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butwhatifidothis · 2 months ago

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I guess the ultimate thing that kills CF for me - or at least nudges it away from me saying I definitively like it - is just how much Edelgard is clearly written with the player in mind before she's written with her character in mind.

Because on all of the other routes, there's a power to Edelgard's presence. Even on BE, there's a sense that for as lonely as Edelgard might be, she still ultimately will do whatever it takes for her to get what she wants. Be that be killing her citizens (or otherwise letting them be killed), endangering her friends, assisting in kidnapping people, allowing Byleth to support her only when they have the Sword of the Creator, covering for TWS - no bar is too low for her to limbo under if doing so means she's even a step closer to her goals.

She's manipulative! She's deceitful! She doesn't care for the lives of her people! Even her friends are forfeit if they try to stand in her way! And this happens no matter how close you, the player, get to her, in the case of BE - C+ ain't stoppin' Remire, and going to the coronation ain't stopping the Holy Tomb.

And in the war phase, she is dominating the field. She has the Kingdom completely on the ropes, down to a few houses standing against Imperial rule, and the Alliance is stuck in neutrality - she may not be able to do much to it, but neither can they do anything to her (to say nothing of the Alliance houses who stand with her). She's far from the underdog in this race, and she shows off how threatening she can be.

CF? Her route?

She scweams at scawy rats. She gets embawwassed when you find her dwawings. She's just so wonewy, and she's just so gwad that you chose her. She somehow fails to capture Rhea, or frame Dimitri for regicide, and so now has to deal with that on the Kingdom's side of the war. But that doesn't stop Elly Welly-kins fwom twying to find her pwecious teacher, because you're just so important to her. She cwies and hugs you when you meet her in the Goddess Tower!! Because she missed you so much!!

It's like... Dimitri and Claude certainly show different sides of themselves on their respective routes. It's the whole point! You grow closer to them and thus see how they treat those close to them, as opposed to being the Kinda Neat Teacher they see run along every now and then. But, like... Claude doesn't become a blushing maiden whenever Byleth speaks with him on VW. Dimitri doesn't scream at scary rats and get called cute for it on AM. They don't get Basic Bitch Gap Moe Traits slapped onto them that are only ever shown to the player and only on their routes. Unlike Edelgard.

Dimitri's endearing trait is that he's this big huge dude who can bench-press forests and arm-wrestle god who still wants to learn to sew and who teaches kids to protect themselves and who buys candies for his friends. Claude's endearing trait is that he's this mastermind planner who has contingency and lie and obfuscation as three separate legal government names who still wants everyone to be safe and happy and hold hands and be friends.

Edelgard is strong, confident, and willing to do some of the shittiest things known to man for her goals. Her endearing trait is that her screams are cute. She's shy about her drawings of the player character. She blushes over the player potentially joking about having sex with her per her JPN version of her C support; you know, the one about how Byleth walks in on Edelgard muttering in her sleep from a nightmare about her tortured family? Perfect time to joke about fucking her! Dimitri and Claude's endearments are, well, endearing; Edelgard's are all straight up embarrassing for her.

Hell, even the smaller stuff is affected! Claude's passion for poisons and mushrooms are things he has no qualms about having others know about, despite how weird they are. Dimitri laughing at shitty jokes brings him no personal discomfort or embarrassment, despite just how loudly he laughs at them. They have traits to them that can easily be uwu worthy, and they don't care! Of the lords, only Edelgard does! Because, it feels like, the only way for a strong, resolute female character to come off as approachable is if she's knocked down a few pegs for specifically and only you, the player.

And that sucks ass! I'm sorry, but when I'm playing Edelgard's route I don't want to deal with her hiding herself away in her room for a month IN THE MIDDLE OF HER FUCKING WAR because she's just so embawwassed! It is so fucking insensitive that Edelgard is literally the only lord of the three who can have her trauma openly belittled at any point in the story by Byleth, all to have some cheap cutesy uwu moment about her fear of rats (calling her screaming in fear cute and INSISTING that it's really cute which is just. Fucking ew man)! Why can we fucking mock Edelgard's manner of speech during the MASSACRE OF REMIRE?

This shit doesn't happen to Claude or Dimitri! And saying "oh just don't pick those options then" is bullshit because no equivalent options exist for the male lords! It's piss-boilingly annoying that the second you choose to see things from the strong confident villainous ambitious female lord's perspective you can reduce her down to this bumbling moeblob just for you (sometimes unavoidably!) like!! Dude!

#legit not even sure what to tag this because for once I'm going to bat for Edelgard LMAO her writing treats her BAD when it comes to this #this is also a huge thing that fucks me off from liking Edel/eth because Byleth can be SUCH a huge fucking dick to her for no reason #and can be UNIQUELY mean to her for no reason. off the cuff i can't think of another character you can have Byleth act like this to #and most of this shit is well before Byleth as a character has any real reason to actively dislike her so they're just.#bullying Edelgard for fun?? I guess??#among uh. other reasons the ship doesn't exactly Work Out lmao #but yeah for CF it really REALLY brings down my ability to enjoy it fully despite me REALLY wanting to #because it encapsulates just how like. shallowly Edelgard can be written?#because it's not just that no character can meaningfully react to everything she's done (though that is a huge factor too)#but also as SOON as the writing wants you to REALLY like her it goes out of its way to diminish her powerful presence and UwU her #and not to say that she doesn't have her powerful moments - she does! and they're really great to see!#but that her cutesy moments stand out SO much BECAUSE the other two lords very noticeably have nothing akin to that for them #like. you can't jokingly call Claude a loser for having no friends growing up due to the racism he faced #you can't pretend to be one of voices Dimitri hears to fuck with him #you straight up CANNOT joke about their trauma which like. duh?? why would you??#but Edelgard just woke up from a horrible nightmare and that's just the perfect setup for a sex joke #and it's perfectly fine to joke about forgetting what Edelgard said about her trauma she opened up to them about cuz ''she said to forget''#and it's a-okay for Byleth to brush off her opening up about why she has a rat phobia to embarrass her over drawing them #WHY CAN YOU DO THIS. or better yet WHY *CAN'T* YOU DO THIS TO THE OTHER TWO.#it is just so brazenly sexist and i hate it every time i think about it 😭

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dragonstoners · 11 months ago

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𝖆𝖊𝖒𝖔𝖓𝖉 𝖈𝖗𝖚𝖘𝖍𝖎𝖓𝖌 𝖔𝖓 𝖆 𝖓𝖔𝖇𝖑𝖊𝖜𝖔𝖒𝖆𝖓 | 𝖍𝖊𝖆𝖉𝖈𝖆𝖓𝖔𝖓𝖘

18+ | Minors DO NOT INTERACT | Ageless blogs will be blocked

𝖕𝖆𝖎𝖗𝖎𝖓𝖌: aemond targaryen x reader

𝖈𝖔𝖓𝖙𝖊𝖓𝖙 𝖜𝖆𝖗𝖓𝖎𝖓𝖌: canon-typical misogyny, emotional manipulation, power imbalance, toxic relationships

𝖔𝖙𝖍𝖊𝖗 𝖙𝖆𝖌𝖘: f!reader, noble!reader, obsessive!aemond, toxic!aemond

⁃ it starts off strange, naturally. aemond’s way of showing interest is like a game of cyvasse, where you don’t know you’re playing until you’re losing.

⁃ he begins by throwing words like daggers, seeing which ones will stick, as well as which ones will miss. “courtesy is often the cloak of deceit,” he says one day as you pass by, eyes sharp, challenging you to disagree. you’re left pondering his intentions, unsure if this is disdain or a warning. you're not even sure he knows your name, but he's got his eye on you, that much is clear.

⁃ all of his tests are subtle at first, almost imperceptible… at least to everyone else. during a meeting including your house, he undercuts your suggestions with a smirk, “is that the best wisdom we can muster?” making you doubt your voice, your place. yet, when others join in the critique, his dissent stops, a silent barrier against the tide.

⁃ he starts to frequent areas of the red keep you're known to visit, under the guise of random meanderings or pressing royal duties. his presence is always pronounced, a storm cloud in a serene sky, yet he never directly acknowledges you unless absolutely necessary. when he does speak to you, his words are a mix of backhanded compliments and critiques designed to unsettle, to pull your attention and push you away all at once.

⁃ he tests the waters with questions that cut close to bone, speaking in riddles of his kin and house, gauging your reaction below a veneer of idle curiosity. "and what do you say of the whispers about my brother?" he asks, his gaze sharp, searching, every one of your words and expressions a stone in the foundation of this game he’s you’re both playing.

⁃ he’s watching, always, from the corners of rooms, from across courtyards, his gaze a heavy thing. you start to feel it, the weight of his attention, in every place you go. “you seem to find yourself in my path quite often,” he remarks, a statement that makes it seem less like coincidence and more like an invisible thread pulling you into his orbit.

⁃ at a court event, a bard mishandles a tale of your house’s valour, rendering it comically rather than heroic. while others laugh, aemond's eyes find yours across the room, his gaze sharp and assessing. later, you hear the bard has been given a generous sum to leave king's landing — and the realization that aemond might have been defending your honour, in his own convoluted way, leaves you bewildered.

⁃ only next, he's once again all about putting you in the spotlight for the wrong reasons. during a dinner, he casually asks if you truly believe in the tales of old valyria, making your opinion sound naive in front of everyone. it's like he enjoys seeing you squirm, but when you catch his gaze, there’s something else there, maybe respect?

⁃ after a particularly sharp exchange, you wander the quieter halls of the red keep, mulling over aemond’s pointed remarks. “is loyalty not our greatest virtue?” had left his lips with a smirk. his words had a sting, intended for you in a room full of eyes and whispers. it wasn’t just the comment but the public questioning of your loyalty that left a bitter taste. it’s the solitude afterwards that weighs heavily, making you question where the line between loyalty and a noose truly lies.

⁃ then, when you're about ready to write him off as a typical targaryen prince, toying with you for amusement and not much different from his elder brother, small things begin to happen. a finely-made bone comb appears amongst your things, no note, nothing to indicate it’s origins. it's truly beautiful, haunting almost. none of your household maids know where it has come from. you do not think about it again, until your maid casually notes the comb is in fact made of dragon-bone whilst she brushes out your hair one evening, and your heart drops.

⁃ when news reaches you of a lord questioning your place at court behind your back, nothing comes of it. no confrontation, no public defence. however, the lord's aspirations wither as if touched by frost; his allies turn away, his influence ebbs, and he is left to the cold mercy of court politics. you never explicitly see aemond act, but the timing is enough for you to know he is responsible.

⁃ the cloak follows, materialising on a chilly evening, draped over your chair, with no explanation. the craftsmanship is impeccable, finer than anything you’ve ever owned. it’s the colours that give him away – shimmering greenish blue with bronze detailing adorning the hood, unmistakably the colours of vhagar, etched into your memory from watching in wonder as aemond took her to the skies above the keep. when he sees you wrapped in the cloak, his smirk is a tell. "gevie," he mumbles, almost begrudgingly, before he’s speaking with a nearby lord as if you do not exist. (later, you discover he had said beautiful in high valyrian, after hours upon hours of scouring language books in the library.)

⁃ when you confront him about it later, his only response is a cryptic, “it suits you,” his eye glinting with something like satisfaction. the ambiguity of the comb was one thing, but the cloak is a statement. he sees it, you wearing it, as an unspoken acceptance of his claim, a mark of his territory, even if only known to him, and now you.

⁃ but even with the dragon-bone comb brushing along your scalp and the cloak wrapping you in its warmth, aemond’s tests don’t cease. they become more direct, more challenging. he questions your judgments, pushes you to defend your beliefs, each instance a gauntlet thrown at your feet. “prove me wrong,” he dares, and every time you rise to the challenge, it feels like a victory and a defeat, all at once.

⁃ his kinder actions aside, he's still a storm, a dragon at heart, unpredictable and restless. one moment, he's pushing you away with a cutting remark about how easily charmed you are by shiny things, the next, he's singling out anyone who dares speak lowly of you, though he'd never admit it's defence.

⁃ at a small gathering in the courtyard, a long-standing court noble sidles up to you, their voice low and laced with mock concern. “he’s got his eye on you, hasn’t he?” the words linger, unsettling in their ambiguity and specificity. you pause, the realization that your identity is becoming entwined with aemond’s reputation unsettling you. aemond has never hinted at any interest directly, nor publicly, yet his actions speak volumes, and, you realise in that moment, it’s not solely obvious to you anymore. soon after the incident, you find out that same noble has suddenly, unexpectedly, and without formal reason, returned to the seat of their house.

⁃ his idea of openly flirting with you? challenging you to a horse race when he falls into stride with you during a royal hunting trip in the kingswood, under the guise of proving your recklessness. "i believed you too fragile, my lady," he teases, goading you into proving him wrong once again. his singular attention on you, which is no longer lost on the court, is both infuriating and exciting.

⁃ challenging aemond becomes an unexpected thrill, not only during a ride but over a map of disputed borders laid out in the council chamber. “might there be room for diplomacy?” you suggest, the words hanging boldly between you. his look is sharp, a mix of annoyance and something vaguely resembling admiration. it’s a small victory, asserting your voice amidst the power plays of court.

⁃ at a feast, when you catch him observing from across the room, there’s a moment where the world narrows to just the two of you. later, as he escorts you to the far-side of the keep to your quarters (with his kingsguard and your maid as chaperones) he openly negs you about your taste in music, literature, the arts, but always in a way that demands a response, a defense. it’s exhausting, exhilarating, maddening.

⁃ the tension between public perception and private truths comes to a head when a rumor reaches you about aemond defending your honour in your absence, against a council member nonetheless, stirring a complex mix of emotions. confronting him leads to a terse exchange, “i can defend myself” you start, watching his reaction closely. his reply is noncommittal, a shrug that does little to clarify his intentions, leaving you to question the nature of his interest. it’s this dance of half-truths and veiled motivations that keeps you wary, even as court intrigue pulls you deeper.

⁃ but within weeks, at a ball, his behaviour is so uncharacteristic of his typical self-seriousness that it has prince aegon downright gleeful in his amusement, and queen alicent looks as if she’s seen a ghost. aemond is seen drinking, whispering with others, occasionally even laughing. however, his eye never strays far from you, always positioning himself where he could get to you if he so pleased. he dances and flirts with a handful of ladies other than you, but each step seems a performance, deliberate and pointed. later, he privately comments on how predictable such events are, subtly relishing in your sulky expression and stiff responses.

⁃ jealousy becomes a tool after that, a sharpened blade wielded with precision, but only ever at you. he’s seen in the company of the most eligible ladies of the court, only to cast them aside with a cold indifference as you approach. "mere court games," he scoffs when you question it, but the message is clear, and the music, testing the lengths of your interest.

⁃ if your gaze lingers on another, noble or common-born, their fortune subtly wanes and they suddenly seem… less. aemond doesn't openly compete; still, pieces move, fall and retreat in a carefully woven net of doubts and second guesses, a whisper here, a look there, enough to make rivals for your affection run for cover without a word spoken against them.

⁃ more gifts arrive, still with no indication of their sender, but layered with meaning; a book on war strategy with passages underlined and notes in the margin, a brooch echoing both the targaryen and hightower sigil, as well as a sapphire necklace that you do not understand the connection of, yet – each gift a tangible tether to him. aemond does not react when he sees you with his gifts, except for looking vaguely pleased with himself, which is hardly out of the ordinary. however, his grandsire otto does a double-take as you pass him in the hall whilst wearing the sapphire one, and soon after queen alicent is personally inviting you to ladies luncheons and visits to the sept with her pious entourage, rarely accepting your attempts to decline.

⁃ suddenly, your opinions, your insights become valuable to aemond. "what would you do?" he asks at point blank, unexpectedly. he is not simply testing your loyalty or competence anymore, but also making you a co-conspirator in his plans, a shared counsel that blurs the line between advisor and confidante, drawing you deeper into his web.

⁃ there are also more guards being stationed in the spaces you regularly inhabit, silent sentinels who only seem to materialise with your presence. a guard, often enough a kingsguard, is seemingly always readily available to escort you to wherever you wish to go, whenever you wish to go. that in itself is a privilege few ladies are afforded, if not a confirmation that this newfound surveillance protection is aemond’s doing.

⁃ even if you pretend not to, you don’t miss the way select servants follow you from one of your duties to the next under the pretence of cleaning spotless floors. more concerning are the shadows and faint footsteps that you notice on occasion. a silent assertion of his presence in your life, protective yet possessive. it’s there in the corridors you walk, the gardens you frequent, a reminder of his reach, his interest, a silent witness to your virtue and a deterrent to your vices.

⁃ the isolation comes gradually. “they do not see you, not truly,” aemond whispers during a stolen moment, his surprisingly warm fingers grazing your cheek. these days, he casts doubt on the intentions of those around you, proudly and indiscriminately. it’s a not-so subtle tug away from the crowd, toward him, towards his house, towards the brewing civil war, and the frightening thing is, it works. he had spun a web, complex and suffocating, around you deftly, and you had not seen the delicate strands until it was too late; you find yourself seeking his company, his approval, even as you bristle at his methods.

⁃ so when he corners you under the cover of moonlight, asking, “what is it you want?” it feels like the culmination of a long, intricate dance. it’s a challenge, a confession, a turning point. his question isn’t just about desire; it’s about allegiance, about choosing sides in a game you never agreed to play. the gifts, the challenges, the protection, the whispers, the barbed words — all of it binds you to him in a way that’s impossible to ignore. and you realise, with a mix of dread and fascination, that you’re too entangled to simply walk away.

𝖉𝖗𝖆𝖌𝖔𝖓𝖘𝖙𝖔𝖓𝖊𝖗𝖘 © do not copy, repost or translate my works without my permission

thank you for reading – feedback and requests are welcome x

→ 𝖘𝖊𝖓𝖉 𝖆 𝖑𝖊𝖙𝖙𝖊𝖗 🕊️

#aemond targaryen #aemond targaryen x reader #aemond targaryen x you #hotd x reader #house of the dragon #aemond targaryen x f!reader #aemond targaryen x noble!reader

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jioohyo · 4 months ago

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The Forest's heartbeat slowed, it's pulses grew weak. Creations that once teemed with life was reduced to desolate, smoldering ruin.

Destruction of strays, families, a sister, was a stark reminder of the irreparable harm inflicted. A short moment was akin to a terrible eclipse, with an ominous orange aura spreading its hue, that seemed to burn from the very grounds of a blue-flute native land. In the aftermath, everyone and everything was left in ruins and no place left to call "home".

Death was surrounding them yet it was something subvent from the skies, to be elated then forgotten. They left her in a trance then a blood stained face, the fluid being her own heroine, who gave her all for just the naive soul. The faint cry of "Sister..." echoed through the air, a desperate attempt to shatter the trance and restore her to reality. Yet, her lime eyes remained still, her gaze transfixed into the Great Mother's skies, refusing to yield to the youth call.

Perhaps it was the little utuvom's fault, for she was so exceptionally perfect that it drew the attention of the deceitful, malevolent forces. The demons coveted her, seeking to kidnap and possess her, to extract a sample of her extraordinary soul and exploit its power.

But they would then abandon her, leaving her to bear the burden of their dark deeds, stripping her of life, happiness, and home. Her perfection had become a curse, attracting those who sought to destroy her very essence.

She was torn between feeling uniquely blessed and eerily cursed, as if her specialness had transformed her into a monster devouring her own kin. Though she yearned for answers to her unspoken questions, she seemed oblivious to the truth, her eyes wide shut. Yet, the unwavering promise of a blood sister remained her driving force, a bond that fueled her determination to press on against overwhelming adversaries, refusing to let her inner turmoil consume her.

"Divine by birth, you are the chosen of the Great Mother."

🛸 ▌𝐀𝐕𝐀𝐓𝐀𝐑: 𝐁𝐋𝐎𝐎𝐃 𝐒𝐈𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑, OC SERIES.

⸰ 𖥔 ͙ࣳ MĒING TE KXENG MA'EVE'ITE ❪𝟭𝟳❫, half-witted if herself is a blessing or a curse. after the tragic passing of her sister saeyla, mēing held onto the past and the blunder that made her soul void strongly for eleven years — fear, insecurity and guilt drowning her all those years. not until the return of stubborn skies came to destroy her motherland alongside her eyes now being wide open, mēing took an uproar and fight for her people, for saeyla, for her.

〻ㅤ━━━ㅤchapter one ✷ sister, my sister

〻ㅤ━━━ㅤchapter two ✷ the bless meets the curse

〻ㅤ━━━ㅤchapter three ✷ redamancy

〻ㅤ━━━ㅤchapter four ✷ fragile monster

〻ㅤ━━━ㅤchapter five ✷ bad idea

〻ㅤ━━━ㅤchapter six ✷ face reality, skxawng!

〻ㅤ━━━ㅤchapter seven ✷ blood sister

〻ㅤ━━━ㅤchapter eight ✷ pandora's gem

〻ㅤ━━━ㅤchapter nine ✷ hello future

𝐒𝐓𝐀𝐓𝐔𝐒: PROCESSING...

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ೃ؏࿔ AVATAR: BLOOD SISTER ₊

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⟆ ㅤ𝐃𝐈𝐒𝐂𝐋𝐀𝐈𝐌𝐄𝐑𝐒 • 𝐍𝐎𝐓𝐄𝐒 . . . ✷

៹ㅤ█ DiSCLAiMERS ! . . . This is pure fictional. I'm only writing for OC and entertainment purposes. Every Sunday equals a new chapter, only on Sundays. So starting next week, chapter one will be published!

I'm not a robot so please don't be shy to ask questions/talk to me about anything 💀 If it's disrespectful/uncomfortable/foolish to answer to me personally, I won't answer.

This is my layout and yes, I will credit others if I have to use inspiration yet these are my graphics I made myself, please do not steal. If you wanna use it, ask me! :D

៹ㅤ█ GENRES & WARNiNGS ! . . . It is science fiction as a whole because it's AVATAR. However it is a melodrama/tragedy based which means alot of angst, there will be fluff and goofy moments but other than that it's super graphic so if you're sensitive on kidnapping, depression, insecurities, murder, destruction, strong unnecessary hatred towards others, anxiety, etc. Please don't be afraid to leave and take care of yourself 💙

៹ㅤ█ JiOOHYO NOTE ! . . . This is my first series and I pretty much worked my ass off for it to be accurate as possible- This series mainly focuses on my original character "Meing." who basically started it all for the rest of my ocs that will be published soon! In conclusion, Mēing is the icon.

To wrap up, I cannot disregard my closest friend who has supported me throughout the whole days, weeks, months to get this series finally published, @fluorynn !!! (main acc: @etherynn). a sister atp ^_^ but thank you so much for breaking me out of my shell and (🦕) 💙 . . . SHE'S EVERYTHING! I love her 💙 Check out her recent post + her blog overall, a 10/10!

Furthermore, I really hope you all will enjoy this series like I said the main character is an OC but trust me... It will be mind-blowing 🙂 See you all on the upcoming Sunday!! 💙

#꧁ ❪ 𝐒𝐄𝐑𝐈𝐄𝐒 ❫ BLOOD SISTER.#avatar 2009 #avatar oc #avatar oc writing #fanfic #fanfiction #oc art #oc writing #avatar neytiri #avatar tsu'tey #tsu'tey x y/n #tsu'tey te rongloa ateyitan #tsu'tey x oc #neytiri #tsu'tey imagine #tsu'tey x omatikaya #tsu'tey x omatikaya!reader #tsu'tey x omatikaya!oc

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lil-toastie-boi · 5 months ago

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made this for reddit but decided to post it here

#to clarify #i did not raise virgil in the canon where we are exes #i hope thats self explanatory #but i gotta make sure ya know #fictionkin #fictkin #fictionkin community #fiction kin #kinning #janus sanders kin #deceit sanders kin #deceit kin #deceit sanders #janus kin #ts janus #janus x logan #janus x remus

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arclundarchivist · 6 months ago

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[Spoilers C3E99]

Thinking about who isn’t on Aeor right now.

We have Mercy and Death, Nature and Knowledge, Deceit and Destruction.

And while Etharis is notably absent, she isn’t alone. But why would the Goddess of Civilization come to witness the destruction of the last great sky city? Why would she play her hand? How could law personally create such chaos? So she sends a being… that seems to my eyes to be born of Elemental Chaos, and what *love* does it bring with it?

But there are others.

Kord is waiting in the wings. For the battle has yet to truly begin, but when it does he will be ready.

Yet Avandra. Bahamut. Moradin. Where are they?

Freedom and change doesn’t stand against Aeor’s tyranny yet, perhaps she sees the tyranny the gods themselves have wrote upon the world in their conflicts.

Justice and Honor are not here in Aeor. Does that mean he believes what they do is wrong?

And the Moonweaver? Why does the goddess of trickery not play her hand in this caper?

Moradin is a god of creation and craft, how could he take part in the dismemberment and what is more destruction of the last great edifice of the Arcanum?

And those Betrayers that ignored their kin to follow their own pursuits?

Bane *is* tyranny, is conquest. Is he too focused on forging his domain to care, or does the tyranny of Aeor empower him all the same even if they refuse to pay homage to any?

What of Tiamat? Does she simply stay away because her twin is also missing? Are they too embroiled in their own conflicts? Is there nothing for her to cover in this place? Did her envy consume her enough that she can only look upon her siblings in scorn?

And Zehir, the snake, the spy, the bloodletter, why would the god of murder not wish to wet his hands in the blood of a city so old and defiant? They wish to kill him. Does he respect that wish? Or is he simply eager to watch the pair he hates walk in *his* domain

There is so much a *want to know* but I’m not sure there will be answers.

#critical role #critical role spoilers #cr downfall #the changebringer #bahamut #moradin #cr bane #tiamat #zehir

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temporarily-your-saint · 6 months ago

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Dull Blades

sneak preview of a benjicot blackwood x targaryen oc fanfic ~

word count: 469

tropes: slow burn, angst, daddy issues (lots of family issues in general tbh), forbidden lovers, marriage pact,

warnings: none for this right now! later on it will most certainly have mature themes ~

Helpless. She felt utterly helpless. It was hard to feel anything else in that moment aside from one other: rage. Rhaelana’s amethyst eyes clouded over into a blank stare as an echo rang in her ears.

“Rhaelana?”

She looked up to where the voice was speaking from. Nodding slowly, she walked around her father to pass through her chambers, into the hallway, and then down the cold stone stairs.

It couldn’t be true. They wouldn’t risk that. No, Otto wouldn’t risk that. It’s absolute barmy.

The princess turned down another hallway, scurrying to find her queen mother.

“Mother?” she called out, her voice echoing back to her in the empty halls. “Mothe–“ but before she could finish, a voice interrupted behind her.

“She’s gone. Your mother left on Syrax,” Daemon answered quickly. His eyes bore into hers as she turned around, searching for her thoughts. He recognized those eyes for they were her mother’s. She held that same lost but intense gaze moments ago before coming to tell his daughter of the heartbreaking news.

His shoulders dropped as he took in her appearance. She may have taken after her mother in beauty but his daughter truly carried his rage.

“Well, we must do something, anything,” the princess’s face shifted from anger to desperation as she plead with the king consort.

“That’s not my call to make, Rhaelana. At least not yet. For now, we must wait,” Daemon’s words were firm yet she could tell that he too was frustrated, aching for action. For now, they were to stay put and obey their queen. Though, there were no orders as of yet. But it’s all they had to work with for the time being and Rhaelana hated it.

Her eyes swelled with tears at his words. How was she supposed to wait? Her mother was now gone and her sweet, baby brother slain by their own kin. Their deceitful, wicked kin. Preposterous.

How had it come to this?

Yes, there had been ongoing tension when the family came together while her grandfather, King Viserys, had been alive. But this? To kill a boy. A young, boy. A messenger! She knew her brother had not gone looking for a fight. Oh, how her uncles had stooped so low…

The back of her hand found her cheeks as she wiped the burning tears that began to fall from her eyes.

She took a step forward as a harsh whisper erupted from her throat while the princess spoke, “I will end Aemond. It will come one day that I am to face him and you will not stop me. Nor mother.”

With those final words, Rhaelana strode past Daemon and back to her chambers. Seconds later he heard the old wooden door of her room slam.

Certainly, my daughter, he thought to himself.

══ ══ ══ ══ ══ ══ ══ ══ ══ ══

Hi, hello! I’ve been cooking something up while watching the second season. MAAAJOORRR brainrot mode. What started out as a little one-shot blerb in my brain has taken over completely, soooo here’s a little teaser for it. The two parts of Dull Blades will be incorporated into the fic but will have little tweaks! I’m planning on posting Part 3 of it but then that will be it until the actual fic ~

Anyways, I have been having so much fun writing Rhaelana and Daemon’s complicated father-daughter relationship and couldn’t wait soooo here you go—a lil offering before the season finale and before I post Part 3 and then the actual fic. 🤲

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lopsicle · 15 days ago

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••The Only Time I Ever See Him••

AN: Surprise @fictitious-fluff , I’m getting a bit of deja vu here!! Apologies, I had to sub in since your original Squealing Santa had to drop out, so I’m sorry this is later than normal! The prompts you left behind were super cute and I hope you enjoy this fic!!

Characters: Lee! Hunter, Ler! Willow.

Summary: After hallucinating in the Noceda family bathroom, Hunter ends up in a bit of a panicking tiff. Luckily, Willow is there to help him.

Warnings: SFW tickle fic, hallucinations, hurt/comfort.

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He was there. Hunter had seen him, saw them actually, two people. Awoken by some branches scraping at the walls of the Noceda residence, Hunter was already on edge as he creaked his way upstairs to investigate the low, scratching noise. Every step he took felt like he was about to trod on a rattlesnake, the house felt like one big bear trap like this, alone and isolated in the cover of night. It reminded him of how he used to sneak out of the castle with Flapjack; he found it difficult to get out of the mindset that one wrong step, incorrect turn or loud noise would result in the loss of his best friend. Hunter took in a deep breath as he scoured through the house, occasionally lingering in the doorway of his friend’s bedrooms just to make sure they were okay. He considered checking on Miss Camila too, but something about bothering her rubbed him the wrong way, nerves clamming up as he reached towards her door handle.

He shook his head. He shouldn’t bother her. Though, his nerves were still jittery, like there was some monster under her skin waiting to burst out at any second. Water. He needed some water. Flicking on the light to the bathroom, Hunter immediately made his way over the sink, spinning the faucet until a geyser of cool water began spilling out. He wetted his hands before leaning down and splashing them against his face. Then, Hunter barely opened his eyes and looked in the mirror, as if to check that he was was still here. And that’s when he saw him. Them, in fact, two of them.

Belos came first, not the horrific monster that resembled something of a Lovecraft book, but the kind, gentle uncle he had once knew. The one with an injured streak of green magic scarring his face, and silver hair that had been aged with wisdom and a necessity to survive. Hunter barely recalled Belos talking about his injury, the one supposedly caused by wild magic, though Hunter had no way of deciphering truth and deceit from his mouth anymore.

“We are kin, Hunter, our scars are a permanent reminder of our failures. They’ll remind us to keep pushing forward, but also that we will always be united.”

What was once a comforting speech about how Hunter could always rely on his uncle now just served to remind him that his blood was running through his veins. If that even was how Grimwalkers worked, who knew what other vile things Belos had to do to make his body. The memory flashed through his mind like an icicle had crashed through his spine, just the thought of how willingly and stupidly he helped his uncle in the past was enough to send him stumbling away from Belos’ cold, sadistic gaze. His hand struck upwards to his face as his fingers involuntarily traced the scar on his chin, the fingerprint of Belos.

The next face was his own, the mask that had been sewn onto him since birth. A man who he never knew existed until just a month or so ago, yet had dictated his entire life. Caleb. He seemed tired, exhausted and if Hunter squinted, he could’ve sworn that Caleb looked disappointed in him. How could he not be? The last of the Grimwalkers, all of those people, all of those murdered and it all lead up to just him. Sure, Belos was dead but it wasn’t like Hunter believed that, that monster would find a way to cling to life for even a few more seconds no matter the depraved cost. He hadn’t won or defeated Belos, he was trapped in another world, although the human world somehow felt comfortable. Maybe he just didn’t have anything for him back in the Isles, except for Darius, or maybe it was the Caleb in him talking, happy to finally be back home.

Hunter yelped pathetically, barely finding his voice as he tucked his head to the side, staring away from the mirror. Clutching the sides of his hair while his torso shook and jittered slightly, Hunter took in deep breaths as well as he could, trying to copy it how Luz taught him. They were far from perfect but they calmed him down just enough to barely able to just barely open one of his eyes and look back in the mirror.

It was just him, a few feet away from the mirror from jumping back, hunched over with his hands on the sides of his head. Hunter grimaced, really missing that masked confidence right about now. He blinked a few times, making sure that it was really him and not Caleb. Satisfied that he was no longer seeing things, Hunter slowly rose back to his normal stature and got ready to le-

“Hunter?” A soft voice called from the doorway, though it felt like a shock to his heart. Hunter jumped back once more, startled like a deer, and turned to face where the voice had came from. There stood Willow, who was just rubbing her eyes groggily but had flinched back at Hunter’s reaction, a little stunned herself. A few moments passed in silence as Hunter felt like his tongue was stolen, not exactly sure what to say. Eventually though, Willow stepped into the room, a look of confused sympathy in her eyes.

“What are you doing up still? Are you alright?” She asked, her voice was quiet, not just to ensure that she wouldn’t wake the others.

“I could ask you the same thing,” Hunter decided, avoiding that last question. Willow didn’t seem to mind but she could feel more conceal bubble in her gut.

“I saw that my bedroom door was left open, and then I heard someone scream in here,” she explained, each of her words clear and slow. Hunter nodded in a grimace recollection.

“Oh, right, that was me-both of those things were..” he then turned his face away, finding the floor more interesting. Willow stepped forward with a soft smile, lightly leaning against the wall.

“It’s fine, don’t worry about it,” she then slid down the wall and repositioned herself to have her back pressed up against it, with her legs crossed. She patted the spot next to her and after a moment of thinking, Hunter steadily sat beside her, hugging her legs to his chest. He remained silent though, chin resting atop his knees as he stared idly forward, though Willow kept her attention on him.

“Did something happen?” She asked, easily slipping into the role of being a comforter. Hunter only managed a small hum of agreement to that question.

“Wanna talk about it?” Willow then followed up with, a light question, one which Hunter could easily back out of or lean into though. He choose the former though, just shaking his head. Willow felt her face soften, a strong sense of empathy running through her as she could only imagine what was going on with Hunter. Luckily, she knew a full proof fix to any emotional problem!

“Want a hug?” She offered, opening her arms just a little as she scooted a little to face him. It took a Hunter a moment of consideration, fear filling him like bile until he delicately allows himself to be taken into Willow’s arms. His arms found themselves clinging to the back of her neck, while hers secured his lower back. Hunter’s body was mostly draped over Willow’s warm legs, her whole body was warm actually, like a blanket on a winter day. Hunter breathed in, finally remembering what Luz told him, in for four seconds, out for four seconds and repeat. Willow took note of what he was doing and copied him, not wanting him to do it alone.

“Thanks, captain,” Hunter mumbled quietly once he was finally level headed again. Willow’s smile appeared a little brighter as Hunter looked up to stare at her. She began rubbing circles onto his back, and Hunter immediately returned the smile.

“Don’t thank me yet, you know, there is a price to these hugs,” Willow grinned, something sly appear in her eyes, the same look she’d house whenever she was scheming with Gus. Hunter’s brow furrowed in confusion, though he enjoyed the more playful tone the conversation was now shifting towards.

“Oh, and what would that be?” He asked, trying his best to play into whatever game Willow was playing right now. Suddenly, her grip on him tightened, practically scooping him closer to her from her hold on his back. Hunter squeaked as he stumbled over, ending up sitting on Willow’s lap, hands still messily clinging to her neck.

“Your laughter!” Willow exclaimed before her fingers greedily shot into Hunter’s sides, scraping about against his torso through the fragile fabric of his shirt. Hunter’s grip onto Willow immediately tightened, it probably wasn’t the best idea to cling onto the person tickling him, but something about it felt natural, like the right thing to do. Eyes widening, small laughter began to crackle out of his mouth, it came out in a disjointed manner, as if this was the first time he had ever laughed.

“Pffha-Wi-Wihihillow!!” He squeaked out, rooting his feet into the floor as his body became more rigid, doing her best not to make a fool of himself by squirming around. Willow grinned, spidering and skittering her nails across the lengths of his tummy, jabbing her nails into the pudgy skin every now and then.

“Aww, that is the cutest laughter I’ve ever heard!” Willow teased him, though she felt a bit of a blush form on her face, she was just glad Hunter didn’t notice as his entire face reddened at the praise, even getting a bit louder because of that.

“Aha-hahaha, I-I dohohohn’t-!!” Hunter couldn’t even got a full sentence out before squealing, his legs bucking as their placement became more wobbly. He fell forward, leaning against Willow with his cheek pressed against her chest. Seizing the opportunity, Willow reached both of her hands over to Hunter’s exposed right side before squeezing them playfully, prompting a few yelps from Hunter as he flailed about against her.

“Careful, Hunter,” Willow spoke in a chastising tone, “you don’t wanna wake up anyone else by being too loud, do you?” Somehow, Hunter’s face felt even more hot as he his heart thumped out of his chest. Taking her advice, he buried his face in her shoulder, trying to stifle all his squeals and laughter. Willow then crawled her fingers down to his hips, lightly tapping and pinching against them, causing Hunter to buck about in her arms.

“Thihihis is-cruhuhuel!” Hunter called out playfully, jerking about from side to side at the touch of Willow’s hands. The poor boy couldn’t even show his scarlet face, all he could really do was keep on laughing away in Willow’s arms. Willow just stared down at him adoringly, watching Hunter just melt away into giggles as he clung onto her. She began pressing her thumbs into his hips with more force, squishing her fingers down against her body, earning a few loud shrieks and cackles into her shoulder.

“Oh come on, you know you love it!” Willow smirked down at him, to which Hunter was only, barely able to meet her gaze, losing the will to speak. His eyes appeared weakly opened, sparkling with joy normally only seen in childhood, as if all of his problems were forced out with his laughter. Hunter could barely keep a hold on Willow, though he wasn’t squirming that much now, half because he didn’t want to get away and half because the poor boy was just too tired for it. As much as Willow adored this side of Hunter, one of the rare, fleeting moments that he wasn’t troubled by a need to survive, she could also recognise just how winded he was getting already. Rasping and gasping for breath, going red in the face, laying against her like a rock ready to sink down in a river, that was all it took for Willow’s fingers to begin lightening their assault, delivering a few more pinches to his sides to keep him all giggly.

Willow held Hunter as he remained in her arms, lightly rocking with each deep inhale he took. When his face returned to a lighter shade, he managed to face Willow, a little unsure of himself. Willow noticed and figured to lead.

“You feeling okay? Want some water?” She offered, to which he shook his head, already feeling more than satisfied.

“No-no, it’s okay-thanks Captain…for all of that,” Hunter added that last bit in an embarrassed mumble, barely able to believe the words that were coming out of his mouth. Willow just giggled adoringly at his behaviour.

“You wanna go back to bed?” Willow prompted him, but surprisingly, his grip on her didn’t loosen. He shook his head against her shoulder.

“Actually…would you mind if we-stayed like this..for a bit?” Hunter asked, though his tone wasn’t dripping with sadness, Willow had done a thorough job at tickling that out of him. He sounded more…comfortable, a similar feeling as to earning the trust of a stray cat. Willow’s smile remained bright on her first as she kept a tight hold on Hunter, like a teddy.

“Of course we can.”

#sfw tickling community #tickle fic #tickle content #sfw tickle #squealing santa #squealing santa 2k24 #the owl house tickle #toh tickle #lee hunter #ler willow #ticklish hunter

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atimefordragons · 1 month ago

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CINEMATIC PARALLELS: THE EVANURIS & THE VALAR ↳ FEN'HAREL & MAIRON

The legend says that before the fall of Arlathan, the gods we know and revere fought an endless war with others of their kind. There is not a hahren among us who remembers these others: Only in dreams do we hear whispered the names of Geldauran and Daern'thal and Anaris, for they are the Forgotten Ones, the gods of terror and malice, spite and pestilence. In ancient times, only Fen'Harel could walk without fear among both our gods and the Forgotten Ones, for although he is kin to the gods of the People, the Forgotten Ones knew of his cunning ways, and saw him as one of their own. — CODEX ENTRY: FEN'HAREL: THE DREAD WOLF

With the Valar came other spirits whose being also began before the World, of the same order as the Valar but of less degree. These are the Maiar, the people of the Valar, and their servants and helpers. Their number is not known to the Elves, and few have names in any of the tongues of the Children of Ilúvatar; for though it is otherwise in Aman, in Middle-earth the Maiar have seldom appeared in form visible to Elves and Men. — VALAQUENTA: OF THE MAIAR

I pulled you from the Fade you loved and sent you into war. I used your wisdom as a weapon… and it broke you. [The things that I have done…] Are not for you alone to bear, my friend. The many wrongs we did, we did together. I release you from my service. — MYTHAL, THE DREAD WOLF RISES

And there is Sauron. In the Silmarillion and Tales of the First Age Sauron was a being of Valinor perverted to the service of the Enemy and becoming his chief captain and servant. He repents in fear when the First Enemy is utterly defeated, but in the end does not do as was commanded, return to the judgement of the gods. He lingers in Middle-earth. Very slowly, beginning with fair motives: the reorganising and rehabilitation of the ruin of Middle-earth, ‘neglected by the gods’, he becomes a re-incarnation of Evil, and a thing lusting for Complete Power – and so consumed ever more fiercely with hate (especially of gods and Elves). — FROM A LETTER BY J.R.R. TOLKIEN TO MILTON WALDMAN, 1951

Among those of his servants that have names the greatest was that spirit whom the Eldar called Sauron, or Gorthaur the Cruel. In his beginning he was of the Maiar of Aulë, and he remained mighty in the lore of that people. In all the deeds of Melkor the Morgoth upon Arda, in his vast works and in the deceits of his cunning, Sauron had a part, and was only less evil than his master in that for long he served another and not himself. But in after years he rose like a shadow of Morgoth and a ghost of his malice, and walked behind him on the same ruinous path down into the Void. — VALAQUENTA: OF THE ENEMIES

And that is how Fen'Harel tricked them. Our gods saw him as a brother, and they trusted him when he said that they must keep to the heavens while he arranged a truce. And the Forgotten Ones trusted him also when he said he would arrange for the defeat of our gods, if only the Forgotten Ones would return to the abyss for a time. They trusted Fen'Harel, and they were all of them betrayed. And Fen'Harel sealed them away so they could never again walk among the People. — CODEX ENTRY: FEN'HAREL: THE DREAD WOLF

It began with the forging of the Great Rings. Three were given to the Elves, immortal, wisest and fairest of all beings. Seven to the Dwarf-Lords, great miners and craftsmen of the mountain halls. And nine, nine rings were gifted to the race of Men, who above all else desire power. For within these rings was bound the strength and the will to govern each race. But they were all of them deceived, for another ring was made. Deep in the land of Mordor, in the Fires of Mount Doom, the Dark Lord Sauron forged a master ring, and into this ring he poured his cruelty, his malice and his will to dominate all life. One ring to rule them all. — GALADRIEL, THE LORD OF THE RINGS: THE FELLOWSHIP OF THE RING, 2001

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