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sepublic · 5 months ago

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Everyone jokes that Pit is the unpaid intern who depends on tips to survive, but in a way, Palutena is also that amidst the godly pantheon; So it's fitting her personal champion reflects those same frustrations. Because if you think about it, Palutena is the only god actually trying to do her job in maintaining the celestial balance and helping humanity, and without really asking for anything?

You have Medusa, Pandora, Thanatos, Hades, and Pyrrhon, whom are all self-explanatory. You have Dyntos, who is neutral and does lean towards the greater good every now and then; But his general inaction is still enabling, and Palutena is scared of him for a reason.

We have Poseidon, who actually DOES help Palutena, but also admitted to wiping out a bunch of humans casually, and otherwise doesn't do anything else to participate. And while Viridi does try to maintain the balance of nature, she also massacred countless humans and contributed to the chaos that attracted the Aurum. And humans are a part of nature themselves, too!!!

And it's interesting because Palutena doesn't seem to demand anything in return; It seems she really is doing this out of the goodness of her heart, more or less. She does have her issues and occasional petty condescension towards humans, but otherwise Palutena's the only member of the pantheon committed to keeping things together. And while humans do sometimes praise and worship Palutena, it seems that she'd help them anyway even if she didn't; She calls Magnus a jerk but that's really it.

That ties into how sometimes, Palutena does admit that she feels pressured and overwhelmed with her duty, and the way she thanks Pit for insisting she does a great job in Chapter 4 kinda feels like... Well, maybe she's fishing for compliments sometimes, because Palutena could genuinely use the validation and it's lonely. This is also why she admits she's honored that Hades knows who Palutena is, because Hades is presumably a big deal in the pantheon, and I think Palutena craves validation, as much as she wants to be pure and selfless about her work; She does genuinely care too, these two things aren't mutually exclusive.

There's the Chaos Kin arc, and while Palutena's possibly just saying she's sick of doing the dirty work for humanity because the Chaos Kin makes her... There could be a hint of truth, just how Dark Pit reflects the truth in Pit's heart; Again, parallels between Goddess and Angel. She admits she's tired of constantly having to protect and take care of the humans, which is like Pittoo being frustrated with doing Palutena's dirty work.

Which then gets me to another point; Pit being a reflection of Palutena's light, because I can kinda see her venting her frustration through him? If Palutena feels beleaguered as the only goddess protecting humanity and the world in general, then she might really appreciate having a devoted angel with infinite energy, who will jump to any task for her. Which makes Pit a way for Palutena to treat herself, let someone help her handle the load, etc.

But there is a darker side, with how Palutena will sometimes demean Pit, even appealing to Viridi and Hades in Chapter 15 this way; It kinda reminds me of people who are bullied, only to turn the bullying towards someone else and participating in that so they can be part of the in-group, not be laughed at themselves, etc. Plus her shutting down Pit's disagreement with "Are you the goddess here?" Especially since she might feel that she deserves more respect for her work, and isn't always given that by those 'below' her (AKA humans, usually). It feels good to at least take pride in what Palutena DOES have, right?

And that's Palutena dropping her filter around her own 'Palutena' because admittedly, Pit is in a subordinate position to her. And I guess it feels good, deep down, to be the one letting someone else handle the work, and exercising that power over them because Pit is someone Palutena can get away with being unpleasant around. Part of that is trust, because Palutena feels comfortable being herself, expressing her own insecurities and true feelings.

But the other part is expression frustration at someone who won't talk back, who Palutena doesn't have to worry about holding up an image towards; With other gods it's obvious, and to humans, she has to be their perfect, noble paragon of virtue. In the end, it reminds me of how some people tired with their jobs might take it out on their assistants, or others who are below them, to feel like they're the ones in control and who are being asked for recognition from.

That ironically leads to Pit's own latent frustrations with Palutena, which is furthered by him being unable to fly on his own. And that manifests as Dark Pit. And then Palutena's frustrations manifest through the Chaos Kin's manipulation of her. Imagine if Pseudo-Palutena returned in a sequel to genuinely be the Pittoo to Palutena's Pit, lol. Although her dialogue paints her as more of a mad religious fanatic than someone secretly tired of that work.

In the end, I wonder how much of this has to do with Medusa's betrayal; In the original NES manual, it's mentioned that Palutena and Medusa both ruled together, they're two sides of the same coin, Light and Darkness. But when Medusa neglected her own duties to attack humanity, that forced Palutena to exile her into the Underworld, which basically left her working double, perhaps. Again, like how Pit has to often do all of the work, despite there being centurions who can come back from the dead like he does.

In Pit's case, this comes from a fierce loyalty and protective attitude towards those he cares about; He's a good friend always there for others who wouldn't dare to ask anything of them, but that wears him out ragged. In the case of Palutena, she had to lose that option entirely when Medusa went on a rampage; But shortly afterwards, Pit rescued her and became Palutena's champion.

So Pit has a lot of work dumped on him, and maybe that's because he's essentially taking over Medusa's duties in being someone who works directly alongside Palutena to maintain balance. That could make him a fun parallel to Medusa in a way. And maybe Pit is aware of this, adding to his refusal to ever question or betray the Goddess of Light, because he knows she's already been hurt and is also doing more work than she's supposed to. His loyalty comes out of empathy and compassion towards someone he can tell really needs it.

But that selflessness can be self-destructive, because Pit will forget to consider what he's getting in return, and that gives us Pittoo, whose selfishness is framed as not inherently bad, and even good for him. But Palutena does care for Pit in return, in big and little ways, such as preparing a cold drink for him after Chapter 10. She cares a lot for Pit too, she'll cook a delicious vegetable stew for him!

You know if Medusa returns in a sequel, I'd like to know more about her and Palutena's falling-out, if there was actually anything more to it than just "Medusa looks down on humanity." After the Chaos arc, I could see her insinuating to Pit that Palutena will betray him for real, just as she did her... Only for Pit to redo that same speech about how Medusa is an unprompted murderer of helpless innocents, ya dingus.

TL;DR Palutena is the only goddess doing her job and it's exhausting and she takes it out on her secretary who is also in the exact same position, ironically.

#Palutena #Kid Icarus #Kid Icarus Uprising

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lunardream908 · 1 month ago

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Fun fact! In the AR cards for ki:u it is revealed that in Chapter 20 after Lady Palutena has her soul ripped out of her body, being petrified was actually something she did herself!

"After Pit defeats the possessed Palutena, the Chaos Kin is unable to escape with the goddess. She turns her body to stone at the last moment, so the Chaos Kin can flee into the Chaos Vortex with only her soul."

#kid icarus #kid icarus uprising #lady palutena #palutena #kiu #palutena kid icarus

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surachibee · 5 months ago

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I like to headcanon that pit still has some burn scars after the chaos kin incident

#pitverse tag #surachiarttag

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soriagravity · 1 year ago

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every so often my brain returns to kid icarus land and i redraw chaos kin dark pit. this is the latest incarnation (wip)

#dark pit #kid icarus #kid icarus uprising #my art #i love him #i say as i draw him getting possessed by a soul-eating monster #lol

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the-tropes-are-hungry · 7 months ago

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The Lamb's Mother (3/3)

Probably should've let this rest but meh it's my first fic in years idc. CW: suicide, disemboweled corpse, Lamb has the worst mother of the three. [Start] / [Prev] / [Next]

Their mother warned them.

She said, “There’s something not right with a lamb who can’t follow.” And this was true, as they could listen, and they could try, and they could learn, but they couldn’t follow.

While gathering apples in the wild orchard they once got distracted and found a hollowed tree with the biggest honeycomb they’d ever seen. It was enough for the whole flock and then some, so they spent the rest of that morning digging the pit and foraging the herb and directing the smoke and wrapping the comb and—

Yes, in the end Ram admitted they’d brought back some ten pounds of honeycomb, but also none of the apples they and their cousins had gone for. None of the sheep had been brave enough to come find them on their own, and had chosen to keep gathering apples instead.

“We need honey for mead, and spread, and medicine,” Ram allowed, their horns curled twice in loops as strong as a mountain’s twin peaks. “But we also need apples for cider, and pies, and for hungry sheep to snack on.”

He gave them a tiny pink apple, still tangy from the summer sun, while the others ate fresh pie. At least Grandram let the wandering lamb sneak a bite of honeycomb with their cold supper.

They were Mother’s third lamb.

Their eldest sister went fishing with their cousins and, one time when the water turned dark and the sky began to rumble, she threw her basket into the whitecaps and waited for the first kin to run before taking off. She left two of their cousins behind for the jellyfish of pestilence to tear apart and returned home with no fish, but she followed her friend and they both came back.

“She came back,” Mother repeated when they didn’t understand. She’d brought back no food and lost two kin-folk, how was this a good thing? “Nothing is worth dying for, not food, not love, nothing. She came back, and you will do the same. You will always come back.”

Their brother was a skilled craftsperson. He could fix a wagon wheel in an hour, and build a tent in blink, and he taught them and their cousins how to read the bark of a tree for the good wood and the hills for straight stone. He was proud of his apple press, a construction of meticulous joints, strong timber, and a single precious gear bartered for a month’s worth of soap and seven jars of berry jam.

This, they understood. They could always make more soap and gather more berries, but the ants only came out of their tunnels for a few months a year, never in the same place, and they didn’t part with their metals easily. That their family went without soap and jam for a few weeks was worth it, in their eyes.

Mother disagreed. She bleated all autumn about dirty wool and plain bread until the first batch of cider was made from the press. They made so much they could trade it back to the other lambs for what their brother had spent, but she never really forgave him.

“You cannot plan for tomorrow without sacrificing today,” she warned them, but the meaning didn’t take. It never did. They were a lamb who couldn’t follow their flock.

Their crooked horn proved it. Grandram bleated in fright at the next spring’s sheering when their nubs sprouted—one proud like Ram’s, one twisted to the side.

It all made sense after that, and nothing Ram said could make it better.

They cried for weeks, throughout the whole migration from the protective mountains of Silk’s Cradle down into the Dark Wood for planting and foraging. There was nothing Chaos, Famine, Pestilence, or War could do to fix their horn, and such prayers would have only made it harder to hide from the hunters.

Mother was done with their crooked weaving, and barred them from the loom. She let them keep their hook and needles, so they could make flowers and mittens and tiny sheep from the undyed scraps, but not at her stool.

Their sister chased them from the garden patch so they would stop over-watering and badly pruning. She sent them to find seeds and saplings and nuts and cool rocks and anything else to throw in the compost when she was done going through it. There were a lot of rocks.

Their brother, who cared more than he should have, let them keep whittling birds and knives and little hoops—but only with the junk wood. They made a new flour bowl for Mother, but she never used it. They made fishing hooks for their sister, but she left them behind. They made a new handle for the apple press, but it wasn’t as good as the one their brother already had for it.

Their horn kept growing wrong. Curled like Ram’s but out instead of back. They used a chisel and broke it off, then the other. There was no one to pray to to beg them both to come back right.

Grandram made them sit and learn letters with them. When that failed, they put a flute in their mouth and a drum at their feet. When these lessons began to take, they brought the books out again but this time they sang the stories. Knowing the words made the shape of them come together. Understanding the story made it easier to re-phrase and re-write it their own way.

The still ants traded with the sheep because once the sheep had given them an island wrapped in mists. In exchange for the island, their people travelled under land beneath the sea across the sky to come here. They did not come on the dogs’ boats, or the cats’ balloons, or the ponies’ carts. They did not ride with the pigs or share with the birds or play with the foxes. The sheep were the last to leave the island, and they gave the ants land and water and stone to hide their journey away from home.

Once they had been a people like every other: with villages and hamlets and acres of pasture and orchard each one tended, not like the wild trees and the garden patches. They had summered and wintered in the same groves, and never moved unless they wanted to, never parted unless they chose to, were never hunted. Ever.

They had had a god once too, one they shared with the birds and the cats and the ponies and the pigs. And Famine had only claimed them for so long until Bounty returned; and Pestilence had lurked but Renewal had protected them; and War had raged only until Peace was restored; and Chaos had its day but Order was the norm. There had always been death.

Ram said he liked how they could sing and play at the same time. He said they would make a great storyteller one day. Ram said many things that didn’t matter in the end.

“There will always be death,” their mother warned them, that summer in Anura’s mildewed fields. She said it with the warm rain soaking their fleece, slowing them down in the mud up to her waist. “The only constant left for us is death.”

They were the one, muscles straining and limbs shaking, who wrenched themselves up on the rock and looked back. Mother just sat there, in the mud, staring up at Ram’s desiccated body hanging from the crown of a mushroom tree over their head. The hunters had put out his eyes, and his entrails had been pulled out like ribbons and tied around their brother’s neck to decorate the real noose that had strangled him.

Behind them, in the rain, trapped in the muck, their sister screamed as Famine’s hunters caught her. They couldn’t see them for the tall stalks of grain. They heard every slop of flesh and broken bone.

“Go,” Mother said, her black eyes raptured on Ram. “I don’t know the way without him. I don’t know how to be anywhere without him. I don’t want to follow if he won’t lead me.”

“Mama—” they begged, voice breaking, world ending, hands reaching. “Mama, please—”

She closed her eyes, the dark sky pouring curtains of rain down on the mire. She held her palms open on her mud-stained lap, face up in the thundershower, her heart and throat open with no god to want her.

“There’s something not right with you,” she warned them. “You’ve never known how to follow. So, go. Go.”

Red lights in the rain. Green torches, yellow flames, chittering and squelching and the plop-plop-plop of webbed feet leaping through the muck.

They got on one knee, Ram’s blood staining their ruined fleece as they reached out. She was close enough to touch. She was right in front of them. She just had to try.

“Mama!”

“Just go away…”

Mother pulled out her good cooking knife. Lightning filled the world with white.

Three hundred years later, in the gateway between life and death, the Lamb will look up in the unending white and see people they know, and care about, and are deeply, deeply unlike all strung up on posts with their entrails exposed. Their blood will spill like mana to feed a god they no longer understand. They will be told to kneel, to submit, to become small in endless storm of their world’s history. They will be expected to follow. They will be told to follow. They will be ordered, and screamed at, and condemned to follow.

“There’s something not right with me, my Lord,” they will say, salty tears hot as summer rain down their blanched face. The crown in their hands will bend one point, crooked like the horns between which it has sat for centuries. “I’ve never known how to follow.”

The Red Crown will become Mother’s good cooking knife.

But on that day, in the distant past, at the edge of a fallow summer field with the faint stink of woodsmoke and burnt wool threading through the midnight rain, they weren’t strong enough to watch their mother take her own life. They turned and fled before she placed the edge to her throat. They ran and did not stop running until the sun was high and the mushrooms ran thin in the summer yellow grass.

Their mother warned them. She told them they could not follow, and in the end, after their capture and chains and the swing of the axe: she was right.

They did not follow.

They came back instead.

[Start] / [Prev] / [Next]

#cotl #cult of the lamb #cotl The Lamb #cotl Lamb #cotl lambert #cotl au #Estrangement AU #Lamb has the worst mom of the three yes thats harsh no I don't care #there's nothing about ants and sheep in the game dw #I do 100% headcanon Narinder as favoring the land animals while his siblings had other animal kingdoms #my lamb is not well and won't be for 90% of this fic

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kaitopitoo · 1 year ago

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sleep well, my angel.

#my art #pit #kid icarus uprising #ring of chaos #chaos kin

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leadfort · 23 days ago

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Random Quith lore dump ish

Will anyone read this I don't know but I feel like sharing anyway cause his claws are deep into my psyché and he demands I share him with the world. Kith'rak Quith is a current antagonist in my homebrew D&D setting called Galac. Which I will probably post more about at some point cause it is like most of my life right now. Being homebrew the giths are also a bit different from Forgotten Realms but I'll prolly get into that in their own post. For the sake of this, well, one just has to know that in this setting/AU the gith are united under the Sha'sal Empire, founded by Zetch'r'r. There's no red dragons, and there is no astral sea. There IS space and there ARE ships and boats (like spelljammers) that travel in space. But time flows as normal. There is only one plane of existence. Where do I even start He's bad. Like Bad bad. CW for toxic, manipulator, groomer, eating people, sadist, dubcon... ------------- Quith is a man who basically had everything he wanted deliviered on a silver platter. He's intelligent and always had a strong affinity for weilding magic and psionics, making him excel as a powerful gish at an early age. A prodigy you might say. He was given the command of a fleet of his own when he was in the early twenties and everything were just smooth sailing. During some stays at youth training grounds he caught eyes for a very promising young guy, Kar'i'nass who he decided to personally tutor... and slowly molded into his personal lap and attack dog. He was respected for most, hated by some. As it seemed that he always carried a haughty attitude and always thought he could throw his weight around to get whatever he wanted. But most of the time he would be a good soldier. .... And then FUCKING SOMETHING happened. (Which I cannot go into more details into right now because, as aforementioned, he is a villain in an ongoing D&D campaign and HOO BOY my players are still trying to figure that out and. They are also. On here. Hello I see you there Quith fucker #1 and Quith hater #1) The most important part of what happened is that. Whatever happened. It sorta. Fundamentally. Changed him. Quith had never been a good guy, but all of his dark desires had been sealed under a lot of mental discipline. Now that was all thrown out of the window and he became rather unhinged. Still, somewhat presentable to his own kin, but takes it out to an insane degree on istiks. He knows he changed and he knows that he is a derranged man living on the fucking verge, and he is struggling every day to keep himself together. At first when one meets him, he is seemingly easily amused, soft spoken, curious and patient. It seems like he absolutely loves socializing with people and it is not uncommon for him to shower people with flattery. His true intent is to learn more about other people to start digging into their psyche in whatever manner he can. Preferably with words, but he will use psionics or violence if he has to. He feels like he has 'unlocked' the truest part of himself as he went mad, and he revels in the thought of seeing other people joining him in the deepest pits of madness. He is a thrill seeker who cannot stand being bored even for one second, though his idea of fun is causing chaos wherever he can ('can' being the most important word here. He is still incredibly intelligent, and will not risk his own safety for amusement). The thrill seeking extends to a sort of exhibitionism, where he sort of gets off on seeing people appaled by his actions. He uses his status to get away with murder and absolutely loves when he can see that people cannot do anything about him, often because of fear for their own lives. Quith does not take 'No' for an answer, and will either provoke, manipulate, gaslight, threaten, or force the answer to change. When confronted himself, depending on the person, he will either respond with threats of violence, or throw a whole 'woe is me' schtick to guilt trip and gaslight the other person to change their mind about him.

------- His appearances in the game. The players met Quith in a cold place called Snowport. Which was not a gith place, but a lot of them had decided to show up there for currently unknown reasons. Quith and his soldiers were shaking down ships, though were not given access to the players ship. Next they saw him, he telekenetically held a ratfolk man in the air and slashed through his arm for supposedly stealing, kissed the man on the cheek, and handed the arm back before letting him go. The players were appaled by this, but mostly one character called Vaughn. Vaughn confronts a man who is simply amused by the fact that this tiefling even has the balls to confront him in the first place. In turn, Quith showed no respect for boundries which unfortunately Vaughn mostly took as a form of flirting. Which.. later led to him seeking out Quith at a bar. at night. and quith getting vaughn proceededly more drunk until they got to a private place... Long story short, Quith proceeded to pressure Vaughn to decedrate a corpse for his own amusement, and he proceeded to manhandle the guy, ending with more manipulation and dubcon at best. Vaughn left this with a confusion as he is very much in pain after the ordeal, but also left with the memories of being severely love bombed. ... Later, other crewmembers found out that one of their crewmates, a bugbear, has been working with quith and brought him an alive dragonborn woman, which Quith proceeded to hastily eat various organs from. Eating people is something he seems to do on the regular, though the players still do not know why. This lead to the bugbear being fired from the crew, as the captain didn't want to be associated with all that. Unfortunate. As they were leaving port, Quith teleported onto their ship with said bugbear and demanded they take him back or else he will blow the ship up. They gritted their teeth, took him back, and he's been sitting in a jail cell ever since.

Vaughn secretly kept in contact with Quith through Sending spells, and over time Quith has been wispering to Vaughn about paths to power and immortality, which Vaughn has been very receptive to. Next they met, Waaaaaaaaaaay later. The players were dealing with a town suffering from a curse laid by a coven of hags. Quith showed up and lended the party a hand, only so that he could get Vaughns attention quicker... which led to yet another wonderful date <3 This was the last they truly met in person. For now.

(im not going into the Slumber Party right now)

If you red this far uhh. Thank you! I hate his ass roflmao I can add more to this later right? Thats a thing I can do? We'll see!

#oc #original character #baldurs gate oc #bg3 oc #gith #githyanki #myart #quith #i love you quith I hate you #cw: gore #cw: dubcon

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duskspring · 1 year ago

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Comfort From The Storm - Phantom&Rain

Domestic December - Day 9

Summary: Phantom has never experienced a topside storm before, Rain comforts him

Content (do let me know if I forgot anything!): Traumatised Phantom, panic attack, hurt/comfort

Word count: ~1.2k

A/N: I didn't really feel inspired the day 9 prompts, so I used the one from day 8 I hadn’t yet

Phantom awoke with a startle. His first thought was that some of his new found packmates may be fooling around and accidentally got too loud. But that’s not what it sounded like. Strong continuous drumming assaulted the world above.

He tried waiting, seeing if it may quiet down by itself. Of course it didn’t. It only worsened with a banging loud enough to be caused by a bomb, at least he thought it was. The quintessence in the air felt erratic, out of balance.

A soft mewl left his lips involuntarily. The chaos of the sounds and feels was reminiscent of the pit. There were certainly good parts of hell, but also very, very bad ones. Cold, loud, lonely.

He’d seen it when he was but a kit. Separated from his pack, lost and afraid he’d never find his way back.

In present time he almost felt like he was back there. The panic was so reminiscent of that time. His chest tightened, his breath short. He was able to see but couldn’t register anything in his line of sight, preoccupied with his fear.

Outside in the hall, Rain had been prancing around the abbey all night. Storms always gave him huge energy boosts, making it hard for him to sleep. He was just on his way to get something from his room, when he heard the distressed sound beyond Phantom’s door. He came up to it and listened carefully, hearing it again.

“Phantom?” The call sounded garbled to Phantom’s ears, ignored by his lacking focus. After a second the door softly creaked open, revealing Rain’s concerned gaze, “Thought I heard you cry. Are you alright?”

The younger ghoul looked up in a combination of shock and confusion. He didn’t know how to respond, couldn’t even begin to think about it. It didn’t help his growing panic at all. His chest heaved with hyperventilations.

“Hey, hey, hey, it’s ok. It’s alright,” Rain rushed to his side on the bed, rubbing soothing circles into his back, “Breath with me. Come on, in… out… in… out…”

Phantom tried his best to follow along, getting better but not by much. He started shaking like a leaf.

“I know it’s hard, but try to keep talking to me. What’s wrong?”

He tried. But he was nearly unable to draw in a breath. It felt like all his energy had been drained at once. He breathed in as much oxygen as he could, which was barely anything, “Have we… reached… the end?”

“The end?” Rain didn’t understand, “Of what?”

Phantom finally looked up into his eyes, “Earth.”

The water ghoul’s eyes squinted in thought, trying to decipher the other’s thought process. Then it dawned on him, “Is this your first topside storm?”

“Storm…” Phantom responded, not quite a question but also not understanding.

Rain nodded to himself, “I know it’s probably hard, but do you think you can get up? Everything is perfectly fine, I can prove it.” He stood up himself, keeping an arm out for support. His intention was to bring him up the stairs to a window. Show him that it was just a bit of water.

Phantom stared for a few seconds before moving a shaky hand forward. He grasped onto Rain’s arm tightly. The water ghoul carefully pulled him up a little, slinging an arm around the smaller ghoul’s shoulder for support.

“We’ll go slow.” He said, starting to take small steps towards the door, “Have you slept at all?” He asked, both wanting to know the answer and needing to keep Phantom talking.

Breathing got a little easier, but Phantom’s legs were so heavy he would’ve toppled over if it hadn’t been for Rain’s support, “Yes… Woke up… with the sound.”

“Have you felt this way before?”

His steps staggered, the memories coming back to the forefront of his mind. He winced again, clinging onto Rain a little more.

“I’ve got you.” Rain smiled kindly, his eyes genuine.

The further they walked, the louder the beating of the heavy rain drops on the abbey sounded. The water ghoul understood why one might be scared of it, even without the knowledge of Phantom’s trauma.

A clap of thunder took him out of his thoughts, but only pushed Phantom further into his. He let out a sob, collapsing onto the ground. His arms came up to cover the side of his head, his chest spasming in hyperventilation.

Rain was half pulled to the ground as well. He let himself fall to his knees in front of his companion, putting his cool hands on his cheeks.

“Phantom, hey. It’s alright. You’re safe. I’m here. It’s just the thunder, it can’t hurt you.” He kept going, “Can you look at me?”

Phantom shook his head violently, curling up on himself even further.

“Phantom. You’re safe, I promise. I…” Rain trailed off. A very hard, but possibly very helpful idea in his mind. He needed to do it. He needed to try. For Phantom.

He sat up a little more upright, his focus shifting to the storm outside. He visualised all the raindrops, the darkened clouds and raging wind. He couldn’t control it all, but he could at least try helping as much as he could.

Phantom panicked when the sounds settled down. Was the fear making him deaf? He finally looked up again, searching for any sign from Rain that he wasn't completely losing his mind. He was met with perhaps the most majestic sight he’d ever seen.

Rain sat cross legged with full focus, his eyes closed, tail swishing over the floor rhythmically. His jaw, as well as most of his muscles, were clenched, causing him to shake lightly. Phantom knew exactly what he was doing. He was stopping the rain from hitting the building, greatly decreasing the noise.

“Rain…” He didn’t know what to say. His shock at the amount of power and control over Rain’s element being displayed shook him out of his panic for a moment. He was bewildered, caught in an admirational state.

The silence lasted another minute before Rain dropped to the ground with a harsh breath, all the water coming down again. But Phantom wasn’t focused on that anymore, only worrying about the amount of energy his friend had just used for him.

“Why would you- Are you ok?” The Ministry knew some strong ghouls, but never had he seen such a display in person.

Rain waved his hand dismissively, though his upper body still leaning on the floor in exhaustion, “I’ve got it,” He exhaled, reaching over for Phantom’s hand, “What about you?”

“I… don’t know?” He responded hesitantly.

“It really won’t hurt you,” Rain explained again, “It’s just water and sounds. I’ll keep you safe.” He finally looked up again, that same genuine smile back on his face.

Phantom started shaking again, but not in fear this time. He was so grateful, nearly jumping Rain in order to hold him in a hug. He buried his face in Rain’s chest, enjoying his smell and cool skin. The water ghoul’s arms wrapped around him tightly.

“Are you ready to try and sleep again?” He asked, dismissing his original plan to find a window. Phantom whined again, “I can stay with you.” Rain proposed in response.

Phantom held onto him even tighter at the suggestion, wordlessly nodding into his chest.

“Of course, baby ghoul. Let’s go, you need the rest. I’ll stay right by your side.”

[My Main Masterlist | Domestic December Masterlist]

#sorry for posting these all out of order lmao. I'm trying to get it together but day 8 is a struggle #domestic december #the band ghost fic #phantom ghoul #rain ghoul #ghost bc #headcanon #nameless ghouls #the band ghost fanfiction #the band ghost #ghost fanfiction

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jaehaerysiitargaryen · 3 months ago

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The Valyrian War || The Dornish War

Timeline from the POV of King Jaehaerys II’s Realms: The Stormlands and Crownlands of New Valyria

Month 1: The Fall of Alicent

Week 1: Queen Alicent, beloved by many, dies in the infirmary, and whispers of foul play spread quickly. Her body is recovered by King Jaehaerys II, who hastily leaves the West to return to King's Landing, bringing the Queen's remains with him. The loss of the queen ignites the realm, and rumors circulate that she was murdered by someone in the West, stirring unrest among both the nobility and smallfolk alike.

Week 2: As Jaehaerys II approaches the Red Keep, the people of the Crownlands, especially in King's Landing, gather in the streets to witness the somber procession of the Queen's body. Tensions rise as grief turns into outrage, fueled by the suspicion of murder. Upon entering the Council chambers, King Jaehaerys’ grief manifests as an explosive fury. His booming rage shakes the walls of the keep, a terrifying reminder of his father’s temper. With none able to provide answers for Alicent's death, Jaehaerys demands justice, vowing retribution.

Week 3: The King sends his Stormlords to the Marches, determined to bring Dornish forces to heel. Lord Wylliam Swann and Morgan Wylde are dispatched to the front lines. However, Lord Lucerys Estermont is ordered back to Estermont lands, charged with guarding the coasts and reinforcing naval defenses, particularly against any attempted Dornish seaborne attacks. Lord Tarth, soon to join Lucerys, is to ensure no Dornish forces slip through the narrow waters. The Velaryon Fleet has not been called but has been ordered to wait for the King's orders should they be needed.

Month 2: Chaos in New Valyria and the Marches

Week 1: Chaos erupts in New Valyria as an explosion rocks the city. Smoke rises as flames consume parts of the pit, a ploy orchestrated by Baashir Dayne and Armaan Yronwood. Panic spreads in the Crownlands as Hayford Keep is set ablaze, the work of Dastan Allyrion and Ryon Wyl, who flee to Dorne carrying critical secrets that could shift the balance of power.

Week 2: In the Marches, Dornish forces, emboldened by their covert successes, push harder against the Stormlords. Lord Wyl returns from the Westerlands, where battles have grown fiercer. He captures a Dondarrion lord, sending a chilling message to the Stormlands. Lord Deimos Velaryon, Master of Ships, strikes back in retaliation, taking a Dayne brother hostage, escalating the conflict between the two regions.

Week 3: As the fighting intensifies, Stormlords find themselves engaged in bloody skirmishes across the Marches, particularly at Nightsong, where they face mounting resistance from Dornish forces. The Crownlands are shaken by the continued unrest in New Valyria, but Jaehaerys' focus remains steadfast on crushing the Dornish threat.

Month 3: Siege and Naval Conflicts

Week 1: Lords Wyl and Fowler successfully break the siege of Nightsong, but the victory is bittersweet. The young Caron lord is found dead, though the Caron line persists through distant kin. Tensions between the Dornish and Stormlanders remain high, with neither side willing to concede.

Week 2: In the seas near the Stormlands, Dorne receives unexpected aid from the Summer Islanders, who provide ships for an attack on Weeping Town. Lord Tarth, having fortified the coastline, intercepts the Dornish fleet. The naval skirmish between Lord Tarth, Morgan Wylde, and the forces from House Swann pushes back the Dornish, who had hoped to catch them off guard.

Week 3: Battles rage at sea and along the coast, as Tarth's forces battle Wyl and his men. The clash extends inland, with the Dornish retreating.

Week 4: In the heart of the Marches, Baashir Dayne and Armaan Yronwood clash with the Unsullied forces brought by Jaehaerys. The fighting reaches a stalemate as both sides find it difficult to gain the upper hand. Just when the Dornish think they might hold the line, Silverwing, the King’s dragon, appears in the skies, casting a long shadow over the battlefield.

Month 4: The Wrath of King Jaehaerys II

Week 1: With the sight of Silverwing looming above, King Jaehaerys himself descends upon the Marches. His presence rallies the Stormlords and strikes fear into the Dornish forces. The King, a massive figure on the battlefield, fights alongside his men, leading charges against Dornish skirmishers. His dragon’s arrival adds to the chaos, as fiery devastation rains down upon the Dornish lines.

Week 2: The King’s fury knows no bounds. His dragon burns entire companies of Dornish fighters as Jaehaerys II pushes deeper into their territory. However, the Dornish forces, ever resourceful, begin to regroup under their leaders. Prince Ravi Martell, Baashir Dayne, and Doran Uller coordinate a plan to bring down the King’s beast.

Week 3: The Dornish deploy their Scorpions—massive crossbows capable of piercing dragon hide. As Silverwing flies over the battlefield, the Dornish leaders launch a well-timed volley, hoping to end the reign of fire.

Week 4: One of the Scorpion bolts strikes true. A piercing cry echoes across the battlefield as Silverwing is struck. In the chaos that follows, the mighty dragon falls from the sky, crashing to the ground in a maelstrom of fire and blood. The Dornish forces, emboldened by the death of the dragon, launch a counteroffensive, pushing back the Unsullied and reclaiming lost ground.

Climactic Moment: With Silverwing dead, the balance of the war shifts. The Stormlords, previously buoyed by the dragon's presence, now find themselves on the defensive. The death of the dragon is a turning point, but the war is far from over. King Jaehaerys, though enraged, gathers his forces, preparing for the next phase of the campaign, while the Dornish leaders, triumphant, brace for the inevitable counterattack. The realm stands on the brink of a new chapter, and the Crownlands and Stormlands brace for what comes next.

[ Note: There will be threads and the like taking placed throughout these events either set before, during, or after. All muses are encouraged to get involved, in the Crownloands and Stormlands male muses are encouraged to get involved in the skirmishes, through there is a noticeable difference low number of Crownlands Lords who came to fight. In these regions women aren't allowed to fight but women can fight their own battles through political intrigue and the like. ]

#plot drop ;; the dornish war || the valyrian war

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