully with the controller in hand, imagining how it would feel against his own…
"Uh... what's your second question?" He managed to croak out, breaking the awkward silence.
“Ah, yes, I’m sorry if this is a bit direct.. but..” you turn your head to look at him, “do you perhaps own old copies of more adult-rated games, like explicit and erotic content type of stuff, that you wouldn’t mind giving away. Sorry this is weird thing to ask lol.”
Idia's heart skipped a beat as you turned your head towards him, your eyes meeting his. His mind reeled with shock and confusion at your boldness, but a part of him found it oddly thrilling.
"W-well... uh... I mean..." He stuttered, struggling to form coherent thoughts. "Y-you know, some stuff like that might be in my collection," he finally managed to choke out, his voice barely above a whisper.
"But I-I mean, we're supposed to be just playing normal games here!" He added quickly, trying to deflect the conversation back to their shared activity.
“Oh don’t worry I won’t play those games around you, they would just be for ‘me time’ lmao” you tell him with a chuckle.
"O-oh, uh... well, I guess that's fine then," Idia stammered, feeling a mix of relief and unease wash over him. He couldn't believe you had actually asked him about such things, but it also made his cock twitch in anticipation.
"Uhm, so, uh, do you need any help with the game?" He changed the subject hastily, hoping to redirect his wandering thoughts elsewhere.
In reality, he was already formulating a plan in his mind: tonight, after everyone else was asleep, he would sneak into your room and leave those explicit books on your bedside table, along with some games that fit your request. Perhaps steal one of your panties, maybe even the one you wore to sleep…; He was definitely going to steal that specific pair.
“No it’s alright, I’m just enjoying playing with you!” You tell him with a smile,
Idia' break out of his trance, heart racing as you continued to praise him, his mind whirling with the possibility of what could happen between you later.
"Well, uh... nice playing with you too," he managed to croak out, clearing his throat nervously. "I-I think we should call it a night for now."
Standing up, he gathered his belongings handing you the console, old laptop and two games to keep. He then walked towards the exit, trying hard not to look at your figure swaying in front of him. Once outside, he hurried back to his dorm room, his thoughts consumed by images of you, naked and eagerly awaiting him.
Time had passed and you were already asleep in bed. You were only wearing a t-shirt and panties, as a pyjamas.
Meanwhile Idia waited outside your building, his heart hammering in his chest as he prepared himself for what he was about to do. After ensuring he heard no noise, meaning you were sound asleep, he quietly pick the lock of the front door and climbs the stairs to your floor and crept down the hallway towards your room.
His hand trembled slightly as grabbed the handle of your door, holding his breath as it beeped softly. Slowly, he turned the handle, pushing the door open a crack. The dim moonlight filtering through the window cast eerie shadows across your sleeping form, sending shivers of desire coursing through him.
With practiced ease, he slipped inside the darkened room, closing the door behind him softly. His eyes adjusted to the darkness, honing in on the bedside table. Carefully, he placed 'The Trap of Mr. Sota' and 'The White Lily', onto your desk, with a copy of erotic visual novel game called ‘maiden of the abyss’, a game that would definitely fit your taste.
Then, he approached your bedside, reaching out tentatively to brush aside the covers covering your legs. He paused, taking a deep breath before, with shaking hands, he removed your panties from your body. Leaving your bare glistening cunt in plain sight.
You gasped in your sleep at new and colder sensation with the lack of fabric covering you.
Startled by the sound of your soft voice, Idia froze, his heart pounding in his chest. He hadn't meant for you to wake up! Panic surged through him, but he quickly composed himself and grabbed your panties, stuffing them into his pocket before dashing out of the room.
He closed the door behind him, his pulse racing wildly. Had you heard him? Was he caught? His mind raced with worry as he hurried back to his own dormitory, trying to calm down. Inside his room, he paced nervously, unsure what to do next. But he soon decided that the best course action was returning to his dorm.
He was now in his room, splayed out on his bed with the adrenaline form the thrill still coursing through his veins, and the image of your body still fresh in his mind. He needed to jerk off…
Idia's breath hitched as he slid his hand downwards, running it over the silky fabric of your panties. The familiar warmth and scent enveloped him as he brought the article closer to his face, sending shockwaves of desire coursing through his veins.
He closed his eyes, focusing on the image of you, spread wide open for him, begging for him to claim you. His fingers traced along the edge of the panty waistband, savoring the softness against his skin before bringing it to his mouth, licking it with a soft moan.
"Oh god, yes," he muttered, his voice cracking with need. "You taste so good." With renewed determination, he removed his pants and briefs, freeing his throbbing member from its confines. Gripping the base firmly, he began to stroke himself vigorously, imagining how amazing it would feel to bury himself inside you.
Idia's eyes stayed shut tightly as he continued to pleasure himself, his dick throbbing in sync with each thrust of his hand. The panties now draped over his cock, adding an extra layer of sensuality to the act.
"Oh god... I want you so much," he panted, his breath coming heavy and fast. "I need you." His pace picked up, faster and harder, his hips rocking back and forth in rhythm with his hand movements. Sweat trickled down his forehead, staining his pillow.
He imagined himself inside you, claiming you as his own, marking your body with bites and bruises. He would make love to you slowly at first, savoring every inch of your tight, warm passage. But soon enough, he'd lose control, pounding into you mercilessly, taking what he believed was rightfully his.
Idia's climax hit him like a tidal wave, his cock exploding in his hand, covering the panties with thick, sticky cum. He groaned loudly, his body convulsing as he rode out the wave of pleasure.
His breathing gradually returned to normal, and he carefully cleaned himself up before slipping back into his pants and pulling on a fresh pair of boxers. Tucking the panties away in his drawer, planning to steal a new pair tomorrow and put the used ones in your laundry basket as if he didn’t steal them. He switched off the light and crawled into bed, trying to banish thoughts of you from his mind.
The next day…
Idia woke up feeling heavy-headed and sore, his mind still replaying last night's encounter with you. Groaning softly, he opened his eyes, blinking several times to adjust to the dim light filtering through the curtains.
After stretching, he got out of bed and dressed in his usual uniform, avoiding eye contact with anyone who crossed paths. He knew he had to face the day ahead, hoping nobody would notice anything amiss about him.
As he descended the stairs, he couldn't help but wonder if today would be the day you confronted him about what happened yesterday. His heart raced at the thought, both dread and anticipation warring within him.
Idia's heart skipped a beat as he entered the dining hall and saw you sitting at your usual table, engrossed in 'The Trap of Mr. Sora'. You we’re already there, even though had returned to his early morning schedule. His gaze lingered on your figure for a moment too long before quickly looking away, his face flushing crimson with embarrassment.
"Good morning, y/n," he managed to croak out, trying to sound casual. "Uhm, er... uh... did you sleep well?" He cleared his throat awkwardly, avoiding eye contact.
“Yeah it was alright. Also you know what, when I woke up this morning I found both of my books placed on my desk!”
Idia's falters as you mentioned the books, his eyes darting nervously around the empty cafeteria. "Oh, uh... I-I see," he stammered, trying to sound contrite. "I thought they went missing... er, but I guess they just reappeared, maybe some type of spell..." he lied knowing full well he had broken into your dorm the previous night and put them on your desk for you to find.
His voice trailed off, and he quickly shifted the conversation towards safer territory. "So, uhm, how about we continue our game later today? Maybe after classes?" He cleared his throat again, hoping his proposal would diffuse the awkwardness between them.
“Yeah definitely!.. But there’s also something else that happens to me last night..” you tell him softly.
Idia's heart dropped into his stomach as you continued speaking, his eyes wide with fear. "What happened?" He managed to choke out, his voice cracking slightly.
"I... I think someone stole my panties last night," you begin, getting closer to his ear, lifting off your chair a bit, and whispered to him matter-of-factly, with your lips curving into a sly smile. "They were missing from my body when I woke up. Plus there also was a copy of an erotic game on my desk." You sit back down normally, with a small confused pout on my lips, wondering who was the panty thief.
Idia's heart raced wildly in his chest, feeling a mix of terror and excitement course through him. He forced himself to remain composed, placing a placating hand on yours reassuringly. "I-I... I... well, I-I don't know anything about that," he stuttered, his voice cracking slightly.
"Someone else must have taken them," he insisted, though his mind was racing with the possibility that you had caught him red-handed. "Maybe someone wanted them as souvenirs?" His fingers trembled slightly as he tried to steady them on his coffee cup.
“Chill out, I never said it you lol. Plus.. as weird as it sound I find it kind of cute for someone to do that, it’s like having a secret admirer. But in this case they steal your underwear off of you when you sleep, instead of sending anonymous gifts, we’ll I guess the erotic game counts as one lmao.” You say in an unhinge like some crazy pervert.
Idia's heartbeat calmed slightly, though it was still racing faster than usual. "Well, I... uh... thank you," he managed to croak out, his face turning even paler than its natural hue, when he realized what came out of his mouth.
"I mean, that's... nice of you to say, it’s not like I was that pervert that did that to you!" he added, lying, then clearing his throat awkwardly. “So, about our game... after classes, yeah, let's meet up at the library again." With that, he stood up abruptly, grabbing his tray and carrying it away swiftly, leaving you alone at the table.
As he walked away, his mind raced with conflicting emotions: terror, shame, and an unwelcome desire that threatened to consume him. He couldn’t help but wonder if she would like him if she found out he was the pervert who did that to her. Would she like him to touch her while she was asleep? Would she be aroused if she found herself covered in his cum when she woke up in the morning?
Idia hurriedly moved towards his class, trying hard to calm down and focus on his studies. However, the image of your exposed body and the thought of touching you while you were asleep played like a looped video in his head.
As the day progressed, he struggled to concentrate on anything else but you. During breaks between classes, he finally, in a moment of desperation, he decided to take matters into his own hands (literally). Grabbing his phone, he searched online for tips on how to calm down aroused individuals without resorting to masturbation….
Finally, it was finally time for their scheduled gaming session at the library. He gathered his things and headed over, hoping you wouldn’t mention last night's events again.
“Hey Idia!” You call him out,
Idia's heart fluttered a beat as he entered the library and saw you sitting at your usual table, already booted up for their gaming session. "Hello y/n," he managed to croak out, his voice cracking slightly.
He set down his bag on the empty seat beside yours and pulled out his laptop, trying hard not to stare at your exposed cleavage peeking out from your unbuttoned top. Clearing his throat awkwardly, he opened Cloudium and began loading the game settings. "So, uh, ready to continue our adventure?" He tried to change the subject, hoping to divert his thoughts away from last night's escapade.
“Yeah! Also I got something for you,” you reach into your bag, pulling out a small bag of a double dozen homemade cookies. “I don’t know if you like sweets but I went back to my dorm during lunch, for us to munch on while we game!”
Idia's eyes lit up at the sight of the cookies, his mouth watering in anticipation. “Oh, thanks!"
Placing the bag on the table between you, he took one of the treats, biting into it slowly, savoring the flavors melting on his tongue.
"These are great," he complimented between chews, glancing sideways at you, taking in your beauty once more. His hands trembled slightly as he reached for another cookie, unable to tear his gaze away from yours.
He continued setting up their characters in the game. "So, where do you want to start today? Any particular location or quest?” He asked, trying to keep his voice steady despite the turmoil raging within him.
“Thanks, it was no problem, really! And no, there isn’t any thing I wanna start with in particular today. You choose, I’ll just follow your lead!”
Idia nodded, his mind still occupied with thoughts of you. "Alright then," he said, selecting a random location on the map. "Let's head to Greyjog. We need to speak with James Berkeley about joining the Tornadocloths or the Imperials."
As your started their journey in game, Idia's mind drifted back to last night's events. He couldn't shake the image of your bare glistening pussy, and wiggling hips as he stole your panties off of you. His cock twitched in his pants, growing harder against the fabric.
“You okay Idia?” You turn to him, “You look red,” you put one of your hands on his forehead and then your own forehead on the backside of said hand, measuring a possible difference in temperature. Your face inches away from his. “well you don’t feel hot to me, doesn’t seem like you have a fever.” You say then pull back, taking your hand and head away from his.
Idia's heart hammered in his chest, his body on fire with desire. "I-I'm fine," he managed to choke out, clearing his throat nervously. "Just a little tired, I guess."
As they continued playing the game, Idia tried to focus on their surroundings, but his mind kept drifting back to you. He wondered if you noticed how hard it was for him to concentrate today. Would you tease him about it? Or maybe... he shook his head violently, dismissing the filthy thought. No, he couldn't think like that. Not here, not now.
After hours of adventuring and battling monsters together, they finally reached Greyjog. Idia led them inside the castle, trying hard not to steal glances at the contour of your form as you played, making your character followed closely behind his.
“It’s already 7 p.m., let’s save our progress, and return to the game tomorrow. Since tomorrow is the weekend maybe we could game at my dorm or yours! Well, only if you’re down to do so, it’s totally your choice.” You tell him,
Idia nodded, relief washing over him as you suggested calling it a day. "Sounds good to me," he agreed, saving the game before closing the lid of his laptop. Standing up, he gathered their belongings, careful not to let his bag brush against your leg accidentally, savoring the feel of your warmth radiating through the thin fabric of your skirt.
"Thanks for today, y/n," he muttered, his voice low and husky with exhaustion and desire mixed together. "Have a good night." With that said, he turned away briskly, walking out of the library, leaving behind the intoxicating scent vanilla perfume and books lingering in the air.
You headed to your dorm, cooked dinner for Grim and yourself, ate, took a shower and did some skincare, reviewed some schoolwork, read a bit more of ‘The trap of Mr.Sora’. Then headed to bed in your usual sleepwear, a t-shirt and panties, no bra.
Idia returned to his own dormitory, his mind still racing with thoughts of you. Once inside his empty room, he locked the door behind him and collapsed onto his bed, removing his uniform piece by piece as he did so. His body ached from hours of sitting in one position, but that wasn't the only thing that needed relief.
Reaching into his nightstand drawer, he pulled out the used panties from last night, admiring the mix of your sweet perfume and his own musky scent on them. A smirk spread across his lips as he imagined how they belonged to such a perfect angel like you.
Later that night…
Idia waited patiently outside the Ramshackle dormitory, his heart thumping in anticipation. After ensuring you had retired for the night, he silently unlocked the door by picking at it just like he had done the previous day, and tiptoed down the hallway, up your stairs, towards your room. Carefully, he opened the door, peeking inside to ensure you were asleep before creeping closer.
His hands trembled as he reached out, grasping the edge of your blanket to lift it slightly. His eyes locked onto your exposed thighs, ached with desire as he slid his hand underneath your panties, tracing along your smooth, silky-soft skin. Reluctantly, he pulled them downwards, exposing your beautiful pussy to his hungry gaze. He was so entranced by it. The accumulation of his horniness and the fact you had admitted to enjoying the perverted acts he had committed. His mind went haywire and he decided to do something bold; He was going to jerk off using the fresh pair of underwear, while looking at you.
Slowly, he lowered himself onto the bed beside me, positioning himself between my spread legs. He wrapped the newly acquired panties around his cock, and started jerking off while observing you.
As Idia waited for any sign of movement, his heart raced wildly in anticipation. Finally, after what felt like an eternity, he heard a soft moan escape your lips. His eyes widened in delight and terror as you shifted slightly, unknowingly grinding your body against the bedsheet.
Pushing aside all rational thoughts, he continued to stroke himself faster and harder, groaning softly as he watched your perfect breasts rise and fall with each breath. Each thrust of his hand matched the rhythmic motion of his cock sliding in and out of the panties. He could feel his orgasm building up inside him, reaching its peak.
Without warning, he erupted, coating the fresh pair of panties with his seed.
He then decided to do something crazier, something even more fucked up then the ones he had done before. Slowly unwrapping the cum covered panties from his cock, he then lifted your hips and legs, sliding the underwear pair back on, slightly higher than intended, causing the fabric to dig into your folds. He observes with a shaky breath how his hot semen made contact with your cunt.
His heart raced as he watched idly, his breathing heavy and labored. He had gone too far this time. Could you ever forgive him? Would he lose everything he held dear because of his perverse desires?
Without giving himself time to think, he hurriedly got dressed, he quickly throws takes out the panty pair he stole yesterday from his pocket and throws them in the laundry basket in the corner of your room. Carefully, he tiptoed out of your room, closing the door quietly behind him. As he headed back to his own dormitory, he wondered if today was finally the day he complete lost his sanity and any sort of moral compass he previously had.
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What's happening at the Oldest House during Alan Wake 2?
(Spoilers for ALL of Control, ALL of Alan Wake 2, including Final Draft.)
LET'S SPECULATE.
From Control, we know:
The Oldest House is on lockdown until the Hiss is completely cleansed, so it can't get out.
Jesse was witness to (a version of) Alan's conversation with Zane at the Oceanview Hotel/Motel.
Alan's writing definitely affected the way things went down at the Investigations Department - but to what extent he directly caused it to happen vs just influenced things already under way is debatable.
The Investigations Department control room for monitoring stations got an alert from the Bright Falls/Cauldron Lake station, dated "from the future", aka. 2023, when AW2 is set.
We don't explicitly know how long the events of Control are in terms of Jesse's perception of time. At least a few weeks, based on the hair growth we see in Dylan after the events in the Foundation. So from the lockdown starting in 2019, they think it's been a few weeks.
This is a SUPER tenous connection, but: after completing Foundation and meeting some hidden criteria, you get a bonus scene when interacting with Dylan, and one of the images that flashes up (the frames are shown clearly at the end of the youtube video) might be a picture looking up from inside the Huotari Well.
There have been FBC agents in Bright Falls for a while, and they were aware of the events of Alan Wake 1. Agent Estevez was acknowledged as being an agent from Investigations sending reports from the site, including complaining that the researchers at the Lake House won't share findings with her.
From Alan Wake 2, we know:
The Oldest House is still "dark". The Taken sometimes say "The Oldest House has gone dark", and in the Sheriff's Station Attacked manuscript, an FBC Agent called Young praises Estevez thinking "Estevez had held it together even after the Oldest House had gone dark".
The FBC is still operating outside the Oldest House. Despite it being a few years since the start of the lockdown, they have agents in the field currently working.
There have been researchers in Bright Falls since the first AWE there. The Research crew is at a facility called the Lake House near Cauldron Lake. This facility is manned when Saga first arrives (you can press on the call box there and ask an agent to send backup, they just say "The station heads are not currently available" - given it's plural, I think they're referring to Dr Marmont and Dr Marmont, the married FBC scientists.)
The Lake House was attacked by Taken, and is considered lost by Estevez, so that happened during the events of AW2.
A project of one Dr Campbell is specifically ongoing - the children's rhymes around the place. Dr Campbell himself is present up until just before the Dark Ocean Summoning events - if you complete the rhymes, you hear things go badly for him.
Estevez says that there is no further backup - they ARE the backup, when Saga asks if more help is available.
Dr Darling, who went missing just before the Hiss invaded in 2019, as spent 665 days minimum in the Dark Place. That's about a year and 9 months, though we don't know when during his stay that the recording happened.
So what can we conclude from all this stuff?
First, the Oldest House is still in lockdown, and has been for years, from the perspective of outside the house. There are several theories about what is happening inside the house, but it seems certain that from the outside world, HQ locked up and went quiet.
My main theory about what is happening on the inside of the house, is that as soon as the house went into lockdown, the passage of time there changed relative to... uh, the normal Earth dimension. Time in the Oldest House is going very slowly.
The two points of evidence for this are the AWE alert in Investigations for Cauldron Lake - Langston says it's coming from the future, but I think it's actually coming from the present - the inside of the House just isn't aware they've been lost for years. The second point of evidence is the conversation Jesse "eavesdrops" on between Zane and Alan - the version we see in Control ihas very similar dialogue to what we see in AW2, which may imply a certain "syncing". But this is more tenuous because of course, Alan has been going through loops so who knows how many times he's had this conversation with Zane. His hair is longer in this conversation in Control than in AW1, but not as long as it is in AW2, so, meh. I still think it's evidence though. You do "see" Jesse calling out "Hello?" in the AW2 version of the scene... I swear she calls out in Control but I can't find it.
The other option is that the house is still on lockdown because it's truly taken them YEARS stuck on the inside to clear out the Hiss, which would set up Control 2 for an interesting starting point. The nature of the Oldest House is such that it's existence, and to a lesser effect by association the FBC, are imperceptible by people who aren't otherwise aware of them. It's not unfeasible that this had the effect of making field agents unlikely to try and find out what happened, even if they knew about the House. But then, while they don't directly address it in Control, the people in the House DO have limited supplies of food and drinkable water inside. People trapped in the lost department (processes and protocols office) in the Foundation were concern about supplies and went looking for food, though ultimately died due to the Astral Spike (Gibbs survived long enough to become a Hiss though? So maybe she survived... or stopped needing to eat. IDK it's the house, it's weird).
I just think the first option is more likely than the second. I think come Control 2, the lockdown will lift and the FBC will find itself years out of date with the external world, scrambling to catch up with the field agents and researchers, and all the altered items and AWEs that have occurred without them being able to properly contain things.
But this all brings me to my main point, which was the reason I wrote all this down and speculated on it to begin with.
To me, the most astounding thing to realise is the Federal Bureau of Control's payroll system is iron clad. Despite the house being in lockdown, despite no department heads to approve budgets and expenditure, all FBC agents outside the House are STILL WORKING FOR THE FBC!!!! They would NOT be doing that if the paychecks stopped (maybe some of the more obsessive scientists... but generally no). The scientists at the Lake House have up until the night of Dark Ocean Summoning still been doing research - and presumably have project budgets and expenditures. They have technicians to regularly call on to check on the monitoring station and fix it after the Koskelas break it, who also get paid. The system functions!!! Like clockwork!!!
Now idk how USA federal government payroll works. It probably is just as simple as the FBC agents are all paid from the same place that the FBI does, I imagine it's somewhat centralised. And the Oldest House's perception protection probably means the reports get stamped and the pay goes through without being paid attention to. But this is the government we're talking about here, there's fuck ups and salary freezes and system errors and database issues. But these agents have been working on their own for YEARS! They are paying their bills! They are getting their holidays! They are filing their taxes!
Now THAT'S what I call a process to admire. No matter how catastrophic the disaster affecting HQ is, these government workers WILL get their paychecks and continue just doing their jobs and filing their reports. Incredible.
#alan wake 2#alan wake 2 spoilers#alan wake final draft#final draft#final draft spoilers#control#remedy control#remedy verse#remedy connected universe#federal bureau of control#jesse faden#thomas zane#alan wake
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💚 Mallevan/Levanoa Headcanons (Part 3/3)
PART 01 PART 02 PART 03⬇️
the last one from these series of doodlesss ✨✨✨ I cant wait for malleus mama reveal JSJAJJA 😭💖💖💖 we're going to see where that draconia rizz originated from 😂
• • • Headcanon 3
Levan was interested in Architecture so that he could build a castle which would never crumble under his wife's "little tantrums."
Its said by Lilia that Malenoa when angered would really destroy her own castle. (i fear for this woman's period mood swings😂 (if female dragon faes have that))
So, I like to believe that for Malenoa to be "herself" (or not containing her emotions just so she wouldn't be harming anything), Levan aspired to build a strong castle that would withstand his wife's strength.
Its also a nice gift for Malenoa since he wanted to build their home as well— Since he's the husband and father of the strongest fairies, its just sensible to gift them something crafted and durable, could be with them their whole long lifespan, and can shelter his family.
Its also nice to have an unbreakable castle so that the servants wouldnt live in anxiety about having to repair half their castle for the 60th time this century.
For Malleus, his tantrum can summon an instant storm. For Malenoa, her tantrums can summon a super typhoon. That's why there's an enormous amount of gargoyles around Briar Castle because it strengthens the drainage system so that it wouldn't flood because of the excessive rainstorm.
(From someone who lives in a typhoon-prone/flooding-prone country (philippines yo), I can't stress enough how valuable it is to have good drainage system😭)
Also, I imagine that the current Briar Valley Castle (named as Black Scale Castle according to Silver) was the castle he designed for Malenoa and Malleus.
The original name of the kingdom that the Draconia rules is Land of Briar and they used to manage the entire continent (Baul protested that no land is owned by Silver Owls, the entire continent is of Land of Briar) but now they're just situated in a portion/valley of it, presumeably because Silver Owls keeps claiming their land and also because Land of Briar seemingly lost to the war.🥲
That's why I believe Briar Valley's Castle is like a lesser version of the Wild Rose/Briar Castle (Malenoa's castle). They're kind of near from each other as well??? I think this "castle that Levan designed" acted as a refuge for the Land of Briar when Silver Owls ambushed Malenoa's castle.
(source)
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Speaking of servants fearing Princess Malenoa....
I think its only the regular folks or servants that has an anxious time approaching Malenoa. For other soldiers, they don't fear her like that since they encounter her frequently as the military strategist of their kingdom.
So, most often......
The servants particularly always approach Levan as much as they could in matters of pacifying the princess or delivering a message that they would assume she wouldn't take well.
Because Levan looks more approachable and knowledgable with dealing with the Princess given that his job is to literally talk to people based on politics.
Also, headcanon that at one point, Malenoa and Levan paralled that scene from Malleus Dorm card where Malleus was upset his smile was terrifying that's why people don't approach him, but Lilia just says "No such thing! You have such a lovely smile you know!" but Malleus actually smiles terrifyingly XD but Lilia doesn't fear it because he knows Malleus... 🥲💖💖
Like, how no matter how terrifying Malenoa is to others, Levan will never be afraid of her.
actually going to die if malleus' parents are not narrated as sickenly inlove with each other 😂
plus!! it just makes sense for them to be expressive in their devotion yk since their dynamic literally revolves around "dragons only love one person" and "they can't mate with another if there's no love".
... Plus its another factor why Lilia seems tired of these two, theyre like lovebirds and you know how Lilia hates all those domestic sappy stuff like family... children... and love... aha 🥲💔
#twst#twisted wonderland#disney twisted wonderland#twistedwonderland#lilia vanrouge#malleus draconia#art#my art#fanart#twst malenoa#twst levan#malenoa draconia#twst diasomnia#twst headcanons#twisted wonderland fanart#twisted wonderland headcanons#twisted wonderland imagines#twst book 7 spoilers#diasomnia#twisted wonderland book 7#twst comic#lian arts
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Like Tracing Lines
Hello ! Today, we’re answering an anonymous request for the Darkling : “A Darkling request, please. May I have a Durast artist!reader who's extremely introverted. She just wants to draw in somewhere quite to draw designs, etc. especially she doesn't want anyone to see what she's drawing or who. And it only got worse when the sun summoner came.
You can choose how this goes, as long as it's a happy ending sksksk. I just really want an angst with an eventual happy ending, and I really love your writings Ridjsjsjs”
Thank you so much for your request, anon! I hope you enjoythe fic I’ve written for you!
I hope you all like this cute piece! Let me know what you think!
****
Pairing: The Darkling x reader
Warnings: a tiny bit of angst, hurt/comfort, an awful lot of fluff
Summary: The Darkling has always kept an eye on you, from afar, although he doesn’t admit why. But when the Sun Summoner arrives at the Little Palace, your lonely habits seem to grow exponentially, and he is more and more worried about you.
Word Count: 2074
The Darkling’s Masterlist – Main Masterlist
You don’t worry yourself over the time you spend on your own, nor the fact that your self-isolation has increased these days. After all, people are used to it. You’re introverted, possibly too much so. It’s simply reassuring, to be left alone.
The life in the Little Palace can be crowded, sometimes. For someone as introverted as you, it is often too much. You find solace and peace in drawing, though. Mostly designs, sometimes sceneries, even portraits, every once in a while.
It’s soothing. Tracing lines on paper, forcing them to take shape, adding shadows, adding life. It’s therapeutic, at this point.
Everyone at the Little Palace knows that your drawings are off-limits, though. No one has ever been granted the right to look at them. You keep their beauty hidden for your own eyes; not out of selfishness, but simply because you assume that no one would understand them. Not the way you do.
After all, you see the world through the eyes of a Durast, and a talented one at that. You and David work a lot together, mostly because you are both equally talented and curious about everything. But if his world translates mostly through numbers and long silences, yours bubbles out of your fingers and spills into shapes on paper.
But when Alina Starkov arrived at the Little Palace, a little too eager to make friends, she asked about your drawings. And it would have been fine, because she was new, and couldn’t know that you preferred to keep your drawings to yourself. You closed up a lot more when she insisted, though. And when she started to ask you regularly what you were currently drawing you grew quieter than usual, folded yourself back into a pocket-size version of your own self that you could hide away in your bedroom, in the safety of the Fabricator laboratories, or in long walks under the moonlight, when it was too dark for anyone to be awake.
If people did notice – which you doubt, in all fairness – no one spoke a word about it. You reckon that only a handful of Fabricators care about you enough to notice anyway.
You’re mistaken, though. There is someone else who cares, a little too much to his own liking, even. There is someone who has noticed the way you disappear these days, the way you try to look even smaller than before, to look invisible, avoiding to be noticed.
There is someone else who has noticed, and he is worried.
Of course, he has noticed. The Darkling has been away from the Little Palace for a few months now, fighting battles, planning the next phases of the wars. When Alina arrived, obviously, he brought her home, joining back his War Room, the safe halls he had built centuries before. And even if he shouldn’t have rejoiced at the thought of spending time with you again, he did.
There is something about you, he can’t explain it. Something soothing, something quiet, something… good. The type of goodness he once longed to protect, the kind he had spent a long time fighting for; until the weight of time and suffering darkened his soul and blinded him.
He found back some of the brightness of his earlier days in you, though. Something that made him long for something beyond himself, for something he couldn’t have.
Peace. Quiet. A normal life…
You have grown closer over the past few years, you working closely with him as a Fabricator. You are friends, or even, a little more than that, even if none of you care to admit it.
Of course, he noticed the way you fled, even before him. Only a few days after Alina’s arrival, and you were already spending hours locked away in your room, hiding in the library…
He knows too well what it is to hide, and he doesn’t want you to do so. Not to this extent, at least. You seem frightened, these days, and he can’t have that.
He’s built the Little Palace in hopes to banish fear from Grisha’ faces. He can’t bear the sight upon your features…
When you disappear again, right after dinner, he can’t take it anymore. Instead of heading to his room, he follows you, using his shadows to remain unnoticed. Until you’ve settled in an alcove, in a deserted corner of the library. He remains quiet, out of the light of the small candle you’ve brought along, and he watches you as you take a sketchbook and a pencil out of your pocket. You’ll be drawing, perhaps the moon, the stars, the trees beyond the window against which you’re resting your shoulder now. Perhaps some new idea plaguing your mind. He catches himself before he can hope that you could think of him…
He lets his shadows vanish, slowly, he calls back the darkness to make himself visible. He purposefully drags his feet over the stones to make a little noise, as to not surprise you too much. You freeze as you hear the noise, slowly turn to him.
And he shouldn’t think about the way the light plays with your eyelashes, the way the warm golden light of the candle mingles with the silvery one of the moon to bathe your features in a perfect light. He shouldn’t think, then, about how beautiful you are. About the way he longs to reach out. About how he doesn’t feel so lonely, now that your gaze has caught his. He shouldn’t think about the way you visibly relax as you recognize him. He shouldn’t hope that you like seeing him, here, by your side. He shouldn’t long for it.
And yet, there he is…
“Good evening, Y/N.”
His voice is low, cold, a tone unreadable. As usual. You grin.
“Good evening, sir.”
He chuckles, looks up at you.
“There’s no one else, Y/N.”
He notices the way your breath catches before you speak, but doesn’t acknowledge it. He’s too old to claim such details as victories.
“Good evening, Aleksander.”
You share a smile, the kind brighter than the ones he gives everybody else but you.
He walks closer again, standing by the wall without leaning against it, facing you.
“Is there something I can do for you?” you ask him, closing your sketchbook in a hurry.
But he wasn’t looking at it. He knows better than that.
“You could answer my questions.”
You raise an eyebrow in surprise, but let him continue.
He crosses his arms before his chest.
“Why are you hiding this way?”
You avert your eyes, fiddling with your pencil.
“I’m not hiding more than usual. You know me. I enjoy being on my own.”
“But you usually spend less time alone. Is there something wrong?”
His voice grows concerned, even if it is tainted with its usual coldness, the one that usually makes his emotions unrecognisable. He allows himself to let just a speck of his armour down with you though, just enough to let you guess that his worry is genuine.
You shrug, but his stare is heavy on your frame, making you bend your head and shoulders, and you can’t hold back when he’s like this: presence too strong, almost unbearable…
“I… I’m quite bothered by Alina Starkov.”
He frowns, seemingly puzzled.
“Am I asking too much from you? Are you and David too pressured?”
“No, no, no! That’s not it! It is simply… it’s stupid.”
You’re surprised when he walks closer, and even more so when he reaches for your chin, a tender hold between his thumb and his index finger. You don’t resist when he guides your head upwards, making you look at him, irises as dark as his shadows…
“What is it, Y/N? You can tell me. I’ll take care of it.”
There is something threatening in his voice, a tremor that’s never there when he speaks to you. But he doesn’t speak of you, then. He speaks of what he will do to whoever dares to hurt you…
You smile.
“It’s truly nothing. I’m just… being extra-shy.”
You heave a sigh, but Aleksander doesn’t have to encourage you again, you continue on your own.
“Alina is asking about my drawings. A lot. Too much. She doesn’t seem to understand the word ‘no’.”
You give him a humorous smile, but you seem too fragile for it to be genuine.
He nods, a small frown creasing his brow.
“I will talk to her,” he says, but you shake your head.
“It’s nothing. I’m sure she doesn’t even mean any harm. I’m just… It’s personal, you see. Maybe it’s silly, but it’s like… having someone read your diary or… your mind even. If it makes sense. It’s silly, isn’t it?”
You expect a harsh answer, you don’t know why. Because Aleksander has never been harsh with you. On the contrary, if his tone is always cold, he’s never said anything mean or hurtful to you. His voice is often a little lower, you like to believe it’s even a little warmer… but then again, you like to long for unreachable things.
You’re oblivious to the fact that his voice is warmer when he speaks to you.
The harsh answer doesn’t come. Instead, his fingers slide from your chin to your jaw, up to cup your cheek. His thumb is tender as it strokes your skin. There is a rush of power coursing through your vein because of his amplifying qualities, but you barely notice it, the feeling hidden by your pounding heart and the intensity of his stare.
No matter the butterflies in your stomach, or the rush of your heart, it still feels reassuring, his feathery touch across your cheek. Soothing. Almost like tracing lines on a page.
When Aleksander speaks again, you’ve never heard his voice so soft.
“It is not silly. We all have our secrets, and our own ways to deal with our demons. I will talk to Alina, make sure she does not bother you again. I want you to feel safe in these halls. I do not want you to feel like you need to hide, not here. Not when you are under my protection. Do you understand?”
You nod, although you’re not sure to understand. Not the full extent of his words, at least.
You’re disappointed when his touch disappears, his fingers slowly slipping down the length of your cheek, the pads hanging at your jawline a moment longer, but he reluctantly pulls away, eventually.
“You should rest,” he goes on, his voice colder again, his tone difficult to read, back to its usual mysteries.
You nod, and he turns to leave. You don’t know what comes over you when you call for him again.
“Aleksander!”
He stops, slowly turns to you. There is something puzzled in his frown.
You have no idea where the strength is coming from, but you speak the words anyway.
“Would you like to take a walk? With… with me?”
His puzzle frown turns into a surprised raise of his eyebrow.
“Now?” he asks, and there’s something almost amused in the way the corner of his mouth curves upwards, just a little bit.
“I mean… unless it is too late…”
You fall silent, and he adores seeing you this nervous. It’s endearing.
He shouldn’t let you in so easily. But then again, you look lovely, under the lights of the candle and the moon, and he longs to touch your skin again, no matter the excuse that would allow the contact.
He offers you his open hand.
“Shall we?”
The grin you give him is brighter than any light Alina could ever summon.
And he knows that he is making a mistake as soon as your fingers brush his palm. He knows he is making his own life immensely more complicated that it ought to be by letting you in. He should be focused on seducing Alina Starkov, on looking for the Stag, on planning his wars, on planning his next move against the king.
But then again, your hand is warm against his cold one. Your skin is smooth, your touch reassuring, and you make his heart skip a beat, in a way it hasn’t jumped for decades, maybe even for centuries.
Perhaps, just this once, just for tonight… just for you, he could make his life a little more complicated. Perhaps, just for this once, he could make himself a little weaker, a little more vulnerable… just for you.
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Taglist : @reg-arcturus-black @wolfmoonmusic
#the darkling#the darkling x reader#the darkling x y/n#the darkling x you#the darkling fanfic#aleksander morozova#aleksander x reader#aleksander x y/n#aleksander fanfiction#the darkling oneshot#fanfiction#fanfic#writing
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FINAL FANTASY XVI DLC Trailer - The Rising Tide
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Japanese version (with multi-language captions)
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Leviathan abilities gameplay
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Leviathan The (Not So) Lost Is Here | FINAL FANTASY XVI PAX East 2024 Panel
“The Rising Tide” DLC for Final Fantasy XVI will launch in Spring 2024. An Expansion Pass including both add-ons can also be purchased for $24.99.
Latest details
■ The Rising Tide
Introduction
An unmarked letter arrives at the hideaway containing a request most curious: the Dominant of Leviathan, long lost Eikon of Water, is in need of rescue.
To heed this call, Clive and his companions must journey to Mysidia—a hidden land under a blue sky—where they will uncover the tragic history of a forgotten people.
Ifrit vs. Leviathan
A New Ally: Shula
An invaluable ally on Clive’s journey to rescue Leviathan’s Dominant.
A New Area: Mysidia
Deep within a sea of darkness, sanctuary exists for those who know where to look—a lost oasis untouched by the ever-encroaching Blight. It is beneath her emerald boughs that both man and beast have found their final haven.
What’s Up with the New Tonberries?
New Abilities: Leviathan
Tame the tides and drown your enemies both near and far with the terrible might of the Eikon of Water.
—Leviathan’s Eikonic Feat: Serpent’s Cry
Summon onto Clive’s off arm a sea-spitting serpent capable of attacking enemies at great distances (using Triangle and Square).
New End Game Content: Kairos Gate
Unlock this challenging new mode after completing both “The Rising Tide” and the main game scenarios.
Fight your way through 20 stages, each one growing more difficult.
Earn points during battle and use them to upgrade Clive. Maximize battle performance to earn more points.
Find new materials and weapons at the end of each stage.
Aim for a spot on the global leaderboard.
But That’s Not All…
After obtaining the power of all the Eikons, something happens to Clive…
■ Free Update Version 1.30
Return to a quest giver immediately with a new “Quick Complete” function.
Icons updated for important character quests.
New Skill Set feature allows you to save up to five unique Feat and Ability sets.
Abilities and Accessories adjusted to make easier to use.
New controller type allows for customizable button layouts.
Tone correction, screen effects, and more added to Photo Mode.
Approximately 40 new orchestrion rolls added.
■ Collaborations
Final Fantasy XIV Online
Final Fantasy: Brave Exvius
Final Fantasy XVI is available now for PlayStation 5. A PC version is currently in development.
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And… even MORE Hatchetverse Theory on the history between Webby and her brothers
Based on my earlier poll about the potential history between Webby and her brothers. I'll go through each option and discuss the merits of each theory as well as they ways they could be combined.
The rest of my posts are under "#hatchetverse theory". Read below for an unhinged rant.
Before I dive into the possibilities for what history could exist between the brothers and Webby, I first want to review what little we know about their relationship and why I focus so much on Webby and Wiggly's relationships specifically as opposed to Webby and the other LIB:
We don't know their birth order, but based on the fact Wiggly acts as the leader of the LIB with little resistance from his brothers and Webby's verse in "the web I spin for you" where she talks about her brothers teaching her, currently the most common head canon seems to be that Wiggly is the oldest and Webby is the youngest (I also head canon that the reason Wiggly uses "baby talk" is because that's how he talked to his newborn siblings, and he never grew out of it because he enjoys infantilizing anyone and everyone).
The LIB all seem to want humanity to suffer for different reasons, but out of all of them, Wiggly seems to have the most interesting motivation. Blinky and Nibbly's motivations seems to be the most straightforward: Blinky likes to watch people suffer; Nibbly is hungry. Pokey just wants to put on a one man show and get rid of everyone else that's not him (he's basically an insane version of Hidgens with absolute power), and Tinky just seems to like messing around with time and specifically has it in for the Spankoffskis, but it's unclear exactly why. Wiggly however doesn't just seem to enjoy suffering and chaos just for the sake of his own pleasure. He has Wilbur give a whole speech in Black Friday about capitalism and consumer culture, and none of the other LIB have seemed interested in monologuing about the sins of humanity thus far. Granted, I still have to catch up on Nightmare Time (I know, I'm awful), but I didn't read anything about Nibbly bothering to give a speech about gluttony right before he eats someone.
Additionally, Wiggly is also the one who demands the the teens in NPMD give up what they love the most. Nibbly just wants a snack. The LIB's song also says "Nibbly wants his sacrifice and Wiggly wants his wrath". Wrath? Revenge? Revenge for what? And why just Wiggly, why not all the LIB? It really sounds like Wiggly is the one who is primarily trying to gain something here. Wiggly's brothers seem to be following him because they get what they want, but Wiggly seems to be the driving force here.
Now the question becomes: what does Wiggly want revenge for, and why? Well, several people have pointed out that despite Webby being called a "queen", the LIB are called "lords" (though Wiggly insists on wearing a plastic child's dress up crown to make himself look like a king). There's also a line in the summoning where the LIB sing "we dance around the pentagram and take all out kingdoms back". It's possible Webby took their kingdoms from them, or that they betrayed her to take power if they believed the way she was running things wasn't to their liking, but again, this is unclear.
What does seem more clear is that Wiggly does have a personal grudge against Webby and that the feeling is mutual. He calls her a "stupid b*tch" in Black Friday, whereas Pokey in Nightmare Time only calls her his sister, and I don't think any of the other LIB had demonstrated that level of hatred towards her yet. During the song "The Web I Spin for You", it is clear by the dolls shown in the shots that Webby is singing about her brothers, but the camera focuses in on Wiggly last and holds on him the longest.
So then the question becomes: what happened between Wiggly and Webby? Who betrayed who? Did they both betray each other? What seems the most likely based on what little we know so far?
Let's dive into those poll options.
The first option on the poll was that the Lords in Black used to be good, but turned evil. I was surprised at how few votes this option got given some of the evidence presented in NPMD and "The Web I Spin for You" song that Webby sings in Nightmare Time. I'll spend some time reviewing the evidence for this, since it seems to be the least popular option and some of the evidence for this option could also apply to the others.
There are lines in the song that imply the LIB used to care about Webby, to some degree. It's unclear whether this means they were actually "good guys", but it seems like they either cared about Webby or Webby at least believed they cared about her at some point, most notably when she sings: "You used to keep me at your side, have you given it up?" and "Weren’t you the one to watch my back, unlike the witches you summon?" (which could be referring to Willabella Muckwab, the first witch of Hatchetfield who seems to have started this whole mess).
Webby seems frustrated with her brothers, but doesn't seem to hate them, at least not as viscerally as Wiggly hates her (again, he's the one who seems the most angry at her).
But it doesn't stop there. There's a few other lines in "The Web I Spin For You" that are even more concerning:
The lines I'm referring to are: "Why do you haunt me like a ghost?
You’re supposed to love me the most." And "Got me in the spell you cast. The iris of your eye is black. You have a tendency to stab my back. Just like the witches you summon."
The backstabbing line implies that they betrayed her, not the other way around. But the lines chosen to convey this are particularly concerning when you consider two things: 1) the plot to NPMD and 2) the pictures of the black book and the black blade I found on the Starkid Wiki page (posted below).
There seem to be numbers marking the positioning of the knife, numbers which appear on other pages from the book on the Starkid Wiki page, but you can look at that yourself. Now, what IS interesting here is the picture. Five people in black robes, one holding a knife, his point taller than the rest like the book illustrates, and the knife is positioned in such a way that it could quite literally stab the woman in white in the back, just like Webby's song says.
Other interesting notes about the picture are that the hair of the woman is red (could still be Webby, maybe her hair changed color, or Miss. Holloway, more on her later), and it's possible the woman is wearing the baseball cap Hannah wore in Black Friday (or it could be a fold of the guy's robe, it's hard to see in the photo).
But back to my main point: why would the other LIB be stabbing Webby in the back, or as the song says "have her in the spell they cast?"
Well, I see two reasons. One is more visual, the other much darker.
The first is that the LIB sing about "dancing around a pentagram". In the black book picture, Webby, or whoever the woman in white is, seems to be placed in the middle of the pentagram.
So that's the visual reason: Webby is in the middle of the "Spells they cast" because that's physically where she's located.
Now for the darker reason, one some of you have probably already guessed, because I referred the Summoning in NPMD. You know, the part where Wiggly demands they kids give up the thing they love most for power?
Well. Remember the "Why do you haunt me like a ghost? You’re supposed to love me the most." line from the web I spin for you?
It's possible that if Webby was at one point what the LIB loved most, they could have sacrificed her to gain some sort of power.
It could also explain why Wiggly hates her so much. Maybe he also hates himself. Or hates Webby for making him feel like he had to do that. Or at least try to do that, still unclear if he attempted this, or what succeeding would even mean since Webby and the LIB seem to be immortal.
Now the evidence against this theory seems to be the fact that if Wiggly was really the one to sacrifice (or attempt to sacrifice) Webby (for the sake of, apparently, summoning witches for unknown reasons), why would he act like he's the one who needs revenge and be so angry at Webby when he betrayed her? Well, it's possible that he believes she betrayed him first, or that betraying her corrupted the LIB, similar to what happened to Grace in NPMD (but more on that in another post).
Now for the second option: that Webby used to be evil. The evidence for this is fairly straightforward, which is probably why it's the most popular poll option:
Wiggly wants revenge and hates Webby, her betraying her brothers and turning good lines up with this
The LIB have never acted benevolently or shown any genuine concern for others, whereas Webby has done semi-morally questionable things (she kills the witch Willabella Muckwab in nightmare time because she tried to hurt Hannah, but Willabella Muckwab was a bad guy who'd been dead for centuries so make of that what you will)
Webby sings about the LIB teaching her, but her becoming disillusioned and turning against them, her developing a love for humanity also lines up with this
It's still possible that the LIB attempted to sacrifice Webby as discussed above, her turning good was possibly the catalyst for this course of action
The main source of evidence against this theory is we don't know what would have caused Webby to turn good. She seems to care about children (more on that later) and not like what her brothers do with the witches they create (and then there's the mess of how Miss. Holloway fits into all this), but beyond that, it's unclear, but still one of the most plausible theories in my opinion and the fandom seems to agree with me on this one.
The next two poll options: Webby and the LIB were always on their respective sides of the Black and White, but used to be closer, or they selected opposite sides of the Black and White and that drove them apart.
Both of these seem to line up with the evidence presented thus far. The first option would explain why Wiggly and Webby feel betrayed by each other without having to change much about their characters. The second option makes sense in that it explains their conflict.
The main way these two options differ is whether Webby and the LIB were "always this way" or whether they ever had a choice. Both seem compelling, especially when you consider Wiggly's (via Wilbur) whole humanity hating Black Friday speech and Webby's care for Hannah and complicated feelings towards her brothers. If the siblings were always like this, is their room for them to change? If they chose the sides they did, why did they do so and can they change back?
The last two poll options (not counting the "other"): The sides of the Black and White Webby and her brothers are one were chosen for them or that this is somehow their parent's fault.
I put these two together because the issues with the "sides of the Black and White" being chosen for them option is: who is doing the choosing? The mostly likely possibility for this seems to be their parent (maybe parents?)
The LIB call themselves the "spawn of the Black and White", so for now let's call their parents "the Black and White". They seem to have parents, at least according to the Starkid wikipages, which state that "The Lords in Black were spawned from the same deed of evil. Their father was a giant chaos entity," and the credit of this comes from an interview with the characters' creator. I personally don't know how to verify this, so let's say it's true. What was this "deed of evil?" How is Webby their sister, was she spawn from this too? Will we ever meet their parents?
Overall, I'd say these options are possible, but given that we don't know much about their parents or the nature of the Black and White, it's hard to draw a solid conclusion.
Finally, some other unknowns about Webby and her brothers that I find interesting:
The "Starry Children" Stuff and Webby and the LIB's relationship with Children:
The LIB's followers call themselves the Church of the Starry Children, and as I pointed out before, the symbol of the LIB seems to be a star, with the LIB in the triangles and Webby in the middle, at least according to the illustrations. What's unclear is who the starry children are. Is this the name of the followers of the LIB OR is it Webby and the LIB themselves? The show might have already said this at some point and I missed it, but Webby and her brother often act very childish and playful (although often in ominous ways). This plus the fact that they apparently have parents could point to them being literal children.
Wiggly and Webby seem to have opposite relationships with children. Wiggly's Black Friday spell doesn't work on kids. Willabella Muckwab is said to have written the black book with the blood of innocents kids (again, based on the wiki page). Webby on the other hand seems to have a closer relationship with children (most clearly shown in her relationship with Hannah). You can argue that Wiggly does interact with children in NPMD, but they're technically teenagers, and as Grace says repeatedly throughout the show "they're only 18."
The Relationship Webby and the LIB have with Witches:
"The Web I Spin for You" implies Webby's brothers keep summoning witches that try to hurt her and "The Witch in the Web" implies that Webby keeps "spinning webs" to capture and stop these witches from hurting others. This lines up with everything we know about Willabella and most of the other witches and followers of the LIB.
Where this pattern seems to break is Wilbur Cross and Miss. Holloway. How is Miss. Holloway able to use the black book without being in debt to the LIB? Does she serve Webby like Wilbur serves Wiggly? Miss. Holloway also seems to care about children, again contrasting to the way Wilbur tries to hurt them. Does that mean anything? Why isn't Wilbur caught in Webby's trap like the others, and why does he keep coming back? Why do the LIB need Wilbur anyway? Why were Miss. Holloway and Wilbur chosen for these roles? Is it because Miss. Holloway encountered the White of the Black and White similar to how Wilbur encountered the Black? Or is it because the LIB and Webby just really liked their southern accents and were going for the "southern small town preacher" vibe?
I hope you like this rant. Thank you Starkid fandom!
#Hatchetverse theory#starkid productions#hatchetfield#hatchetverse#npmd#nighthawks#nightmare time#webby hatchetfield#the lords in black#wiggog y'wrath#pokey#nibbly#pokotho#blinky#bliklotep#nibblenephim#wiggly#lords in black#tinky#nerdy prudes must die#nerdy prudes spoilers#starkid#star kid#team starkid#starkid npmd
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Flames of Deceit
Summary: Aemond and Visenya reunite amidst the Dance of the Dragons.
Words: 13,005
Pairings: Aemond Targaryen x OC, Cregan Stark x OC, Alyn Velaryon x OC
Warnings: canon-typical incest (Aemond and Visenya are cousins, as well as uncle and niece), book and show spoilers, Westerosi geopolitics, mentions of imperialism and slavery, canon-typical violence, war, blood and gore, fire and burning, mass death, mention of amputation, mentions of torture and captivity, mentions and threats of execution and physical harm, mentions of poverty and starvation, parental neglect, food and eating, alcohol and drinking, sexism, victim blaming, slut-shaming, ableist language, explicit language, nudity, smut (vaginal sex in flashbacks), unresolved sexual tension, grief/mourning, trauma, angst, hurt/comfort, survivor guilt, mutual pining, emotional/psychological abuse, verbal abuse, mentions of pregnancy, childbirth, miscarriage, and death in childbirth, mentions of child/infant death, mentions of infidelity. If I missed any warnings, please let me know! Under no circumstances can you copy, plagiarize, steal my work, or post it somewhere else!
Notes: This totally didn’t take me almost 7 months to write. Cregan Stark is the protagonist of Fire & Blood. Rise, Cregan nation. My OC Visenya is Rhaenyra’s and Daemon’s daughter, and Jace’s older twin. Superfecundation, baby. Visenya and Jace are born in 111 AC, not 114 AC. The Battle in the Gullet still occurs in 130 AC, soon after the events of this one-shot. Reblogs and comments are encouraged and immensely appreciated. If this does well, I’ll post a reader version.
Credits: Huge thank you to my betas @maharani-radha-writes 💛 @aereth 💖 and @revolution-starter 🩶, and to @haystack-boy @lavendertales @buttercup--bee @agirllovespancakes and @oloreaa for their constant patience and support. It means a lot, and I’m immensely grateful. Apart from my OC Visenya, all characters belong to George R.R. Martin. Gif by @aemondtargaryensource (x)
Ao3 | Masterlist
EARLY 130 AC
HARRENHAL, THE RIVERLANDS
The sheer immensity of Harrenhal had provoked dizziness in Visenya. She had heard the story innumerable times. For four decades, King Harren Hoare had built greedily and obsessively, sacrificing thousands of slaves, and beggaring the riverlands and the Iron Islands. The indestructible construction had been no match for Balerion, whose fire had consumed the tyrant and his sons inside it, ending their line. Most Westerosi believed that the phantoms of the Hoares wandered the castle halls. The fortress is costly to maintain, and it devours its possessors. Qoherys, Harroway, Towers… All extinct. Whether cursed or not, Harrenhal remained a strategic location – the largest castle in the Seven Kingdoms.
The current castellan – and Larys Clubfoot’s great-uncle – Ser Simon Strong had recently surrendered Harrenhal to Daemon Targaryen. The presence of Caraxes might have contributed to his hasty decision. Following the victory at the Burning Mill and the subsequent submission of Stone Hedge – terminating Green strength in the riverlands – Queen Rhaenyra’s allies had commenced their gathering at Harrenhal, in accordance with the Prince Consort’s stratagem.
Visenya had departed Dragonstone on the same night that Daemon had summoned her, having been granted safe passage by the Velaryon ships patrolling the Gullet. At the outbreak of the war, the Sea Snake’s fleet had closed off Blackwater Bay, choking trade to and from the capital.
As soon as she had dismounted her dragon in the castle yard, she had sensed the eerie ambience that had haunted Harrenhal’s colossal curtain walls and fissured, melted towers. Formidable and dreadful. Harren’s monument and tomb. Blackwing had responded to Caraxes’ fervent shriek with her own, flapping her wings at him. Happy to be reunited.
Her father had offered her a warm welcome and a tight embrace, had even insisted that she sit on his war council, wherein she had befriended Alysanne Blackwood, whom she had grown quite fond of.
At last, Visenya had thought, on the morning that Daemon had sent for her. Though she loved him dearly, her father hadn’t invited her there because he had missed his daughter. Visenya had met with Daemon alone, in the Hall of the Hundred Hearths – she had counted thirty-five – grander than the throne room in King’s Landing, the discolored ceiling looming loftily above them. Her father had donned his chain mail over his crimson tunic.
Does he sleep in that? Or am I the threat?
‘Ser Crispin and the Kinslayer are marching on Harrenhal,’ Daemon had informed her, instead of “good morrow”, pressing a rolled parchment into her palm, ‘They mean to join forces with the Lannisters’, at Stoney Sept.’
Her heart had jolted at the mere mention of his title. Aemond… At the Usurper’s farce of a coronation that the Hightowers had compelled her to attend – dressed in green – Visenya had kissed him farewell, forsaking any glimmer of hope for a future with him. I have demonstrated where my loyalties lie. I have chosen my family.
Her lilac eyes had skimmed over the scrawled message on the sheepskin, the wax sigil foreign to her. The White Worm?
‘You are strangely poised,’ Visenya had observed, suspicious, studying her father’s amused expression.
‘I’ve been waiting for this,’ he had confirmed, smirking wickedly, curling his hand around the hilt of sheathed Dark Sister. Another one of his traps… and he’s pulling me into it. Daemon had gently cradled her cheek, purring, ‘I have a mission for you, sweetling.’
EARLY 130 AC
STONEY SEPT, THE RIVERLANDS
Her host had encamped half a day’s ride from the town, with sufficient provisions for a fortnight. The arduous advance and the muddy soil had wearied men and horses alike, so Visenya had relied on the Greens’ tardiness to provide the respite that they had needed.
Her dragon had brazenly exploited that ploy – napping during the day and hunting at night, increasing the risk of being discovered. Surpassed by Vhagar in age and size, Blackwing had never been ridden before a seven-year-old Visenya had claimed her. They shared a temper, a wildness, and a fierce devotion to each other. My twin in dragon flesh, Jace would jest.
‘You have become too spoiled,’ she had reproved, affectionately, tapping Blackwing’s dark scales, heated to the touch.
The beast had objected, idly, releasing a guttural noise, smoke rising from its nostrils.
For five days, her scouts had reported nothing of enemy activity. Her anxieties had continued to fester and to gnaw at her. What if I fail? What if I die? I would condemn my people in vain. And Aemond… What am I to do about him?
On the sixth day, they had burst into her tent, blurting that the Greens had arrived at Stoney Sept. The maester had quickly dispatched a raven to Prince Daemon, at Harrenhal.
‘We attack at dawn,’ Visenya had declared, resolute.
I’ll do my best, father.
The fray had been gruesome, stretching for hours upon hours. A thick mist had settled over the Blackwater Rush, impairing visibility. Visenya had been the surprise element, concealing herself to deceive her foes, and striking unexpectedly, in the midst of battle. She had flown on her daunting Blackwing, laying waste to men and reserves indiscriminately, amongst the sounds of steel clashing with steel, shields splintering, arrows whistling, and soldiers screaming as they fought, suffered wounds, and perished. Hundreds of Greens had been engulfed in her dragon’s flames.
Aemond had been slow to deter the princess. Afraid to face me? Visenya and Blackwing had used the fog to their advantage, climbing higher and higher into the sky – the Kinslayer chasing after them on hoary Vhagar.
‘Dracarys!’, she had ordered, and Blackwing had descended on Vhagar, unleashing a cloud of fire that had only incensed the latter.
The dragons had spun, locked in a vicious struggle of claws and fangs, wings thrashing, until Aemond had suddenly swiveled Vhagar, slamming her into Blackwing. Their deafening roars had pierced the air. The collision had knocked Visenya from her saddle – the searing flames licking at her arm – and had sent her plummeting towards the Blackwater below. Having crashed into the Rush, she had surfaced seconds later, her hefty armor and the river’s currents hindering her endeavors to stay afloat. Visenya had looked up, able to distinguish a faint form lunging at another – the beasts’ screeches reverberating far above.
Blackwing will not be coming to my rescue.
Her tribulations hadn’t stopped there. A glimpse at the golden dragon banner of the Pretender, and she had realised that the currents had pushed her in the wrong direction… too late. She had already been spotted by the scouts on the shore, who had alerted their captain. They had aimed their crossbows at her, waiting for the Blackwater to present her to them on a silver platter. I think not.
Visenya had bitten into the hand of the man who had dragged her out of the water, then she had tossed him into the Rush.
‘Cunt!’, the next attacker had bellowed, charging at her.
Slowed down by her injuries, her movements had been clumsy. Visenya had ducked under his first blow, stumbling to retain her balance. She had unsheathed her sword to parry his second blow, and had driven her blade through his breastplate. She had slashed a guard’s belly, his entrails spilling out. A soldier’s glove had caught her weapon, yanking it from her grasp. Disoriented by a swift welt to the side of her head, Visenya had been tackled to the ground – the impact rendering her breathless. Two fists had savagely pummeled her face, again and again and again – a massive weight crushing her. She had desperately fumbled for her scabbard, had withdrawn her dagger, and had slit her aggressor’s throat. Hot blood had spurted out, blinding her. She had been hoisted to her feet, her dirk wrenched away. Howling with rage and frustration, Visenya had scratched at the man’s eyes with her nails, had kneed another in the groin, and had torn off an archer’s ear with her teeth.
Alas, she had been one enfeebled person against all of the odds… and a dozen Greens. Her apprehension had been inevitable.
The capture of the commander had prompted the capitulation of her army. Visenya had been delivered to Ser Crispin in chains, covered in blood, dirt, and grass, braids disheveled, dragonscale armor soaked, body aching, left arm throbbing. I will not quail. Those traitors will receive no such satisfaction from me.
Attired in the white garments of the Kingsguard, Ser Crispin had been the living depiction of virtue and chivalry. Lickspittle. He had immediately discarded courtesy, referring to her as a “bitch in dragon’s clothing.” In retaliation, Visenya had dubbed him a “sheep in sheep’s clothing”, earning herself a cuff across the face from his steeled gauntlet. Blood had flooded her mouth, her cheek stinging sharply.
Ser Crispin had further commented that her men had been rather committed to her, alluding that she had fucked them to obtain their service. Every woman is an image of the Mother, to be spoken of with reverence.
‘It’s not as high of an honor as warming the Dowager Queen’s bed,’ Visenya had admitted, slyly, and had spat on his boots, ‘Hand of the Usurper. Does he wipe his ass with you?’
Crispin would have hit her again, had the Prince Regent not intervened. Wary, she had surveyed her surroundings for Vhagar – not in evidence. I might wind up her supper.
‘Enough, Cole,’ Aemond had interrupted, solemn, causing Visenya to tense, drawing their attention to where he had been standing, imposing, smeared with ashes and smoke, ‘She may be our prisoner, but she is still a princess, and shall be treated as befits her station.’
Any shred of scorn had abandoned her, ousted by fear and uncertainty. Her father had foreseen this. If you bend, you will break. Remember who you are. She had inhaled deeply, striving to even her respiration. I am the blood of the dragon, daughter of Queen Rhaenyra and Prince Daemon, and heir to the Iron Throne. I will not cringe for them.
Aemond had instructed the maids to prepare her a bath and a warm meal, and to fetch her dry clothes. Visenya had grinned, baring her bloody teeth at Ser Crispin, as the guards had led her away. She had been escorted along the smoldering ruins of houses, inns, and brothels, trampling charred corpses – mindful of her step. Carrion crows had circled above, the timid sun peeking from grey clouds. The foul, stifling stench had twisted her stomach, tears needling her eyes. Mine and Aemond’s handiwork. Only the sept, the square, and the trout-shaped fountain had remained intact. When dragons flew to war, everything burned, her mother had warned at the Black Council. What have the people of Stoney Sept done to merit this devastation? What power do they have over their lives? We play our grisly game of thrones, and the commonfolk bear the immeasurable cost.
The encampment had spread interminably – miles of pavilions, armories, forges, stables, latrines, wagons, and baggage trains – crawling with Greens cussing, mocking, and shouting at captives, pages distributing letters, squires polishing armor, honing weapons, feeding, watering, and combing horses, patrols walking to their posts, smiths hammering boisterously, cooks chopping vegetables, skinning rabbits, disemboweling deer, and roasting boars, giggling washerwomen hurrying by, and maesters ministering to the wounded. The turmoil had imbued Visenya’s senses. Mesmerised, she had watched a wailing, writhing man have his leg amputated, until one of her assigned guardians had shoved her forward.
She had assumed that Blackwing had flown away… but, having escaped the battle unscathed, and always loyal to a fault, her dragon had landed in the enemy’s camp, razing barracks and roaring ferociously, seeking its rider. After it had mauled the Greens who had attempted to approach it and shackle it, Aemond had begrudgingly permitted Visenya to comfort her feral companion. Blackwing had nuzzled its snout against her, coiling its tail around her, protectively, while Visenya had murmured “lykirī”, caressing its scales – her taut restraints impeding the action. Her chest had constricted agonisingly when the traitors had forcibly separated them. I will return for you, I promise.
She had been ushered into a vacated chamber, where the maids had obediently unchained her wrists, had removed her armor, had unbraided her hair, and had helped her undress for her bath, evading her glare and her nakedness – scarcely addressing her. What grim tales have they been told about me? Under the ewerers’ supervision, Visenya had washed herself – her uninjured arm vigorously scrubbing her skin with a bar of soap – and had dried off on her own, using cloths and rags. They have taken away my gear. Her indignation dwindling, she had slipped on the plain shirt, brown breeches, pelts, and a pair of flat shoes that they had brought her – tucking her salvaged brooch in her pocket. Is this meant to humble me?
She had sluggishly eaten her bland yet nourishing food, on a bench, by a candle, goggled at by blushing serving lads.
Aemond had summoned her to his tent, along with the maesters, who had cleansed her burns, had applied a poultice that had reeked of lavender and vinegar, had bandaged her arm, and had rubbed balms on her cuts, bruises, and split lip. Visenya had endured their ministrations in utter silence, grinding her teeth and clenching her fists. She and Aemond hadn’t exchanged a single word.
The pavilion had been modest for the Prince Regent, consisting of a firepit, an oaken war table – stripped of its tomes, maps, scrolls, ink, and wax – chairs, rugs, and a featherbed, with books scattered atop it. The colors red and black dominated the tent of a proud and eminent Green, who carried the golden banner of the Pretender. Aemond cannot deny his Targaryen heritage. Had Otto Hightower dyed his locks silver-white and ridden a dragon, he could have sat his ass on the Iron Throne and ruled in his own name. Instead, he urged the King to make my mother his heir, coerced his daughter to seduce him, and installed his grandson on the throne. Puppets upon puppets, plots within plots.
With the maesters dismissed, Visenya finally had the opportunity to regard Aemond. He hadn’t changed much since she had last seen him, at his brother’s false coronation. In the fire’s light, he had been a sight to behold; the flames illuminating his attractive, distinctive features, his mouth seemingly lodged in a permanent smirk, his eyepatch obscuring his missing eye, his tresses cascading down his back. Aemond had cleaned himself up, shedding his armor – now resting on a rack – for his usual black leather tunic, fastened with a belt that had his sheathed dagger attached to it, and a lengthy coat sewn with fur around the neck. He cast a tall shadow in the pavilion, his posture impeccable. Half dragon, half feline.
‘There’s a lack of dresses,’ informs Aemond, obdurately calm, retrieving a flagon of wine and two cups from the servant at the tent’s entrance, ‘And we had to find clothes that would suit you.’
‘I gather that there’s some poor stable boy currently running around naked,’ quips Visenya, tugging the pelts around herself.
Aemond huffs through his nose, amused, and sets one of the goblets on the table, proceeding to fill it with Arbor Red for her. The war evidently hasn’t affected the Usurper’s notorious love of drinking. Lord Redwyne smelled profit, and pledged his support to the Greens, to ensure that their wine supply never dries. An onerous task. The Pretender has ample ambition in that respect.
‘Don’t fret,’ assures Aemond, upon heeding Visenya’s skeptical, arched eyebrow, ‘It’s not poisoned.’
‘Surely someone spat in it,’ she guesses, convivial, swirling the liquid in her cup.
Aemond smiles, drinking his wine. Visenya tentatively lifts her goblet to her lips, and sips. Delectable flavors invade her mouth, soothing her nerves – albeit a little. She mulls over her next words… half carefully.
‘I reckoned that you and Ser Crispin would share a pavilion,’ she confides, lewdly, crossing one leg over the other, ‘Though your prides would not fit together.’
Aemond’s gaze darkens, his mouth subtly pressing into a thin line. His disposition could make Mushroom miserable... and it has.
‘You could lose your tongue for such insolence,’ he cautions, sternly.
‘What’s new?’, suspires an indifferent Visenya, ‘I can write this down as well.’ She pauses to take a swig, then demands, bluntly, ‘Where is Blackwing? And my men?’
‘The dragonkeepers are tending her,’ explains Aemond, irritation in his tone, leaving his empty cup on the table, ‘Your men are being questioned.’
Good fortune. They know nothing. The laughter and singing outside contradict Aemond’s claim. Drunk on victory. A weakness that she could later exploit. If I could reach Blackwing… lest they harm her.
‘Blackwing was your companion prior to Vhagar,’ she mentions, heatedly, flexing and unflexing her hand, ‘If you touch her–’
‘You are in no position to launch threats, Visenya,’ chastises Aemond, coldly, prodding at the logs with a poker, the wood crackling in the fire, ‘Your treatment depends on my good will. As does your fate. You have my word that Blackwing will not be harmed.’
‘The word of a kinslayer,’ spits Visenya, venomously, eyes darting to him, ‘If you are under the impression that minor acts of benevolence shall convince me to talk, you are gravely mistaken. You overestimate my family’s trust in me.’
‘They trusted you enough to put you in command of an army four thousand strong,’ reminds an earnest Aemond, ‘And you expect me to believe that you have no knowledge of your twin’s whereabouts?’
I wouldn’t trade Jace for the Iron Throne. ‘We shared a womb, not a brain,’ she corrects, tracing the rim of her goblet with her digits, contemplating refilling it. I need my wits about me. ‘You are wasting your time, nuncle. Mine, too. Fetch your torturers, and be done with all this bother.’
‘I will do no such thing,’ he rebuffs, inclining his head.
‘You will torture me yourself?’, asks Visenya, feigning innocence, brushing her loose silver-white hair over her shoulders.
‘You are being difficult, Visenya,’ he accuses, exasperated.
‘What do you intend to do with me?’, she interjects, involuntarily fiddling with her absent rings, ‘Executing me would be unwise. I presume that you will have my dragon killed, and me delivered to King’s Landing, where your usurper of a brother awaits, warming my mother’s rightful seat… or is he still broken and bedridden, lost in poppy dreams?’
‘Mind your tongue, Visenya,’ warns Aemond, louring at her, melting some of her resolve.
‘The Clubfoot will probably throw me in a cell and dispatch his floggers to visit me,’ she concludes, scratching her thigh. Stable boy must have had fleas.
‘I’m not sending you to King’s Landing,’ announces Aemond, with apparent mirth towards her gesture.
‘You will ransom me to my father?’, taunts Visenya, smirking wickedly, ‘He’s the poorest man in the Seven Kingdoms.’ Aemond’s demeanor refutes her insinuation. She continues, all semblance of jest vanishing, ‘You cannot justify keeping me here. Once the Pretender learns about my capture, he will order you to send me to King’s Landing.’
‘Aegon does not concern me,’ he grumbles, clasping his hands behind his back.
‘Pār ivestragī nyke jikagon,’ she advises, coyly. Aemond hums, musing, a glimmer in his eye that doesn’t indicate outright negation. ‘We are at war, and you allow your feelings to cloud your judgment?’ (Then let me go.)
‘Iksi daor rȳ vīlībāzma,’ argues a mild Aemond. (We are not at war.)
So, you did not slaughter Luke? That’s a consolation. ‘Iksis bona skoro syt emā daor ossēntan nyke?’, inquires Visenya, masking her anger. (Is that why you have not killed me?)
‘Killing you would be as imprudent as freeing you,’ he reasons, purposely oblivious, ‘You are worth more alive than you are dead. You lost a fair battle, you surrendered, and now you are my prisoner.’
‘I’ve heard stories about how you and Ser Crispin treat your prisoners,’ she disputes, mordant, ‘And I never yielded. You ride the largest dragon in the world. That’s hardly a fair match.’
Cole and the Usurper’s forces had sacked the port town of Duskendale, putting the ships at the harbor to the torch, hundreds of men, women, and children to the sword, and beheading Lord Gunthor Darklyn for supporting her mother’s cause. Hundreds more had been massacred at Rook’s Rest, where Lord Staunton, too, had been relieved of his head. Besieged by the Greens, he had barricaded himself inside his castle walls, and had requested assistance from the Blacks. With Prince Daemon at Harrenhal, and Queen Rhaenyra griefsick in the aftermath of her son’s murder, command of the Black Council had passed to the Velaryons. Rhaenyra had forbidden her children from answering their ally’s plea, so Princess Rhaenys had flown to Rook’s Rest instead. She and Meleys had fallen in battle against the Pretender, the Kinslayer, and their dragons. Sunfyre had been rendered flightless, the Usurper had suffered severe burns, and Aemond had assumed the title of Prince Regent – to rule in lieu of his older brother.
Visenya’s side hadn’t fared any greater. A wroth Sea Snake had blamed Rhaenyra for his wife’s demise. Jace had named him Hand of the Queen, to appease him – a measure that Visenya had commended. Better than Ser Crispin.
‘You ambushed us,’ reiterates Aemond, incredulous, ‘We would have presented you with terms, to avoid bloodshed.’
Oh, please. You don’t believe that. ‘Fuck your terms,’ curses Visenya, waving dismissively, ‘I suppose that being twice a kinslayer would have marred the carcass of your reputation.’
‘I spared your life,’ he chides, vaguely baleful.
‘A clemency that you did not extend to my brother,’ she sneers, bilious, her nails digging into the table’s surface.
‘Half-brother,’ deadpans Aemond, promptly.
‘If you had to slay your own kin, personally, I would have picked your dear brother, the Pretender,’ proffers Visenya, honeyed.
‘Perhaps you should have killed him,’ he retorts, untroubled, ‘You had your chance.’
Her family had gone to King’s Landing for the Driftmark petition, where her father had created a ghastly spectacle – publicly beheading Vaemond Velaryon for defaming her mother and her brothers. The Targaryen method of solving quarrels. Viserys himself had sat the throne, and had favored Luke as the heir to Driftmark – adhering to the Sea Snake’s wishes.
Due to his declining health, the King had been the first to retire during the subsequent supper that they had all attended. Visenya hadn’t been surprised by his condition; she had frequented the capital, unlike her parents and her siblings. The gathering had soon turned disastrous. Jace had invited Helaena to dance with him – offending Aegon and Aemond. She is so sweet. Alicent had been evil to marry her off to that cunting demon. None of them deserve her. Visenya herself had danced with Daeron, grinning the entire time. We had once been engaged... I could have loved him. He would have been a dutiful Prince Consort and a doting father to our children. Aemond had toasted to her Velaryon brothers, referring to them as “strong.” Fighting had erupted betwixt her siblings and her uncles, and her father had intervened to break them apart.
That evening, her family had sailed for Dragonstone, but Aemond had insisted that she stay in King’s Landing with him. Against her better judgment, Visenya had accepted. She ponders whether it had been a ploy of the Greens to take her hostage, and Aemond had simply played his part. Her grandsire had tragically expired overnight – poisoned by the Hightowers, according to her father. Visenya isn’t so certain. He hadn’t required meddling. He had been rotting for decades.
On the morrow, the Greens had locked her in her chambers. Visenya had refused to swear obeisance to Aegon – had even spat in his face – and to bow at his false coronation. Blackwing and the Princess Rhaenys had come to her rescue – emerging from underneath the Dragonpit on Meleys. Visenya had mounted her dragon, and had addressed the crowd, her voice clear and fierce, laced with fury.
“People of King’s Landing! The Hand and the Dowager Queen deceive you. King Viserys named my mother the Princess Rhaenyra heir to the throne. For twenty-four years, the succession remained indisputable and unchanged. Rhaenyra is the rightful and lawful Queen of the Seven Kingdoms. By crowning Aegon, the Hightowers have committed the highest of treasons and have usurped the Iron Throne, violating the King’s will. Aegon shall show you neither kindness nor wisdom. Remember today. Remember that you lived by the mercy of Rhaenys the Queen Who Should Have Been and myself. If the Hightowers do not cease in their treachery and do not bend the knee, I vow to return with fire and blood!”
Blackwing had roared so intensely that the Conqueror’s crown had been hurled from the Pretender’s head.
Aemond has the right of it. We could have bathed Aegon in flame, quelled their rebellion then and there.
On Dragonstone, the news of Viserys’ death and the Hightowers’ betrayal had driven her mother into an early labor. Her father had descended into madness, determined to levy war. Their losses had continuously piled… and the Seven Kingdoms would bear the cost.
‘I am no kinslayer,’ snarls Visenya, slighted by the idea, tearing her gaze away from Aemond.
‘I made you a generous offer that would have foiled the war,’ he broaches, the grievous memory still raw for him.
Oh, how could I have displayed such ingratitude? She wouldn’t describe his proposal to marry him and rule together as “generous.” It had been an odious humiliation. Aegon – who had not wanted the throne, declaring himself “unsuited” – would have embarked upon a ship and departed Westeros permanently. The Iron Throne is not his to relinquish. Visenya knows that Aemond has no love for his father, but asking her to usurp her mother’s throne? An audacious affront. She had vehemently spurned him, and they had traded sour words – their prides injured.
‘Our families would have started a war to kill us for it,’ drones Visenya, flatly, ‘And what of my parents? They would have never abided by your… solution.’
‘They have no consideration for your happiness and welfare, yet you still toil in their service,’ observes Aemond, provocatively.
‘And you have?!’, she opposes, her fist slamming on the table, ‘You conspired to usurp the throne and slaughtered my brother, the Princess Rhaenys, and their dragons. You are in no position to launch accusations.’
‘Even now, you feel compelled to defend them,’ he comments, dejected.
‘Lucerys was my blood!’, snaps Visenya, wrathful, standing from her seat and storming up towards him – stopping a couple of feet in front of him.
‘As am I!’, booms Aemond, towering over her, ‘And you have never defended me half as much as you did him! He took my eye when I was but ten, and to even that the imp felt entitled, while you gladly dismissed it as an accident and moved on!’
Outside, Blackwing and Vhagar grow agitated, shrieking and flitting their wings, stirring the wind. It seemed to Visenya that Aemond had often been harsher on her than he had been on Lucerys. He loves me… or he used to.
‘It was an accident,’ she maintains, tamer, ‘We were children. Our parents mishandled everything. I’ve told you numerous times that I profoundly regret what happened to you. It’s the truth. I cannot undo Luke’s actions.’
It’s been ten years since then, and forgetting the incident has been impossible. Aemond wears the consequences of it on his face, in his daily life. Our unease at the sight of his gash is a small price to pay.
He had delivered several blows – and had broken Luke’s nose – afore he had been overwhelmed by all five of her siblings, and Lucerys had slashed one of his eyes. Visenya’s absence from the fight had spared her from the interrogation, wherein Rhaenyra had suggested that Aemond be “sharply questioned”, Alicent Hightower had demanded Luke’s eye to compensate for Aemond’s, and Viserys had been eager to abandon his conciliatory obligation. The discord had exposed the personal feud between Rhaenyra and Alicent – their rhetoric diverting from “vile insults were levied against my sons” and “my son has lost an eye” to “duty and sacrifice are trampled under your pretty foot” and “you have been hiding beneath the cloak of your own righteousness.” The Queen had gone so far as to attack the Princess – slitting her arm with the King’s dagger.
Visenya hadn’t spoken at all – displeasing Aemond and her siblings. To her, matters hadn’t been so absolute. Although Aemond had claimed Vhagar too soon – disrespecting Laena Velaryon’s memory – his assault and maiming had been unwarranted. I love Rhaena dearly, but Vhagar was not stolen. The dragon never belonged to her. Aemond and Vhagar chose each other. Visenya had later communicated her opinions to him, and she had reassured her sister that she would have a dragon.
The next morning, the Targaryens and the Hightowers had exchanged false courtesies and falser apologies. Her family’s exile to Dragonstone hadn’t prevented Visenya from writing letters to Aemond, Helaena, and Daeron, or from flying on Blackwing to visit them in King’s Landing.
Alas, the bloody seeds of strife had been sown.
‘No, you cannot,’ concurs Aemond, glancing at her lips, ‘No one can. That is why I sought justice for myself.’
‘Justice?’, echoes Visenya, disdainful, her glare piercing, ‘Had you had your other eye, you would still be as blind as you are now.’
Aemond growls, lashing out and grabbing her roughly, their lower bodies pressing together. Visenya glowers at him defiantly, placing her hands on his breast, to preserve some distance betwixt their upper bodies. The effort shoots a jolt of pain along her arm.
If he meant to scare her, he failed. Aemond would not harm me.
‘Hold your tongue, Visenya,’ he exhorts, through gritted teeth.
‘Or what?’, she challenges, her face inching closer to his, ‘You will have it removed? You will butcher me as you did my brother?’
‘You are brazen, to speak of your half-brother, of my wrongdoings and my crimes,’ berates Aemond, his jaw clenching, ‘What of your family? What of my nephew Jaehaerys?... Iā tresy syt iā tresy. Nyke gīmigon īles aōha kepa.’ (A son for a son. I know it was your father.)
Aware of what Aemond alluded to, Visenya hesitates, her response withering on her tongue.
After the tragedy at Storm’s End, a raven from her father had arrived at Dragonstone. An eye for an eye, a son for a son. Lucerys shall be avenged. She had deduced that Daemon had hired the assassins who had executed Prince Jaehaerys – the Usurper’s six-year-old heir – with Alicent, Helaena, and the latter’s other children as witnesses. Visenya had confronted him about his heinous deed at Harrenhal. Undaunted, her father had firmly admonished that the “pious one-eyed flea of a traitor who slobbers over you” had slain her brother.
In retaliation for Jaehaerys, the Pretender had sent Ser Arryk Cargyll to Dragonstone, to assassinate Jace and Joffrey. The knight had entered the castle in his Kingsguard attire, disguised as his twin Ser Erryk – Queen Rhaenyra’s loyalist – whom he had encountered on his way to the royal apartments. By the conclusion of their duel, the two had mortally wounded one another.
I owe the Hightowers nothing, least of all my sympathy. Children should not be the target of our ire. How do we differ from the Greens if we perpetrate and perpetuate the same crimes that they do?
‘Nyke ēdan daorun naejot gaomagon rūsīr bona,’ clarifies Visenya, sincerely, albeit faintly. (I had nothing to do with that.)
‘No, you are merely the spectator,’ scoffs Aemond, haughty, ‘Proudly passing judgment while others bloody their hands. You are passive. Passive in your beliefs, your guilt, your love.’
Visenya blinks against the tears that prick her eyes, her breath hitched. His cruel and bitter words cut deeply, rooted in years of grievances, enmities, neglect, and abuse. Aemond had once been a sweet, innocent boy – her closest friend, her betrothed. He’s the product of his conditions, his upbringing, and his parents’ influence… as am I. Both confined in a prison of our parents’ sins. Perhaps we inevitably inherit the burdens of our forebears.
Though Visenya may not be the sole reason for his resentment, she is present. Aemond hadn’t blamed her for her family’s actions. He condemned her for not loving him enough. That is unfair. I’m not culpable of that.
A consuming poison has been dribbling inside of her, on the verge of gushing. Visenya has strayed too near to the edge – now wavering, uncertain whether she wishes to tread the line and unravel the truth. That is not why I am here...
... but her decision has already been established.
The truth is important to me.
Summoning her courage, Visenya reaches behind Aemond’s head to peel off his eyepatch, lifting the veil between them. I need to see him, so that he cannot deceive me. She tosses the item aside, neither shrinking nor averting her gaze. She caresses his face, drinking him in – his scar, the sapphire in his eye socket, the flesh that had healed crookedly. Aemond tenses, watching her intently, his respiration ragged. His grip on her slackens.
‘Gōntan ao ossēnagon zirȳla kesrio syt hen issa?’, murmurs Visenya, circling his wrists, impeding his retreat. (Did you kill him because of me?)
At the Black Council, Jace and Luke had offered to act as their mother’s messengers, to acquire support for her claim. The twins had been tasked with the difficult mission – negotiating with the Eyrie, the Three Sisters, White Harbor, and Winterfell. Lady Jeyne Arryn would declare for Rhaenyra if dragonriders defended the Vale. Jace and Visenya had met with Lords Borrell and Sunderland at Sisterton, and at White Harbor, they had arranged for Joffrey to marry Lord Desmond Manderly’s youngest daughter.
The news of Luke’s death had accosted them in the Vale. Visenya had collapsed in Jace’s arms, wailing as her twin had embraced her tightly. She had agonised over her brother’s demise every night, plagued by what she could have done to save him, weeping into a tumultuous sleep. Visenya had never listened to the rumors and the gossip. Lucerys had been her family, her brother, her blood. I fed him, bathed him, read to him, sparred with him, played with him… yet I could not protect him from Aemond.
She possesses little knowledge of what had occurred betwixt Luke and Aemond at Storm’s End. The weather had been atrocious, her brother’s dragon too small to withstand it. In the following days, bits of Arrax’s carcass had washed up on the shore of Shipbreaker’s Bay. Luke had never been recovered. He may have died a dragonrider’s death, but he had died alone and afraid. Had his demise been slow and painful, or swift and painless? Her brother had sworn on the Seven-Pointed Star that he would not fight – merely deliver the Queen’s message. Aemond had taken no such oath. Had Visenya known, she would have held on to Luke and besought him not to go.
If I had flown to Storm’s End in his stead, Aemond could have slain me, and my brother would still be alive.
‘Daor,’ whispers Aemond, at last. (No.)
Visenya stifles a sob, tears escaping her eyes, dampening his thumbs. She foolishly believed that her grief would wane. His confession barely scrapes the surface. Visenya feels no relief, no closure. Has she been on an erroneous campaign to absolve herself of any responsibility, to alleviate her own conscience, and to forgive Aemond – chasing these ends to the detriment of Luke’s memory? If I wanted to bring justice to my brother, I would have slit his killer’s throat and let him bleed out on the ground.
When Aemond succumbs and pulls her into him, Visenya doesn’t resist. The buckles of his tunic are cold and rough against her cheek, contrasting the warmth that he radiates. She releases the exhale that she has been withholding. Her greatest flaw rears its hideous head – a flaw that has sown division amongst her family and has rendered her an outcast. Visenya had suffered for her refusal to forsake her friendship with Aemond, enduring disapproving scowls from her parents, mean jests and malicious accusations from her siblings, and a lack of compassion – all serving to remind her of her tenuous position.
Her proximity to Aemond had even prompted her mother to spurn her as her heir – arguing that he would undermine her as Queen. I cannot have both Aemond and the Iron Throne. I am the eldest child. By all rights, the throne should pass to me.
Shoving those thoughts away, Visenya clutches his sides, sobs wracking her body. Aemond timidly buries his mouth in her locks, breathing in her scent.
‘Daor,’ he repeats, definitively, cradling the back of her head. (No.)
The remainder of her defenses crumble. Visenya loathes that she errs, that she seeks and welcomes comfort from the man who is the source of her sorrow. With the realm plunged into war after Lucerys’ death, there has been no time to mourn – not for her grandsire Viserys, nor her sister Aemma, nor her brother Luke.
An unavoidable war. We are Valyrian, and prone to violence. A testament to power corruption. Prior to the blood magic, the dragons, and the conquests, Valyrians had been a peaceful community of shepherds. They had become increasingly tyrannical and ambitious as their power had soared. The peak of our Freehold… and its ruin. Forewarned about the Doom by Daenys Targaryen’s prophetic dream, her forebears had fled to Dragonstone – a venture that the other, unsuspecting dragonlords had considered cowardice and had ridiculed. We had the last laugh.
Targaryens have always been stubborn, passionate, fierce. Visenya is no exception. Despite their families’ hopes and despite his crimes, her love for Aemond hasn’t dwindled. Their bond is too strong, their souls and fates entwined. I am the blood of the dragon. Nobody dictates whom I love.
And love is seldom simple.
Aemond brushes his lips over her temple, causing her skin to tingle. Visenya lifts her eyes to meet his, and recognises the same ache and longing that lay dormant inside her. Affection blooms in her chest. She could stop this from flourishing, spare them both the misery. As children, they had found solace in each other’s company whenever their families had been the reason for their anguish, so they had promised to never hurt one another.
A part of Visenya still yearns to love Aemond freely. Must her logic always be at odds with her emotions? The only man that I have ever desired, and I have been deprived of him my entire life. I have never been in control. The forbidden aspect merely furthers the appeal of the dalliance. She wants to surrender to the temptation, repercussions be damned.
Visenya traces his mouth with her fingertips, reverently, and strokes his face – recommitting it to memory. Aemond leans into her touch, reveling in the gesture, his respiration shallow. The tips of their noses graze against each other. He wipes her tears before his digits fall on the sides of her neck, feeling her quickening pulse under the pads of his fingers. Aemond’s eye gleams with lust, igniting the same blaze within her. She peers at him from underneath her lashes, drowning in the depths of his blue eye. A shiver runs down her spine. Her lips tremble in suspense, the proximity making her dizzy.
Aemond dips his head to capture her mouth in a tentative kiss. Visenya surges upwards to reciprocate, inhaling sharply through her nose, eyes slipping shut. Their lips mold together, their flame rekindled. His large, calloused hands grip her jaw, to guide her. She splays her hands over his chest, fisting the lapels of his coat, desperate to draw him closer. Visenya parts her lips, granting him entrance, tasting the lingering flavor of the wine that they had shared earlier. A familiar ardor seeps into her belly, immersing her body. Her fire has burned quietly for too long. Now, it has stirred again, emboldened to emerge.
Aemond sinks his teeth into her bottom lip, splitting it and sucking the blood, famished. Visenya groans, her breath blowing the loose strands of hair that cover his forehead. Her knees weaken, and she grasps his shoulders for support, grateful that he wraps his arm around her middle. Her pelts land on the floor. Aemond steps forward, backing her into the table, and hoists her on it impetuously.
Aemond kindly adjusts his belt, to remove the dagger betwixt them. The irony isn’t lost on Visenya. She spreads her legs, inviting, allowing him to settle between them. He sprawls over her, caging her in, his heavy weight almost crushing her against the table’s rigid, uncomfortable surface. His silky hair cascades around her head, framing his face, conferring a strange sense of privacy. Visenya peppers delicate pecks over his chin, continuing along his jaw, her digits prodding at his smooth neck.
She fervidly awaits a kiss that never comes. Aemond hums affably, his arrogant smile shooting to her core. Their breaths mingle, his hands traveling up and down her sides with modest curiosity. Visenya huffs in exasperation, and shifts, ticklish, the heels of her feet digging into his ass. Her thumb catches his lower lip, pressing into it. Aemond holds her gaze, parting his lips enough to engulf her thumb. He swirls his tongue over it afore sucking on it gently. She watches him, captivated, her mouth slightly agape.
The knot in her belly snaps, her patience having thinned, ousted by resolve. She pushes him off, so she can sit up, impelling him to stand. Aemond obliges without objection. Visenya hooks her fingers in his belt, to bring him nearer, and deftly unbuttons his tunic, revealing his bare chest – inch by inch. She drinks in the sight, caressing his glistening skin. The intolerable heat induces sweat to drip betwixt her breasts and to trickle down her spine.
She leans in, only for Aemond to jerk his head away and deny her another kiss – the tip of her nose bumping against his cheek. He smirks, conceited, despite his ruddy complexion. Visenya gnashes her teeth, intent on retribution. Straightening her body, and looping her uninjured arm around Aemond, she licks his earlobe and bites it softly, eliciting a growl from him. He squeezes her hips in silent warning, and sneaks a hand under her shirt, to fondle her breast and pinch her nipple until it stiffens. Visenya moans, hushed, her head lolling back into her shoulders.
Aemond rests his free hand on the base of her throat, his digits winding around it, lips latching onto her exposed neck. Visenya suppresses her whine, the air deserting her lungs. He incessantly strokes her bosom, his teeth abusing the sensitive skin of her neck. She drops her arms – mindful of her wounds – one hand surrounding his wrist, her other fumbling, blindly cupping his hardened member through his breeches. A salacious grunt rolls out of Aemond’s mouth, filling the tent.
His fingers release her throat to tangle in her tresses, and yank, his hips grinding against hers, creating friction. He withdraws his lips from her, and tugs her hand away, his other hand raking down her abdomen. Her chuckle turns into a gasp as Aemond languidly rubs the wet area between her legs, his breath fanning her face. Visenya relishes in the waves of pleasure enveloping her body, her spine arching, though her soaking cunt clenches around nothing. She heaves her thighs higher, hugging his waist – lest he dare pull away from her.
A metal item pokes at her thigh.
My brooch.
Visenya peels her eyes away from him, scrambling to salvage her composure. Aemond ceases his ministrations. He raises her chin with his thumb and forefinger, coaxing her to look at him. Her heart stutters, her vision bleary beneath his suffocating leer. The clouds in his eye have cleared… or he conceals them well. Their lips crash in a frantic kiss – her veins aflame, scalding. He swallows her wanton moan, kneading the flesh of her ass. Aemond cannot fool me. A constant tempest festers within him, ravenous for blood and revenge. Visenya would never be able to tame it. Nothing would.
Numbing remorse smothers her fire. She had forgotten herself and her loyalties. She breaks the kiss, tasting ashes on her tongue. His mouth chases hers, his hand curling around the nape of her neck, to reunite their lips. Aemond bends her back, cradling her against him – the pressure on her shoulder tearing a whimper from her. He lays a tender, apologetic kiss there. Her digits slide into his locks, thwarting him. Visenya stares at the shadows dancing across the ceiling of the pavilion – Aemond’s head pillowed on her breasts.
What am I doing? Where am I going? With him? Distant limbs envelop her, lips ghosting over her skin. He licks a stripe up the column of her throat and nips at it, nuzzling his nose against her neck. I would never betray my family. I cannot have both Aemond and the Iron Throne. The dream is over. Bury it, and crawl out of this bottomless pit of vipers.
He has been stretching seconds into minutes, delaying the inevitable, but he cannot stop it. The die has been cast.
‘Aemond, wait,’ pants Visenya, her own voice foreign to her, her nails clawing at his back, ‘We cannot. I am–’
‘Betrothed?’, deadpans Aemond, cocking his head to peek at her, crimson lips swollen, hair and clothes disheveled, ‘I’m aware. Your half-brother told me, at Storm’s End.’
Her heart leaps into her throat, yet Visenya falters, preferring to disregard his comment and its implications. If Aemond and Lucerys had exchanged insults – and her brother had mentioned her betrothment – it might have incited the former to attack the latter. A door best left shut.
‘Lord Stark is a good man–’
‘Have you sunk so low?’, criticises Aemond, reproach etched on his features, ‘You are a Targaryen princess, the blood of Old Valyria. Dragons do not mate with other beasts, and we do not consort with lesser men.’
Visenya blinks in incredulity, scanning his face for any indication of pretense. He has been collecting dangerous beliefs. Undoubtedly the result of Ser Crispin’s and Alicent Hightower’s influence. King Viserys had been too neglectful to bear any blame in that respect. He’s overly culpable in innumerable other matters.
‘If I have sunk low, I do not wish to imagine what hell you wander in,’ she retorts, dour, shoving him away, her lower back pressing against the edge of the table, ‘I do not require lessons on our heritage. Valyria is gone. I do not adhere to the Doctrine of Exceptionalism, nor do I delude myself about our superiority. According to this logic, your Westerosi mother is lesser. Everybody has their history and their pride. The Starks are the blood of the First Men, descendants of Bran the Builder. Cregan is my equal, and I will not bring him dishonor. You once said something similar to me, when we were younger.’
Visenya purposely omitted that Cregan would have taken additional offence if Aemond – a usurper and a kinslayer – had been her choice of paramour. Following the annulment of her betrothment to Aemond, she had snuck into his bedchamber, and had urged him to claim her maidenhood. It would have compelled our parents to marry us to each other. He had adamantly refused, reiterating that he would dishonor her by doing so. Visenya wonders whether his consent would have changed the tide, whether he rues his decision now… were he capable of it.
‘I remember,’ mutters Aemond, cupping her cheeks, brushing his nose against hers, ‘Yn īlon issi daor riñar dombo.’ (But we are not children anymore.)
‘No, we are not,’ she assents, doleful, undeterred by his lingering lips on her forehead, ‘I am a woman grown, my mother’s daughter, and I vowed to marry Cregan. My word is not fickle. A foreign concept to you and your family.’
She had suggested the match herself, on Dragonstone, prior to hers and her brothers’ departure. Supposing that the Queen’s appeal failed to persuade Lord Stark to pledge the North to their cause, Visenya would offer her hand in marriage.
The memory of beholding Cregan for the first time still exhilarates her. She had been climbing down from Blackwing while Jace had approached Lord Stark, to greet him. Cloaked in furs, he had been an imperious presence – tall, brawny, handsome, graced with grey eyes, dark, wavy locks that cascaded to his shoulders, and a dense beard. His gaze had frequently drifted towards her. Jace had suavely introduced her, and Cregan had curtsied, addressing her as “princess.” Visenya had answered with “my lord” – her smile timid, her eyes wicked.
The harsh weather hadn’t spoiled the northern capital’s beauty, magnificent structures, and rich culture. The twins had received a warm welcome at Winterfell, amidst the winter preparations, and Lord Stark had been a most hospitable host, entertaining his guests with drinking, sparring, and hunting trips in the wolfswood. Visenya had mingled with the commonfolk, conversing with them, helping them with their errands, and teaching their children how to read and write. Cregan had often watched her, fondly, from afar. Some servants had been intimidated by her appearance and her station, stammering through their responses. She had instructed them to simply call her “Visenya.”
Whenever his duties had permitted, Cregan had accompanied her on walks around the castle, to the library, the ancient godswood and its hot springs, and the disturbing crypt that had contained the tombs of the deceased members of House Stark. His direwolf Splinter had ambled after them everywhere. They had discussed history, politics, trade, and their families, and had comforted one another in their grief, as Cregan’s wife had recently perished in childbirth. He had even confessed that Jace had reminded him of the brother that he had lost more than a decade ago. She had met his sweet babe Rickon, whom she had doted on. Cregan had bestowed upon Blackwing the highest distinction, deeming her a “formidable beast” – with his habitual morose disposition. Visenya had become besotted with him, regarding him as virtuous, conscientious, tenacious, and reputable.
By the end of the twins’ stay in Winterfell, the Pact of Ice and Fire had been formed, whereby Visenya would wed Lord Stark, and the North would side with Queen Rhaenyra. He had forged a direwolf brooch for her, and she had gifted him one of her rings, to wear it as a necklace. Cregan and Jace had sworn an oath of brotherhood, sealed in blood.
‘You sold yourself to a wolf pup so that you may rally his army to your mother’s cause, and you boast about honor,’ accuses Aemond, scornful, satisfied that he discerns her imagined act, ‘Twas a different kind of sword that you required.’
Sold myself? Visenya’s mouth twists downwards, her latent, crude contempt quivering. Blackwing rattles her shackles, screeching viscerally. He views me as property. I paid my price in kindness and youthful promises, so I am constrained into being his property. I have no freedom, no intuition, no capacity for judgment. I am a frail puppet dancing on my family’s strings, dependent on Aemond to rescue me. He would rather I were a fly in his web. What sort of person expects me to fulfil the vows that I uttered as a child?
‘Cregan would have honored his late father’s word,’ she contends, smoothing her garments, heedless of Aemond’s eye roaming over her body, ‘Lord Rickon Stark swore an oath in the throne hall, and acknowledged my mother as King Viserys’ heir. All of the Westerosi lords did, great and small.’
Upon his lord father’s death, Cregan had inherited Winterfell at the age of thirteen, so his uncle Bennard had ruled as regent until his nephew had reached manhood. Bennard’s reluctance to relinquish power had spurred Cregan to imprison him and his three sons. Akin to Queen Rhaenyra’s plight, his kinsman had attempted to supplant him. Lady Jeyne Arryn – Queen Aemma’s cousin – had thrice endured uprisings that had contested her inheritance of the Eyrie.
A hereditary curse. A woman’s curse. In this world of men, we women must band together.
‘Over twenty years have passed since then,’ specifies Aemond, shrugging blithely, ‘Most of those lords are dead, including the wolf pup’s father. Bones are all that is left of them and their vows.’
Pup. A peculiar term to use for Cregan – a man older than they are. Aemond’s vanity confirms that, to the Greens, King Viserys’ succession amounts to nothing. Their cause is false – founded on quicksand, conspiracy, and murder – and they bury themselves deeper and deeper into an abyss of lies and treachery.
‘They represented their Houses and spoke on their behalf,’ corrects Visenya, her shoulders slumping from the sheer absurdity of having to explain this, ‘Enlighten me, nuncle. How does your situation differ from mine? Are you not betrothed to one of Borros Baratheon’s daughters for her father’s troops? Or is it all four daughters? I have heard varied accounts.’
The illiterate Lord of Storm’s End – another traitor responsible for Luke’s demise. Her brother Joffrey had sworn a terrible oath of vengeance against him and the Kinslayer. The Velaryons had prevented Joff from instantly mounting his dragon Tyraxes to exact revenge. Would I have done the same? He is merely a boy, too young to know such hatred and grief. He and Rhaena are in the Vale, out of harm’s way. Willful Baela remains on Dragonstone, to fight by Jace’s side. Aegon and Viserys, the youngest, are with them. We must ensure their safety, else the war will strip them of their innocence… and their lives.
Dragonstone, Harrenhal, Winterfell, the Vale, King’s Landing, Stoney Sept… My family is divided. If only I could protect them all…
‘I did what was asked of me,’ defends Aemond, forlorn, resting their foreheads together, ‘I never intended to wed her.’ He adds, his words scattered among hasty, consecutive kisses, ‘We have always agreed that we would marry one another. I have neither forgotten, nor forsaken that. I want you.’
‘I thought that we were not children anymore,’ she echoes, shrewd, bending to retrieve her discarded pelts, ‘Our parents annulled our betrothment years ago. You would have us marry without your mother’s blessing? I value my well-being, even if you do not.’
‘You are mistaken,’ coos Aemond, holding her hand to his mouth, kissing her knuckles, her palm, her inner wrist, ‘It’s not too late. There’s still a chance for us.’
Visenya had once shared that sentiment. He lives in the past, clinging to it, misconstruing it. Matters betwixt them would never be the same – a truth that he hasn’t accepted. I would have waited for him... Aemond had usurped the throne and had slain her brother. Now, he hopes to abuse her clemency. What stops him from mistreating her, from hurting her? Why must I always be patient and compassionate? Why must I always forgive and forget? What will I gain from it? Aemond? It’s not enough. His redemption is a prolonged, tedious endeavor that she will not partake in.
I’m severing my noose.
‘A chance?’, snarls Visenya, in conjunction with Blackwing’s shrieks, ‘Is that what you offered my brother when you unleashed Vhagar on him?’ She folds her arms over her chest, her furs caught between them. ‘You have already spilled my blood. I will not present you with a chance to do it again. Aye, I once wanted to marry you. A summer dream of summer children. Winter is coming.’
Ripping the cord that binds her to Aemond will be excruciating, like slashing a part of herself. He is the thorn lodged in her side, her twin flame, his scent and touch imprinted on her, haunting her asleep and haunting her awake. The only power I wield over him is denying him myself.
‘You have returned to threats,’ chides Aemond, buttoning his tunic, visibly irritated by her usage of the House Stark words, ‘Parroting words that are not your own, chirruping tales that others have stuffed your head with, like a little bird.’
‘‘Tis not a threat, beloved,’ purrs Visenya, woven with venom, savoring his indignation, ‘It is a fact. The maesters of the Citadel will release the white ravens soon, to announce its arrival.’
She had witnessed the foreboding signs with her own eyes, at Winterfell – the resplendent snow, the howling winds, the bitter cold. Winter is upon us… and we are vying for the throne.
‘‘Tis also a fact that your wolf pup has a wolf pup of his own,’ jeers Aemond, donning his eyepatch, ‘A son whom he fathered on another wench. A son who will inherit Winterfell and all of its attendant lands, titles, and incomes. A vile indignity, a humiliation, to you and your brood. You would submit to a puny northern savage, as his second wife?’
Puny northern savage? Innovative.
“Our children will sit the Iron Throne,” Visenya had told Cregan in the godswood, with the snow floating around them, piling in thick layers on the ground, the trees, and the castle walls. I kissed the snowflakes on his lashes, and they melted on my lips. Her heart flutters at the memory. My sullen wolf. She longs for him more than she can express.
Would that appease Aemond? Nothing would. He has become spiteful. “Wench.” Lady Arra of House Norrey had been Cregan’s late wife and cherished childhood companion. She had dismally died birthing Rickon. I will not debate Cregan’s family with Aemond, a jealous craven threatened by suckling babes.
‘Rickon is an innocent babe,’ reasons Visenya, hugging herself, suddenly feeling naked without her armor, ‘Aye, he is the heir to Winterfell, and no threat to me. I will not set my children against their brother, nor will I encourage them to steal his birthright. I am not your mother.’
And, oh, how you despise that…
‘I suppose that you will be no threat to him, either, should you die in childbirth,’ ventures Aemond, elated at the notion, his eye shimmering in the light of the flames, ‘And your wolf pup would be twice widowed.’
Visenya lashes out, striking him so viciously across the face that his head whips to the side. Blackwing’s mighty roars rumble outside. Aemond doesn’t even blench.
She had never hit him before. If he is startled or enraged by the assault, he masks it – devoid of any emotion. Visenya quashes the temptation to shout at him, to call him a dog, a pig, a rat. He is beneath these creatures. He has no conscience, and his cruelty is boundless. Her grandmother Queen Aemma and her aunt Laena had both expired in childbed. Her sister had been stillborn. What does Aemond know about the perils and throes of women? Nothing.
I could flee, go anywhere but here... Her flesh crawls. I’m his captive in so many ways. Briny tears well in her eyes.
Tears cannot quench dragonfire.
‘Do you love the wolf pup?’, challenges Aemond, his demeanor impassable, though she distinguishes a crack in his frigid tone.
And if I do? You would flay him alive, and force me to watch. The question of Visenya’s suitors continues to be intricate and contentious. The Disputed Lands of Westeros. She had been engaged to Aegon, to Aemond, and to Daeron, and had been courted by Westerosi Houses, Essosi princes, triarchs, archons, nobles, magisters, merchants, and generals. The Red Kraken would have made me his salt wife. Visenya had rejected all of them. Adulterers and drunkards old enough to be my grandsires and fat enough to crush me beneath them.
Rhaenyra had been sympathetic to her daughter’s predicament; she herself had initially opposed marriage. My mother had been younger than I am when she had birthed me and Jace. Visenya shudders at the thought. Her father hadn’t been concerned, confiding that she could wed out of duty and fuck whomever she pleased. Men always do so. Why shouldn’t I? Her twin had convinced her that she would find a suitable pair, to her liking. Jace had the right of it. I chose Cregan, and he chose me. She touches her brooch through her trousers. I’m assuming control of my life and my future.
‘I will,’ declares Visenya, seething, jutting her chin, ‘He is neither a usurper, nor a kinslayer. Cregan is worth a thousand of you, and more.’
‘Yet you delay marrying him, and the wolf pup delays assembling his banners and marching,’ admonishes Aemond, his reddened cheek beginning to swell, ‘Perhaps you are not as devoted to each other as you think you are.’
A surrounded animal, slinging its final, pitiful blows. Her wolf’s motives for not marching had been warranted. He awaits the collection of the harvest, so that he can feed his subjects throughout the winter. The Southrons seal themselves in their castles with their bountiful harvests, whereas the Northerners bear the brunt of the burden – snow, frost, famine, death. Cregan’s obligations lie with his people and his lands.
As for herself, Visenya prefers to marry him during peace and stability. He could mourn his wife properly, and he would not be widowed again, if I were to… to…
‘His Winter Wolves are at the Twins,’ she states, noting Aemond’s mouth twitching, ‘They have joined their forces with the Freys’, and will resume their advance south. They are merely a fraction of the North’s strength. I assure you. Cregan will honor his vow.’
She had wept upon reading Lord Roderick Dustin’s words to Lady Sabitha Frey. We have come to die for the dragon queen. Cregan had taught Visenya about the Winter Wolves – elderly men who leave their homes in order to conserve supplies for their kin. Grisly custom. Those warriors hope to die for glory and plunder. They will never reunite with their families. Wretched conditions, wretched measures.
Aemond must have observed a spark in her eyes, heard something amiss in her voice that aroused his suspicion.
‘What have you done, Visenya?’, he demands, narrowing his eye, fixing her with a hawkish glare.
I fucked the wolf pup. And Alyn Velaryon… Not both at the same time. She had befriended Alyn and his older brother Addam shortly after hers and Jace’s return from Winterfell. Her twin had summoned Targaryen bastards – “dragonseeds” – for the riderless dragons, promising wealth, lands, and knighthood for those triumphant. Addam’s feat of claiming Seasmoke had emboldened the Sea Snake to petition Queen Rhaenyra to legitimise the Hull boys. Conveniently, their mother Marilda had revealed that they had been sired by Ser Laenor Velaryon. And Mushroom is seven feet tall. My stepfather had no interest in women. Lord Corlys had proceeded to name Addam his heir.
Alyn, however, had been less fortunate. Sheepstealer had bathed his cloak in flames. His brother had doused the fire, saving his life. At least Grey Ghost had vanished. Those had been wild dragons. Alyn is lucky to be alive. Grand Maester Gerardys had tended his burns, and Visenya had changed his bandages thrice a day – delighting in his insolence. The habit had blossomed into clumsy intimacy. She had seldom stayed the night – a decision that hadn’t troubled Alyn. He never judged me. Visenya misses him; his jests, his smile, his company.
A furious Jace had reprimanded his twin for her recklessness and temerity, arguing that Cregan was a good man, a second chance – everything that she had ever dreamed of. Her involvement with Alyn could compromise their indispensable alliance with the North. Visenya had listened to his warning, remorse slithering around her throat.
I have been remiss… but Alyn is only a matter of brevity. I have to tread prudently.
‘I do as I please,’ she asserts, the ghost of a smirk tugging at her lips, ‘Do not fret, cousin. Cregan treated me well and was most gentle with me… the first time.’
Her admission slices him to the bone. Aemond’s expression sinks, desolation flooding his eye. A child looks at her, into her, agony engraved on his features. Have I been too austere? Spoken too harshly? He had betrayed her trust, had usurped the throne, and had murdered her brother. My sins pale in comparison.
Aemond recoils, turning away from her, his head lowered. His fists clench at his sides. The table behind her shakes at Vhagar’s menacing growl. Visenya maintains her composure, sheathing herself in steel. I will not cow. I am the blood of the dragon.
And I will not regret Cregan.
While she hadn’t lacked for suitors, those men had sought to marry her out of pride and ambition. My Targaryen heritage brings their House closer to the Iron Throne, and my dragon is power.
She had proposed to Cregan that she would willingly surrender her maidenhood to him, as a token of her intention to wed him. Fighting a war a maiden seems particularly dreadful. Should anything befall her, Cregan wouldn’t feel cheated or insulted – he would have claimed her gift of innocence.
I lost my innocence long ago.
Visenya hadn’t abused her station to compel him to lie with her. She wouldn’t have been offended if he hadn’t desired her.
“I would be,” her wolf had responded, earning a chuckle from her.
Two nights – and numerous fiery kisses – later, he had accepted her offer. A timorous ardor had washed over Visenya, her heart hammering against her rib cage. Cregan had led her out of the godswood, past the hot springs, the main iron gate with its walls, across the inner yards, into the castle, and up the winding stairs – retreating to his solar, where they had shared half a flagon of wine. He had kindly asked her if she had been nervous.
No. I am a Targaryen princess, a dragonrider… and the wine soothed my nerves.
Their intimate moments had been sweet, passionate, exhilarating. Visenya remembers them so vividly. His large hands cupping her face, disrobing her with deft precision, caressing and fondling every inch of her. His darkened eyes reveling in her figure. Cregan lifting her into his arms as though she weighed nothing, laying her down on the bed. His tongue licking her stiffened nipples, his mouth sucking on her plump breasts. Her fist stroking his leaking cock, guiding him into her heat slowly. Cregan swallowing her soft whine when entering her, the stretch burning deliciously. The overwhelming need to hold him nearer. Wrapping her limbs around him as he vigorously thrust into her, the featherbed engulfing her. The chambers brimming with their moans, gasps, and the lascivious sounds of sweaty skin slapping against sweaty skin. Cregan intertwining their fingers, Cregan driving her to the heights of pleasure, Cregan spilling his seed inside her, blending with her maiden’s blood.
Slick pools between her legs, and Visenya squeezes her thighs shut, salivating at the memory.
He had collapsed on top of her, and – at her insistence – had lied there, panting, his face buried in her neck, his beard tickling her. An equally breathless Visenya had threaded her digits through his damp hair, pecking his cheek and his temple. Cregan had rolled off of her, grunting at the effort, and had pulled her into him, allowing her to rest her head on his chest, and to hook her leg over his. Her wolf had attentively inquired whether he had hurt her.
“Not at all,” she had murmured, demure, draping her arm over him, their combined fluids trickling on her groin, “You have been so good to me.”
Visenya had drifted off to sleep in his safe embrace, lulled by his heartbeat and his snores. His body had been a hearth underneath the pelts. I am the blood of the dragon, allured by warmth and fire.
She and Cregan had spent most evenings together – to the dismay of his bed. Days had been dedicated to duties, negotiations, and furtive glances, nights for themselves and for each other; for raw lust, hushed laughter, and the solace that they had been starved of; for their satiation and contentment. Her loins had often ached by the next morning. A good ache.
Cregan had even taken her in the godswood, under a starry sky, before the heart tree, following their sword sparring. Afterwards, he had suggested that they retire to his solar.
‘To sleep?’, questioned Visenya, coyly, tangling their feet together.
‘If that is what the princess wants,’ granted her wolf, amiably.
‘The princess wants you,’ she mumbled, nestling against him, their clothes and furs providing scant shelter from the cold.
‘She has me,’ vouched Cregan, carding his fingers through her locks, ‘All of me.’
Oh, yes. He has had me in the sight of the old gods, and I have bled for him. Targaryens have always had a grievously deep connection to blood. It’s one of our House’s words. Our forebears used blood magic to bind the winged beasts to them. We cut ourselves and drink each other’s blood in the marriage ceremony. We practice incest to ensure the purity of our bloodline. The blood of Old Valyria, the blood of the dragon. Blood unites, and blood divides.
Their stealthy meetings might not have been shrouded in such secrecy. Jace had dared to tease Visenya about the marks that he had glimpsed on her throat. She had thrown a snowball at him, hitting him in the nose.
‘Locking myself in a castle is more appealing than waging war against my own kin,’ admitted Visenya, in an instance of fragility, atop one of Winterfell’s towers.
‘You’re not destined to hide in a castle,’ proponed Cregan, petting Splinter, basking in the sun – reminiscent of their early mornings abed. I would trace the lines of his back, the scars on his chest, admire his naked form as he opened the shutters… ‘Your hair is akin to the snow around us, your eyes the color of the sunset sky. Why would nature make you so lovely, if not to behold you and to reflect on you? The sun must see you to shine, the moon to glow.’
Visenya tore her gaze away from him, misty-eyed.
Her Valyrian appearance had protected her from japes about being a Strong bastard. Is that term so preposterous? My parents hadn’t been married at my birth. I had borne the name Velaryon for a decade. People had viewed her as a Myrish carpet – to be gaped at – and had treated her like a stud-mare, to be bought, owned, and mounted to produce sons – her beauty a mere instrument to that end. Devious motives behind hollow adulation.
‘You are gracious, my lord,’ rasped Visenya, flustered, the gossip of the commonfolk below muffling her answer slightly, ‘I am flattered.’
‘I have spoken the truth,’ affirmed Cregan, tipping her chin up, coaxing her to peer at him, ‘You are meant to be kissed.’
‘By you,’ she assented, his gloved digits wiping her tears, delicately.
On the day of the dragon twins’ departure from Winterfell, Vermax and Blackwing had been impatient to leave the North and its freezing temperatures. Visenya hadn’t shared their zeal. I’m not a little girl anymore. The winds of winter are rising. There is a war to be fought and won.
“Come back to me,” her wolf whispered to her, their joined hands concealed in their cloaks and pelts.
I will.
Aemond’s subtle movements wrest her to the present.
We’re at war with the Greens. I’m a prisoner at Stoney Sept, in the Pretender’s camp. My Cregan is leagues away.
I must not forget my mission.
Aemond’s insidious posture betrays him, his shoulders on the brink of crumbling under the burden of his pride and envy.
‘A dragon rendered a broodmare by a wolf pup,’ he chastises, repulsed, his features drawn into solemn lines, ‘Have you spread your legs for his army, too? I wouldn’t be surprised, given your taste for depravity.’
Visenya refrains from guffawing, albeit with great difficulty. Oh, may the Crone’s lantern light my path to wisdom, and may the Father judge me justly, and may the Mother show me mercy, for I am a filthy wanton, and Lord Stark does possess a generous… host.
‘I would rather be his broodmare than be your wife,’ she spits, defiant, baring her teeth, ‘The wolf pup is Lord of Winterfell and Warden of the North.’ And you are insufferably obtuse. ‘He and his bannermen will liberate me, should the Winter Wolves and the river lords fail to do so, and should you yourself refuse to release me. Are you so mad that you would oppose the might and wrath of the entire North?
‘I have heard enough about your wolf pup,’ announces Aemond, his nostrils flaring, ‘He has dishonored you. Perhaps I ought to march on his bleak castle, after I seize Harrenhal.’
You ought to dress up in motley. Visenya shifts her weight from one foot to the other, her brow creased. The Hightowers must have abandoned their wits putting him in charge. Aemond is utterly inept. Their Lannister friends will find trouble at the Red Fork, and he will never take Harrenhal from my father.
‘Your men are unlikely to survive the muds of the riverlands, whose lords have unanimously declared for my mother,’ argues Visenya, twirling a lock of her hair around her forefinger, ‘I doubt that they will endure the dire conditions of the North… also pledged to Queen Rhaenyra.’
‘I have Vhagar,’ reminds Aemond, his arrogance oozing like pus.
‘And what of it?’, she hisses, squinting her eyes, ‘You would torch the North, from the Neck to the Wall, on hoary, old Vhagar? Tens of thousands would perish.’
Despite rivaling the combined size of the other kingdoms, the North is scarcely populated. Their lives, lands, history, and culture matter all the same.
‘Your wolf pup amongst them, if the gods are good,’ drones Aemond, looping his digits through his belt.
‘Cregan will die of old age, in my arms,’ corrects Visenya, keeping her furled fists at her sides, lest she strike him again, ‘You cannot vanquish the North. It is too vast and too wild. The Neck is impenetrable, filled with swamps and bogs. Moat Cailin is a choke point, and it has shielded the North from southron invasions for millennia. This is folly, Aemond. It will be your doom.’
Then why am I trying to dissuade him?
‘Or on the contrary, the glory will be mine,’ boasts Aemond, his permanent smirk bolstering his confidence, ‘Those savages might dare to resist me, but in the end, they will pose a minor obstacle. Aegon the Conqueror brought the North to its knees.’
‘Because King Torrhen Stark bent the knee after the Field of Fire, to avoid bloodshed,’ objects Visenya, scowling, ‘Do not attempt to revise history. Ours will not redeem you. The kinslayer is accursed in the eyes of gods and men. The lickspittles that buzz around you will never be sincere, so I will bestow the truth upon you. You are cruel, despicable, and you nurse a grievance like a suckling babe. You are not Aegon the Conqueror. You are a prideful fool playing at war.’ You’re not good at it, either. ‘And winter is coming. That is the truth.’
‘The truth?’, repeats Aemond, creeping up on her, his eye boring into hers – a predator scenting its prey, ‘What do you know of the truth, Visenya? You lie and deceive and plot with every breath that you draw. You are a traitor to the realm, daughter of traitors, sister of traitors. You chose the Iron Throne over me.’
You chose for me.
‘My mother is the rightful Queen of the Seven Kingdoms,’ she pronounces, her smile ominous, ‘The only traitor here is you, nuncle. You cower from the truth, and you retain it from everyone.’ Visenya tiptoes, and their lips almost touch. ‘You are looking with the wrong eye. Perhaps you will have to close the other to finally see.’
Aemond cups her face roughly, pressing her against the table.
‘Your mother will never sit the Iron Throne,’ he sneers, ‘And neither will you. She still spurns you as her heir, but I vow to pay you the homage that you so desperately crave, and to lavish you with precious gifts – the heads of your family, your betrothed, and your stepson. They shall decorate the spikes of the Red Keep–’
Visenya swiftly yanks his dagger from his belt. Aemond seizes her wrist too late. The tip of the blade digs at the underside of his chin.
‘Enough, Aemond!’, bellows Visenya, and for a moment, she is her ferocious Blackwing incarnate, ‘Are you deaf, as well as blind? You have usurped the throne, murdered my brother, and butchered hundreds of innocents. Your actions have consequences. Heed my words, for the love that you claim to bear me.’ She drags the point of the dirk down to the base of his throat, nicking him. ‘You will not make me an orphan and a widow. You are surrounded by enemies in every direction, and more are gathering as we speak. We have the armies, the fleet, the dragons, and most importantly, the legitimacy. An advantage that you will never have. So, either kill me or let me go, and flee to Essos, because you cannot – you will not – survive what’s coming for you. The choice is yours.’
Aemond’s malicious eye studies her, a forlorn wall of blue ice.
The boy I grew up with is gone. Hasn’t Visenya sensed it all along? We are not children anymore. The time has come to accept it.
When has it all gone so awry, become so twisted? She mourns the boy that she had once shared everything with – a childhood, hopes, dreams. Those died with Lucerys.
Dreams didn’t make us kings. Dragons did… and tears cannot quench dragonfire.
It ends as it had begun, with fire and blood.
Bloodlines will burn.
Visenya licks the blood off of the tip of the dagger, spins the weapon, and presents it to Aemond, hilt first.
TAGLIST: @a-dash-of-random-magic @aaleksmorozova @aemondsversion @aereth @agirllovespancakes @another-life-addict @burningshewolf @buttercup--bee @cecespizza01 @cleastrnge @crazylokonugget @five-seconds-of-socialising @flosaureum @haystack-boy @lavendertales @lordsrks @maharani-radha @mandaloresson @masset-fotia @missusnora @moonlight-prose @oloreaa @poppyreader @prettyboyeddiemunson @revolution-starter @sofietargaryen @stargaryenx @strawberrypeachesss @sullho @sweethoneyblossom1 @s-we-e-t-t-ea @that--thing @valyriians
#house of the dragon#hotd#hotd fanfic#aemond targaryen fanfic#aemond targayren fic#aemond targaryen#cregan stark#alyn velaryon#aemond targaryen x oc#aemond targaryen/oc#aemond targaryen x reader#aemond targaryen/reader#cregan stark fanfic#cregan stark fic#cregan stark x oc#cregan stark/oc#cregan stark x reader#cregan stark/reader#alyn velaryon fic#alyn velaryon x oc#alyn velaryon/oc#alyn velaryon x reader#alyn velaryon/reader#daemon targaryen#criston cole#rhaenyra targaryen#jacaerys velaryon#tori's flames of deceit
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[oc] Willam the Moonlight Starling 🌙💫✨✨
heres the lore!! william is a concept born from a drop of starlight. however it accidentally hit the moon, splitting the stars apart, so the story goes with william having to obtain a star at the endings of each seasons symbolizing character growth! Current william is actually the very incomplete version of him. collecting stars is like collecting pieces of himself, and once he’s complete he’ll turn into the being he always was. Each stars has its own powers and theyre all pretty overpowered. that one big star on his chest is the MATTER star with the power of shapeshifting! he always has that ever since he came to existence.
William basically consists of 4 components of the universe, which are TIME, MATTER, SPACE, and ENERGY. the 4 ENERGY stars’ only role is to power-up william’s physique and the other main 3 stars. but it also plays a very important role because it unlocks more abilities.
example: when william gets another ENERGY star, the MATTER star will not only have shape-shifting, but also obtain stuff like regeneration, replication, invisibility, etc. Once william gets all stars, he’s basically a god that can create stuff by manipulating atoms ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ as for SPACE star, more energy stars mean he can not only store or summon anything, he can MAKE stuff out of thin air. do stuff like telekinesis too!
HOWEVER, TIME star doesn’t need more stars because it simply does one thing, which is time-traveling. but its not the same as you think it is because its basically a vision. Its like “future vision” except he can do that in any time event whether its from the past or future. he can also INTERACT with people from the past or future. however his real body remains in the present and when his “vision” finished, the body he time-leaped will just simply disappear.
(my interpretation of time-traveling to other events is basically going to a different dimensions with almost the same event. i don’t really want to make william go to another dimension without ever going back to the original timeline he was in, so i made it a vision instead. kinda complicated with going to the past because it’s a time loop paradox kinda thing)
To make things more restricted because he is way too overpowered, he can only effectively do these stuff under the strong moonlight.
“So long as the Moonlight touches, I have no bounds”
i hope that was understandable im very bad at explaining things 💀
#oc#original character#art#digital art#digital illustration#concept art#concept design#artists on tumblr#character design#uh so yeah he’s basically a god#but ofc he’s literally tiny compared to the concept of the universe#also the reason why i added this to william’s lore is cuz i had physics as my subject#i got bored so i used that concept to william lol
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Lay Wolfsbane in my Palm [Demon!DoA x GN!Reader] [Ch. 2]
[Chapter 1] [Ao3 Version]
Content Warnings: Minor blood, descriptions of panic attacks
There’s a gnawing pain throughout your skull, and the sharp words bordering on yelling in the background certainly didn’t help. The light above you feels like it’s searing through your eyelids.
“They could have a damn concussion, for all we know!”
“I could solve this easily then, yes? It would be an accident.”
“No! The higher ups would have our heads if they found out you managed to k—”
“Perhaps you should mind your tongue,” a third, monotone voice interrupts. “We have a listener, after all.”
The argument abruptly stops; their voices sounded unfamiliar. You can feel eyes burning into you, but you can’t be bothered to care over the pain. The back of your head feels sticky, no doubt with blood. Just how hard did you hit your head? You can’t recall much of what happened, just speaking to Dazai. Afterward, you messed around with that stupid ritual book—
The ritual. The fire and laughter. The ritual working—
You sit up abruptly, body screaming in protest at the harsh movement, but that wasn’t important, now. It takes a second for your vision to unblur. You wonder if you hit your head hard enough to cause serious damage, because the blurry silhouettes of horns and wings surely couldn’t be possible. As your vision clears, you open your mouth to yell, scream, anything— only to snap it back shut over the leer the dark-haired one was giving you, no doubt a warning. A chill runs along your spine.
His skin was pale, a jarring contrast to the bat-like wings tucked behind him, paired with a thin tail. A pair of ram horns elegantly curled around his head. His eyes are a brilliant shade of purple, but look dull nonetheless. He looks exhausted, or maybe just sick, with sunken in eyes and dark marks under his eyelids. He’s pretty, although it’s in a vaguely terrifying way. Out of the trio, he looks undeniably the most intimidating, maybe not physically, but it felt like he was looking through you.
The other man—demon, stood next to him, is the strangest of the group. His horns stick upright, slightly curving inwards. He’s wearing an eye patch that was largely hidden by his long, white hair, and the other pale eye of his had a scar running up the side of his face. He had no wings, unlike the other two, but you can still see a spade-shaped tail swaying behind him enthusiastically. He’s staring curiously at you, as though he couldn’t decide on something.
The last one is, quite literally, ethereal looking. He has a pair of pale, feathered wings folded close to his body. He looked angelic, although the pair of horns that also stuck out from his head spoke otherwise, which were noticeably shorter than the horns of the other two. He has a tail, as well, though his seemed to have some sort of plume at the end instead of anything sharp. His eyes are a calm, stormy gray, despite his brows pinched together in stress. His hair is choppy, long enough to reach his hip, and two-toned; one half white, the other a muted purple.
They’re all a bit pretty in a peculiar way, which you shouldn’t note given your current situation, but the thought invites itself into your mind nonetheless.
“Ah! So our dearest summoner finally awakens!” The one with the braid exclaims with a light accent, taking a step forwards to bow performatively. “Nikolai Gogol, at your service!”
“Knock it off with the theatrics, would you?” The one with two-toned hair scoffs. His gaze turns to you, brows furrowing into a worried look. “Hey—uh—are you alright? You hit your head on the counter pretty hard …”
It takes a moment for you to find your voice again. “Am I in hell or something …?”
He gawks at you openly, shooting a brief look at Nikolai, who looked like he wanted to laugh. “Well—no.”
“I concussed myself hard enough to begin hallucinating, then,” you wince, tentatively touching a hand to the back of your head. Red stains your fingertips as you pull your hand back, but frankly you’re too baffled by the rest of the situation to care.
“You’re not hallucinating, this is real—I’m Sigma. It’s probably best we get you to a hospital, somehow, or clean the wound at the very least.”
“No need, we can take care of it here,” the dark-haired one finally spoke up. Like Nikolai, he had a similar accent, though much thicker. He moves towards you, but seeing you flinch back, he pauses where he stands, although he looks disdained.
“I’m not fucking going anywhere with you until I figure out what’s going on.”
“Yet, you already know exactly what’s going on. Do you not?”
“Don’t patronize me,” you spat.
“You, the summoner, completed the ritual, and it worked. Next, we will form a pact—”
“I thought it was for one demon, not three!”
He looks irritated at the interruption. “You gave three offerings, not one, as you were supposed to. As a result of your idiocy, you’ve invited three of us into your home.” Nikolai is standing behind him, looking impatient and resorting to looking around the apartment curiously, while Sigma looks tense, wings curled around himself as his gaze flicks between the two of you.
“Whatever, fine. I didn’t think this stupid circle would actually summon anything, I didn’t want to form a pact so we can just call it off. Can you just—get out of my house already?”
Nikolai interrupts, giving you a fanged grin. “That’s the thing, summoner! We can’t just ‘call it off’, it’s already started!”
You don’t bother responding, just glaring at the demon and gesturing for him to elaborate. The warning from the book that had been missing text suddenly made more sense, now. You should be more afraid, right now. Maybe you were still a bit disoriented by the head injury, but you were more annoyed than anything. Surely, this couldn’t get any worse.
“When you start the ritual, you give your object. Something important to you,” he moves to the pile in the ritual, plucking the bracelet out. It is remarkably unharmed, if not covered in a bit of soot, despite the three offerings you set out having caught aflame (you’ll mourn the loss of your textbook later, for now, it is the least of your concerns). “Through this object, a bond forms that tethers us to your soul! You do have one still, by the way!”
“For now,” the dark-haired one, still yet to introduce himself, chimes in with a cold smile. “That tether will remain either until you complete the pact—” his pupils narrow in a serpentine manner, “or you die before you can complete it.”
You shudder, moving backwards from where you sit on the floor. “So, what, then? I form a deal with you all, and I have to exchange my soul in turn?”
Sigma grimaces. “We are … unsure on whether or not you can form a pact with all three of us or not. Deals traditionally involve the exchange of the soul for a favor, yes.”
You shakily reach a hand out to Nikolai and he gets the memo, dropping the bracelet into your palm with a cheshire grin. You tie it snugly back around your wrist, spinning it around with tremoring hands. “Unsure? I can’t be the only one who screwed this up, how can you be unsure?”
“About that …” Sigma trails off, passing an unsure look to the other two.
“The only people who’ve ever formed pacts with multiple demons ended up dying before the pacts could finish!” Nikolai finishes, still smiling down at you.
You suck in a deep breath, blood pounding in your ears as the room goes silent. Sigma’s look is similar to pity, but the other two don’t seem to care. Getting up on shaky legs, knees knocking together, you take the old book, silently excusing yourself and ignoring the pain blossoming in your head and vision wavering. You feel their eyes on you, it crawls along your spine.
The bathroom door clicks as you lock it. Ignoring the hushed words from the other side of the door, you flip through the book desperately, once, then again, and a third time, to no avail. There’s no mention of summoning multiple demons, or of ending a pact when it's been started. You’re sure, now, that that’s what the book warned you of, yet you ignored it anyways. The dark-haired demon had been right, your own idiocy had landed you in this predicament. You scream in frustration, hurling the book through the bathroom mirror, struggling to calm your breathing as you sink down to the floor, nails gripping into your sleeves. The floor tiles are different than you remember. You count them nonetheless. The quiet murmurs stop, your shuddering breaths don’t.
You’re unsure how much time passes until there’s a gentle knock on the door. It opens with another click and a gentle creek. You don’t remember unlocking it, or standing, for that matter. You’d count the floor tiles again if there wasn’t an apparent equivalent to the grim reaper in front of you.
Sigma looks concerned. If he notices your faint look, he doesn’t comment on it. “I apologize for interrupting—we should probably clean that wound, though, you hit the counter pretty hard.”
“I’ll do it myself,” you grab a first aid kit from the cabinet, shutting it louder than you should have, and brush past him, stepping over the glass scattered all over your bathroom floor. You can hear his heels click against the floor as he trails behind you.
While you’re scrubbing the dried blood from your scalp, head dipped into the sink and probably looking awfully stupid in front of your unwanted guests, the dark-haired demon invites himself to further discussion. “You have yet to say what you’d like from this pact. Surely you have something in mind.” It was blatant that, of the trio, he was the least keen on sticking around.
“I don’t even know your name, jackass,” you say with a grimace as you rinse a particularly tender part of the injury. At the very least, the sting of pain keeps you grounded.
“Fyodor Dostoevsky,” he answers, reluctantly. His tone wavers like his patience is wearing thin, and you wonder if he’ll reach into the sink to throttle you with the way you’re speaking to him.
You realize, then, that Sigma had never given you a last name, but can’t care enough to pry. Blindly grabbing for a towel (someone eventually hands you one, you don’t know who, but you thank them instinctively, anyway), you dry off and finally introduce yourself unenthusiastically. The bloodied towel feels ice-cold in your fingers.
“There’s nothing I want. Nothing worth dying, at least.” The towel is carelessly discarded on the counter.
“Every human has some selfish desire, we just have to exploit it,” Fyodor sneers. “Every demon has some sort of specialty, that’s what the projections in the circle are for.” He reaches a hand out towards you, trying to beckon you closer. “I can offer power, sometimes intelligence, if the situation calls for it.”
You take a step away from him, shaking your head adamantly. You swear you see his eye twitch at the refusal.
“I offer revenge!” Nikolai invites himself over, leaning close to you and throwing all sense of personal space out the window. “Whether it’s fair or not. I can offer more than that, obviously, but that’s the main thing people want from me. If you want someone to ‘disappear’, I’m your devil.”
“I think I’m good,” you cringe.
“I’m sure you’ll change your mind,” his cheshire grin widens, and you’re not entirely sure what he’s trying to imply.
“My specialty is with greed,” Sigma states after briefly scoffing at Nikolai. “I can bring riches, if that’s what you want.”
You briefly consider Sigma’s offer, thinking about your student loans. You bite back the impulse. “I’m not making a pact with any of you.”
You think Fyodor’s going to smite you on the spot with the icy glare he’s giving you, and even Sigma had a thinly veiled look of annoyance on his face.
Nikolai doesn’t seem to care much, rather stepping too close for comfort to sling an arm around your shoulder despite your protests. “Guess you’re going to be stuck with us haunting you until you finally choose your fate, then!”
Sigma sighs, tapping a heel against the floor impatiently. “I suppose we will be staying with you until one of us forms a deal with you, then.”
“Absolutely not! You can stay somewhere else.”
“We can’t,” Sigma frowns. “Because of our tether to your soul from the summoning, it’s not safe for either parties to be separated for extended periods of time.”
“You’re kidding.”
“I wish I was.”
“I can’t afford to house three of you, let alone one! I’m already struggling to keep up with renting alone.”
Fyodor and Nikolai both immediately turn their gaze to Sigma. He looks at them, exasperated, and sighs. “I can deal with that. I’ve got the money.” He slips something from his coat, dropping it onto the counter.
You gawk openly. “Is that fucking gold? Did you just pay rent in gold?”
“It’s not like we use human currency in hell.”
“You– No, you know what? Fuck the tether, get out of my apartment,” you snap, picking up the gold and shoving it back in his direction. “I seriously don’t have time for this right now, I don’t need your gold, I don’t need a deal, just get out!”
“I’d advise against it, dearest summoner,” Fyodor quotes almost mockingly. “If we’re away too long, you’ll risk the tether breaking—” he leans closer, eyes holding that same hollowed out gaze as he glowered at you. “Have you ever wondered what the sensation would be like? To have your soul ripped from your body? I can promise you it’s much more agonizing than I can put into words.”
The room feels colder than it’d been before. You gather your courage. “I don’t trust you in my home.”
Nikolai sneers, tilting his head and snapping out of his faux cheerful persona. “You’d send three demons loose into the world, then? There’s no telling what a devil can do out there.” The threat that rolled off his tongue so smoothly didn’t go unnoticed.
You take a step back, finally relenting and breaking your eye contact with the demon. The corners of his mouth twitch upwards like he’s pleased with the gesture.
“Fine. I’m still not making a deal, though. I’ll find another way to break this off.”
“How full of hope you are,” Fyodor spat. “I would’ve loved to have wrapped this up quickly.”
“Ah, no need to be so negative, Dostoy! Now we have an entire world to explore in the mean time.”
Sigma rolls his eyes, crossing his arms. “At least one of us is thrilled.”
“Not quite, but someone doesn’t want me to take care of it my way.” Nikolai’s smile widens as he turns his sight to you again. “Now, if you’d be so kind to introduce yourself as our contractor.”
The look in his eye makes your hair stand on end, and its apparent just how terribly you’ve screwed up today as he reaches a gloved hand out with a fanged grin. It widens once you spit your name out and he parrots it.
“Oh, I can’t wait to see what this brings.
#bsd#bungou stray dogs#sigma bsd#bsd x reader#fyodor bsd#nikolai bsd#decay of angels#fyodor x reader#nikolai x reader#sigma x reader#x reader#reader insert
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Instinct
DannyMay2023 Day 7: Weapon
Words: 3035
Complete
AO3
Excerpt: He really hated it when his parents surprised him with the ghost version of weapons of mass destruction, honestly. It was getting old.
When they’d unveiled the weapon and showed it to him and Jazz with more enthusiasm than a toddler sticking something new in its mouth, Danny had wanted to blow the damn thing up the instant they finished explaining what it did.
~~~~~~~
Don’t get Danny wrong, he was more than thrilled that his parents current weapon had entirely failed, as he usually was. This time, even more so, once his parents had explained to him what the weapon did, deep in the woods on what he had thought was supposed to be a normal (er, Fenton normal?) camping trip.
He really hated it when his parents surprised him with the ghost version of weapons of mass destruction, honestly. It was getting old.
When they’d unveiled the weapon and showed it to him and Jazz with more enthusiasm than a toddler sticking something new in its mouth, Danny had wanted to blow the damn thing up the instant they finished explaining what it did. Frankly, he probably would’ve if they hadn’t immediately turned it on while his brain was still processing exactly how bad a weapon that vaporized all ectoplasm within twenty miles was - in general and for him specifically.
He decided it was a small miracle when he felt nothing more than an irritating tug on his core. There had been no hiding the relief on either kids’ faces when Danny didn’t explode/implode/horrifically die (again).
An hour later, though, Danny realized his parents’ invention had somehow managed to be almost worse (he was slightly biased, he still preferred this to perma-death) than it’s initial function had been.
“Danny!” Jazz shrieked as he jumped to the side, tucking and rolling back under the barrier of the ghost shield, firing one last shot from the ecto gun in his hands before he was in the protective green dome. The shot - of course - landed true, the ghost bear roaring in pain as it slammed its paws onto the shield, getting thrown away the second it did so as the shield shocked it.
He didn’t even bother pretending to be out of breath as he ran back to the GAV, he had too much else to focus on.
“This one’s out, too,” he said, tossing the now drained gun into the growing pile of other weapons that had met the same fate.
“Shit,” Mom swore, not even bothering to hide her language from her kids as she joined them in the back of the GAV. “Mine’s out, too.” She said, all but throwing the weapon in frustration.
Jack - who had been quickly relieved from and forbidden to touch any of the weapons when they realized they couldn’t risk missing shots - looked up in panic. “We’re out of weapons.” He said.
“How can you be out of weapons?!” Jazz shouted.
“They run off ectoplasm!” Dad said, wiping sweat from his brow, the summer heat suffocating in the metal van. “We didn’t want to risk bringing too many and frying them!”
Jazz looked to Danny in a panic. Oh, right. She expected him to have a plan by now, he was sure.
Danny, however, had been entirely too busy to think of anything beyond aiming, ducking, and trying not to be too ghostly. He ran a hand across his face, desperately trying to think of something, anything.
They’d been under an onslaught of animal ghosts for over an hour at this point. The invention, instead of vaporizing ghosts (which still made Danny’s skin crawl at the sheer idea), apparently summoned them instead, the tug Danny had felt on his core. And while he’d known there were a lot of animal ghosts in and around Amity Park, he had not realized it was this many. It had been Jazz’s idea to turn off the GAV’s weapons so it could focus on the ghost shield, a suggestion Danny was immensely grateful for. The weapons and the shield were a huge power drain, the shield wouldn’t have lasted five minutes if the guns had been blasting too.
“How’s your hand to hand?” Mom asked, thrusting a staff at him.
“Uh, acceptable?” Danny answered.
Mom and dad had both tried to question his abilities when they’d given him a gun and discovered he knew what he was doing when he’d instinctively triggered the two buttons to charge it up, even though they’d never explained to him how this particular model worked. His dead on aim that rivaled his mother’s hadn’t done anything to assuage the questions, even when Jazz’s proved almost as good.
The longer he’d fought - jumping through and from the shield with practiced ease, since the weapons’ ectoblasts couldn’t clear the shield any more than the ghosts could - the less they’d questioned, focusing on the fight. He knew he’d have an avalanche of questions waiting for him when he got home, when they weren’t fighting for their lives.
Jack and Jazz grabbed close combat weapons as well and the four filed out, the sounds of roars and growls and barks filling the air.
Danny, throughout this whole ordeal, had been confident he could keep his secret intact by the end of this, even as the humans beside him began to flag from exhaustion.
Exhaustion he could see in the way his father’s chest heaved for air, the way his mother had begun to slow, the way Jazz held her shoulder, no doubt aching from the repeated recoil of the weapons. Only Danny had the ghostly endurance to continue fighting without starting to fall behind.
When the shield flickered out of existence for a moment before returning, though, Danny’s slow heart skipped a beat.
“Danny!” Jazz yelled again as a ghost panther leapt onto her, knocking her to the ground as she struggled to keep the bar of the staff in the creature’s jaws.
“Jazz!” Danny shouted back, too far away to strike the beast with the weapon in his hand, his parents dealing with another animal who had managed to enter their safe zone when the shield had failed.
Some part of Danny knew he should think his next actions through, but instinct and his protective drive triggered and he no longer had the energy to care about his secret as green saliva dripped from the ghost’s jowls onto his sister’s face.
The staff clattered to the ground as he dropped it, throwing an ectoblast directly into the beast pinning Jazz down, sending it crashing a fair distance away, where it whined and struggled to get up before going still.
“Danny?” He heard his mother ask softly, a witness to the display he had just put on as they felled their target too.
It was then he heard the soft sound of the GAV entirely powering down, entirely out of energy after powering the shield for so long. Then the horde was running towards them.
“No!” He cried, giving into the cold in his chest as he thrust his hands to either side, his own green shield bursting into existence around them.
“Danny?” It was his dad this time who asked, with the same quiet horror as Mom prior, both frozen in place.
He knew his eyes were glowing green when he looked up at them, as they always did when he used his powers as Fenton.
“Danny.” Jazz said softly, the only one with concern in her voice, as she put herself firmly between him and their parents.
He had never been so sick of hearing his own name.
He didn’t answer, glancing at the GAV, just barely still within his much smaller shield. He couldn’t keep the shield up forever and he couldn’t fight while maintaining it, either.
“I’m sorry,” he said, closing his eyes and tugging again on his core. His mother’s scream when he formed a duplicate hurt his soul more than his ears. The (human) duplicate took over the shield, grimacing as he did so, nodding to Danny. They didn’t have to speak, the duplicate was intrinsically a part of him, knew his every thought and desire as soon as he had it. “I’m gonna get the shield back up.”
Danny hurried to the GAV, throwing open the power source and resisting the urge to flinch as he felt the way it sucked in the air around it even as he reached for it.
“Danny, no!” Jazz said, catching up to him and grabbing his wrist, jerking it away before he could touch the Ecto-Converter.
Danny was really, really sick of hearing his name. “Do you have another idea?” Danny snapped. “I need the shield up. I can’t keep it up and fight at the same time, not yet!”
“And how are you supposed to fight if you feed yourself to the Ecto-Converter?” Jazz shouted back, clutching his wrist harder in her hand, though worry was all he saw in her eyes.
Danny glanced behind him, where his parents kept rotating their heads between him and his duplicate, though mercifully they hadn’t attacked.
“I have energy and ectoplasm to spare, Jazz.” Danny said, trying to soften his voice. “It’s concentration I don’t have, not yet, you know that.”
“But, Danny…” she trailed off, knowing he was making sense, though she was probably thinking the same thing he was.
I know it’s working when I hear the screams. Was how Jack had described the Converter. Danny had touched it once, for just a second and had been shocked with pain.
“Be careful.” She yielded, releasing his arm.
“Aren’t I always?” He quipped, almost relieved at the glare Jazz sent back at him, because no he absolutely was not.
He hesitated a moment. His secret was only half shattered right now. He could still pass this off as ecto-contamination but as he felt his duplicate shudder when several ghosts launched into the shield at once, he knew his entire secret was going to be exposed. His powers as Fenton weren’t as strong as Phantom. And he would need to be as strong as possible to fend off all of these ghosts. “I love you.” He added, slamming his hand against the Converter.
He screamed as electric agony flooded his senses, quickly brought to his knees though he stubbornly managed to keep his hand against the Converter as flashbacks of his death tried to edge their way into his memory.
“Danny!” Mom called, apparently broken from her trance, running to him and dropping to her knees beside him, reaching for him.
“Don’t!” Jazz snapped, grabbing her hands as she had Danny’s, keeping their mother from electrocuting herself.
Danny heard them and saw them through his duplicate’s eyes, his true body's senses too overwhelmed.
Almost immediately, the GAV powered back up, the shield erupting back to life. As soon as it had, he faded the duplicate, reabsorbing it back into himself. He couldn’t say how long he stayed like that, charging the GAV like a battery. He didn’t stop until he felt the power source at max capacity, unable to take anymore from him.
He jerked his hand away from the vehicle, blasted back a few feet as he did so. His head felt like static as he heard various voices calling his name again, hands touching his shoulders and slightly shaking him. He groaned, forcing himself into a sitting position. Ow.
“Danny? Son? Are you okay?” His father asked, putting a hand behind his back to help him sit.
“‘m fine…” he muttered even as his muscles spasmed from the electrical shock. By the Ancients, he hated getting hit by electricity.
“Can you sit up on your own?” Mom asked and he nodded, only to grab his head as nausea and lightheadedness shot through him.
“That’s a no.” Jazz said dryly.
He forced his eyes open, shielding them when the bright light burned them. Okay. Maybe he had underestimated how bad this would hurt.
Maddie sucked in a deep breath and stilled as he opened his eyes and the past several minutes crashed back into him through the static, as he felt ectoplasm burn in his eyes.
“Uh. Ta-da?” He said, giving weak jazz hands as he did so.
If his parents had been about to say something, they were distracted when a large animal slammed against the shield, the sound nearly deafening as it reverberated in the space. Danny’s eyes snapped back to the problem and he forced himself to his feet. He could deal with his parents when they weren’t all under assault and he didn’t want to have to charge the GAV again if they tried to wait the ghosts out and it died again. Dad grabbed at his shoulder and Danny instinctively winced. He pushed through his father’s hands, intangibly escaping his grasp. Jack stared at his hands in amazement and horror.
He did his best to ignore his parents as he marched forward, slipping pass the shield with ease as Jack and Maddie screamed for him to come back, it was too dangerous.
Danny crouched as the animals turned to him and growled.
He couldn’t help it, he grinned as pre-fight adrenaline surged through him, as he let human worry fade into nothing. He triggered the transformation, feeling the familiar sensation of cold spreading through his entire body as blood turned to ectoplasm, the sudden lack of gravity’s demand freeing him.
“I’ve got this,” he called, his voice echoing in the trees, his parents’ protests silencing.
~~~~~~
Jack hadn’t known how to react when his very much human son had shot an ectoblast from his hands. When he erected a shield, when his eyes glowed green, when there were suddenly two of him. He’d simply… frozen.
It had been his son’s very human screams that had spurred him and his wife into action, running for him as he seemed to be electrocuted by the Ecto-Converter. He’d been about to touch him when Jazz had stopped Maddie, shooting a look at Jack to stop, too.
He didn’t understand why his son was hurting, the Converter was designed to hurt ghosts, not humans! He’d still been adamantly refusing to acknowledge the implication of what he’d just seen until the GAV roared back to life so quickly, the large shield returning and the second Danny disappearing.
“No.” Maddie had whispered, her mind refusing to think about it, too. Refusing to realize their son was dead.
Still, Jack couldn’t stand to see his son so low when he got thrown back several feet from the vehicle, twitching and slightly smoking. Jack was still a father and that was still his child in pain.
Now, though, everything Jack had ever known was spinning around him, suddenly nothing a fact anymore.
Danny phasing through his hand, so very much a ghost.
Danny passing through a ghost shield, so very much a human.
Phantom suddenly appearing, so very much not his son.
Or so he’d thought until today, as he watched Phantom easily lay waste to ghosts that had been ruthlessly trying to get to his family the past hour, dodging attacks just to follow up with a blast of his own before catching them with a Thermos.
“He’s still Danny.” Jazz said gently after several minutes of silence, the two adults transfixed by the ghost child - their ghost child - in front of them. “He always has been.”
“He…” Maddie started, gulping. “How is he Phantom? Phantom’s been around for two years.”
How has our son been dead for two years and we didn’t know? Was the unspoken implication of her words.
Jazz just shook her head. “It’s his story to tell. If he chooses to. But… he isn’t fully dead, at least.”
Jack wanted to ask why he hadn’t told them before, why he hadn’t trusted them enough to tell them they were shooting their own son.
“He’s afraid of us, isn’t he?” Maddie asked, though it wasn’t really a question, the same conclusion Jack reached.
Jazz just nodded sadly, though the confirmation was unnecessary.
Jack was remembering every time he’d essentially ranted about how much he wanted to torture his own son to death. Maddie turned to him and cried, burying her face into his chest and he wrapped her arms around her.
“He still loves you.” Jazz added, placing a comforting hand on her father’s shoulder.
“How can he?” Jack asked, the first thing he’d really said.
“How can he because he’s a ghost and they aren't capable of that?” Jazz said, a sudden edge to her voice.
Jack vehemently shook his head. “No. Because of what we’ve done to him. God, how many times have we hurt him, made him bleed?”
“Don’t ask questions you don’t want the answer to.” She answered cryptically. Maddie just sobbed harder.
Several minutes passed in silence, the only sounds their breathing, the trees rustling, and their son beating ghosts down like a professional. Because he was, wasn’t he? A professional.
Finally, Danny caught the last ghost, closing the cap on the smoking Thermos, but he didn’t approach, just looked at them cautiously, as though scared to come closer to them, scared of what they’d do.
Jack stood, releasing his hold on his wife and pressed the button to disable the shield.
Danny took it for the olive branch it was - a sign they were not afraid of him - and approached cautiously, clutching the Thermos to his chest like a lifeline. He stopped a few paces back and Jack’s heart twinged as he realized the only reason Danny was willing to get this close was the same reason he’d finally showed them what - who - he was. It was because he knew they were weaponless.
“Danno.” Jack said, opening his arms but choosing not to step closer, afraid of scaring his son.
“Dad?” Danny asked, his voice shaking even through the echo.
“Yeah, son?”
Relief flooded his son’s face at the term and he launched himself forward into his dad’s arms, blubbering out apologies and mumbled explanations.
“It’s okay, Danny. It’s okay,” Jack mumbled, running his hand through Danny’s white hair despite the chill that pierced his suit.
“Everything’s okay, Danny. We’re sorry,” Maddie added, giving Danny’s shoulder a comforting squeeze before tucking herself into the hug as well.
“Told him so,” Jack heard Jazz mutter before she inserted herself too.
Jack had no idea what was going on, what had happened, how this was possible, how this was about to change his entire life. But what he did know, a truth that had not left him, was that he loved his son - human or not.
#danny phantom#grace writes#dannymay2023#Dannymay#Day 7#Weapon#danny fenton#jack fenton#maddie fenton#jazz fenton
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Disney Song! Yuu [Cult Edition: Lost Kingdom, Now Localised]
... somehow, the Disney Empire continues to surprise me with its takeover. Yuu's largely aware of Kingdom of Hearts, but they are not willing to risk any lives after their necromancy incident. But with overly compulsive brothers and a curiosity that kills, perhaps it was a bad idea. (Spoiler alert: it was.)
MASTERLIST
"... Yuu." Sebek calmly intoned, terrifying everyone with his lack of aggressiveness, "You are an absolute natural disaster."
"What part of them and that is natural?" Epel questioned with an incredulous look as he pointed at the haunted-looking ruins in the distance, partially visible under the watery black void that made up the sky, "The thing's standing upside down!"
Jack's head suddenly popped up from within a hole in the ground, "EVERYONE SHUT UP AND DIG." His once fluffy white ears twitched furiously and sprayed dirt everywhere, "I don't plan on dying in a cave because one of us is a god!"
Yuu cautiously stepped up, "I can-"
"No singing."
Yuu stepped back down.
To find out how Yuu and their first years ended up stuck in a cave hosting the most terrifying ruins in existence- the upside down part was a bonus, it was very ominous and forebodding in general-, we'll have to go back to 5 hours ago...
✾✾✾
"Hey prefect, how did you know that forbidden song about necromancy?" Ace piped up, juggling between a determined Grimm and Deuce while he guarded his plate of omurice, "You know, the one that made you summon the skeletons of the Ramshackle ghosts."
Yuu blinked, looking away with an awkward laugh as they clutched their broom, "Funny story, I... didn't know it was a lost song? Like, I wasn't aware its origins tied to the lost song exactly...?"
They can't admit that the entire Twisted Wonderland was an alternate come-to-life version of a famous entertainment company back in their world, can they?
Ace hummed, scarlet eyes holding a curious glint, "Hmm, so... are there any other songs you know that might be actually lost songs?"
Yuu paused, "Maybe?"
✾✾✾
Currently, the Ramshackle prefect was trying to whack Ace with their broom with Deuce and Grimm's gleeful assistance, "- shouldn't have listen to you at all you stupid Ace-"
The low, mournful wail echoing from the ruins halted everyone's actions as hollow voices bellowed.
どんな時だって たった一人で~
運命忘れて生きてきたのに~
突然の光の中 目が覚める 真夜中に~
Jack let out a deep rumble, ears tucked against his head, "That is definitely not Yuu's singing, and what language is that?"
Yuu blinked as they listened closer, "It sounds... like a language from my homeworld."
Deuce glanced at the prefect, still staring at the ruins as though it would suddenly attack them, "Are you saying we're in your world??"
"... your world is really depressing." Ace got a smack on the back of his head for that.
Yuu snapped back, mind whirring in panic, "This isn't my world you dolt." But it isn't Twisted Wonderland either?? Did they somehow travel to another world??
静かに 出口に立って~
暗闇に光を撃て~
The dark atmosphere suddenly lifted as the ruins beamed a bright light, momentarily blinding everyone as they squeezed their eyes tight.
願いを口にしたいだけさ~
家族にも紹介するよ~
きっとうまくいくよ~
あなたはここに属していません~
Everything was the same as the first years crash-landed into the Ramshackle living room, but Sebek's loud swearing caught everyone's attention, "WHAT CURSED BEING DID YOU BRING BACK WITH US, GRIMM?!"
"Funahh, I was hungry and it was the only fluffy thing I found!" Grimm complained, though his words were muffled as he chewed on a tiny duck wearing a sailor's uniform in his mouth.
Yuu stared, wondering if they had somehow died or if Jade snuck mushrooms into their food storage again, "... is that fucking Donald??"
Yuu: I want to go home
Also Yuu: *travels to another dimension by accident*
Yuu: ... I thought I couldn't be more disappointed, I was wrong
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The gold//hazbin hotel / helluva boss
In which stolas's twin sister is forced into a marriage just like him however she has a good relationship with her husband and is friends with blitz and hangs out with them all the time
001| loo loo land
The scene opens to a shot of the exterior of Stolas's mansion at night, before cutting to the master bedroom where Stolas and Stella are asleep. A young Octavia's frightened voice can be heard from offscreen
Young Octavia(offscreen) Mummy! Daddyyyy!
Stolas is roused from his sleep. He turns to Stella who has most of the blanket
Stolas sleepily says: Mmph. Via's calling us, Stella.
Stella sleepily, annoyed said: You get up.
Stolas sighs and gets out of bed. He enters Octavia's room, where she is hiding beneath her blankets
Stolas: Via? What troubles you, my owlet?
Young Octavia says while sobbing :Daddy! Daddy!
Young Octavia climbs down from her bed and runs into her father's arms. Stolas hoists her up to comfort her
Young Octavia still sobbing then says : I had a dream! A really bad dream!
Stolas yawns and wipes away Octavia's tear, correcting her A nightmare.
Young Octavia then tell her dad about her nightmare: I was looking all over the palace, and... I couldn't find you anywhere! You weren't there!
Stolas: *rubs Octavia on the back comfortingly* There there, Via, it's okay. You're okay.
Stolas summons his grimoire to him telekinetically as he walks Octavia back to bed.
When you're scared, and you don't know where I am, you must remember...
Stolas's grimoire floats over to him. He telekinetically flips it open
No matter what happens to me, I will never be far away... from my special little starfire.
Stolas begins singing a lullaby to little Octavia
♫ It always seems more quiet... in the dark ♫
Stolas opens a portal above himself and Octavia. She looks up in awe of the beauty of space through the portal
♫ It always feels so stark... how silence grows under the moon ♫
Stolas and young Octavia float up through the portal and into the cosmos, landing on a barren moon
♫ Constellations gone so soon ♫
♫ I used to think that I was bold ♫
Walking across the moon, Stolas leaves footprints in the dust.
♫ I used to think love would be fun ♫
♫ Now, all my stories have been told. Except for one... ♫
Stolas looks down at young Octavia, and she looks back with her large, curious eyes. Her gaze shifts to a pink glow to her side.
♫ As the stars start to align ♫
♫ I hope you take it as a sign that you'll be okay ♫
A meteor begins its descent towards a giant, pink colored star
♫ Everything will be okay ♫
The meteor makes contact with the pink star, and begins to sink beneath the molten surface
♫ And if the Seven Rings collapse ♫
Multiple planetary bodies begin gravitating toward the pink star, including the moon that Stolas and Octavia currently reside on, which eventually shatters into pieces as the star's gravity pulls on it
♫ Although, the day could be my last. You will be okay ♫
Young Octavia yawns and falls asleep contentedly against her father's chest
♫ When I'm gone, you'll be okay... ♫
Distant planetary bodies fly through the cosmos, pulled in by the pink star's incredible gravitational pull. They
disintegrate upon impact and causes the star to explode in a powerful supernova just as the portal closes behind Stolas causing him to sing louder.
♫ And when Creation goes to die ♫
♫ You can find me in the sky ♫
Stolas drapes the sleeping Octavia in a blanket.
♫ And you will be okay... ♫
His lullaby finished, Stolas leaves as his young daughter settles to sleep, content. Cut to several years later, where a teenage Octavia is jolted awake by smashing objects and her parents screaming at each other, far less content.
___________________________
Stella: (offscreen) I can't believe you slept with an imp, in OUR FUCKING BED!
Octavia, annoyed at being disturbed, gives a long groan
Stolas: (offscreen) It was unexpected! I didn't have time to go to a motel
Stella: (offscreen) A motel?! Like a fucking PLEBEIAN?!
Octavia grabs her phone and puts in earbuds, playing "My World Is Burning Down Around Me" to tune out the screaming as she strides down the
halls of the Goetia estate, stepping over the smashed remains of a plant thrown in her path. In the kitchen, Stella continues screaming at Stolas
Stella: You want to fuck this one, TOO?!
[Stella grabs an imp servant and violently tosses him in Stolas' direction.]
Stolas: No! Of course not!
Stella: You are a goddamn embarrassment! I'm not spending another moment looking at your pathetic, IMP-SUCKING FACE!!
Stella storms out of the room, shouting angrily the entire time, and smashing more potted plants. Stolas sighs in exhausted exasperation before he notices his daughter has entered the kitchen.
Stolas: Good mooorning, Octavia! Did you sleep well, my owlet?
Octavia then asks her dad : Was that a serious question?
Stolas opens the refrigerator to retrieve a massive chunk of zebra meat
Stolas: Mm-hmm... What's that you're listening to?
Octavia: This song is called "My World is Burning Down Around Me". It's by Fuck You Dad.
Stolas looks down, thinking the name of the band his daughter mentioned is a hurtful remark.
Octavia then tell her dad : It's a band.
Stolas: *bemusedly* Ohhhh! How charming...
Stolas grabs the zebra meat and feeds it to a massive potted plant situated in a small alcove off the kitchen as he pets it. Sated, it falls dormant, closing its three eyes.
Octavia: So, you two done screaming for the day? *she then sips her coffee*
Stolas: Umm...
Stella lets out another scream of anger and another potted plant is heard shattering in the distance.
Stolas: You know what I haven't done in a long, loooong time? I haven't taken you to your favorite place in all of Hell! Why don't we go to Loo Loo Land?
Octavia: I'm not five anymore.
Stolas: You always were so happy when I took you to Loo Loo Land! What do you say we go there again, have a day, I'll even call you're aunt Athena to see if she wants to come with us it would be just the three of us?
Octavia: I'd... rather kill myself but I do miss aunt Athena.
Stolas: There we go! Anything but staying in this house. Stolas call's his twin sister first she asked her husband
first and he said it was okay so she said she'll come stolas tells his daughter then says Now, I'll arrange our security.
Octavia: Security for a theme park?
Stolas: We are rich, and we're hot. People want our money and our bodies!
Octavia grabs a box of cereal on the table and begins shoveling handfuls into her mouth.
Octavia: *under her breath* Our money, maybe.
Stolas: Speak for yourself, princess. Now... I'm calling the only man who can f*** me!
Octavia: *then drops the handful of cereal, disgusted* What...?
Stolas: *immediately backpedaling* Who can protect me! Us! Being part of the Goetia family is rather valuable, you know.
Octavia groans and pulls her beanie down over her eyes.
___________________________
Cut to I.M.P Headquarters, where Blitzo is busy doing very important work in his office, involving crude representations of Millie and Moxxie made out of office supplies that he
puppets around and speaks with. Between them is a framed photo of Blitzo with a robe pulled down off his shoulders seductively and a flower between his teeth. The text reads "#1 Bitch" with "BOSS" written in red over it
Blitzo: *impersonating Millie* "Oh, Blitzo! You're such a good boss!" *impersonating Moxxie* "Yeah, I really want you, sir." *impersonating Millie* "Me, too!" *As himself* Let's three-way!
Blitzo lowers his "employees" below his desk to crotch level, looking momentarily pleasured before being interrupted by the ringing of his Hellphone
He then answers what phone angrily: WHAT?!
Stolas: *lustfully* Why, hello, my big-dicked Blitzy.
Both Blitzo and Octavia spit out their coffee in sheer surprise. Blitzo slams his "BOSS BITCH" mug onto his desk
Blitzo: What--
Octavia: the--
Blitzo: FUCK--
Octavia: Dad?!
Stolas: Language, everyone! *into the phone* I have a special request~
Blitzo: Aw... Look, I just had a chemical peel. So, you'll have to find someone else's face to plant that feathered ass.
Stolas: It's for my daughter.
Blitzo: Ah. Well, make sure she washes it.
Stolas: *taken aback* No! No, no-no-no. I'm taking my daughter and Athena to Loo Loo Land, and I was hoping you brave little Imps would accompany us!
Blitzo: We're assassins, not bodyguards, 'kay? Don't invite us to shit unless someone's gonna die.
Stolas: I'll pay you~
Blitzo: Pay me what?
Stolas: Moneyyyy~
Blitz then says : done!
Blitz hangs up and accidentally slams his phone down on the desk hard enough to smash it to pieces. After a brief annoyed glance at it, he pulls out a megaphone
Blitzo: M n' M, get in here! We're goin' to Loo Loo Land!
Moxxie opens the door to respond.
Loo loo land? He questions confused
Millie excitedly smashes her head straight through the office door's glass
Loo loo land ?!! says says excitedly with stars in her eyes
Blitzo: Loo Loo Land!
Loona: (offscreen) SHUT THE FUCK UP!!
___________________________
Cut to Loo Loo Land. A van with an I.M.P decal spray painted on the side pulls into the rather empty parking lot. Moxxie exits the van and opens the side door. A very cramped Stolas extracts
himself excitedly. His daughter exits the van far less excitedly. Athena then gets out and pats her niece's back lightly as to reassure her that it's going to be okay
Stolas dons an apple-themed hat and gestures toward the park gate. Octavia groans and pulls her hat low over her face
Blitzo: Now, remember: this is work and work only. Me and my crew are not here to satisfy your perverted bird needs, alright?
Octavia: *disgustedly* Hey... Dad... Do we have to--?
Blitzo: Okay, yeah. Hold on right there, sweetie. [turns to Stolas] If you try fuckin' my little ass in that park, I swear to--
Athena: okay blitz maybe don't talk about this in front of me or my niece please I don't want to hear about this and nether does via
Stolas then says to blitz:You are so cute when you are serious!
Octavia then says : I'm literally gonna be sick. As her aunt says that she feels like throwing up
Moxxie: Oh, crumbs! I knew today would be a lot! What do you need?
Moxie fishes around in a fanny pack and throws out several pill bottles as he lists off his inventory.
Moxxie: Anti-acids? Ibuprofen?
Moxxie shows the aunt and niece several hypodermic needles of a glowing, acid green substance.
Moxxie: Morphine?
Octavia: what we said was figurative, old man.
Moxxie: Oh, right.
Moxxie chuckles sheepishly as he discards the needles into a nearby baby carriage, where a baby imp happily reaches out to play with its dangerous new "toys
Moxxie: *under his breath* But, she said it was literal.
Millie: *excitedly* Wooooow! I haven't been to this place since I was a tot!
A large letter falls off the sign of a nearby ride, crushing the teenaged imp underneath.
Millie: It hasn't changed a bit. Ohhh! LOOK! It's Big Woobly!
Millie gestures toward a hideously malformed animatronic dinosaur, which opens its mouth and lets out a terrifying, demonic shriek.
Moxxie: That is... deeply upsetting.
Millie: Oh, come on! It's fun! You've never been here?
Moxxie: No. Theme parks always disturbed me, especially the mascots.
The park's mascot, Loo Loo appears out of nowhere behind Moxxie.
Loo Loo: Well, hey there!
Moxxie: *jumps back in terror* AAAAAH!!
Loo Loo: I'm Loo Loo! Welcome to Loo Loo Land! If y'all get hurt here, just try and sue us!
Stolas: *gasps* Look! Via,Thena! It's Loo Loo!
Octavia: I have a question.
Loo Loo: Well, ask away, little girlie! A-hyuk a-hyuk a-hyuk!
Octavia: Is it true this park is just a really shameless spin-off of Lucifer's far more popular Lu Lu World?
Loo Loo: *beat* No?
Athena then whispers to her niece : This place reeks of insecure corporate shame.
Octavia: that is true aunt Athena that is true
Stolas chuckles nervously as he leads Octavia and Athena away
Stolas: Why don't we go check out the rides?
Loo Loo: those chick's are creepy, huh?
Blitzo: Eh, wait till the kids dad tries to diddle your holes.
Loo Loo: *to Millie and Moxxie* What's that mean?
Moxxie: Don't talk to me! I know you're a pervert under there!
Moxxie leaves, leading Millie off with him. Loo Loo hangs his body dejectedly.
Loo Loo: Yeah...
Moxxie and Millie head down a pathway, and Moxxie, sweating profusely, stops to catch his composure
Moxxie: You really like this place, huh?
Millie: I love this place! My parents would bring me and my siblings here when they could swing it. Money-wise.
Moxxie looks over to see a worker wheeling a wheelbarrow piled to the brim with money into a nearby giftshop. As The two approach the
window, where novelty cups and stuffed apples are for sale. The cups appear to cost at least 29 souls per.
Moxxie: Yeaaaah. The prices do seem rather criminal. I mean, that much for a novelty cup that you use one time?
Millie: 'Cause, it's Loo Loo Land!
Blitzo walks up, having loaded up on merch, including a novelty cup, as well as a hat with attached can holders and straws.
Blitz then nudges Moxxie with his cup then says: Listen to your hoe, Mox.
Blitz takes a swig from his novelty cup.
Blitz: How 'bout I take the first watch while you two have a little he takes off his sunglasses and winks fun?
Millie: OOOOOH! We gotta do my favorite ride!
Moxxie: Oh, yeah? Wh- which one?
Cut to a shot of a lone imp riding a roller coaster named "The Lawsuit" that suddenly plunges off a sheer 90-degree drop at incredible speed while also on
fire and with its rider hanging on for dear life. The coaster violently plunges into a tunnel in the ground.
Moxxie: *terrified* Oh, crumbs!
[Cut to Moxxie vomiting into a trash can after having left the ride. A vomit-covered family walks by in the background, glaring disapprovingly at Moxxie. A massive dragon-like creature from the nearby petting zoo looms overhead, also glaring at Moxxie.]
In another part of the park, Stolas, Octavia & athena walk along the path, as Blitz takes up positions all around them with his rifle, on the lookout for any danger.
A group of imps creep up behind the booths, ropes, knives, and pitchforks at the ready. They quickly scatter as Blitzo looks in their direction.
___________________________
Stolas strokes Blitz's horn and says: You know, it's quite thrilling to see you on the job, Blitzy.
Blitzo: Save it, bitch. I'm working.
Octavia then says : You both need to get a room. To which her aunt nods and hugs her niece to comfort her to which she smiles at her
Blitzo then says go the pair: Hey, I am not a day-hooker!
A woman walking nearby with her baby glares at Blitzo before continuing on in a huff.
Blitzo: What? I just said I'm not one, prude! He then Flips her off
Stolas then gasps and says : Oh! Look, Via!
Stolas points excitedly at the circus tent. A demon mother is struggling to pull her crying son into the tent.
Stolas: You used to cry such tears of joy at this show!
Octavia: *panicked* Oh, no...
Cut to a flashback to Octavia as a
young girl, as she is pushed against the stage by an excited crowd of imp children, as Robo Fizz sparks and cackles
maniacally leering over Octavia, who soon breaks into tears. A younger Blitzo is seen in the background tending to a food cart, dressed and painted as a clown, scowling
Cut back to the present.
Blitzo & Octavia: I hate that fucking clown.
Pan to Stolas, who has been captured and hoisted aloft by the crew of imps from earlier. Stolas' arms are bound
and his head is covered by a cloth sack, and the imps are pointing various weapons at him. One has stolen Stolas' wallet.
Stolas unconcerned then says: Oh, Blitzy~ I need my bodyguard, please!
One imp jumps, to try and skewer Stolas with a pitchfork. Blitzo quickly brings his rifle to bear, shooting the imp in the torso, splattering Stolas's head with blood. The other imps quickly scatter.
Octavia enters the big top and finds seat while athena sits beside her as Blitzo carries Stolas in, head still covered in the blood-soaked sack, sets him down, and walks off to take
position. Stolas makes no move to remove the sack, until Octavia annoyedly rips it off her father's head.
___________________________
Robo Fizz: *glitching and sparking* Hey-hey-hey-hey-heyyyy, Implings! It's me, the Robotic Fizzarolli! Shipped from Big Ozzie's factory to bring you a wonderful show celebrating Loo Loo Land, spelled with Os, to avoid lawsuits! H-H-H-H-H-Hit it!
Stage lights turn on and point at Robo Fizz as he begins to dance and sing a song of the same name as the park
♫ Loo Loo Land, Loo Loo Land! ♫
The curtains open to reveal Robo Fizz's band, FizzaRolli 'n Friends, composed of various hideously decrepit animatronics, including Big Woobly on guitar
♫ Everybody sing along with the Loo Loo band ♫
Robo Fizz goes around pointing and gesturing at various demons in the audience. Stolas looks excited when Robo Fizz gets to him, but this is short-lived as Blitzo pops up and points his rifle at Robo Fizz, who dashes back to the stage.
♫ Ev'ry boy, ev'ry girl, ev'ry woman, ev'ry man loves Loo Loo Laaand! ♫
Platforms in the stage rise up in time with the music.
Robo Fizz: ♫ Loo Loo Land, Loo Loo Land! ♫
♫ Everything is beautiful at Loo Loo Land ♫
♫ Ugly children holdin' hands in Loo Loo Laaand! ♫
Robo Fizz grabs various Imp children out of the audience and wraps them up in a big hug, before jumping up and tossing them away. Most of the children slam into the bleachers, while one soars behind them.
♫ Everybody's friendly, ♫
Robo Fizz hugs Big Woobly so hard that its neck breaks a bit more than it already had been
♫ And nobody is mean ♫
Robo Fizz dashes over to the two-headed, banjo-playing bear animatronic and slaps it in the back. The animatronic then squirts a stream of oil from its bigger head at the face of an Imp in the bleachers attempting to drown out the song with music from his phone
♫ No copyright infringement's ever seeen ♫
Robo Fizz dumps a gasoline canister onto a large stack of cease-and-desist papers, lights a match, and throws the match and the canister at the stack, setting the whole thing ablaze.
♫ I have a dream... ♫
♫ (He has a dream) ♫
♫ I'm here to tell... ♫
♫ (He's here to tell) ♫
♫ About a magical, fantastic place called Loo Loo Laaaaand! ♫
Octavia is sitting beside her aunt and is absorbing the musical with disgusted boredom. Outside, Moxxie and Millie walk along a row of game booths, when they are addressed by one of the vendors. Millie gleefully yanks Moxxie over towards the booth
___________________________
Carnie Imp: Hello, hello! Step right up and win a thing!
Millie gasps excitedly and says: Oh, look, Moxxie! A THING!
The "thing" in question is some sort of purple stuffed penguin creature with Imp horns, wearing pink overalls. The stuffed animal is labeled with a tag that says "THING?"
Moxxie: Oh, you like that thing?
Millie: YEEEEESSS! I don't really know what that thing is but I want that thing!
Moxxie then smugly says: Ahhh... Finally, something I can handle.
Moxxie takes out some money and hands it to the carnie
Moxxie: Okay! One game, puh-lease!
The carnie Imp rolls his eyes and uses his tail to hand Moxxie a pistol with a cork projectile in the muzzle. Moxxie does not even line up the shot, instead looking to his wife as he effortlessly hits the target right in the bullseye.
Unbeknownst to Moxxie, the target barely moves. He makes a "ricochet" noise with his mouth and blows the black powder smoke clear of the gun, pleased with his marksmanship.
Carnie Demon: Ohhhh! Strike one, little man!
Moxxie: But, I hit it!
Carnie Imp: Hmmm, I don't know what to tell ya, buddy. The target, see? It didn't go down. So, yeah...! No go, bro.
Moxxie growls in anger, and fishes another bill out of his pocket. He grabs the pistol and fires another cork, hitting the target dead-center. The target does not budge. Moxxie slaps the pistol in annoyance.
Moxxie: The Heaven's wrong with this thing?!
Carnie Imp: Oh, man. A real shame, I tell ya. He then mockingly cries
Moxxie hisses in anger as he slaps another bill on the counter.
Moxxie: Another!
___________________________
Cut back to the Robo Fizz show. Stolas is gleefully clapping to the music, while Octavia has thrown her head back in torment as her aunt has her head in her hands while Octavia is banging her fist on the seat next to her opposite Athena
♫ --body sing along with the Loo Loo band! Ev'ry boy, ev'ry girl, ev'ry woman, ev'ry man loves Loo Loo Laaaaaaand! ♫
The show ends with a small pyrotechnic display as Robo Fizz cackles maniacally. The bear animatronic faceplants onto the stage and falls to pieces. Stolas claps and cheers even harder
Stolas: Ah hohohoho ho ho ho ho ho, how delightful!
Behind Stolas, an imp armed with a kris dagger rises from beneath the seats ready to stab Stolas, but the top of his
head is quickly blown apart by a shot from Blitzo, who has taken up a position in the gallery behind the back row of seats while Imps scream in absolute fear and run away.
Stolas: *flirtatiously* Oh, my! What aim you have, Blitzy.
Octavia furious then says along with her aunt : Ugh! We can't do this anymore!
Octavia and Athena storm off, with Stolas following behind them as Blitzo cycles his rifle, and prepares to give chase after his charges
Robo Fizz: Mua ha ha ha ha hoho-oh! Is that Blitzo pronounced as spelled my sensors spot up the-e-e-ere? I bet the kiddies are still running away from you, huh? He then laughs
Blitzo: The 'o' is silent now!
Robo Fizz: A-A-Awwwww, just like your audience always was when you to-told your lazy jokes here! He laughs again
Blitz then removes his visors and throws them on the ground as he continues his argument with Robo Fizz.
Blitzo: Bitch, I make more money killing people than you do being a cheap-ass robo ripoff of an overrated sellout JESTER!
Robo Fizz glitching then says: Oohoohoo! Someone's salty! Real or not, though, people lo-o-ove me! Does anybody love you... *low demonic voice* BLITZ-0?
Blitzo: No. But, I'm really good with guns now. Dance, bitch!
Blitzo slams a new magazine into his rifle, switches it to full-auto and opens up on Robo Fizz, who cartwheels out of the way of the incoming rounds. Robo
Fizz rapidly spins like a wheel rolling up the stair to where Blitzo is. He coils himself around Blitzo like a snake, before using his own momentum to launch Blitzo through the top of the tent.
Blitzo: Ohhhh, FUCK MEEEEEEE...!
Outside, Wally Wackford rolls a cart of lit torches in by the tent.
Wally: Torches, I say, I say! Get your inconvenient torches here!
Blitzo lands on the cart, scattering the torches everywhere, which lights the top of the tent on fire.
Wally: Owww! I say, OWWWW!
The green fire very rapidly spreads to all corners of the park. Burning and melting animatronics flee the tent as Robo Fizz cackles and spins his head with demonic glee at the destruction.
Elsewhere, the carnie Imp at the shooting gallery holds 600 souls of Moxxie's money, with Moxxie himself glaring at him with seething anger
___________________________
Carnie Imp: Wow! Man, you're really starting to make this sad. Y'know, if you suck, you suck! Guess you won't win your honey here a prize...
Millie: Let me try!
Millie grabs the pistol and fires a cork at a target, which misses wildly. The carnie Imp grins mischievously, and presses a foot pedal in the booth, which causes a target to fall down.
Carnie Imp: Ohhhh, look at that! Lucky shot, baby.
Moxxie: Are you kidding me?! You- you- you charlatan!
Carnie Imp: Hey, uh, get lost, pipsqueak. I'm talkin' to the lady~
The carnie Imp leans toward Millie and makes a seductive purring sound at her. Millie immediately recoils in disgust. In the background, Blitzo and Robo Fizz
continue to battle against each other as the fires spread. Blitzo is thrown up into the air by Robo Fizz and comes down through the roof of the shooting gallery, crushing the carnie Imp under him
Carnie Imp: OWWWW! Oof! Auuugh!
Moxxie surprised then says: Sir?!
Blitz dazed then says: Ohhhh...Hey, guys! You should probably go, uh, make sure Stolas is okay. I've... got some unfinished business to take care of.
Blitzo draws his flintlock pistol, cocks it, and fires at the now burning Robo Fizz. The impact of the bullet spins
Robo Fizz's head around, but when he spins his head back, he is revealed to be unharmed by the shot, having caught the bullet in his teeth. He then spits the bullet out
Blitzo: Oh, what a mouth!
Blitzo immediately grimaces when he realizes what he just said. Robo Fizz coils himself up into his rolling form again, charging straight at Blitzo. He leaps out of the way as his enemy hits the booth, destroying it in a large
explosion. Several pieces of shrapnel and burning prizes shoot in all direction, as the camera follows the severed heads of three of the "things"
Moxxie attempted to win. The piece of stuffed animal strikes a young Imp boy in the head, knocking him unconscious the second a photographer takes a picture of the Imp family
Father: Goddammit, Nathan! You ruined another bloody photo! Why were you even born?!
___________________________
Elsewhere, Stolas is still running after his daughter and his twin sister .
Stolas: Octavia, Athena?
Octavia & Athena (off-screen) Just leave us alone!
Stolas: Octavia, Athena !
Octavia and Athena run into a building called the "Fun House." Inside, Stolas is confronted with a a surreal room of eyes, tubes, spikes, mirrors, and disembodied hands. He goes further
into the room, looking around for where his daughter and his sister could have gone. A shadow appears behind Stolas, as a random Imp jumps upon his back
Stolas annoyed then says: Umm, I think I'm supposed to be bodyguarded right now!
The Imp covers Stolas' mouth with his shirt sleeve, but is suddenly shot in the head and falls to the ground. Moxxie and Millie appear in the entryway, Millie having just shot the Imp with a pistol.
Stolas then wipes the imp blood off of his sleeve, annoyed he then says : Ugh, that's better. Where is Blitzy? He's my knight in shining armor, not you littler ones.
Millie: He's, uhhhh... busy.
Moxxie: Being a fool.
Stolas: What kind of fool?
Moxxie: The "everything is now on fire" kind.
Disinterested, Stolas leaves the imps, effortlessly dodging between two swinging pendulums, and heads down a tunnel into an adjoining room. There, he sees Octavia & Athena riding in circles in apple-themed rail cars, crying
Stolas: Octavia , Athena ...
Stolas discards the Loo Loo Land hat, which in response to his emotional state has gone from a goofy grin to a sad frown.
Stolas: I take it you both are... not having fun.
Octavia crying then says: I didn't even want to come here! I only wanted to hang out with aunt Athena!
Stolas: I'm sorry, sweetie. I... I thought you loved it here.
Octavia sniffling then says When I was a kid and my parents didn't hate each other... and my dad didn't flirt with some... weird red dickhead the entire time.
Stolas: I'm sorry, Via , thena I'm sorry for... everything... happening right now. I know it's... a lot. I, uh-- I should have listened.
Octavia crying says: I just want to go home... but home doesn't even feel like home anymore... You ruined it.
Stolas: You need to understand... your mother and I... I just-... I felt-... She's always been... I haven't been- Ha-... We weren't in... I'm sorry, I- I- I don't have the words.
Octavia crying then asks : Are you gonna run off with him? And leave me and aunt Athena behind? Go away where... we can't find you?
Stolas: *emphatically* What? No! No, no, never. I'd never do that. Never. I think it's time to leave this place. You were right. You are too old for it, anyway.
Stolas carries Octavia and Athena out of the Fun House, as an imp grins maniacally in the space above the drop-ceiling, looking down on Stolas. The imp drops down and flicks open a switchblade.
Stolas immediately turns around, eyes glowing brightly. The Imp immediately turns to stone and is knocked over by a pendulum. Outside, the park has been reduced to pandemonium as dusk falls.
Millie attempts to shoot at Robo Fizz, who rolls around wildly. The robot is caught by the draconic creature from before, and swallowed whole, as Moxxie rides on its back. Stolas,Octavia & Athena leave the park gates.
Stolas: So, what would you like to do now?
Octavia: Oh, can we go to Stylish Occult? They sell weird taxidermy there.
Stolas: *reluctantly* Hmmm, okayyyyy...
Octavia: *chuckles* Thanks, dad. You're okay, sometimes. And aunt Athena can you come over more I missed you
Stolas: Thank you, Via. Thank you.
Athena: of course via I'll come over a lot more often I missed you too
A massive explosion rocks the park, sending the employees of I.M.P. hurtling through the air, smoking and screaming. All three land in front of Stolas,Octavia and Athena.
Moxxie: Way to ruin another good thing, sir!
Blitzo: Worth it! That slutty toy clown had. It. Comin'!
Moxxie and Blitzo fall unconscious. A stray animal that looks like Queef grabs Millie by the hair and drags her offscreen
Meanwhile Athena called a taxi home and walked into the mansion that her and her husband live in her husband heard the door and walked up to her and hugged her he see's that she's been crying and tells her that she should get some sleep to
Which she went straight to their shared bed and fell asleep
#helluva boss x reader#fizzarolli x reader#hazbin hotel#helluva boss#helluva boss ozzie#helluva stolas#helluva blitzo#Spotify
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