#i do own that blue crown hat though

[sabertoothwalrus]

drawing outfits I wished existed but don't have the sewing skills for and aren't cuts I'd wear anyway

[one-idea]

I love a Roger/Rouge lives to raise Ace or a Shanks takes Luffy with him one-shot as much as anyone.

But the main problem I always have is that the ASL brothers would never meet in these circumstances. So my brain (being the mess that it is) has tired to find a solution.

What if Rodger never got sick or at least it was not as deadly as it was. Still chronic but not a death sentence. He lives and Rouge has Ace (she gets pregnant a little later then in cannon so that she doesn’t have the crazy long pregnancy but Ace is still the same age).

To keep his family safe they travel with him on the Oro Jackson. They stay to relatively calm waters that the marines can’t easily get to. Some of the crew also leave to make their own crews. This gives the marines something else to chase.

Shanks is one of the ones to set out on his own. He leaves when he’s around 17 right around the time Ace is born. It’s the push he needs to set out. He wants to distract the marines as much as possible from Roger’s family. (Buggy did the same thing. They decided to split up to cause more mayhem)

Ten years go by. Shanks visits Roger when he can but for the most part he’s making a name for himself. And he’s doing a good job at it. So good he has to lay low for a while. So he decides to go to the East Blue for a bit. Get away from the Grandline while also hiding somewhere different than Roger. (That way if the marines find him they won’t also find Roger)

It’s here that he meets a 7 year old Luffy. And it plays out much the same as cannon. He adores this little ball of sunshine. This is his boy. He doesn’t care who the boy’s blood father is this, is his boy. So he gives him his hat, has Luffy promise to return it when he’s a great pirate someday. But he leaves out the part about that being the next time they see each other because he wants to see his boy again.

When Shanks returns to the Grandline he seeks out Roger to tell him about their new family member. And Roger hears about this boy who is sunshine incarnate, who dreams to be the freest person alive, who wants to dethrone him as pirate king and goes, “I can’t not meet him.” And there’s no way he’s waiting till the kids on the sea. (Plus Ace needs some friends. Shanks and Buggy had each other, Ace has no one his own age and Rouge is starting to worry for their son.)

So they set out for the sleep island in the East Blue.

Meanwhile Grap has moved Luffy to Dadan’s care. While Luffy is out wondering around he bumps into a blond haired boy named Sabo. It takes a while but Sabo starts to warm up to the 7 year old that’s following him like a shadow.

Just in time for a new kid to wander his way into their jungle. Oro Jackson has Docked and Roger has been (discreetly) looking around for this Luffy while the crew restocks. Ace has already made his way into the jungle because even though he was raised by his parents, he’s still feral. (He was raised on a pirate ship go figure) the three boys bump into each other and through some shenanigans Ace and Sabo start to get along.

It doesn’t take long for Sabo and Luffy to figure out who Ace’s dad is. You know since they actually get to meet them.

The Bluejam pirates still happen.

Maybe Ace doesn’t like Luffy at first. He’s a little kid and is annoying in the way all older kids find younger kids that just want to follow them around annoying. But it’s more than that, because Shanks has claimed Luffy. Shanks, who Ace grew up around and looks up to, came back to the ship and didn’t want to talk about anything except for this ‘amazing’ kid. This kid who his uncle/older brother gave up his arm to save. This kid who is so ‘special’ his dad just had to come and meet him. This kid who has his dad wrapped around his finger in under a day. This kid, who is wearing his Dad’s old hat like a crown and talking about dethroning his dad like it’s his right. This little crybaby who’s not even that special. He can’t even swim!

Even Sabo has a soft spot for the kid, Sabo who is now Ace’s first friend, but he obviously likes Ace better because Luffy is such a crybaby.

But then the Bluejam pirates show up and they heard that the king of the pirates is here with his son. His son he would do anything for. Wouldn’t it be nice to get the bounty for the king of the pirates? If they have his son they can probably force the man into handing himself over. They wouldn’t even have to fight him!

They set out to capture Ace. They see him hanging around Sabo and Luffy. When they attack Ace and Sabo get away but Luffy gets caught. He gets tortured as they ask him to give up the location of the Roger Pirates so that they can capture Ace and by extension Roger. But Luffy won’t tell them anything.

Roger comes to save him. The whole crew comes along with Ace and Sabo. After this the three boys are inseparable. Ace steals some of the crew’s sake and the three swear to become brothers.

While the three boys are doing this. Roger sent some men to find the rest of the Bluejam’s crew and find out about their plan to burn Grey Terminal and how they were hired by Sabo’s father. And that settles it for him. If there was any doubt in Roger’s mind that he was taking Sabo with them when they left this island it was gone now. He thought the boy was oddly dressed for a homeless boy, finding out he was a noble explained a lot. He’s not leaving the boy in this situation. Mainly because Ace finally has a friend/brother. Finding out that adopting the boy would make a noble lose their mind was a bonus!

But what about Luffy? He knows Shanks thinks of the boy as a son. He’s know he is Ace and Sabo’s brother, and they haven’t left his side since the kidnapping. Rodger has no clue who the boy’s family is. At this point Luffy has only introduced himself as Luffy. He lives with the bandits but they are not his family. So it’s seems like he’s got no one truly taking care of him. Honestly Roger is shocked Shanks didn’t just take Luffy with him when he left.

So Roger leaves the island. Stealing one noble son. And taking what he believes to be one free child with him. (There are no parents around to claim him? It’s free real estate) they sail away right as a navy ship is approaching. And Roger would recognize that ship anywhere. It’s Garp! What is Garp doing here? Was Roger that careless with his location. The Oro Jackson hasn’t had a true Marine encounter in years (Rouge is just that good at navigating them under the radar)

Garp sees them, of course he does. Roger sees Garp grab a den den mushi, one that projects his voice across the open sea between them. Roger is expecting his regular speech about how Garp is going to catch them, about how they should surrender, really any of their normal banter.

What he is not expecting is the very loud, very panicked, very angry “give me back my grandson!”

Roger and the crew slowly turn to face the three boys. It’s not Ace. Roger would know if he or Rouge were related to Garp but he still checks Ace off the list.

It can’t be Sabo. Roger can’t imagine a reality where Garp lets his child marry a noble. Plus the kid looks nothing like him.

That leaves Luffy.

“Luffy, what was your name again?” Rouge asked ever patient

“Monkey D. Luffy!” The boy says with confidence. It’s the first time the crew has heard the surname. Well, at least that confirms somethings.

After confirming that yep this is Garp’s grandson. Who he is apparently trying to train to be a marine? Who he’s apparently hit with haki infused punches. (Roger’s been hit with those. They hurt.) Roger grabs their own den den mushi and just calls out “finder keepers.” And they sail away to cannon fire and cursing.

Anyhow the three brothers grow up together on the Grandline. Shanks visits when he can and calls once a week at least if not daily to check in on Luffy and the boys.

Whitebeard definitely crosses paths with Rogers at some point and tries to adopt the boys from him. Rogers would fight him if Rouge wasn’t already fighting Whitebeard over her babies. In the end he becomes the fun uncle. Ace adores him. This is Roger’s worst nightmare! (It’s not. There are way worse things that could happen than his son liking his rival. But Roger loves to be dramatic)

When it’s time to make their own crews Ace and Luffy both decide to start from the East Blue. Getting dropped off by the Roger pirates.

At some point Sabo found out about the revolutionary army and decided that he wanted to join rather than be a pirate. He has his family’s full support (as long as he calls once a week. If he doesn’t they will find him) When he meets his boss for the first time he almost loses his mind and immediately calls Roger’s with a “I think I just met Luffy’s dad!” To which he gets the hilariously confused response of, “You’ve known Shanks since you were ten. What do you mean you just met Luffy’s dad?”

[jennymaridowe]

FINALLY A PLACE WHERE I CAN EXPLAIN THESE PIECES >:DDDD Alright Buckle Up. This isn't finished btw I still have A Gingi piece to do before this stained glass series is wrapped up.

Callum Crown stands in light, He is looking at us from the left. Looking to the left is something one does when remembering or recalling but also in lying. We (the viewer) are situated below him. Looking slightly upwards. Dog once told me that the golden light coming in through the windows reminds him of the Judgement hall in Undertale. Exalted by light which is much brighter than the other pictures, Crown shines.

Mingus however, is barely lit by her window. Facing towards it and away from us. Her body language, closed off, somber perhaps a little reflective. Mingus is living in the perceived shadow of her pawpaw. She wants to shine, but can't figure out how in her own way.

I cant tell you how long I searched for the exact make and model of Hobos head!! It took me months to track it down to an Emerson 11P50 or one in the same series... anyway.... He's lit from behind. Casting a shadow on us. We are also slightly beneath him even though he's slouching. Someone once told me he looked like a wet dog which made me chuckle. His arms are at his side. He really looks like he's not too happy to be here. As if he doesn't want to be illuminated, or to be in the spotlight. The light in this piece is bright but still not as bright as Crown.

Normal man erm.. I mean Norm Allen is probably the darkest of the series. He's Illuminated in blue. Looking to the right. Like Mingus his body language is closed off, but Norm is taking an aggressive defensive stance. Reaching to pull his hat down with a slightly worried annoyed facial expression. He is faces to the Right, Mirroring Crown almost.

The final art will be Gingi. I sort of Imagine them in one large room in a left to right order in my mind with Mingus on the far left and Norm on the farthest right with Crown next to Mingus and Hobo Next to Norm with Gingi in the middle. Something like this

Also something I noticed after I finished Hobos art is that the Red light looks Pink which makes me heeheehaha

[golvio]

Since Echoes of Wisdom is a top-down Zelda game, I’m not expecting the game’s story to be super complex or involved, but I’ll admit I am curious about certain characters & implied background events.

In particular, I’m curious about who these three unique NPCs from the Gerudo Desert region are:

The woman with the golden trident is most likely the current Chief, given that I’ve seen screenshots of her standing up from a throne holding the trident aloft are circulating around. But who are those other two people?

I suspect the woman in white might be the chief’s sister, since her hair resembles the chief’s hair and the gemstones she’s wearing are the same color as the Chief’s. Also, Nintendo would not have the gonads to put an official confirmed lesbian couple in their kid-friendly game no matter how G-rated “This lady’s the queen and her wife is also the queen” is as a concept. However, the woman in white also seems to be a person of importance to the Gerudo given that the guards are answering to her. There was mention of an “Ancestral Cave” elsewhere in the trailer. Could she maybe be a high priestess or keeper of some sort of sacred site of worship or burial who acts as a spiritual leader to the community?

As for the figure in blue with the gloves and the hat—they’re definitely also Gerudo, but they’re dressed in a very unusual way that sets them apart. My first guess was that this was an older woman, maybe the chief’s mother, who’s acting as an advisor given that they were standing next to the throne in the aforementioned screenshot. However, they don’t look that old, given that we’ve seen old people with wrinkles in Zelda’s court in the form of Imoa and her brother, so I have another guess.

This person might actually be a boy, the current Gerudo prince, who’s either too young to take an active part in political life, or is maybe the younger brother or spouse of the chief who’s relegated to acting in a more supportive role because of his age and gender. Their style of dress is much more formal and masculine, being somewhere between the draped turban and robes you’d expect Indian royalty to wear and the iconic blue and gold khepresh crown that some Egyptian pharaohs wore.

It’d be really interesting to get some insight into Gerudo politics, particularly if a prince who isn’t Ganondorf is involved! Also, partly because it’d give us some insight into what “went wrong” with this particular version of Ganon if we have a baseline about what the role of prince in Gerudo culture is normally supposed to be like.

Speaking of Ganon, assuming he himself isn’t just an “echo” sent by some greater force, it looks like he himself might’ve been actively looking into whatever force Tri was connected to based on how the tablet behind Zelda in the room where she was being imprisoned resembled the waypoints Tri can use to warp you around.

Given that the Rifts seem to be “stealing” land tiles and making phantom echoes of monsters, and that the rift opening ability is tied to Ganon’s own “wand” that he uses to cast spells, could he have his own little helper buddy who’s given him the power to play Sim City in his own little pocket dimension? Is Ganon’s motive like the angry guy from the popup window in Sim City 2000, where he’s picking up his toys and starting a new Hyrule in the Dark World because Zelda’s dad cut back on transit funding for that year’s budget?

Seriously, though, it’d be really cool if Ganon functioned as a “dark mirror” to Zelda during what will presumably be his actual final boss fight. (Come on, do you really think he’d be fine with playing second fiddle to a new antagonist if he had even the tiniest glimmer of his original personality left instead of being a soulless shell like in ALBW? He’s absolutely gonna be the final boss.)

[thewisaaaaad]

HEY I JUST HAD AN IDEA!

since I cannot find the motivation or drive to DRAW my ref sheet, I can just describe them in minute detail!

SO Hypnos. this will be split into 4 ish parts because there are 4 major states to them!

Pre life, they are a ghostly sheep with pure white wool but black fur (the short hair beneath the wool, around the face and arms.). They have two short horns, the left one broken halfway up, and Their eyes are pure white. They wear the fleece of the crusader, and have the classic bell, with light brown pants that are held up with a cord belt. they are not affected by gravity, and cannot touch anything (exept in ONE specific circumstance.). they are unaffected by the red moon.

After being forced into a body, they look much the same color-wise, except that now their wool is perpetually dirty. Their left horn remains broken. Their eyes now have pupils, but are mismatched due to the right one being replaced with Leshies eye. that eye also has no eyelid, as Shamura didn't bother. (a worms eye doesn't need an eyelid because it has a protective membrane, but Hypnos now needs to rub at their eye sometimes.) Their ears are now blue, in tatters, and constantly wet due to belonging to a certain squid (the ears can no longer wriggle to express emotion, and it hurts when they feel happy.). They do not speak in their own voice, due to having Hekets throat, but they undergo voice training to try to sound like themselves again. they still croak sometimes. The biggest change, however, is their head shape. No longer shaped like a wedge, like it once was, it is now rounded, with skin having been clumsily removed from their face so that it matched the new curvature. Having Shamuras skull means that they now have a vestigial nose, as spiders do not have one, as well as divots behind their eyes where extra eyes could fit. they also have fangs. They wear the red crown, but its eye does not open, and forms no weapons for them as it tries to maintain their body. they are constantly on the verge of falling apart, Held together by purple thread in messy stiches. their stability (and stitches) greatly improve after Kalamar's care. They wear a heavy iron collar sealed with a golden diamond shaped lock, only open-able by the god of war. their cloak is a tattered, worn version they wore while incorporeal. It is infused with the same magic that binds Hypnos to the world of the living, pulling fervor out of the air and giving the lamb a means to fight. Their magic, shaped by their torment, comes in the form of lightning.

After their rebirth through the cream crown, their stitched together wounds finally heal, though the relics remain embedded in their flesh. The purple thread is gone, leaving only scars. Their wool seems cleaner, and their eyes shine brighter. They no longer wear the red crown, and instead wear the cream crown: a crown with a sideways cream colored eye (and i do mean sideways, even the pupil), the crown itself the shape of a miter hat (a bishops hat, the one that followers use at refineries). Their ruined cloak has transformed into a beautiful wool one that resembles a sunset or perhaps a sunrise on a clear day, retaining some of the powers of its previous form but now works a little differently (if they stand still and 'take a rest', their fervor charges really fast). The shackle on their neck has loosened, not quite free yet, and the lock was warped by the surge of power from an awakening god into a softer shape, resembling a cloud now.

After they have achieved redemption, they have grown into a full god. The relics are truly part of them now, and they have accepted this body as their own. Leshies eye has grown an eyelid made of moss, Kalamars ears now properly wiggle, Hekets voice is full of power, and now flowers sprout from the wool on Hypnos's head. They are much taller now, and their intact horn has grown into a rams horn, while their broken horn has spiraled upward, still broken halfway up. They now wear a cloak embroidered with the patterns of the old faith, but it is dyed to resemble the sun on the horison, with stars still twinkling above. Their wool is now lightly cream tinted at the edges, looking like a soft cloud.

They no longer wear the lock.

[nyarlathotep-thecrawlingchaos]

Two chapters in less than twenty-four hours. I literally haven't done this in a decade. Send help. Wheezing. May have thrown my back out. In need of life support.

Anyways here we gooooooo

Hearing Problems

LA!Mihawk x AFAB!OC

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Chapter 2: A Battle of Wits

Tags: Slow-burn, Enemies to Lovers, eventually NSFW, uh, if I think of more I'll add them or something

Trigger Warnings: None for this chapter

Wordcount: 2.2k

Summary:

After having her sloop sunk by the Buggy Pirates and losing most of her worldly possessions in the process, the normally solitary mercenary Karimi Lionne finds herself teaming up with the rag-tag little crew that is the Strawhat Pirates to defeat them. She bonds with them far more quickly than she bargained for, and that quickly turns into a problem for the Kiku Kiku no Mi devil fruit user when she learns of Nami's plans to leave them high and dry, and Zoro issues a challenge at Baratie that he very likely won't live long enough to regret.

Karimi did her best to steel her resolve despite the blood rushing in her ears as she lay there.

Lay there on the docks outside the seafaring restaurant, her strength zapped by the salt water, completely defenseless as Dracule Mihawk towered over her, his arms crossed, observing her with an unreadable expression and indecipherable tone to his question that still echoed in her ears.

Devil fruit, then, is it?

It wasn't too big of a surpise that he had figured it out that quickly. No, the surprise was his very presence there on the docks. That he had bothered to seek her out and ask her.

She finally expelled the breath trapped within her lungs in a slow sigh, closing her eyes again, feigning an aloof facade as well as she could.

"No idea what you're referring to," she said, as levelly as she could. She could hear a slight edge in her tone, but that was fine. That was to be expected. At least she had found the will to speak.

"There's really no use playing coy, dear. Though I am curious..." he said slowly, "what might lead a devil fruit user to intentionally dampen their own power."

"I don't think that's really any of your business," she said, mimicking his drawling lilt. "I am trying to drink myself into a stupor before morning and your presence is not helping the endeavor. So, if you would..." She lifted a hand and made a shooing motion. "Kindly fuck off."

Mihawk quirked an eyebrow, wondering whether every member of the strawhat's crew were insolent fools. Roronoa Zoro's challenge had been one thing—now this girl, this child, was mocking him to his face, attempting to shoo him off like a stray dog begging for scraps.

For a moment, he was completely speechless, feeling oddly as if he had taken a brief step out of reality.

Then he stepped slowly forward, stopping a few inches behind the crown of her tattered brown hat, and crouched down, casting a shadow across her much smaller form.

"You know who I am." It wasn't a question—apart from her abilities, which she still had yet to confirm or deny, he had seen the flicker of recognition in her eyes back on the deck of the restaurant. "Do you have a death wish, little one?"

She cracked open her eyes, meeting his gaze.

"If I say yes will you make it quick and painless?" Then she rolled them and shut them again. "Forgive me if I don't have much respect for glorified political puppets."

She was either too brave for her own good, out of her mind, or legitimately suicidal—and yet there was something intriguing about her complete lack of concern for the fact that he could easily push her right off the edge of the dock with the heel of his boot and watch her devil fruit abilities sink her like a brick to the bottom of the East Blue. There was a clear edge to her voice that told him she was well aware of that fact, and yet she carried on with her contemptuous sarcasm as if she didn't have a care in the world.

It was almost entertaining—a game of wit and intimidation that no one had played so readily or boldly against the warlord in years. He lowered a hand a flicked a few strands of her dark green hair away from her forehead, noting how she briefly tensed at his touch, very briefly; how her breath caught in her throat for a fleeting moment before returning to normal.

"You are in a rather...precarious position," he said lightly, "to be behaving with such impudence, little bird." She shivered when his knuckles brushed lightly down her neck. "As I said, I'm merely curious about the ability you demonstrated earlier. I can't say I'm particularly accustomed to having my mind invaded."

He watched her grit her teeth and abruptly sit up straight on the dock, swiping up the unmarked wine bottle sitting next to her and taking a swig.

"Oh, avast, sir!" she said in a particularly dramatic tone, "—and allow me a moment to wave a sad goodbye to the last fuck I had left to give as it drifts away on yonder tides."

His eyebrows furrowed as she lifted a hand and waved out at the vast expanse of the darkened sea. "Also." She tilted her head back, her eyes locking onto his.

"Call me little bird again and I will find where you sleep, cut off your balls, and feed them to you."

And with her threat hanging in the air between them, her voice slightly slurred, she tilted the bottle back again and took a couple large gulps. His eyes shifted briefly to the pair of daggers hanging at either side of her belt, passing over their ornate, slightly yellowed ivory handles, either antiques or impressive replicas.

Oh, but this was growing more entertaining by the second. Half-drunk and spouting off honest to god threats now—he honestly wasn't sure what to do with her. Mihawk straightened back out, circling slowly around the green-haired enigma, like a predator sizing up his prey.

"If you answer my questions, I will leave you be to drink yourself into an early grave, little bird." He watched as she heaved a sigh, rolling her eyes and glaring out toward the horizon, lit dimly by the crescent moon hanging in the sky overhead.

"Counter-offer," she said flatly.

Everyone else aboard the Going Merry seemed have completely lost every iota of intelligence they might have once possessed—Karimi figured she might as well join the questionable decisions club.

"Let the idiot swordsman live, and I'll work for you. Free of charge. For a year."

For a moment he was silent. She could feel the weight of his gaze on her, his eyes scanning over her as she sat there at the docks with her feet in the water, her head swimming more and more with every gulp of wine she downed and her face flushed beneath her freckles from the alcohol. Weighing her offer.

"And what would I want with a little bird flitting around after me for an entire year?"

The smug amusement was perfectly clear in his tone, and Karimi had expected it. Standing at five foot two, weighing in at perhaps eight or nine stone soaking wet, the twenty-four year old knew she didn't come across as much of a threat—but she shared the same stature with her grandmother, who had racked up a bounty of over two billion Berries in her heyday.

"Six years experience in covert mercenary work," she said, holding up one finger. She held up another. "An underling to send off on World Government errands that aren't worth your time." She held up a third finger, picking her head up and rolling her eyes up to meet his. It was fairly clear that he wasn't going to kill her on the spot—between that knowledge, the buzz from the cheap wine and expensive rum she had consumed earlier, and her utter exhaustion and present physical weakness from prolonged contact with ocean water, she was quickly growing less concerned. "I can literally hear the thoughts of everyone within a fifty foot radius at all times. Well..." She gestured toward her feet in the water, lifting her wine. "Not now, but usually."

She took a swig, set the bottle down, and laid back on the cool, damp wood of the dock again, closing her eyes and tucking a hand behind her neck.

"Play with your swords all you want, there's no weapon more dangerous than information."

"You're rather quick to leave your crew behind," he said said slowly. "That speaks very little to any loyalty you could offer."

"We're not even really a crew," she sighed. Karimi raised a hand to her face, rubbing at her eyes and shaking her head. "Zoro would tell you that just as quickly as Luffy would tell you that he's his first mate. So would Nami, but she'll be gone just after sunrise if she has any say. That's going to be enough of a blow. But Zoro *dies*, that's going to shatter Luffy." Another swig of wine, another sigh. "Poor kid's got rocks for brains but he's got a good heart. Just wants the whole world to drop everything and follow their dreams."

"An idealistic idiot and a suicidal swordsman."

Karimi gave a snort of laughter—that hit the nail on the head. "And a pathological liar that can't even tell himself the truth, and a girl so desperate to save her home that she distances herself and steals from the only people who have shown her genuine compassion in over a decade."

"It sounds like they're already falling apart from within." Karimi shrugged a shoulder. "So why, then," he said, clear skepticism dawning in his tone, "would a Marine Vice Admiral call me out here to take care of it?"

A Marine Vice Admiral.

Karimi didn't even bother trying to contain her smirk—even with her devil fruit abilities supressed, she knew exactly what that meant. She knew it alone from the attack that Garp had led on the Going Merry, and didn't even bother opening her eyes as she responded in a mocking tone.

"Well, I except Garp the Fist didn't want to see his grandbaby grow up to be a filthy pirate." No—she did crack one eye, to watch the subtle shift in the pirate warlord's expression. The slow lowering of his brows. The miniscule twitch in a muscle between the corner of his lips and his nose.

Registering that he had been sent out of his way to deal with a petty family dispute.

"My offer stands." She lifted her bottle as if in toast. "You let Roronoa Zoro live, you'll have one year free from dealing with this sort of bullshit, courtesy of yours truly."

Agreeing to her offer felt like it would be an admission of defeat. Whether the battle was one of blades or wits, it was rare—if ever—that Mihawk conceded defeat. The entertainment, the fun of this exchange had drained the moment she laid her claim that Garp was using him as a mediator to capture and deliver his grandson to him.

Once more he crouched down, at the girl's side this time, his eyes glued to hers.

"And for what reason should I believe you?" he said quietly, searching her eyes for any sign of deceit, of treachery.

Yet all he found in their emerald green depths was amusement. That paired with the noncommittal shrug of her shoulders served only to infuriate him more.

"You have no reason to believe me," she said, her tone just as smug as her smirk. "But I wouldn't want to work for anyone that would trust the word of a Marine over a fellow pirate, anyway."

Her eyes slipped shut again, as if the deal was already done, in a manner that suggested it was already set in stone.

In a way that made his blood boil.

The girl drew in a sharp breath when his hand wrapped around her chin, her eyes snapping open to meet his gaze as the pads of his fingers pressed into her wine-flushed cheeks, her breath catching for more than just a brief moment this time. She didn't breathe at all as he leaned down, his face barely an inch from hers, her eyes wide as saucers.

So she did fear death. That was something.

"I will consider your offer, little bird," he said lightly.

Karimi swallowed, watching his eyes flicker away from hers for a moment, toward her slightly parted lips.

"And you will have your answer after my duel with your swordsman friend."

He loosened his grip the slightest bit.

Shifted his hand, his thumb brushing across her bottom lip.

"Whether it be in the form of his continued heartbeat or his bloodied corpse."

And with that he released her and straightened himself out to stand over her. With one last sharp glance down toward her, he strode away down the docks.

Karimi didn't turn her head to watch his departure, simply staring straight up at the stars dotting the inky black expanse over her head as she drew in a slow, shaky breath. Normally silence was a comfort to her, but right now, with nothing but her own troubled thoughts slowly cresting from a murmur to a chaotic jumble of inane chatter somewhere between her ears, it wasn't.

And when she closed her eyes to sigh, to try to calm herself, all she could see plastered to the back of ger eyelids were his own sharp, yellow irises.

Next Chapter Link again for your convenience

[rythasbrenelle]

Prompt #3: Tempest

“Cutting it close there, traveler. Blizzard’s right on your heels, no?” The guard’s voice reverberated behind her metal faceplate. Locke didn’t miss the way she sized him up through the gap between faceplate and coif, icy blue eyes flicking up and down. Though her eyes lingered on his weapons, sympathy tinged her gaze as she appraised him, wet and half-frozen as he was.

“Inn?” he inquired through chattering teeth.

“First building on your left. I recommend you get a hot bath as soon as you can.” She motioned toward a nearby stone structure, tall by Locke’s reckoning but utterly dwarfed by the tower of stone, glass, and light looming over the settlement. Some sort of device, a long tube mounted upon the parapet, crowned the tower. A cannon, he supposed. “And welcome to the Observatorium.”

Locke sniffled, muttered his thanks, and marched past.

Closer to the inn, he spotted a familiar wagon set off to one side, wind and snow batting at its canvas roof. It seemed Sosonado had made it to safety. Good tidings, if only because it meant Locke would be paid. He hoped the chocobos who’d pulled the wagon were being kept somewhere warm.

Locke shoved the double doors open, a gust of air following him into the room and banging the doors against the stone before he pushed them shut again. The noise drew the nearest eyes to him, but not much more than that.

The common room, small though it was, was a whirlwind of activity. A varied throng of patrons — civilians, travelers, off-duty guards, and men and women wearing tall hats — crowded the hearth and spilled out from there, seated in the nearest chairs and leaning against the closest tables. They were absorbed in their own conversations, a mess of tangled chatter Locke wasted no time on unraveling.

“He loaded his firearm! ‘Six bullets,’ he told me. ‘One for every pair of these scoundrels.’ I know, I know! An impossible feat!” a voice, all rasp and gravel, recounted.

Locke glanced in the direction of the storyteller. At the center of the little audience, standing atop a round table and waving a mug about the size of his torso around as he told his tall tale, was Sosonado. Dark, spiky hair in disarray, drooping mustache and mutton chops matted together and wet with ale, but whole, happy, and thriving with his audience, captive as they were by the budding snowstorm.

Looks like he’s doing just fine. A job well done indeed.

“The gunslinger leapt from the wagon.” He hopped several Lalafell-sized strides, a pantomime of Locke’s own leap earlier that day, beer sloshing from his mug and onto one of his spectators. The unfortunate man’s yelp was drowned out by Sosonado’s impassioned narration. “Before his feet even touched the ground, bang! Two, nay, three Butchers slain with but a single single shot!”

Locke shook his head and squeezed past several of the onlookers, as well as a harried server balancing a pair of trays, to reach the bar. The bartender there looked no less vexed than the server, gesturing at Sosonado with slender, calloused fingers.

“A bell ago it was eight of those Blue Butchers. Before that, six,” she scoffed. “I reckon this gunslinger will have killed twenty of the wretches with an empty musketoon before the night’s— oh, dear, did you get caught out in the snow?”

Locke dropped onto a stool and almost sighed at the sudden sense of relief. Finally off his feet. “Yep. You sell baths? Hot, preferably.”

“Package deal with renting a bed, usually. I’m afraid all of those are spoken for, we’ve got quite the crowd on account of the storm coming, but we’ll get you a bit of privacy and a tub regardless. Free of charge.”

Locke nodded his appreciation. “And food?”

A smile flickered across the bartender’s round features. “Don’t get too greedy, food and drink will cost you. But I’m no swindler, they’ll be cheap enough. Nice blade like that, you can afford a bowl of stew or two here, yeah?”

She nodded toward the gold filigree handle of the gunblade peeking out from his shoulder. Locke spared it only a glance, noting the flecks of ice melting along its length. That probably warranted maintenance.

“Sure,” he grunted. “Bath first?”

“That seems wise,” she agreed. “Fiocant! Prepare a bath upstairs for Mr…”

“Teabrook.”

“Mr. Teabrook! And loan him some clothes, would you? Poor thing looks like an ice sprite fell into a vat of red dye! No offense.”

Locke wiped his nose against his sleeve. “That bad?”

“Pretty bad,” she admitted. She motioned as a server returned and traded their empty tray for custody of Locke. “Here he is. Fiocant will take care of you.” Fiocant was a raven-haired Elezen fellow with traces of a paunch beneath his tunic and enough height to have a tendency of looming. He acknowledged Locke with a small dip of his head. “If you’ll follow me.” Locke slid off of the stool and began to take a step, then he caught himself. Seki always said that one thing, didn’t he? His pro-verb? Good done to others is… uh, good. That didn’t sound quite right to Locke, but it made sense in a circular sort of way. So he dug through his new gil pouch and set the largest of the coins on the bar. “Thanks.” He hurried off before the bartender could reply, loping across the common room to catch up to Fiocant. A gust of frigid air met him as Fiocant pulled the doors open, reintroducing them both to the snowstorm outside.

“Wait, wait!” Heads turned, eyes following Sosonado’s wild gestures. They fell on Locke, more numerous and curious than before, and any reluctance to leave the warmth of the common room behind evaporated. “That’s him, that’s the gunslinger! Hey, mer—” Locke swung the doors shut and followed Fiocant up the stairs to the second story. He took them two at a time, his path made just a little easier by the Elezen’s larger feet and heavy boots. The journey took all of a tick, but he couldn't pass under Fiocant’s arm and into the room quickly enough.

He found himself in a set of conjoined rooms, each smaller than the common room below but furnished in its same plain, practical style. Fiocant stepped into the next room, and Locke left him to it, beelining instead to huddle before the nearby fireplace. He kicked off his boots, peeled off his socks and right glove, and shoved his digits forward, just shy of cooking them. Heat washed over them, and feeling crept back in, a dull ache to replace the numbness.

“The tub is in the other room,” Fiocant announced, filling the doorway with that looming physique of his. He removed a crystal from his pocket, hues of red glimmering beneath the surface and stepped forward to offer it to Locke. “Do you know how to use this?”

“Kinda,” he responded.

“Mm,” Fiocant hummed, his lips in a line. “Well, if you’ve forgotten, just apply a bit of will to it whenever you’d like to reheat your water, yes?”

He dropped the crystal into Locke’s waiting hand. It was warm to the touch, like a coin that had been left out in the sun. “And do enjoy your bath. There’s a change of clothes in the other room for you as well.”

Locke waited only long enough for Fiocant to step aside. Then he was off, scurrying through the adjacent chamber and into a little room large enough to hold a wooden tub, a bucket, and a clothing rack. He didn’t bother waiting for the door to finish shutting before he began to disrobe, casting aside layers of damp cloth and leather and his metal vambrace and spaulder. The room was a flurry of noise, wet thumps and ringing clangs and the splash of displaced water as he dropped into the tub, warmth washing over him from toe to jaw before he sank further into its embrace, letting it chase away the chill on his cheeks and in his ears. Only his left arm remained above the surface, its wooden exterior thrown over one side of the tub, fingers dangling limply.

It was with reluctance that he resurfaced for air. He combed his claws through his hair, pushing it out of his eyes, and shifted in the tub until he was as sprawled out as he could manage, heat and aches crawling across his body, weighing his limbs down. His gaze wandered, tracing the stonework before settling on the window.

Snow danced in the air outside, swaying to the hectic beat of the shutters and the baying of the wind. It was the first song he’d ever known, before even his mother’s lullabies. It was his constant companion in the forest and the mountains, his only company through the lonely years every Wood-warder experienced.

Locke sank lower into the water and let the storm’s song carry him off to sleep.

[allisamemory]

On the Other Side of the Screen (Part 2)

As someone who is a part of three siblings, he felt it’s mandatory to get all of the Fontaine siblings and get them to max level (now crowned, though. Those are for the best of the bests). Only one siblings remained to be brought home.

A.K.A in which an avid player of a certain gacha game contemplates about a “family” that’s on his mind.

(Written before 4.1 hits)

_______________________________________________

He sat in front of his laptop as he stare at the clock.

3… 2… 1.

18:00

In an instant, he immediately open the wishing screen, and lo and behold, Childe is there. Due to his own insistence to be true to the story, he had rid Childe of his artifacts and bow and gave it to Ganyu temporarily. As for his artifacts, he’ll give it to Neuvillette until his artifact luck granted him a good set.

Of course, Childe isn’t happy with this. The Harbinger have been trying to get his attention - how his icon has an exclamation mark, even though there’s no star of the Monoceros Caeli in his inventory that’s inactive.

Choosing to ignore the ginger, he went to Zhongli’s banner, and pull. 63 pulls saved, but he can only do a ten-pull three times until he reached gold.

The purple shooting star streak the sky, and after a few blue stars…

There he is. With his little hat, coat, holding The Bell for some reason even if doesn’t fit his gameplay, and the cute robot penguin…

“Welcome home, Freminet.”

The boy looked around nervously as he opens his character screen and prepare to lose about 80% of his current mora.

_____

“Alright, you two.” He said as he placed Freminet between the magician twins in his teapot. “Starting from today, you three will be in charge of commissions in Fontaine until you three graduated (reached friendship level 10). I already gave Fremmie some directions.” He ended as he waved his cursor on Freminet’s head as a means to headpat him.

“Commissions…?”

“Yeah. You know, go around beating monsters or rogue mechas, testing Antoine’s blimp, and diving underwater- in which that will be Fremmie’s job.”

The three siblings looked at each other as if they were talking to a madman.

“What?”

“That’s it?”

“I mean, yeah. You might have to talk to someone once in a while, but don’t worry. The Traveler will take over if that were to happen. Also, I’ll have one person each day to guide you around so you’ll have a full complete team.” He swirl his cursor as if waving his hand. “Any question?”

“… Activating discussion mode.” Lynette looked up to the screen and calls his name.

“Yeah?”

“Do they know that we are…”

“Oh, don’t worry. They don’t.”

Lyney raised his hand. “But you say that you have two harbingers in your group.”

He nods. “One of them is Tartaglia, but he’s behind bars, so you know. The other one, I can’t disclose. I kept a promise with them to not disclose their identity. No, it’s not Arlecchino. I don’t even know if she’s playable.”

“I see.” Lynette simply says, summoning a cup of tea to her hands.

“… Are you worried that she might…”

All three of them went tense.

“Ah, I guess it’s not surprising that you feel that way. Considering the fate of Signora.” He fell silent for a bit. “And to be fair, I don’t know if I’ll pull for her if she is playable. It comes down to whenever I have enough Fates to call her.”

He’s currently saving for Neuvillette. If the theory of him as the Hydro Dragon is true, then someone like him will be perfect to bring along should Celestia is available. But he’s also an Archon Collector, so Furina is a must…

Wait, why is he even thinking about this.

“We’ll see.”

Whatever happens, happens. This is a motto that solve him a bunch of trouble in his rather troubled and messed up life…

“Besides… Are you guys even happy with how she is?”

That question earns him a confused look from the three.

“… It’s nothing.”

It’s weird, really. He was so used to seeing Lyney being cheerful and being all flashy in the battlefield. Lynette is as calm as ever, but he can feel some sort of tension in the way her tail swish around.

Freminet is doing his scuba helmet idle mode that he swore stays longer than usual.

Of course, they don’t trust him. Who would trust someone who pulled you out of nowhere, claims that the Traveler is his avatar of some sort and told you to do these jobs? They’re not even part of the Adventurer’s Guild.

But they still do it anyway? Is it because they want to trust him? Or is this an effect of being someone from the upper layers of reality?

… He’s thinking about this way too much. “… Alright! Here’s the commission. Let’s see… Where’s that randomizer…”

After doing a bit of a randomizer game, today’s guide will be Fischl, who has her full honor of guiding the newbies to their new side-jobs.

“Follow me, magicians and diver! Our duty in this world does not wait!” They then exited the teapot, a little bit confused, but determined.

He sighed. As he controlled the siblings in battle against a bunch of treasure hoarders, that ninja - Chitose‘s words come to mind.

“Several years ago, a serious clash appears to have occured between the Knave and a certain child at the House of Hearth - this leads to the latter replacing the former. This previous Knave - ‘Teacher’ appears to be using the current Knave’s name to keep a hold of his suboordinates as they act across various nations - his goal at present affiliation, however, are unclear.”

He took a sip of his tea and open his phone while his current team took a small break. He stared at the re-introductions of the three siblings, complete with Fatui background, and read the lines said by Arlecchino as uneasiness growing on his stomach.

Who is she, really? What happened between her and this ‘Teacher’ guy? What did she do about this situation? And, what trouble is she trying to brew in Fontaine?

Is she really trying to stop the Prophecy? Whatever he tried to do, be it reading Lyney’s character story or looking at cute fanarts of her, it still doesn’t clear his mind of his distrust.

“The Knave… Can you really be trusted?”

He shakes his head. As he heard Fischl calling out to him, saying that their break is over, he put his tea on the side and continue “playing”.

_______________________________________________

(Note: this was written before the 4.1 trailer drops and around the time the Fontaine siblings are reintroduced as Fatui, which is why the Player didn’t mention anything about the trailer.)

[fanficapologist]

Of Dragons and Maelstroms

Themes and Warnings: slow burn, enemies to lovers, blood, violence, explicit language, sexual violence, period-typical misogyny, sexual themes, smut, tension, marriage, jealousy, pregnancy, childbirth, miscarriage, attempted sexual assault, breastfeeding, major character death, divergent timelines

Disclaimer: I do not own any of the House of The Dragon/Fire & Blood/Game of Thrones characters nor do I claim to own them. I do not own any of the images used nor do I claim to own them.

Chapter Thirty-Five

As they followed Ser Criston down the corridor, Lord Jasper's voice filled with desperation as he thought out loud about various ways Maera could avoid the execution block, should the King allow it. He mentioned banishment as a governess to some distant Lord's children, training with the Silent Sisters in a motherhouse, or returning to Rain House to live, albeit, a disgraced life. Each option involved Maera begging for mercy before the King, something she adamantly refused to do.

Yet, Maera couldn't fully engage with her father's words. If she were to die, at least it would be as a result of her fight for her friend. She'd be reunited with her mother, Lady Gael, in death, rather than enduring more torture in King's Landing or being married off as a brood mare to some lord. In some strange way, death seemed like the better choice.

Reaching the imposing doors of the throne room, Lord Jasper glared at his daughter and sternly commanded her to beg for forgiveness, to claim her outburst was a momentary lapse of judgment, that her ‘womanly emotions’ had overwhelmed her. But Maera ignored him, her gaze fixed on the doors, ready to embrace whatever came next.

The castle guards then opened the doors and announced the arrival of the Master of Laws and his daughter, the Jewel of Rainwood, Lady Maera. Standing at the entrance to the great hall, it was evident that the room was brimming with spectators, all eager to bear witness to the Kings address to the Wylde’s. The courtiers, clad in a kaleidoscope of richly colored garments, created a sea of opulence that stretched from the throne to the entrance.

As Maera advanced down the central aisle with her father, towards the Iron Throne, she drank in the grand chamber of towering stone arches and polished marble floors, which exuded an aura of regal majesty. The room's vaulted ceiling seemed to stretch toward the heavens, and upon it hung giant firepit chandeliers, casting a warm, flickering light that danced upon the gold-and-black Targaryen banners that adorned the walls. There are worst places to be sentenced to death, she thought.

Reaching the front of the hall, Lord Jasper executed a deep bow before his king, and Maera reluctantly curtsied, her gaze reluctantly meeting Aegon's even though his judgment loomed over her.

The room buzzed with hushed whispers and the clinking of Kingsguard armor, creating an eerie and tense atmosphere. Aegon was seated on the formidable Iron Throne, an intimidating structure of twisted swords and jagged metal, standing out against the grand window of daylight behind it. The King’s head adorned with the conqueror's crown, which appeared to Maera as if a child were wearing a makeshift paper hat. His face, no longer swollen, bore shades of green and blue, with healing cuts on his lips now scabbed over.

The steps leading down from the imposing throne were adorned with the swords of fallen enemies, serving as a chilling reminder of the throne's power. Positioned at the base of these steps, on either side, stood the rest of Aegon's family, in a prime position to watch the unfolding drama.

To the left of the grand Iron Throne stood Queen Alicent, her auburn hair meticulously crafted into an intricate braided bun. Her dark green conservative gown, adorned with golden swirls, shimmered in the sunlight filtering through the windows. At her side was her youngest son, Daeron, donned in a doublet of earthy brown and deep green, complemented by black trousers and polished black boots. His vivid violet eyes swept across the room, while his unruly silver curls cascaded loosely.

On the right-hand side of the throne, the imposing figure of the Hand of the King, Lord Otto, commanded attention. A distinguished authority, his auburn hair bore the graceful threads of gray, reflecting his experience. The Hand of the King's broach was prominently displayed on his green waistcoat, and his golden chains adorned his broad shoulders.

Finally, stood next to his grandfather, was Aemond Targaryen, hands firmly clasped behind his back and stance unwavering. He wore a doublet of onyx black, adorned with intricate embroidery that depicted dragons in flight. The fabric was finely woven and tailored to perfection, emphasizing his tall and commanding figure. His trousers, black and well-fitted, flowed seamlessly into polished leather boots that gleamed with the sheen of nobility.

Maera rose from her curtsy and her gaze locked onto the one-eyed prince, his enigmatic violet eye betraying no hint of her impending fate. The hushed murmurs of the courtiers fell silent, and the room seemed to hold its breath as the King cleared his throat to speak.

"I'm certain you wonder, Lord Wylde, why you and your daughter have been summoned before this court," Aegon began, his tone controlled and authoritative.

Lord Jasper replied tersely, "Indeed, my King," his gaze skewering Maera, who faced his scrutiny with a determined jaw and no eye contact.

Aegon continued, addressing the assembled courtiers, "It has come to my attention that the Small Council has convened, without my knowledge, to discuss Lady Maera's recent acquisition of the seat of Morne, in the Straits of Tarth." Maera couldn't help but fight the urge to roll her eyes, anticipating that Aegon would try to leverage this issue for a more lenient sentence.

The King furrowed his brow as he looked around his room of subjects. "I'm aware that the Small Council asked you, Lord Jasper, to relinquish your daughter's rightful inheritance without providing substantial assurances from the crown. Despite Lord Jasper's concerns for his family's safety and the unrest it would cause upon the mainland of Tarth. Valid points as far as I can see.”

Lord Jasper kept his green-grey eyes on his King and Maera watched as her father attempted to hold himself together, despite his nerves causing shaking in his fists. The King then concluded his little speech with, "I can only offer my apologies for the way this matter was mishandled by my advisors on the Council.”

A puzzled expression danced across Maera's face. She couldn't quite fathom why the King was offering apologies to her father. Perhaps, she thought with a tinge of cynicism, he was prolonging this ordeal for his own amusement – a typical Aegon move.

As Aegon's eyes locked onto Maera's, an intense, unspoken exchange unfolded, a silent duel between emerald green and striking violet. Maera's mind raced with questions about the king's intentions. What game was he playing now?

Breaking their gaze, Aegon shifted his attention back to Lord Jasper. His voice carried an air of solemnity as he acknowledged, "I'm aware of House Wylde's unyielding devotion to its own." Aegon cast a meaningful glance toward Maera, his words heavy with implication. "I have experienced firsthand House Wylde's... fierce dedication when it comes to protecting the ones they love."

Maera's heart pounded loudly in her chest. This was it, she thought, bracing herself for Aegon to unveil her transgressions and deliver the inevitable sentence.

Aegon's voice resonated throughout the Throne Room, carrying an air of calculated diplomacy. "A House with such outstanding loyalty, a rare commodity in these troubled times, should be assured with more than just the word of a King who is already at war," he declared, his gaze briefly landing on Maera with a smirk. "I believe those were the words you used, Lady Maera," he added.

Maera clenched her jaw, her eyes narrowing at the memory. "Yes, Your Grace," she managed to mutter, her tone reluctant.

The King's voice boomed with authority as he proposed, "I would like to discuss more favorable terms with you, my Lord, about securing the Straits of Tarth for our war effort."

Confusion enveloped Maera. What sort of terms could Aegon possibly offer? She cast a sidelong glance at Aemond, who seemed lost in thought, his eyes fixed firmly on the floor. Did he possess knowledge of these terms? And if so, what did they entail? The other nobles present also seemed to wonder what terms the King was presenting, the room buzzing with hushed conversations that ebbed and flowed like a gentle current, until the Kingsguard encouraged them to settle down.

Lord Jasper exchanged a perplexed glance with his daughter, both uncertain about the unexpected direction this conversation was taking. It seemed unusual for the King to avoid addressing Maera's recent transgressions, focusing instead on some sort of deal. Trying to maintain decorum, Lord Jasper replied, "Your grace, I am deeply honored by your words."

King Aegon's smile remained as he continued to speak, revealing his intentions. "To ensure House Wylde's family gains more assurance from the crown, we must join our houses," he declared.

“I would have offered your hand, my Lady, to my youngest brother. But unfortunately Daeron is not yet…able to produce heirs. Something I did not have a problem at his age, I can assure you,” Aegon snickered, provoking a chuckle from some of the courtiers in the room. Prince Daeron blushed intensely, trying to cover his embarrassment with a forced cough, while Queen Alicent shot a disapproving glare at her eldest son, Aegon.

The King proceeded, offering an alternative proposal. "I will provide the Lady Maera with a different husband, one who can ensure the swift production of heirs, which will be needed to quickly solidify their union. Her sons will inherit the seat of Morne and satisfy the mainlanders of Tarth, assuring them that the Straits will remain within their own blood."

Maera's heart raced, and her palms grew sweaty. The prospect of marriage, heirs, and the complexities of politics and war weighed heavily on her. It was all happening too fast, and the gravity of the situation left her feeling overwhelmed.

Aegon then interlaced his fingers and rested them beneath his chin, adopting a casual yet commanding posture. "I would like to propose an offer of marriage," he announced with a glint of mischief in his eye, "between my brother, Aemond, and Lady Maera, elevating her to the esteemed title of Princess of the Realm."

Gasps of surprise and intrigued murmurs rippled through the assembly like a gentle wave. Whispers of alliances and implications filled the air as the courtiers exchanged knowing glances and furtive gestures.

Maera's world seemed to crumble in that very instant. The weight of the proposal bore down on her like a mountain, emotions surging within her all at once - fear, anger, perhaps even a flicker of relief? The tumultuous mixture left her feeling queasy, and her stomach churned with uncertainty.

Lord Jasper was quick to respond, “My King, I would be deeply honored to accept such a proposition. However, House Wylde has sworn allegiance to House Baratheon, and the Prince is already betrothed to one of Lord Borros’s daughters. I would not wish to cause any-”

Aegon raised his hand in a commanding gesture, halting Lord Jasper's words mid-sentence. The King wasn't done yet.

Lord Otto Hightower, the Hand of the King, took up the mantle of explanation. "We've already communicated this matter with Lord Borros via raven," he clarified. "Terms have been discussed, including offering Prince Daeron for one of his daughters and, should you consent, my Lord, one of your own sons to wed another of Lord Borros's daughters. House Baratheon is content with this agreement."

Aegon couldn't resist interjecting with a confident grin, a hint of exasperation in his voice. "You see, the stag will still have his share of the crown," he exclaimed, gesturing with his hand for emphasis. "One daughter to marry a prince of the blood, and the other to wed the brother of a princess of the realm. What more could he possibly desire?"

Maera's thoughts were a whirlwind, struggling to grasp the implications of this whirlwind proposal. Princess? Agreement? Brother? Aemond? Aemond! The realization hit her like a bolt of lightning. As she teetered on the verge of hyperventilation, she locked eyes with the One-Eyed Prince, who was now firmly fixated on her.

Violet met green, conveying the problems of the past and the weight of their shared future. The throne room, with its grandeur and history, seemed to fade into the background as they stood there, two figures bound by fate, their gazes an unbreakable connection that spoke of both the challenges and the possibilities that lay ahead.

As the courtiers whispered and exchanged curious glances, the hushed atmosphere seemed to hum with intrigue. Some leaned in to share their thoughts in furtive conversations, while others cast sidelong glances at the figures of importance in the room.

Amidst the bewildering turn of events, Maera could hear her father's breath quickening beside her. She stole a sidelong glance at him, her heart pounding with uncertainty. His face seemed to be a canvas splattered with conflicting emotions—was he about to cry, or perhaps laugh? The truth was elusive, but one feeling stood stark and undeniable upon his countenance: pure, unadulterated joy.

Aegon directed his attention back to Lord Jasper, pressing the issue at hand. "My Lord Wylde," he began, his voice carrying weight and anticipation, "I hope this gesture reassures you that the crown will protect the bride’s family. But one question remains; Do you agree to this match?"

In an instant, Maera felt her hand being tugged downward, her father's movements unmistakable as he descended to his knees. It sent Maera to the floor as well, drawn by the gravity of the moment. The throne room watched in hushed expectation.

Lord Jasper, now humbled before the crown, spoke with a reverence that seemed out of place considering the circumstances. "I graciously accept your offer for my daughter, your Grace," he declared, his voice unwavering with gratitude. "I thank the King and the Small Council with all my heart. I assure you, my daughter Maera will be a dutiful wife, and their union shall bear fruit in no time."

Maera found herself struck dumb by the unfolding events, her gaze fixed on the polished floor beneath her as an unsettling feeling of sickness churned within her. This moment had turned her world upside down, and it was hard to discern if her emotions leaned toward dread or something else entirely.

Then, like a jarring note in an otherwise surreal symphony, Aegon's voice pierced the silence. "Is there anything you wish to ask of me, dear sister?" he inquired, his tone saccharinely sweet, making her skin crawl. The notion of being referred to as the King's sister made her skin crawl, and only deepened her discomfort.

With a sense of desperation, Maera shifted her gaze to Aemond, the one person in the room who she thought might truly understand the turmoil she was experiencing. Her voice was unsteady as she addressed him directly, "Is this what you want, my Prince?"

Aemond, his response swift and measured, replied with a dutiful tone, "I shall do as my King commands, for the sake of the Realm."

Aegon chuckled at Aemond's response, his voice dripping with sly amusement. "Such concern for your feelings, Aemond," he remarked to Maera. "It's quite touching, and I believe it will serve you well in your marriage."

Maera stifled the urge to roll her eyes. Aegon continued, now addressing the practical aspects of the union. “Rest assured, Mayflower, even though my brother does not show it, he is thrilled with the match. Not only will Aemond gain the Jewel of Rainwood as his wife, and the Straits of Tarth as part of her dowry, but he would also ascend to the position of Master of Coin. How fortunate that the role that had been promised to your future husband, regardless, should now fall to my brother. I can think of no one better to handle the Crown’s financial matters.”

A sinking feeling gripped Maera as she absorbed the King's commentary. Of course Aemond would agree to this marriage- The agreement was not born of care or affection but a calculated move for power. With a mixture of resignation and bitterness, she could not help but acknowledge that he had played his cards well in this political game.

Queen Alicent, who had been observing the unfolding conversation, finally spoke, her question aimed directly at Maera. "Lady Maera," she inquired, "do you consent to this match?"

The question hung in the air, and the room was filled with a sense of anticipation, every whispered conversation and exchanged glance carrying the weight of the moment. Maera's mind raced as she considered her options, or rather, the lack thereof.

She couldn't very well decline this offer, not when it was the most advantageous alliance House Wylde could hope for. Yet, in accepting, she knew it would seal her fate in King's Landing. She grappled with the uncertainty of what her marriage to Aemond might bring—would he only become more bitter and twisted over the years, and would she have to navigate that? As his wife?

Maera swallowed the lump in her throat, her gaze shifting from her father, whose eyes bore a silent plea for her agreement, to the King who waited expectantly. She cleared her throat, her voice firm, "Your Grace, it would be an honor and a privilege to accept such an advantageous match, one I am not sure I am worthy of." She paused, her resolve unwavering, "If it pleases you, I shall continue to serve Queen Helaena faithfully, not merely as her lady-in-waiting, but as her devoted sister."

The King's smirk was unmistakable as he nodded, "Very well, Lady Maera. We shall take your commitment into consideration, but rest assured, once Aemond has fulfilled his duty and you have provided him with an heir, you will have your hands full." This elicited laughter from some of the courtiers, their mirth echoing through the hall.

With a grand gesture, King Aegon stood and clapped his hands together, his voice booming, "Excellent news, indeed! A wedding to plan, and a war to win. If we're to secure victory swiftly, the Straits of Tarth must be in our hands sooner rather than later." His gaze shifted to his mother, Queen Alicent, and he declared, "I want the wedding to be arranged within six weeks' time."

Queen Alicent hesitated for a moment but eventually conceded, "As you wish, my son."

The die had been cast, and Maera's fate was sealed. The King's dismissal echoed in Maera's ears, and she and Lord Jasper hurriedly made their way out of the throne room. Her father seemed elated by the betrothal, his voice filled with excitement as he discussed practical matters and future plans. However, Maera's mind was a swirling tempest of emotions, and she could scarcely hear her father's words over the cacophony inside her head.

Finally, as they reached her chambers and her father cautioned her to maintain her composure and behave impeccably until the wedding, Maera closed the doors behind her and let out a long, shuddering breath.

Alone in her room, the weight of the day's events pressed down on her like a leaden shroud. She sank to the floor, her back against the door, her mind a tumult of thoughts and feelings. Relief coursed through her veins; she had narrowly escaped the executioner's blade. But with that reprieve came a profound sense of loss, for her freedom had been traded for a life predetermined by a marriage she had no say in.

Anger simmered beneath the surface, directed at Aegon for leading her to believe there would be consequences for her actions. And then there was the apprehension, the uncertainty of what it meant to be Aemond's wife. Would he despise her for a union forced upon him, an eternal reminder of the past? These thoughts overwhelmed her, and she gave in to the tears that had been building, allowing her emotions to flow freely. She cried and cried, as if purging herself of the tumultuous emotions that threatened to consume her, attempting to come to terms with the future that laid ahead of her

Notes: *mic drop*

Tags: @blue-serendipity @grungegrrrl @marvelescvpe @shesjustanothergeek

Thank you so much for reading! Comments, feedback, likes, and reblogs are greatly appreciated 🖤

[jelzorz]

155.

@cakeanon is claiming that jellybug was named for me and I'm owning it

Barius has, probably, the easiest go of it. The rest of the council is made up of Ezran's closest friends and family, and they go out and about on their adventures, risking their lives and their limbs for the good of the kingdom on a somewhat regular basis, and though he and Opeli are the ones who stay and hold the fort, Opeli just has more on her plate (in a manner of speaking).

Barius' official title is a bit of fun: Minister of Crusts and Jellies doesn't imply much, but in truth, he's really more of a head of staff. He manages the maids, the kitchenhands, the cleaners, the groceries, the wine, the harvests, the hearths—and though it sounds like a lot, he is not, in anyway, in over his head. It's not like Soren, who is Captain of the Crown Guard and adventurer, or Corvus, who is Crown Guard and reconnaissance, or Opeli, who is High Cleric and regent and babysitter all at once. Barius' job is simple: keep the castle running, make sure meals go out on time, give the kids someplace warm to come home to after all their heroing and adventuring.

It's a good amount of work. It keeps him busy. Most days, he rather likes it—

And then the kids come home from their latest adventure with the shining prison of the most dangerous elf who has ever lived and three baby glow toads in tow.

(If you asked Barius which of those was more menacing, Barius' answer would very much depend on the day).

He will be honest: His hands were full in the old days, when all he had to do was bake and chase Ezran and Bait out of the kitchens. He is busier now, and that isn't counting Ezran, Bait, and the three little baitlings who keep finding their way into the stores. The little orange one is the worst. The blue one, Hat, he thinks, is well named—he lives happily on Soren's head and doesn't cause too much trouble. Sneezles, the runt, is always congested, always clingy, not too much of a hazard in the kitchens except for the handful of times he's sneezed into a whole bag of flour. But Jellybug—

Barius groans at the thought of her. She's got a bigger sweet tooth than even Ezran had when he was younger, and Barius has had to increase his jelly and jam production two fold just to keep up with her.

"She'll bankrupt us if she's not stopped," he complains to Opeli. "The harvests won't be enough to keep up with her."

"That's a little overdramatic, I think," says Opeli, although from the way she wrinkles her nose, Barius knows he isn't wrong to be concerned. "I don't think you could convince His Majesty to get rid of her, though."

"I wondered if you might talk to him, actually." Barius shuffles his feet. "You hold sway over them all."

"So do you," says Opeli. "You are King Ezran's Minister of Crusts and Jellies, Barius, your concerns are valid and Ezran will hear them."

It's not a of lot reassurance, but it's better than none. Barius steels himself for it, knowing he's never been good at keeping Ezran out of the kitchens, and that Ezran is a boy before he is a king, and it seems unfair that he should be deprived of the few childish things he allows himself.

Then Jellybug herself appears in the kitchens one evening, blue eyes wide and unreasonably large, chin covered in jelly as always, and Barius huffs tiredly and plucks her from the bench.

"You can't be in here if you're going to eat our stores," he scolds. "That jelly isn't for you."

Jellybug trills happily, obviously unaware of what Barius means to ask Ezran. She nuzzles against his fingers, smearing purple jelly—grape?—against his palm.

"Don't even try it," says Barius sternly. "I'm not falling for that. You're still a menace."

Jellybug squeaks and lolls her tongue out at him.

Barius humphs.

The next morning, he heads into the council chambers with an open jar of jam in one of his apron pockets and Jellybug in the other. When Ezran spots him, he grins.

"Barius!" he greets. "Opeli said you wanted to talk? Is everything okay?"

Barius snorts and glances down at the Baitling in his pocket. "Yes, Your Majesty," he says. "Everything's fine."

[2baddiesfanfics]

Literary Lovers

Pairing: Nami x Nico Robin

Tags: Libraries, Library Sex, Books, Couch Sex, Couch Cuddles, Oral Sex, Vaginal Fingering

Summary:

As Nami works on a map in the library, Robin tries to capture her attention with something much more riveting. It’s a good thing the Straw Hats don’t have a librarian, because the girls are about to get loud…

Read on Ao3

Nami sat quietly in the library on the Sunny, hard at work on her latest map. The Straw Hats had already been on so many daunting adventures, she was constantly having to add other indicators to help them better navigate through the Grand Line.

Across from her, Robin sat on the couch reading one of her many books that looked as though it had to have been hundreds of years old. Nami had always wondered how she could possibly find something that ancient to be interesting. Nevertheless, having now made their relationship official, they continued to enjoy pursuing their own hobbies and responsibilities in tranquil companionship.

When she felt especially playful, Robin sometimes enjoyed surprising her by producing an extra hand to catch her attention with various fleeting touches. Looking up, Nami would stare into those piercing blue eyes of hers. Often, she’d fantasize about how she’d much rather map her lover’s body than focus on the one she was currently sketching. How she longed to mark her with kisses, nip at the scars she had painfully endured, run her hands up and down her lithe legs…

Not now, Nami! Focus on finishing the damn map and then you can play.

She looked away from Robin and back to what she was working on as she felt heat rise to her cheeks.

Robin ever so quietly placed her book down and made her way toward Nami. Walking behind her, she leaned over her shoulder and purposefully pressed her chest into Nami’s back. Kissing the crown of her head, she watched as she worked diligently.

“What does this mean?” Robin asked pointing at a scattering of red marks.

“They mark distances from land.” Nami then shifted her focus to the blue marks. “And these mark the currents.”

As Nami explained the various icons, Robin lightly dragged her fingers down her wrist and rested her hand on top of Nami’s, intertwining their fingers together. Trying to ignore her advances and focus on what she was saying, Nami felt the rise and fall of Robin’s ample chest resting against her back.

“So, these here are showing the areas where it’s hot and very little air carries through, which was what lead us to have that water gun fight in white t-shirts?” she could feel Robin’s lips murmur against her ear.

“Y…yes and we…we move very little in those areas. So, it’s best to get undress…I mean, mark them for the next time we come through here,” Nami stammered.

“What’s there to be so nervous about, darling? I’m just asking you a question. It should be simple for you…”

“I..it is sssimple to make ssure we don’t end up in a funnel or water sprout based ooooff these charts for the future, soooo we mark them,” she said as a moan caught in her throat.

“Mmmm, see? That’s my girl. I knew you could do it,” Robin hummed as she lightly sank her teeth into Nami’s earlobe.

Tilting her head back onto the taller woman’s chest, she looked up at her. Robin smiled and leaned over to kiss her. The top of their tongues slid against each other for only a moment before Robin let go and made her way back to her seat, picking up her book to continue where she left off.

Nami stood where she was, blinking in disbelief. She was flustered at the sudden disinterest Robin showed and wasn’t about to let her get away with it. Apparently, there was still plenty they hadn’t tried, an upside-down kiss being new and exciting. Clearly preoccupied, Robin’s eyes darted from one side of the paper to the next. Nami rested her head on the table thinking of ways to get back at her.

How can she do all those things, kiss me like that, and then just go back and act like nothing happened!? She has to be feeling this too…

Robin glanced up and smirked, waiting to see what Nami’s next move would be. Nami looked up toward where she was sitting and Robin quickly looked back at the page she had just read through twice.

Nami rose to her feet and walked over to Robin. Placing her hand on the book she was pretending to read, she pushed it into her lap. Placing her other hand on top of the couch, she leaned forward.

“Are you a good book? Because you’re gonna have me screaming right as I finish.” Nami bit one side of her lower lip waiting for her lover’s response.

“Mmm…that’s cute. Let’s see how loud I can make you scream my name this time,” Robin purred before leaning up and passionately kissing Nami.

Tongues clashed as Nami tossed the book aside (probably a little too hard for a tome so old) and threw her arms around her neck to pull her closer. Robin created a hand to lock the library door, ensuring nobody would walk in on them. They continued to ravenously devour each other until they were both desperate for air and had to pull apart, a string of saliva dripping between them.

Robin slid her hands underneath Nami’s shirt to knead her breasts.

“No bra today, hmm? Makes things so much easier,” Robin teased as she kissed her lightly. She helped Nami shimmy out of her clothing and then stripped out of her own. Sitting back down on the couch, she had Nami straddle her.

Stabilizing herself by grasping onto the back of the couch with one hand, she let the other wander over Robin’s chest. Goosebumps appeared on her skin as she let out a seductive gasp. Nami leaned down to kiss her chest just above Robin’s heart, which she could feel beating furiously. Slowly licking her way down to the breast she now held in her hand, her lips found Robin’s nipple. A puff of warm breath caused it to stiffen, inviting her to suck. Robin threw a hand over her mouth to stifle a moan.

“I thought you were going to make me scream, not the other way around,” Nami taunted as she looked into those beautiful eyes of hers.

Breathing heavily, Robin winked in response. “Oh, just keep thinking that, dear. You’re just getting me warmed up.”

Moving her hand from her breast, Nami’s fingers glided to Robin’s sex. She prodded a finger at her entrance, listening for her reaction before plunging into her. As she frictionlessly moved in and out, she leaned forward to nip at her neck, leaving red marks on her pale skin. Robin threw her head back, allowing Nami better access to brand her. Adding a second finger, Nami thrust faster.

Robin’s chest rose and fell more rapidly, groans escaping her. Her nails raked down Nami’s back, red welts appearing in her ecstasy. She kissed up Robin’s neck to her jawline, then captured her lips with her tongue. Moaning into Nami’s mouth as she found her release, Robin clenched around her fingers, soaking them up to her knuckles. Stilling as Nami peppered her cheeks with kisses, she sighed as she pulled out of her. Nami placed her fingers that were coated with Robin’s slick into Robin’s mouth.

“Suck for me.”

Robin grabbed her wrist and, never breaking eye contact, slowly licked and sucked her fingers clean.

“Ughhhhnn,” Nami groaned as she watched. Suddenly, she felt Robin tighten her grip on her wrists. In one swift motion, she swept her underneath her. Robin now towered over her as they continued to consume each other.

“You’ve…had your fun…but now…it’s my turn…” Robin panted between ferocious kisses. She stopped and looked deep into Nami’s eyes. “Trust me?”

“…always.”

Robin kissed her forehead. “Good. Lean over the arm of the couch. Face down, ass up.”

Taking commands from Robin made her shiver. She had always had a bit of an intimidating presence about her that made Nami slightly nervous but also thrilled her.

She obeyed, feeling deliciously exposed in front of Robin’s hungry gaze. Nami looked back over her shoulder with a fresh blush covering her face. “Like this?” She asked coyly.

Robin almost tackled her. There was something incredibly erotic about seeing Nami on her hands and knees before her that made her want to ruin her.

“Such a tease. Look at you. You were so bold earlier and now here you are. How should I take you, Nami? Your ass looks especially enticing up in the air like that,” she said as she lifted a hand and smacked it. Nami let out a yelp that turned into a moan.

“There are so many possibilities. Should I take my time and bring you to the edge again and again until you can’t take it anymore?” Her slender fingers now traced the red mark her hand had left. “Or would you prefer it quick and dirty?”

“Robin…please…I just need you…whatever you want…”

“I didn’t ask what I wanted. The only thing I want to do is give you a body-shaking orgasm. It’s up to you to tell me what you want.”

“I want to feel you inside me. Fingers, tongue…anything,” Nami panted.

“My, you’re naughty. I can tell you’re already dripping wet at the thought of me taking you from behind,” she said as she knelt in position. “You’ll be nice and loud for me, right?”

“Yessssss…make me scream, Robin…”

“Be careful what you wish for, dear…” she said as she swiped her tongue across her slit. Nami let out a wail at the feeling of wet warmth enveloping her pussy. Robin grabbed her thighs and pulled herself further into her depths. Sprouting an extra pair of hands, she fondled Nami’s breasts. The extra stimulation made her even more aroused and Robin savored the taste.

Her tongue danced from front to back, rocking against Nami’s sensitive bud.

“Fuck…Robin…faster…” Nami whined as she pressed against her mouth.

“Oh, so quick and dirty it is. Why didn’t you say so earlier, love?” She said as she picked up the pace. Nami squirmed against her, determined to use Robin’s face to make her come.

“So…close…baby…”

Robin pinched Nami’s nipples hard as she increased the pressure of her tongue on her clit, sending her spiraling.

“FUCK! Robinnnnn!” Nami shouted as she crumpled against the couch, unable to hold her body in position any longer.

Giving Nami a moment to catch her breath, Robin helped her up off the couch - a single dark spot betraying what had just occurred. “We’re not done yet, dear,” Robin hummed as she picked her up.

Backing her up against the bookshelf, Robin produced extra arms. Her real hands caressed Nami’s back, as two others grabbed her ass. As she kissed and bit Nami’s swollen lips, she widened her stance both to prop Nami up as well as prepare herself for what was to come.

Producing two more hands, she slid two fingers of each into both of their entrances. Nami cried out into Robin’s mouth as Robin moved in and out of them slowly. When Nami was used to the feeling, she started bouncing herself against Robin in time with the movement of her fingers.

Nami broke their kiss to throw her head back against the shelves. Robin’s name on her lips was the only other sound that could be heard in the room. She increased her pace as she spread Nami’s cheeks open wider and ran a finger of another cloned hand in circles on Nami’s anus. The erratic movements of the two caused books to fall off the shelves around them.

“Robin…I can’t…much longer…so…sensitive,” Nami groaned.

“So close…come with me…my love,” Robin moaned in reply.

A few more thrusts and the two shattered, shaking and holding onto one another for support. Robin slowly made her way back to the couch on unstable legs, careful not to drop her. Depositing her on the cushiony surface, the two lay together in comfortable silence.

Now a complete mess, Nami took a look around the room and began to laugh.

“Wow, we really shook things up in here, didn’t we?”

Robin chuckled. “It seems we did. I just couldn’t hold myself back after that clever literary pickup line. You sure know the way to a girl’s heart,” she said as she placed a kiss on her temple. Nami was glad she had saved that line for the ideal moment.

Robin grabbed a blanket off the back of the couch and threw it over the two of them. Snuggled closely, they drifted off to sleep to the perfumed scent of old books and the sounds of the sea.

[detectivemaker]

It's a au time once again

It's a DC / Gravity Falls Fusion, obviously the mystery twins have been usurped by my own favorite set of twins

Lewis and  lenore  was sent to spend the summer with their Uncle William(the clock game who's the head was brother in the old Adam West show), or at least someone they think is their  uncle William but it's actually uncle James( head Cannon name for the copycat Hatter who in this is another one of jervis siblings) who's pretending to be his twin brother after the man was sucked into a portal

Now that we have the two sets of twins how about I told you a bit about this ciphers

The poison  tooth clan are the big bads of the show, the baddest of all being the ruling   patriarch William, vincent acts as the initial bill Cipher stand in but as soon joined by his lovely nephew Michael,  and the rest of his lovely  niece and nephews coming to play during weirdmageddon 

So Mike and his family come from the dimension that's a fusion between the original OC Mike's home dimension and euclidia,  say the rules are the chimeric creatures can see up, but William wanted  do more than just see up to feel Superior

So he went up with his family, and that caused the rest of the world to burn like a painting  on fire, it's safe to say everyone other than William was completely traumatized by this

They appear in the dream realm as humanoid but I'll have a piece of headwear covering their eyes

Vince has the usual top hat, michael has a fedora, elizabeth has a son hat, peter has a  a Newsboy hat, Philip(with an F has a pirate hat), david has a 10 gallon cowboy hat, gregor is just straight up wearing a blindfold, william has it oversized crown

They all have unique alterations to the pupils of the people they possess

Vincent once again is the usual Cipher yellow with a slit, michael and William both have purple whole eye and slit as well, elizabeth is pink with a heart pupil, peter is blue with a teardrop,  philip is red with I guess a fire i'm still thinking about it,  gregor is  silver with a cog, and David has a goat like people much like  the demon version of Tad strange

Grego and David only show up doing weird again near the very end , for the big party 

doing weirdmageddon Lizzy and Michael are quite enthusiastic to play  with  their cousins, as dear Uncle Vincent prepares to celebrate his wedding anniversary,  yeah sure Clocky he wasn't entirely conscious for it but it's still legally binding

But then his brother has to Rush In  users his throne, and start rambling all about how this is his Triumph and just being a glory stealing douche

Williams the one who gets twin tricked and sent to the therapy dimension for time out,  and everything  ends happily ever after though Gotham is left a little bit weirder than it usually is

And  dorothy's there too but she's usually just texting in the background

[backjustforberena]

Rhaenys’s movements during the funeral/wake (because I’m a NERD):

Firmly on the Velaryon side of the family, with her granddaughters. Notably, her husband is closer to the “Crown” than she is, and she is physically turned away from it, her trajectory headed away from Corlys and towards her granddaughters as she clings to them. Corlys’s head is bowed. Rhaenys’s head is up, looking straight at Laena’s coffin or to Vaemond. She’s engaging with the consequences of her actions rather than the religious and "going through the motions” aspect of it all.

The only time she and Corlys are in sync throughout this procedure (wake/funeral) is when Daemon laughs. Heck, it’s one of the only times they are in the same shot as they don’t interact whatsoever at the wake. It’s heart-breaking to see how out of sync they are throughout this episode, but there are flashes of unification - most notably during the fight in the Hall of Nine. All is not lost. Not until Laenor’s body is found.

She’s wearing a veil. Only for the funeral, and never again. There a few Velaryon nobles with veils but Rhaenys is still different, still individual and alone, even with this. Rhaenys’s is in a different style; it’s shorter, and with a hat and it’s a different shade of blue. Either way, the veil is significant. As a proud woman, a woman who had to stand on a stage in front of the whole court, whilst she lost her chance at the crown, she will not be controlled here. If she wants to cry, she can, and no one will be able to see unless looking at her. It invites no conversation, or interaction. And a veil literally signifies sorrow.

Her hair is also up and in a style we’d never seen before and never seen again. Normally, it is half-up, half down, very much with a height to it and also heavily adorned with gold accessories and bands. This is all up, it’s flatter at the top so that her hat can be fixed to it, and it’s pretty much lacking in braiding. She’s not herself. She doesn’t look like herself.

At the wake, she’s a solitary figure. At no point in the wake does she engage with her husband (though soon after she leaves Luke, he comes to be with Luke - we don’t know the ins and outs of that though, there may be overlap but may not be). 

At no point, of her own volition, does she engage with any adult. We see Corlys do this: he is talking with the King on the establishing shot, he speaks to Vaemond quite a bit, with Ser Qarl, and with Lucerys. He oversees Laenor being fetched, and stands within crowds. When the King leaves, he is standing in the procession, bowing his head as is customary. Rhaenys gets involved with none of this. All she does, after engaging with Luke in the wide establishing shot above, is cross the floor to get a drink and then go to her granddaughters. There she remains.

The only engagements she has with adults, on screen, that we see, are with an unknown man at the wake, and with Rhaenyra. All happen whilst she’s on the way to get a drink from the table. All chances of prolonged entreatment to conversation are avoided. She’s not inviting it, she’s taken by surprise when it’s offered and her expression is strained throughout.

“I’m very sorry, my princess.” And all she does is give her thanks, acts polite, and then keep walking. The unknown Lord wants to keep her there, engage in conversation. He’s stopped her in the first place, putting a hand on her arm. I get the impression that as much as his empathy might be real, if he were to stop her, there would be a political reason. A formal one. And she’s just so tired. She’s so done that she keeps going. Smiles the smallest of smiles, plays the act, and then when she’s got passed him, it all drops. She doesn’t want to be there, to be doing this. She doesn’t want to have to put on the mask or play the hostess. She’s just done.

Then she gets to Rhaenyra. Gets brought up short. And they just have nothing to say to one another. Nothing that she wants to get into. Why on Earth would she? All her thoughts are on Laena and Baela and Rhaena and Rhaenyra can give her nothing on that subject. And to be fair, Rhaenyra doesn’t try and engage her. It’s all formality and false pleasantries and as Rhaenys turns away, takes a sip and takes a deep breath, she just forges ahead. But even then, her body language is turned inwards. She’s shrinking away from any possible engagement and she’s just trying to fortify herself until she can do anything else. She doesn’t want to be going through all of this. It’s taking everything in her.

The wine is obviously drunk quickly: it’s not a distraction or a barrier to conversation as it might be (you know, when someone looks really into their drink to avoid eye contact). No, it’s gone by the time she reaches Baela and Rhaena. Given how the scene was choreographed like a piece of theatre, it’s not unreasonable to conclude that she’s just in it for the numbing properties. She just needs a drink.

Rhaenys stops in front of her granddaughters. It’s not explained how well she and the girls know one another. Whilst it’s pretty obvious that the boys have never met Baela and Rhaena, there’s nothing direct to contradict the idea that Rhaenys had been with the girls for visitation over the years. They take comfort in her and she is not awkward at all around them, which suggests some level of familiarity. As does Daemon’s lack of involvement- since Rhaenys had been holding them during the funeral ceremony, it would not necessarily be unreasonable of him to assume she would take care of them here and he would have seen that from where he is during the wake as well. All of this suggests an established relationship between Rhaenys and the girls. 

There’s a lovely beat, where she clenches her jaw, fights back her own emotions before sinking down to her knees in front of them. It’s worth noting during this sequence that Viserys says how much the girls look like their mother. And how that is a comfort and an anguish. We know from a later scene how helpless Rhaenys felt about her daughter’s death. And about how Laena wanted the girls to be on Driftmark, that she wanted to come home. I expect she never wished to see them on Driftmark like this, however. And now, Rhaenys must push her grief aside. Falling to her knees in front of them is also pretty powerful imagery.

Rhaenys reaction to Jace isn’t because she hates him, as some people have said. It isn’t because she doesn’t want him anywhere near Baela and Rhaena. Jace is dealing with the death of Ser Harwin and Rhaenys is just unaware of that. To her, she’s just surprised that the cousins are holding hands as they don’t know one another that well. And it’s Jace that leaves, now that his obligation to his mother has been fulfilled and his cousins won’t be left on their own if he goes. Rhaenys looks at the hands and then Jace is already turning away by the time Rhaenys looks up at his face. If Rhaenys doesn’t follow that up, it’s because she doesn’t know about Jace’s private grief and doesn’t think to believe it anything but the emotions of the day. Jace cannot and is not her priority or her responsibility, even if he would be accepting of any comfort she would offer, which I doubt due to Rhaenyra’s warnings earlier in the scene.

Rhaenys kneels down and hugs her granddaughters. More than that, they hug her. Baela puts her arms around her, Rhaena is burying her head into her grandmother. Both girls crying.

She will stay, on her knees, comforting her granddaughters, whilst all the manoeuvres go on around her. Her entire focus is on those girls and on their loss. She pulls them towards her, reassures them. And puts on a brave face. The only dialogue she says throughout this whole sequence, other than “thank you” to that unknown lord, are reassurances to her granddaughters. They are in pain, she is in pain, and there are no words she can offer other than that. She just holds them, and holds it all, and endures. And she stays there for the rest of the scene.

When Corlys basically barges through the crowd to get to Ser Qarl, snarls for him to get Laenor, and Vaemond intercedes, that quiets down the whole event. Vaemond asks Corlys to calm down, not make a scene. On a wide shot, everyone is looking at the interaction. Rhaenyra, Alicent, Otto, Cole and Larys. You know who isn’t? Rhaenys. Her husband is throwing his weight around about their grieving son at their daughter’s wake in front of everyone including the King and Queen... and she doesn’t even look round. Everyone reacts to it, but her. 

Rhaenyra asks her boys to go to bed, despite it still being fairly early, within earshot of Rhaenys, and she does nothing. She doesn’t look around. She doesn’t even register it. She’s just interacting with those girls. The King leaves. Rhaenys does nothing. Otto drags Aegon up the stairs close to where she and Baela and Rhaena are. We see nothing. Her son stumbles up the stairs, drunk and we are shown no reaction. You can’t even tell she’s in the scene still because of the shots and the darkness. 

Rhaenys up until now, as a player in the game, has been endlessly watching, observing and calculating. And yet here, in arguably one of the busiest scenes in terms of dynamics and interplays (with Daemon and Otto, Viserys and Daemon, Alicent and Larys and Cole, Rhaenyra and Daemon, Corlys and Laenor)... her back faces everybody. She notices none of it. She observes nothing of it. She is removed from all of it.

That’s the shift. That’s the separation. That is what marks her out from all the others at that wake. Corlys is still trying to maintain what is proper, and what is correct, still feeding that pressure on their son and projecting the image he feels is important. And Rhaenys just isn’t. Even being physically demonstrative with the girls by hugging them is something she wouldn’t do if she felt she were “on” and watched and being the persona that her rank and duties demand of her. 

And that’s what really shows the hurt. She is removing herself as far as possible from the centre of things. She cares about no airs or graces when the King leaves. She will perform no duties and ingratiate herself with the other mourners; her people and bannermen. She will not try and court favour with her Targaryen family. All she will do, is be on her knees, and whisper soft things to the only remaining parts of her daughter she can still hold near. And by having her back to these people, it also means she can become invisible, insignificant, and unnoticed. No one will go near her. 

And that’s just what she wants. 

[prismatica-the-strange]

Absolute Corruption | Too Close to You

Warnings: 18+, show typical violence, blood, death, drinking, allusions to and mentions of sex, mentions of emotional abuse and trauma.

Adeline just turned 18 and her uncle takes her to Westworld for the first time. Her first day in the park is much more exciting than she expected and she captures the eyes of a certain bandit.

Ada - ā-duh

Everyone say thank you to @daincrediblegg for getting me into Westworld, you're gonna be hearing a lot about Hector and Ada.

Word count: 7.95k

Next: I've Got No Excuse

If she's honest, she doesn't want to be here, playing dress up with her uncle.

But he's wanted to bring her here for years, having a stockpile of unused trips and no kids of his own to bring, wanting someone to share the adventure with.

So that's how this whole mess started. Another guilt trip, another manipulation to get her to come along when she'd rather be doing anything else.

Her siblings aren't as easily persuaded.

She sighs as she looks in the mirror.

(Picrew)

Well, at least I look cute.

And she can't say he never gave her an expensive birthday present.

But she's not looking forward to what's to come.

She glances at the wall lined with various guns and holsters and scowls. Her ears are sensitive and she doesn't like loud noises.

She hesitates a moment before picking one up, a silver revolver, nothing fancy. She secures it in a brown leather holster around her waist.

Before she goes, the host assisting her points her to two walls covered in various hats.

She picks out a light-colored boater hat with a white and blue ribbon tied around the base of the crown, the ends dangling off the back a few inches.

She puts in a pair of earplugs, specially made by her uncle's company. All noise like speech and ambiance come through them, but it muffles loud and sudden ones.

She stands in front of the door to the park, steeling herself for whatever might happen once she steps through it. Taking a deep breath, she takes the leap.

As soon as she exits on to the train she's handed a flute with some kind of over priced champagne. Before she can refuse the host moves on to the next patron.

It doesn't take her long to find her uncle, sitting next to him, she offers him her drink.

"I won't tell if you don't," He smiles, "Just don't go crazy with it. If you come home an alcoholic, your aunt'll kill me."

She chuckles and takes a sip. It's not her first time drinking, usually seen nursing the same glass of bubbly throughout some boring soiree. She doesn't particularly like it, but she considers the park a social event and decides to partake.

She stumbles as soon as she steps off the train in Sweetwater, but someone catches and steadies her.

"You alright, miss?"

She looks up into some of the prettiest blue she's ever seen.

"I'm fine," Her voice is quiet and he smiles at her softly, hands sitting gently on her hips.

"I'm glad to hear it," He lets her go, "I'm Teddy."

"Adeline," She smiles back, "A pleasure."

"Believe me," He takes off his hat and holds it to his chest, "The pleasure's all mine."

"You're new to town, can I show you around?"

She nearly says yes, his endearing smile pulling her in.

"No, that's alright, I'll just wander for a bit," She turns him down politely, "Thank you though."

He puts his hat back on and gives it a polite tip as she walks away.

She takes her time, slowly meandering to the Mariposa Saloon, pausing for a moment to look at the wall littered with wanted posters.

Her fingers trace the lines of one called Hector Escaton, but is otherwise uninterested.

Once she gets to the bar she sees Teddy again, outside with another pretty blonde.

Figures, even robots have a type.

She scoffs and downs the whiskey the bartender set in front of her, making a face.

Even their cheap shit is top shelf.

"You're new," A voice catches her attention and she turns to see a brunette woman in a blue dress. The woman smiles and drags her fingers down Ada's jaw, "Not much of a rind on-"

"Okay!" She says uncomfortably, gently removing with woman's hand from her face, "I'm not interested. Not yet, at least. I plan on doing some exploring before I do any of... that."

"You sure, sugar?" She cocks her head, hand reaching for her again, "I'll give you a discount."

"Pretty sure," Her voice cracks as she steps back, waving down the bartender, "I'll take another."

"No need to get all flustered, doll, I'll leave you to your-" She's cut off by gunshots outside.

Then more shots, and screaming.

Blood splatters across the front windows and Ada just stares, partly horrified.

"And here he said we'd start out slow," She mutters to herself. She'd lost sight of her uncle as soon as the train stopped.

Probably upstairs fucking some hooker.

Her thoughts are interrupted when a man comes steamrolling through the door. He's wrapped in black leather, scar across his right eye. There's a rope in one hand and a gun in the other.

Other patrons run out of the building as he walks towards the bar.

She flinches when he shoots the bartender less than two feet from her.

"All the banks and trains around here, and you fucking reprobates choose to rob us?" A woman asks from the other end of the bar.

He just grabs a bottle and pours himself a drink, "Why not?"

"You're all here, indulging your particular vices. And so I've come to indulge mine," He shrugs, sending a look to Ada before throwing back the liquor.

More men search the building, scurrying around like ants on a mission as parkgoers and hosts alike cower behind tables.

The man looks at her again and it clicks, he's the one from the wanted poster, a host.

"Well, aren't you a pretty vision in pink?" He teases, "Tell me, sweetheart, why aren't you running and hiding like the others?"

It takes her a moment to think of a response, the thought makes her snort slightly, and he looks surprised.

"Why? Are you threatened by me?"

More gunshots echo from outside and he grins at her, "Threatened? No, Sweetheart, I'm just wary of pretty girls with guns. Even the most delicate of flowers can have thorns."

She tries to brush off her blush by shrugging and pulling out the pistol. She looks it over before setting it on the bar, "Girl's gotta be able to defend herself. I don't like using it though."

She's about to drink her second round when he takes it from her hand, locking eyes with her and downing it.

The second-floor railing cracks and a large safe crashes to the ground. The men wrap in the net beneath it and Hector whistles, causing the horse outside to take off, pulling the safe with it.

"I appreciate the drink, sweetheart, but I should really be going," He sets the glass upside-down next to her gun and starts to walk away.

He freezes when a gun fires, and a man outside, barely visible to her, crumples to the ground.

He turns back to her with wide eyes.

Her arm is out, gun aimed just slightly past his head.

His eyes darken and he steps threateningly close to her, backing her flush against the bar, his hands on either side of her.

"You're not a very good shot, Sweetheart," He sneers.

"I think I'm an excellent shot," She argues, "Considering he was aiming to kill you."

"You said you couldn't shoot," He accuses.

"I said I didn't like guns," She pushes herself forward, chest pressing against his, "Not that I couldn't use one."

He stares her down before smirking, "Maybe I should take you with me, one can't have too many sharpshooters."

"Cause that's what you meant."

He hums, taking her chin in her hand, "Maybe someday, sweetheart."

She leans back against the bar and watches him leave. He pauses in the doorway and looks back at her, tipping his hat.

She reaches behind her and blindly grabs a bottle as he walks off, a path of carnage in his wake.

She takes a drink from the bottle and grimaces.

Okay, not everything is top-shelf.

Her uncle trips over himself as he runs into the bar, gun in hand.

"Where have you been?"

"I was at the jail, looking for a bounty, something easy," He holsters his gun, "But you seemed to find some fun by yourself."

"More like the fun found me," She smiles to herself, "Can you join in the bandit storyline?"

"Honey, you can do anything here."

°•°•°•°

She sighs as she sinks into a warm bath back in her hotel room.

Rose-scented bubbles rise to her shoulders as she washes off any dirt from her short day in the park.

Her mind wanders back to her encounter with Hector in the saloon. The way he pushed and how she'd pushed back.

She's never been that confident around anyone, but something about the host pulled her out of the shell she was so fond of, if even for a moment.

After their little run-in, her uncle explained that Hector's loop would be reset that night and he wouldn't remember her.

While that stung slightly, she was excited to get into his narrative early and see what kind of trouble they could really get into.

She lets herself sink further into the warm water.

Maybe someday, Sweetheart

Her shoulders tense and her heart beats faster when the thought crosses her mind.

She squeals, feet kicking just hard enough to splash slightly.

The next day, when confronted with the bespoke wardrobe, she picks something that would be less cumbersome while consorting with bandits.

Asking around on the train, she gets the information she needs to get a headstart on Hector's narrative.

A woman on a mission, she foregoes any alcohol consumption, instead getting her hands on a flask, just in case.

It doesn't take her long once she's back in Sweetwater to get a horse saddled and ready.

In fact, getting into character, she takes one from one of the locals. A white and brown paint she'd seen one of the hosts with yesterday.

She hasn't ridden in years, but it comes back quickly.

If she remembers correctly, and, God, she hopes she does, it's not too far a ride from town to get to where she's going.

On her way, she comes across another guest.

"Mornin'," He greets, light brown hair peaking out from beneath his hat, "You headed out to try to get into the robbery storyline too?"

"Hoping to."

They ride the rest of the way together, not saying much, just taking in the scenery

She's starting to think they missed the event when there's a click of a round being loaded from the trees lining the side of the road.

The other guest, Tim, pulls his own gun as Hector walks into view, shotgun aimed at him.

"This isn't your lucky day amigos," He motions his gun at them, "Both of you off your horses."

They do as they're told.

"Hector, right?" Tim asks, getting a glare in return, "Darcy told me you were gonna rob a bank carriage and you might need a hand."

"Damn old fool, can't keep his damn mouth shut," He grumbles, "Fine, but if you get caught, you're on your own."

He turns to Ada and looks her up and down, appraisingly, "And what about you, Sweetheart? You any good with that?"

"Exceptionally."

For a brief moment, it's like she sees recognition flash in his eyes, but as quick as it appeared, it was gone.

A small smile spreads across his face and he sheaths his gun back in its holster.

"The caravan will be here soon, we should get off the road."

They guide the horses to cover and lay in wait.

She feels Hector come up behind her, watching out over her shoulder.

"You sure you're up for this, Sweetheart?" He whispers, "It's likely to get bloody-"

"Adeline."

He looks down at her curiously.

"Well, Adeline," He puts a certain emphasis on her name that makes her insides melt, "This will be quite a bloody endeavor. Are you sure you can handle it?"

"Why?" She asks, "Big bad wolf worried about little ol' me?"

"I think little girls should be more wary of wolves," She feels his hand find her waist, his lips brushing the shell of her ear.

She lets out a small involuntary whimper and he chuckles, hot breath fanning across her cheek.

"Mmm, I might keep you, Hermosa."

She swears she's going to combust, but then they hear the gold-laden carriage. She thinks he's going to step back and let her breathe again, but instead, he pulls her closer, holding her against his chest

"Play scared for me, Sweetheart."

She's stunned at first as he pulls her into the path of the vehicle, flinching when he pulls out a pistol and shoots at one of the accompanying riders. The rider falls limp, the horse bucking him off before taking off.

She starts breathing harder, making herself cry and look panicked. Putting on a good show.

His hands are rough, keeping her in front of him when the men start to aim their rifles at him.

"Now now, gentlemen, you wouldn't want to hurt such a," He forces his face to hers, inhaling through his nose, lips, and teeth against her skin, and she lets out a strangled sob, "Pretty little thing, would you?"

Some of the men lower their weapons.

He points his gun at the driver, "Get down, I'm talking this transport."

When no one moves he points the gun at her head, hammer cocked.

"If you want her to live, you'll do as I say," He threatens, pressing the barrel against her head.

"No!" She weakly struggles in his hold, "Please!"

As the rest of the men lower their guns, she sees Tim sneak up behind the caravan.

"Now."

She pulls her revolver out, hitting the driver between the eyes.

Another flash of recognition comes across Hector's face. A memory from another life perhaps, flickering dimly in his mind.

Chaos erupts around them, startling the horses, and causing them to bolt.

He pushes her away, both of them narrowly avoiding getting trampled.

As the carriage flies past he grabs on, climbing up to see her across the seat, doing the same.

He gets there first, taking the reigns in one hand and leaning over to offer her the other.

"You're quite the actress, eh Sweetheart?" He grins, "The tears were a nice touch. You almost had me convinced."

She feels her cheeks heat up, "I'm glad it worked, but what do we do now?"

"Now? Now we get as much distance between us and them as possible, or else-" His eyes go wide and his arm shoots out to hold her in place when he pulls the horses to a sudden stop. The road is blocked by a barricade of the Sherriff and his posse, guns aimed at them.

"Fuck."

"End of the line, Escaton, for you and your bitch," Hector reaches for his gun but freezes when one of the men presses the barrel of his rifle into Ada's side, "I wouldn't."

He slowly lowers his hand only to lunge for her when the man grabs her arm and yanks her down.

"If you hurt her I swear to God-" He starts cursing in Spanish as two of the other men pull him off the bench and cuff him.

They're thrown in the back of a closed wagon, with bars on the window, like something out of a cartoon.

"Well," He slumps against the wall next to her, "That didn't go to plan."

"Yeah."

She goes quiet, giving him a chance to study her face.

"Tell me, Adeline," He says, hands raising to turn her chin towards him, "What's on that pretty mind of yours? Why would someone like you want to help a degenerate like me?"

She stares for a moment, cheeks turning pink.

"I-..." He tilts his head, a curious smile on his face, "I think that's a conversation best left without an audience."

He glances over at one of the riders, meeting his glare.

"Fair enough," He shrugs. He leans back and tips the rim of his hat over his eyes.

It's a good three-hour ride to the prison and a boring one at that.

After the first two, she feels like bashing her head against the wall.

Her fingertips tapping on her knee to the music in her head, trying to formulate an escape plan. She knows she wouldn't be able to take the boredom of a cell.

Once they get there, they're both dragged out and brought to a cell. She's thrown in first, hard enough for her to topple, thankfully they removed the cuffs so she could catch herself.

They shove Hector in after her, slamming and locking the door behind him.

"Are you okay, Sweethear-"

"Wait! Sherriff!" She scrambles to her feet and pulls herself against the bars, "Please don't lock me up with him, I promise I'll be good!"

She reaches through and grabs his tie, tugging him into a kiss.

"Get off me, whore," He shoves her back to the ground and she looks up at him with the biggest doe eyes she can manage.

She blows him a kiss as he walks off.

"So," Hector sits on the bed across from the door, arms crossed and a scowl on his face, "You come on to every man you see."

"That's a hell of a way to thank the girl breaking you out of jail," She laughs, holding up a ring of keys.

He stands suddenly, pulling her up by her shoulders. His eyes search hers before kissing her, hard.

His beard and mustache scratch her skin, and she can't help the moan clawing its way from her throat.

He hums appreciatively where she grips his jacket and pulls him closer, his hand cupping the back of her neck.

He smiles as he pulls away, brown eyes looking at her, soft, warm, and swimming with some unknown emotion.

"We should go," He whispers, "Take a horse, and be long gone before anyone even notices."

"Okay."

He unlocks the cell and leads her out by the hand. They sneak past guards and to where a horse is tied up.

He climbs up first and offers her a hand, "One horse is easier to miss than two."

He hauls her up behind him, waiting for her to wrap her arms around him.

"Hold on tight, Sweetheart, this won't be a pleasure ride."

Her arms find their way around his stomach, pulling herself against him, and he takes off, horse galloping across the desert.

He feels her heat soaking through his clothes, trying to guard herself from the wind and kicked up dust.

"We should go north," He calls over his shoulder, "Make sure they're not following us before we head for the camp."

He feels her nod, relishing the feel of her clinging to him.

It's sunset by the time they stop to make camp, and the last thing he wants is for her to let go. He holds her hands for a moment before parting them so he can get down, reaching out to assist her.

"What a gentleman," She teases, hands moving to his shoulders as he grips her waist and lowers her down.

"Only for you, Cariño," He grins.

"Oh, I bet you say that to all the girls." She waves him off, walking towards a once-used firepit.

He smiles to himself, shaking his head as he goes to tie up the horse.

She doesn't need to look, she can feel him staring at her from across the fire, an intense look on his face.

"You're staring."

"I am."

She looks up at him, bemused, "Why?"

"It's not every day a woman as gorgeous as yourself comes looking for trouble like me," He says, "I'm just curious as to why you did.

She shrugs, suddenly getting self-conscious.

"I don't usually go looking for trouble, of any kind really," She admits, his head cocks to the side, trying to get a read on her face, "I'm usually quite a good girl, mouthy, sure, but..."

"But?"

"It's silly."

"I don't mind silly."

She sighs and looks him in the eye, "Something about you drew me in."

His smile grows into a wide grin.

"See?" She hides her face in her hands, "I told you it was silly!"

"Maybe a little," He laughs, he leans back until he's lying down, arms behind his head, covering his face with his hat, "But whatever it was that drew you in, I'm glad it did."

"Get some sleep, Hermosa, we've got a long day tomorrow."

"Because today was so short and sweet."

"Hey, do I need to come over there and quiet you myself?"

She picks up on the playfulness in his voice and decides to see how far she can push it.

"No," She says simply, "You wouldn't know how anyway."

He lifts his hat and looks over with wide eyes, "What was that, Pequeño?"

She just raises her chin and smiles, "I'm pretty sure you heard me."

He sits up and gives her a chance to take back her words.

"You know," he starts pulling off his gloves, "I've had women beg me to shut them up."

He stands and starts towards her, "But now you've offended my skill as a lover."

He towers over her, unbuckling his belt, tossing his hat to the side, "I suppose, I will just have to show you."

"I-" The words stick in her throat, everything elevated so quickly.

"What? Nothing to say now, Amor?"

His face softens when he sees her chest heave and he kneels next to her.

"Cariño, what's wrong?" He takes her hand, "I haven't even touched you yet and you're trembling."

She doesn't know what's happening. She's dodged advances from pricks at parties with only minor annoyance, but something about his aggressiveness struck her.

He recognizes the look she's giving him and he frowns, thumb stroking the back of her hand.

"I frightened you," he says quietly, "I'm sorry, amor, I didn't mean to."

He carefully reaches for her face, running his thumb across her cheek.

She lets out a breath she didn't know she was holding when he holds up her hand, pressing his lips to the heel of it.

Her lip quivers with unspoken words.

"I-I-" her breath shudders as he slowly begins kissing up her arm, "I've never... not actually..."

He looks up at her with the most adoring look, "Say the word and I'll stop."

...

She wakes up to someone running their fingers through her hair.

Her eyes flutter against the bright light shining through the trees and sighs.

"Good morning, Hermosa."

She lifts her head from his chest, sitting up slightly to look at him.

Hector's head tilts, eyes wandering with a small smile. She looks down to see what has his attention and her face goes red.

Memories flood her mind as she covers her bare chest with her arms and turns away.

"Come now," He sits up behind her. He gently moves her hair to the side, pressing kisses to her shoulder, "Don't get shy on me now, Amor."

She melts under his touch, his hands warm on her skin.

"I'll go ready the horse," his voice still gravelly with sleep, "Get dressed."

She hears him stand and start pulling on clothes. He catches her when she chances a peek and grins, "Look all you want, I'm not shy."

Every time she thinks of the night before she thinks she might faint.

I can't believe my first time was with a fucking robot.

Her cheeks are still pink when she meets him by the horse, and he doesn't think he's ever seen anything cuter.

He offers her a hand up, which she timidly takes. Her whole body goes rigid when he climbs up behind her, arms hanging loosely around her waist to hold the reins.

He's pressed directly against her back and she can feel his every breath.

"There's a small town just northeast, we should be able to get a warm meal there."

They move at a leisurely pace, his right hand finding a place to rest on her thigh.

It quiet. It's calming.

She sighs, eyes closing as she leans back against him, taking advantage of the partial embrace. Her hand reaches up, fingers tracing up his jawline and catching in the hair at the back of his neck, mindlessly playing with it.

"Amor," he murmurs in her ear, gripping her thigh tighter.

Her chin tilts up, leaning her head on his shoulder and looking up at him through her lashes, "Yes?"

The groan that escapes him is inhuman, morphing into an exasperated laugh, "You're a dangerous woman, you know that?"

"I have no idea what you're talking about."

She gasps when his arm snakes around her stomach, pulling her against his chest.

"None whatsoever, Cariño," He pulls at her ear with his teeth and she whimpers.

Another hour of soft touches and lingering kisses later, and they arrive at the small town of Story's End. A bit of lazy naming on the writer's end, but she tries to ignore it.

Once they enter, Hector's demeanor changes. He sits a little straighter, face hardening, and stops holding her like she's the most precious thing in the world.

"Hector?"

"Just stay quiet," he says, "This town isn't a nice one. "

She keeps her eyes cast down as they pass a group of men drinking outside a bar.

"Would you look at that," One whistles, "Howdy there sweetheart!"

"Hey, Chica! Why don't you come over here and lemme show you what a real man fucks like!"

He grips the reins tighter when she shrinks.

"Hey!" The first man stumbles to his feet, toddling forward, drunkenly, "Hey! I'm talking to you, bitch!"

The horse whines when Hector redirects it back at them, pulling out his gun.

"Are we going to have a problem here?" He spits.

The man just chuckles and reaches for Ada's leg, catching her ankle, "Only if you don't share this pretty little-"

She jumps when the gun fires, blowing the man's arm to pieces, blood splattering on her.

"You son of a bitch!" He screams, holding the stub of his arm before collapsing.

"Anyone else?"

The other men stay where they are, not looking to die, and Hector takes it as a sign of surrender, holstering his weapon and riding on to the inn.

"Stay close," He tells her before getting down. He keeps one hand on his gun, keeping a vigilant watch on everyone in a twenty-foot radius.

As soon as her feet touch the ground, he grabs her arm and drags her inside.

"What are you-"

"I said be quiet!" He hisses, shaking her slightly and she freezes.

He slams some money on the desk, "One room, and food."

He unlocks the door and storms in with her in tow, kicking it shut behind them and locking it.

"What the Hell?!" She tears her arm from him, voice low, afraid it'll break if she yells like she wants to.

"Cariño," He reaches for her and his heart breaks when she pulls away, "Please, let me explain."

She tenses when he moves her hair behind her shoulder, "Amor, I-"

His eye catches something when her coat and shirt, jostled out of place, fall to her elbow.

He'd tried to be careful, tried to make it look believable yet painless, but the quickly forming bruise on her upper arm stares back at him.

He falls to his knees, taking off his hat.

"Forgive me," His voice is strained as he stares up at her, brown eyes big and full of pain.

She doesn't move, scared look still staining her face, but she lets him take her hands. His hold is gentle, as if she was made of glass.

"I just wanted to keep you safe," His lips graze her skin before he stands. She looks up at him, letting out a shaky breath, to which he lightly places his hands on her cheeks.

She's still shaking.

He swallows hard, leaning in to press his lips to hers in the most feather-light kiss.

"You're safe with me, Adeline," He breathes, trying to convince both of them, forehead against hers.

It's just a game.

She takes a deep breath.

None of it's real. It's just a game.

She tries to tell herself, but it just hits her too hard and she can't stop the tears from spilling over.

Hector panics.

"No, Amor," he quickly starts taking his gloves off to wipe them away, but she turns from him, hugging herself.

"I'm fine," she insists. He watches helplessly as her shoulders rise and fall with each shuddering breath.

"Adeline."

It's not normally the guests crying.

He steps around her and something in him shatters at the sight of her tear-stained cheeks.

"Oh, Querida," He holds her face in his hands, looking softly into her eyes, "I shouldn't have brought you here."

He holds her close, arm hooking beneath her legs to pick her up. She clings to his neck, letting herself be fully immersed in the narrative.

The bed dips beneath his knee as he leans over to lay her down.

"First, we'll eat, then we can leave."

For a moment he loses himself in her eyes and he smiles.

"You're beautiful when you cry, Cariño."

...

She jumps when he kicks the door shut again, two plates of whatever the kitchen was serving in his hands.

"Adeline?"

She snickers when he looks at her confused. Her cheeks are pink again and she hums a melody to herself.

He sets the plates on a beat up dresser and kneels beside her. She reeks of booze.

"I was barely gone twenty minutes, amor," he holds her face to look at him.

"I'm a bit of a lightweight," she giggles, "And I haven't eaten today."

He stops her from bringing the now near-empty flask back to her lips, taking it from her.

Her eyes are softer when he looks back at her.

She reaches out to touch his face.

He sucks in a breath when her fingers graze his scar, instinctively grabbing her wrist.

The melody spills from her lips.

"I can't get too close to you, my darling."

"Cariño-"

"And God help me, if I do, you'll leave me brokenhearted," Tears start to fall again, "You'll leave me lonely at best..."

He swallows hard, wondering if she truly expects heartbreak from him.

"Adeline, Amor, you're drunk," He states simply enough as he stands. He sets one of the plates in front of her, "Eat, you'll feel better."

Half her food gone, she passes out from what can only be described as emotional exhaustion.

...

When she wakes up her head is throbbing. She sits up, blinking against the harsh light coming through the windows.

She looks around the room, eyes landing on Hector last.

He's sat up in the bed against the headboard, asleep, jacket and hat still on, hand on the grip of his gun. She'd been sleeping with her head on his lap, his left hand in her hair.

He looks on edge, but maybe that's his natural state.

He wakes with a start when she forces herself out of bed, aiming his gun towards the door. It takes him a moment to realize it's only her and relaxes.

She uses the pitcher and basin in the corner of the room to splash water on her face, trying to wake up fully.

"How are you feeling?" He asks wearily and she sighs.

"Can we just... forget last night ever happened?" She asks, looking back at him through a cracked mirror as he stands.

He comes up behind her, hands finding her hips. He runs his nose the length of her neck, taking in the faded scent of rosewater still stuck to her skin.

She feels so stupid for the way she acted, absolutely embarrassed.

What she doesn't know, is that every moment he spends with her finds himself more enthralled with, and endeared to her.

She melts against him with each slow kiss pressed to her skin.

"I should've warned you," His fingers tangle with hers, "But if that's what you wish."

"I wanna get out of here."

He nods at her pleading tone and reaches for her coat. He wraps it around her shoulders, popping up the collar and cupping her cheeks to pull her in for a deep kiss.

When he goes to open the door his hand hesitates by her arm. He instead grasps the front of her coat, "You stay near me. Do not leave my side."

She nods, but he sees the way her hand trembles.

He takes a moment to pet her hair, trying desperately to reassure her, "I'll keep you safe, amor. I promise."

She stumbles slightly when he tugs her down the stairs. As they walk out of the inn she's pulled to an abrupt stop and he nearly loses his grip.

"Aren't you just a pretty little thing?" A man with a thick southern drawl slurs behind her, arms wrapping around her, "Hey Ah-migo, why don't you give someone else a turn with this little fuck puppe-"

He freezes when the barrel of a revolver presses beneath his chin.

"If you value your life, you'll shut your damn mouth."

Both men stare at her in shock as she pulls back the hammer.

"Ohh, she's got teeth," He grins, "I like tha-"

A shot rings out and his body slumps to the floor, grey matter painting the ceiling.

She holsters her gun as she turns back to Hector, flicking loose hair out of her face.

He holds open the door for her, still dumbstruck as she walks by.

"That's not your horse, Amor," He says once he snaps out of it, seeing her mount a horse tied next to theirs.

"It is now," She shrugs. He climbs into the saddle of the other, "It's not the first time."

He smiles at her, stars in his eyes and they ride off.

They're halfway to camp where Armistice and the others are waiting, probably planning to rescue him from that prison, when he calls for her to stop.

Something about the way her hair looks, all windswept and wild, and how the sun lights up her face.

He needs her, now. Desperately.

...

"You okay, amor?" Hector asks teasingly. She's riding with him again, one arm wrapped possessively around her waist.

She keeps making little noises, and small whimpers. She's just still so sensitive and he's beaming like he just gold-medaled in every sport created.

"You're making such cute sounds, pequeño."

"Jerk," She scoffs, reaching back and flicking the rim of his hat, making him laugh.

...

The first thing out of Armistice's mouth when she sees them ride in is "Who's the girl?"

"Good to see you too," He says. He gets down and offers her a hand after him, "This, my friend, is Adeline."

Suddenly the center of attention of the gang, she gets anxious.

If he notices her shift in demeanor, he doesn't say anything, just places his hand on the small of her back and walks her through the small crowd.

"She'll be joining us on our little, business venture."

She feels like she's on full display with all the eyes on her. Some judging, and others with absolutely disgusting intent.

"Sure she's pretty, Escaton," Armistice says, circling her, "But do we really need something else to take care of just because you found something cute to fuck?"

"Hey!" He scowls at her, "I've seen firsthand how well she can take care of herself."

As the day goes by she finds a place off to the side of camp where she can be, somewhat, alone.

Her finger circles the edge of one of her ear plugs pulling up a playlist in that ear, taking some time to decompress.

Nearly an hour after she disappears Hector starts getting worried. The sun is starting to set and he's not sure if she knows her way around.

She watches him wander out of camp, head moving as though he's looking for something.

He takes a few nervous steps before raising his hands to his mouth.

"Adeline?... Adeline!"

"A-" He spins around when she stands up, not trying to be quiet. An immediate look of relief washes over him, "You scared me, Amor."

"Did something happen?"

He looks confused for a moment, taking her hands.

"You vanished, I thought..." He runs his fingers through her hair, "It doesn't matter, you're still here."

"Of course I am."

Her fingertips trace his jaw, a soft and familiar gesture that turns him into a puddle. He leans in, ducking down to kiss her.

"Let's get back to camp," His hand finds hers as he turns to leave, stopping when she doesn't move, "What's wrong, cariño?"

"I'm just..." He looks at her expectantly, "I'm pretty awkward in the social department. And I don't think my being here is entirely welcome."

"Don't mind Armistice," He frowns, holding her shoulders, "She's like that with everyone."

He can tell she's still unsure, "You can always hide behind me if someone scares you."

He laughs when she hits his arm, "What? I'd rather you hide behind me than pull a gun on my friends."

"They keep their hands to themselves, and we won't have that problem."

"And what of me, amor?" He asks, teasingly, "Am I to fear your pistol, should I wish to hold you."

She's blushing again, the thought of sitting on the ground between his legs with his arms around her burning brightly on her face.

"Heh," She forces a small laugh, trying to play it off, "Only if you get too handsy, pretty boy."

"Don't!" She warns and the words 'So you think I'm pretty?' catch on his tongue.

He pulls her in for another warm, reassuring kiss.

She lets him hold her hand and lead her back into camp, acutely aware of looks and eye rolls.

He sits by the fire, pulling her down onto one of his legs.

He sees how she tenses, so he doesn't show his disappointment when she moves, settling next to him, one leg pulled up to her chest.

He starts thinking he's going through withdrawal, getting so used to her affection the past two days, like a drug he immediately got addicted to, just dying for another hit she isn't giving him.

He takes the way she still pressed against his shoulder as a good sign, though he's desperately craving more.

One of the guys starts passing around a bottle, holding it out to Hector.

He pulls back slightly when he goes to grab it, grinning at Ada, "I'll trade ya, for a go with her."

Hector's hand flies out to catch hers as it goes for her gun.

"Another comment like that and I can't promise I'll be able to stop her in time," He says with a glare, "Or myself for that matter."

He waits for her to relax, thumb running across her knuckles, "We should go over the plan once more."

The night drags on, they talk the heist and their plans after. They all start to turn in and Hector stands, bringing her with him to his tent.

He's more worried than he'd let on during the discussion, about her getting hurt and he tells her as much.

"Adeline, if something were to happen to you tomorrow..." His knuckles run across her cheek, voice hushed, "We've only just met and I already feel as though I couldn't live a day without you."

She takes his face in her hands, "Nothing is going to happen, I promise."

Nothing can happen to her, hosts can't kill her. She's more worried about him. All it takes is one trigger happy guest and they lose.

Her hands trail down his neck, chest, and stomach until she finds what she wants.

She pulls out his knife and his eyebrows furrow.

"Besides," she twirls it in her fingers before she flicks her wrist and it embeds itself into a tree across from the space between the flaps of the tent, "I'm pretty scrappy in a fight."

...

"I feel like you'll get more use from this than me," His hands tug on her belt, adjusting it, and when she looks down, he's attached his sheathed knife to it, "Just in case."

She pushes herself up on her toes to kiss him, hand grabbing the back of his neck, teeth pulling at his lip when they part.

"Becoming a little tease on me now, are you?"

She winks as she turns.

No doubt the whole camp heard the noises they were both making last night, no need to play coy now.

She can feel him watching her walk away, brazen stare burning through her body like fire.

On the ride to Sweetwater, he pulls back to ride beside her.

"You stay near me," He tells her and she scoffs.

"You wouldn't happen to be showing favoritism, would you, Hector?"

"Adeline," He insists, "By my side."

"Okay," She nods, voice apologetic, "By your side."

He gives her a small appreciative smile, before riding ahead.

Their identities covered by blankets as they enter town until the deputy approaches, and Hector shoots him.

She follows everyone else's lead, hopping off her horse and firing at whatever lawmen try to stop them.

Armistice hands him the rope and he motions for Ada to follow him inside.

"Stay by the door, Amor," He says, "Shoot anyone you don't immediately recognize."

She does as she's told, watching him swagger around the saloon out of the corner of her eye. That is, until a guest speaks up from the other side of the room.

"Ada?" Her head snaps up at her uncle's voice, and so does Hector's.

She's immediately filled with dread that he's going to ruin her fun, like always, but Hector beats him to the punch.

"Amor, do you know this," He looks him over with a sneer, "Old man?"

"Old man?!" He guffaws, fumbling with his gun.

"Henry," She warns, a sharpness to her voice he isn't used to hearing, "Put it down. Or else I tell Auntie exactly what you get up to when you're in town."

His face is red, with anger or embarrassment she's not sure, but she has to bite her lip to keep from laughing outright.

Hector pushes him back with the other guests and hosts.

He has his little encounter with the madam and the safe comes crashing to the floor. This time, instead of having one drink, he grabs the bottle and takes it with him.

He pulls Ada back by the hips, whistling when they're clear of the door, and the safe flies by.

He takes her hand and leads her outside, but she's stopped when her uncle grabs her other wrist.

"Where do you think you're going?" There it is. She isn't doing exactly what he expects, so he has to put an end to it.

"Fuck you," She spits, trying to pull herself from his grip, "Let go of me!"

She's about to break his foot when Hector decks him across the face, "She told you to let go!"

He tries to ignore her absolutely lovestruck face, his face heating up as he walks by.

Her uncle has other plans, catching onto her long hair.

She's done.

She's been done for a long time. Done with the manipulations, with the fearmongering, with everything.

She lets go of Hector's hand, and holds onto her braid, taking the knife from the sheath on her belt, and giving a good slash to its base.

Everyone is some level of shocked as she walks away and mounts her horse.

One animal down as it drags the safe back to camp, Hector climbs up behind her, completely forgoing his speech and keeping her tucked safely in his arms.

"Let's go!" He calls to the rest of the gang, heading the charge out of town.

She jumps off as soon as they get back to camp, and he storms after her, calling her name. The encounter in the saloon has them both on edge and what she's taking as anger is the full force of his worry.

"Hey!" He catches her arm, shocked when she yanks herself away. He doubles down, grabbing her shoulders, turning her to face him, and not letting go, even when she struggles, "Hey! Calm down! Be still."

There's a fear in her eyes like a cornered animal. It hurts his heart to have her looking at him that way, "I think it's time we have that conversation you've been avoiding. Who was that?"

"My uncle." A simple answer, but he knows better.

He loosens his grip to cup her cheek, looking at her intensely, "Did he do something to you? Has he hurt you?"

"What? N-no!" She says defensively, "Not-... W-He-..."

Her stutter is enough to light a fire in his eyes, ready to ride back to town and gut him. But his first priority is her, the way her breathing is getting heavier, and how her eyes are beginning to glass over.

"I am such deep shit," She babbles, "He's going to fucking kill me, I- He's never gonna let me leave the house again. Fuck!"

His other hand moves to hold her face, "No, I won't let him anywhere near you."

Adeline nods at the, unfortunately empty, promise.

Then her mouth falls open in realization. Her hand goes to the back of her head where it meets the choppy, split ends, "Oh my god."

Hector has no idea what to say, mouth open like he's trying to force something out, "I... like it."

"My hair!" She knows it sounds shallow, but she's been growing it out forever.

He pulls her close and kisses her forehead.

He cradles her head as she trembles in his arms and imagines what the shit storm she just kicked up is going to look like.

"Do you want me to skin him?" He half-jokes, cheek pressed to the top of her head.

She groans, holding him tight.

"I didn't even wanna come here," She mutters, and he pulls back to look down at her, almost hurt, "No, the p -uh town."

"You don't seem like a girl that does things she doesn't want to."

She laughs, "That's all I ever do! Ever since my parents died he's just twisted his way into my head, playing with my emotions and insecurities to get what he wants."

Angry tears roll down her face, frustration marring her face.

"Hey," His voice is soft, "Once we open that safe, we'll be set for whatever life you want, away from him."

She wants desperately to let herself get wrapped up in the fantasy again, but reality is like a boulder, crushing her more with every passing second.

"Right," She gives him a half-hearted smile and he takes it.

The next few hours consist of the gang fighting about unlocking the safe, none of them having much luck.

"Friends," Hector says, "There's no need to get worked up. There's enough in that safe to go around."

He kisses the top of Ada's head, getting to his feet, "I'll be right back."

It takes all of thirty seconds for things to go from tense to chaos.

Shots ring out, and only she and Armistice are left standing.

Hector comes hurrying back, gun in hand. There's a brief moment of relief when he sees she's okay.

"You damned fool."

His eyes go wide and he moves to shoot Armistice before she can shoot him, but he's too late.

Adeline lets out a scream, hand flying over her mouth when they both fall down, dead.

She's left alone, in the woods, surrounded by bodies.

She's in shock, silent tears falling from her eyes, stare locked on Hector's corpse.

It's just a game.

[tobiasdrake]

If this asshole kicks me out again, I'm going to happen to this building in a way that makes the Dweller attack seem like a mild inconvenience.

Who even are your clientele? We barely even have a system of class and privilege. The only people of wealth I've ever met are Duke Aventry and the Watchmaker. "Duke" might be his name and the Watchmaker can't leave her castle.

Who are all these rich snooty assholes keeping this place in business!? How do you keep your nose so brown in a world suffering an intense anus shortage!?

...

I mean. Yes. We have a reservation. Because I am a lady of refinement and class. So you have to be nice to me.

The shit we had to go through to get that is beyond belief. I would demand a word with your manager but I just came from talking to him and he said you have to be nice to me. We are hosting a reverse funeral. No, I will not explain what that means.

SO HELP ME I WILL--

Oh. You're going to provide us with high-class luxury clothes. Please ignore the threats upon your life that I was in the process of making and, by all means, show me to your finest of garments.

Serai, I have seen you in Pirate, Ninja, and Robot, and you make everything work. This will be no different.

Better watch yourself, Malkomud. You call him out like that, he might just expect you to draw, pard'ner. Haha!

Oh, wow, we all look so good. Garl, absolutely dashing, that color looks so great on you. Zale, Yippie Ki Yay. Teaks, loving the suit, it's so refined. Valtraid, please don't muscle up and rip that suit because it makes you look like such refined gentry. Yolande, killing that blue dress, I love it. Keenathan, I know you can't see right now but very handsome.

Moraine... present. Sorry, the vest is very rugged but I'm not comfortable with complimenting you for attractiveness. You're like the deadbeat dad I never had.

Malkomud, I'm surprised they had Street Urchin available as an option but you're nailing the aesthetic. It's perfect. Could you do a cockney accent for me?

...I... guess... if the puppet's going to follow me around everywhere and not let me have a moment's peace then it makes sense to dress it up. Feels weird, though.

B'st, on the other hand, is easily the suavest gentleman in the room with his top hat and bow tie. It's not fair, B'st; You're giving Garl a run for his money on his own special day. ...hm. At a wedding, groomsmen aren't supposed to look better than the groom, but I don't think there are actually any social rules about outdressing the body in the casket at a funeral. You got lucky, B'st.

And... Serai. I was right, you make anything look good. The crown of spikes in particular is an amazing addition. It lends an air of elegance while still highlighting the strength underneath. Do you like my little moon brooch? I think it brings the whole look together.

I would like to say that the two of us are going to be the brightest lights in the constellation of Garl's reverse funeral but, alas, there's still one person here who has us beat. There's just no competing with Keenathan's squiddy over there. Just a top hat and tux jacket, and yet somehow they outshine even my great luster.

I guess you can't win them all. Congratulations, squiddy; You win this round.

I still don't think it will compare with Garl on quality but credit where it's due, I'm very impressed with the quantity.

Oh yeah, when we realized this poor kid was just neurodivergent and getting picked on for it, I was about ready to start chucking molekin off a cliff. I'm not saying blocking the wind tunnels was a good thing to do or anything, but it never should have come to that in the first place.

Malkomud got to witness Garl's bottomless kindness and compassion firsthand. And his people got to witness my, uh, incendiary temperament firsthand.

We all did it for Garl. ...well, okay, I was chomping at the bit to slay a legendary volcano monster. Which I did by myself, don't ya know. But in the big picture, it was still for Garl.

All of us except Morai-- OW. Serai, did you just kick me under the table?

Ugh. Fine. You're right. I won't start drama at Garl's reverse funeral.

I'll fucking drink to that. I would be so utterly confused if it weren't for her.

Odd sentiment given that I'm pretty sure he's like ten and the young have an easier time turning their lives around than the old, but okay.

*vibrates excitedly* Do me do me do me do me.

We'd be lost without our crew, to be sure. They've done so much for us, ever since that fateful day when they swindled us into an arrangement they could have just bartered for anyway.

That's a crock and a half, he-- OW. Fine, I'll bite my tongue.

And the second-sharpest-- Squiddy, goddammit.

The third-sharpest... no, there's B'st over there.

You look nice, is what I'm trying to say. I don't words good when I'm reverse grieving.

Could have happened sooner if anyone had communicated properly but, uh... *sweatdrop* We all make mistakes, let's not make a thing of who knew what and when.

In all honesty, we owe you far more than you could ever possibly owe us. You gave your eye for me. And then you did it again and gave your life for me. In the future, I am begging you, please just let me deal with the consequences of my bad choices.

Yeah. Okay. The Golden Pelican will be spared my fury. Their weirdass business practices are probably going to bankrupt them anyway.

This was a great event and I'm happy to have attended it. Welcome back, Garl. You have been dearly missed.

[wakingfromthewater]

I dreamed I was in a thrift store and I found a sweater that I knew (dream logic) belonged to a musician I really like but it was too big for me so I unraveled it and used the yarn to make a hat. The colors were a dull yellow with light blue highlights, a dark oatmeal, and a dark sapphire blue. The yellow and the oatmeal were in a softer yarn than the blue, so I cast on the brim in yellow and was planning to have the yellow and the oatmeal transitions into each other with a swirly pattern and then do a blue star on the crown so the scratchier yarn didn't touch my face or ears.

I woke up and though maybe it is a bit like that. You get something from them, and it doesn't really fit but it means something to you, and you make it your own.