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ewanmitchellcrumbs · 1 year ago

Text

Anhedonia

Pairing: Aemond Targaryen x nameless female character (third person perspective) Warnings: Canon typical sexism. Mentions of past trauma. Angst. Heavy Petting. Oral (m receiving). Smut. Word count: ~6.1k

Summary: A young noblewoman's family have travelled to King's Landing for an upcoming tourney and are guests of House Targaryen. She is excited to explore the capital and all it has to offer, however, she finds herself dismayed when a certain Prince does not share her adventurous spirit. She makes it her mission to ensure he learns to appreciate the pleasures he considers to be "depravities". Based on this request.

Author's note: No gods, no masters, no tag lists. Only scabs community label fics. If you find yourself tempted to slap a label on this, please block me instead.

A month in King’s Landing, she can hardly wait. The journey from the Vale to the capital has taken ten days, each of them feeling like they stretch on for an eternity. She hops down from the carriage once it pulls to a stop in the grounds of the Red Keep, helped by the footman, and does her best to remain poised and ladylike despite the overwhelming urge to exaggeratedly stretch her limbs after having been seated for so long. Her and her family are to be guests of House Targaryen, invited to attend a tourney being held in honour of King Viserys’ upcoming name day, a gesture of goodwill for having hosted the royal hunting party the last time they visited the Vale.

While life in the Vale is lush, green and peaceful, it is also quiet, too quiet, and she finds it dull. The only excitement she has are her visits to Riverrun to spend time with her betrothed; she is six months into a courtship with Lord Tommen Tully, but even the Riverlands do not offer the excitement that King’s Landing boasts. She longs to explore the maze-like streets of the city and immerse herself in a culture where sheep do not outnumber people.

They receive a warm welcome from Queen Alicent and the Hand of the King, Otto, who informs them that, regrettably, the King’s health prevents him from being able to greet them personally, but he sends his regards. The children that Alicent shares with Viserys all stand in a row as part of the greeting party. Prince Aegon leers at her, his eyes roaming the length of her body, making her feel self conscious and embarrassed. Princess Helaena puts her at ease, however; there is a natural slouch to her posture which lends an air of informality to her, and makes her seem more approachable than the rest of her family. She smiles easily, which is in direct juxtaposition with the stony demeanour of her younger brother, Prince Aemond. He stands straight as an arrow, arms clasped firmly behind his back and offers little more than a curt nod and a quick glance her and her family’s way, his gaze remaining fixed on the middle distance the rest of the time. She wonders if he is like that all of the time, or if he has taken a particular dislike to her presence.

Once they are settled, she is elated when she is sent to spend time with Helaena, her imagination running wild with the possibility of all the interesting things they might get up to. She is disappointed, however, when she finds that Helaena is happy to simply sit and embroider. The Princess talks dreamily about insects, as she stitches away with her needle and thread, but from the faraway look in her eye, she gets the distinct impression that it wouldn’t matter to her if she was there or not.

She slips out of the Princess’ quarters in search of something else to do, and doesn’t have to go far to find it.

“Did you tire of my sister already?” Aegon leans against an alcove, a smug smirk on his face.

She feels her cheeks heat up, she hasn’t even been here a day and yet already she has caused offense. Remembering how he’d looked at her earlier, she worries what he might do to her, her heart thudding loudly as her eyes dart around the corridor, looking to see if there’s anyone to save her. “N-no, my Prince, I simply-”

“-it’s fine,” He holds up a hand to halt her embarrassed apologies. “Helaena isn’t what I’d describe as exciting. You’ve come all this way, it seems a shame for you to sit cooped up in the Keep, when there’s an entire city to explore.”

His apparent lack of anger towards her, and offer of companionship eases her mind. and she grins at the possibility of finally getting to see more of King’s Landing. “What did you have in mind?”

“Follow me.”

Aegon leads her to what she assumes are his chambers, donning a hooded cloak, before throwing one to her. She slips it on, her eyes going wide as she watches him move a chest of drawers out of the way and push through an opening in the stone wall. They exit the Keep and head down the hill to what Aegon tells her is “Flea Bottom”.

She is overwhelmed by the sights of street performers dancing, breathing fire and offering palm readings, the sounds of traders shouting out to sell their wares, the smell of urine that seems to linger in every corner they pass, and the sheer number of people. They jostle in crowds up and down the narrow, winding cobbled streets and she grips tightly to Aegon’s hand, terrified she’ll get lost if she lets go even for a moment.

They drink brown ale that tastes like old copper coins and eat roasted meats that have been burned to the point that she is no longer able to discern their animal of origin. She decides it’s best that she doesn’t know. For every cup of ale she drinks, Aegon has three and it’s not until they reach the door of a building where the cheers of a crowd can be heard from inside, that she realises how far into his cups he is as he sways beside her.

“Perhaps we ought to go back.” She suggests uneasily, feeling apprehension begin to gnaw at her insides.

“Rubbish...” He slurs. “...come on, you’ll enjoy this.”

He grabs for her hand, tugging her through the jeering crowd and she recoils when the sight of two children hitting each other in a pit below comes into view. Her stomach turns at the sight, not wanting to look long enough to comprehend what she is seeing, the thought is simply too awful. She wrenches away, pushing herself back outside.

She leans against a wall, catching her breath and it is not until her heart rate has slowed that she notices that Aegon has not followed her. She had assumed he’d be just as disgusted as she was, and a shiver runs through her as she realises that he had intended for them to watch that, it was no mere accident, he enjoyed it.

The faces of the people on the street seem more sinister now she is alone and it dawns on her how perilous her situation is; she is a lone noblewoman in a foreign city, absolutely anything could happen to her here, and there’d be no one to save her. She breaks into a run, sprinting through the narrow streets, not knowing if she’s following the same route that she took with Aegon on the way there, but just knowing that if she keeps the castle on the hill in sight then she will make it back in one piece.

Winded by the time she eventually returns, she shuts herself away in her bedchamber and vows never to spend time alone with Prince Aegon for the rest of her stay in King’s Landing. His idea of a good time could not be farther removed from her own.

She has a troubled night’s sleep, plagued by the visions of what she’d seen in the fighting pit. She feels fuzzy headed by the time she eventually rouses from her bed, and a sadness settles over her. The month was going to be an incredibly lonely one without anyone to keep her company; her parents would be entertained by the Queen and her father, they would not want her around. Tommen could not even come to visit; an invitation had not been extended to the Tullys, it would be impolite and presumptuous for him to simply turn up.

Walking towards the window, she looks out across the city. The faint orange glow of the sun has barely begun to rise above the rooftops in the distance, it is still the hour of the rooster. A sound of steel clashing against steel draws her attention to the courtyard below.

She watches a tall, silver-haired man cross swords with a dark haired knight. Though they both fight valiantly, it is clear that the knight’s opponent is getting the best of him. It’s only when the fairer of the two turns that she notices the eyepatch. Aemond.

Though she has yet to actually speak to him, she knows all about him, all of Westeros does, she presumes; the terrible accident that cost him his eye and that he rides the largest dragon in all of Westeros, both subjects of keen interest in every noble household.

She wonders if he is as vulgar as his older brother, or perhaps possesses a gentleness that’s more akin to his sister; it was impossible to tell from his stoicism when she’d arrived yesterday. Smiling as she watches him point the tip of his blade towards the knight’s throat, she decides she will seek him out and find out for herself. Perhaps he will be a worthy companion for the duration of her stay.

Once she is washed, dressed and has broken her fast, she goes in search of the One-Eyed Prince. He has long since departed the training yard, so she wanders the halls of the Red Keep, hoping she might run into him.

It’s not until she reaches the library that she finally encounters him. He is seated at the head of a long, mahogany table with a book in his hands. He has changed out of the doublet he wore when sparring and is now dressed in a black leather tunic, his long silver-white hair falling elegantly around his shoulders.

He does not look up as she enters the library and she finds herself unsure of how to handle the situation; she hadn’t anticipated that he’d ignore her.

She draws in a breath and clears her throat, and when he still doesn’t acknowledge her she then speaks.

“Prince Aemond, it is a pleasure to meet you properly. I saw that you were part of the welcoming party for my family and I yesterday, but I wanted to formally introduce myself.”

He looks up then and she feels she may wither from the intensity with which he glares at her.

“Hm,” is all he musters, before returning his attention back to his reading.

The logical part of her knows she ought to take offense to his dismissiveness of her, however, her curiosity is far greater and she wants to know precisely why he’s so reluctant to speak to her. She walks towards him, stopping a few paces in front of where he sits, regarding him carefully.

It’s obvious that he does not enjoy the intrusion, visibly bristling and shifting haughtily in his seat. She makes no moves, determined to stand her ground until he talks to her.

Aemond sighs, closing his book and fixing her with a pointed stare. “What is it that you want exactly?”

She gives a gentle shrug of her shoulders, fingertips grazing over the smooth wood of the tabletop as she approaches him. “I thought we might be friends.”

“I don’t have friends.” He replies stiffly, reopening the tome in front of him and continuing to read.

“You must get lonely.” She watches the way his eye scans the page and smiles to herself. He isn’t really reading.

“No.” He doesn’t look up, keeping his focus firmly on the text.

“What are you reading?” She pulls out the chair next to where he sits at the head of the table and sits down.

“It wouldn’t interest you.” He says dismissively.

“Try me.” She stretches out her arms, gently drumming her fingers on the table.

He looks up then, annoyance pinching his angular features. “What do you mean?”

“Read it to me.” She fights the urge to laugh at the expression of horror that flashes across his face.

“Read to you?! Are you an infant?”

“I’m not going to leave you alone until you do, and it means you get to carry on with your book, so you might as well.”

He sighs, rolling his eye. “Fine, but I’m not starting from the beginning.”

She settles back in her chair as he reads aloud, paying rapt attention to the way his brows raise for particular sentences, the way his lips shape around each word. His voice is soothing when he’s not being petulant. A warmth blossoms in her chest at how animated he becomes. It is a history book he reads to her from, but he is almost passionate in his delivery of every word. It seems she has found common ground with Aemond, and perhaps the beginning of breaking down the walls which he appears to have built up around him.

She watches Aemond train from her chamber window every morning, and visits the library every afternoon over the next few days. Each time Aemond reads to her; books about history, philosophy and dragon lore. She finds each topic fascinating, but it perhaps has more to do with how ardently he speaks of them than her own interest or understanding. Whether he enjoys or simply endures her presence is a mystery to her, but he doesn’t turn her away and reads aloud without complaint, so she continues to come back. Each day their chairs draw closer together, until they sit shoulder to shoulder, her leaning in to follow the words along with him. He is stiff at first, seemingly unsure of her physical presence, but gradually softens, leaning into her as much as she does to him.

The day of the tourney arrives and as she is seated in the stands she looks around, noticing that Aemond is absent, despite the fact the rest of his family are all in attendance; even Viserys has made it out to spectate, though he appears to be frail and in ill health. A golden mask covers half of his face, and a maester hovers by his side, while Alicent looks on worriedly. She wonders if he’s even aware of what he’s supposed to be watching. Assuming that on account of all Aemond’s training, he will be taking part, she is surprised that as the jousting gets underway she cannot spot him.

She feels restless and bored without her new found friend, if she can even call him that, and during a commotion when a knight is unseated from his horse, she uses the distraction to sneak away back to Keep. It’s the time of day when Aemond would usually read to her, so she knows exactly where to find him.

He looks up from his book as she enters the library, the faintest of smirks pulling at the corners of his lips.

“You’re late,” He drawls. “I started without you.”

“I was at the tourney,” She replies, taking her usual seat beside him. “I thought you would be too.”

“I don’t give a shit about tourneys.” He says matter of factly.

Her eyebrows raise in shock, she’s never heard him speak so colloquially before, but she finds she rather likes it. “No ladies whose favour you’re after then?”

“No need. I’m to be betrothed to one of Lord Baratheon’s daughters.”

“Lucky you! Which one?”

Aemond shrugs slightly. “I’ll choose when I fly to Storm’s End.”

“And leave three poor ladies heartbroken afterwards.” She teases with a smile.

“I hardly think so.” He mutters, stiffening with discomfort and frowning slightly.

Assuming he is being needlessly modest, she places a hand on his arm. “You must have no end of admirers.”

Aemond snatches his arm away, fixing her with an angry stare. “I do not appreciate your mockery.”

“I-I wasn’t…” She stammers, stunned by the abruptness of his reaction.

“Well, then I do not need your pity.” He utters darkly, rising from his seat and striding from the library.

She stares after him, a tightness in her chest preventing her from calling out to him. She has no idea what she has said or done to make him behave in such a way, but the urge to burst into tears is overwhelming, so she makes a hasty return to her chambers so that is able to do just that in private.

She weeps bitterly as she curls up on her bedspread, a combination of remorse for having offended her only companion in this city, and shock that such a harmless remark could have done so in the first place. As her cries subside, they give way to confusion. What had she said that had upset him so much? She had only meant to pay him a compliment. Words of flattery should not inspire such outrage. Her perplexed state gradually evolves into anger. She decides it is him in the wrong, and if he wishes to be annoyed with her then he can be.

For two days she does not speak to Aemond, fighting the urge to go to the window in the morning to watch him train, refusing the familiar path to the library that her feet long to take in the afternoons. She misses him, and the Red Keep becomes a lonely place to be without the only friend she has made within its walls. She wonders if perhaps he misses her too, but is resolute in her determination not to seek him out.

It is on the third day that she hears a soft rapping at the door to her quarters. She only ever receives visits from the Keep’s serving staff, so she calls out for them to enter. Her heart feels as though it has leapt into her throat when she sees Aemond slip through the door, softly closing it behind him.

He holds a book in his hand, and the pair of them stare at each other in silence for a few moments. She knows she should rise when in the presence of royalty, but it’s taking all of her effort just to remind herself to breathe, formalities are the furthest thing from her mind as her yearning for his company and her anger at how he’d spoken to her are at direct odds with each other.

It appears he is unbothered by her lack of formality, however, as he grips the book tightly in both hands, swallowing thickly. His right eye is almost pleading as he looks at her. “It’s been a few days…I thought I might read to you, if you’d like me to?” Though he does not say the words aloud, they are clear; I’m sorry.

She softens, unable to help the smile that spreads across her face. She’d expected him to be far too proud to have ever come to her, and yet here he was. “I’d like that,” She says; I forgive you.

Aemond seats himself next to her on the settee and begins to read. It is a volume about the Age of Heroes, and though interesting, she is barely able to register the words, just thankful to have the ease of his presence once more.

He squirms as he reads, something she is unused to seeing. Aemond is still by nature, his posture stiff and unyielding, yet he arches his back and rolls his shoulders until eventually, with a sigh, he stops reading and closes the book.

“This seat is unbearable, how can you stand it?” He grumbles.

“We could go to the library, if you’d prefer?” She offers.

“I’ve a better idea,” He says. “But you’ll need to be dressed in something warmer, much warmer. Get changed and I’ll meet you back here in a moment.”

She watches him leave, wondering what he could possibly have in mind, and why she’d need to dress warmly. It is early summer, and the sun shines brightly, regardless of this she dons her thickest clothing before Aemond returns. She notices that he too has changed, he’s wearing a long, thick jacket and leather riding gloves. Puzzled by his choice of attire, she does not have time to ask questions as he gestures for her to follow him.

He guides her out of and away from the Red Keep, the briskness of his pace causing her to break into a light sweat on account of how wrapped up she is. Her discomfort is short lived, however, replaced by a mixture of fright and awe as the sight of the largest and most monstrous beast she has ever laid eyes upon draws closer into view the further their footsteps draw them away from the center of the city.

“Are…are we going towards that?” She asks fearfully.

Aemond chuckles drily. “That is Vhagar,” He tells her proudly. “Is she not the most magnificent dragon you’ve ever seen?”

“She is the only dragon I’ve ever seen.” She replies, voice shaking slightly.

“I thought you might enjoy an opportunity to escape the Keep, and experience something more exciting than a tourney.”

“We’re going to ride her?!”

“It’s perfectly safe, I do it often. But if you’re afraid, we don’t have to.”

She chews her lip in uncertainty. The thought of flying on dragonback terrifies her, but at the same time she’d arrived in King’s Landing in search of adventure and this certainly was one. She decides to place her trust in Aemond. “I want to.”

Trembling as Aemond helps her up into the saddle before climbing on after her, she tries her best to be brave in spite of the way her stomach lurches as Vhagar takes flight. She holds onto the handles of the saddle for dear life, thankful for her thicker than usual garments as a rush of cold air gusts over them as they gain more height.

The queasiness she feels at the weightlessness subsides a little, as she feels Aemonds arms encircle her waist in order to take hold of the reins of Vhagar’s saddle. For a moment she is sure she imagines it, until she hears it again; Aemond is actually laughing. It’s the first time she’s ever heard him express such unbridled joy since she met him, and she turns slightly, taking in the view of the upward curve of his mouth, the crinkle of his seeking eye, how utterly carefree he looks. It suits him. She would endure a thousand death defying flights on Vhagar if it meant she got to see more of him like this, it is so far removed from how solemn he usually seems.

They land on a grassy cliff top, overlooking the sea, and he informs her that he has brought her to Parchments, as he helps her down, an area that overlooks Tarth and the Narrow Sea towards the Flatlands of Pentos and Myr.

“It is too loud sometimes, even in the most silent parts of the Red Keep. It’s quiet here.” Aemond tells her, shrugging off his coat and laying it upon the ground before sitting upon it. He gestures to the empty space beside him and she joins him.

“You like the quiet.” She muses, looking out sea, watching the gentle undulation of the waves as the breeze softly moves through her hair.

“It is preferable to being laughed at.”

She startles, assuming he is referring to their conversation in the library a few days’ prior. “I wasn’t–”

“I did not mean you,” He tells her, glancing quickly over at her, then returning his gaze to the horizon. “They have always laughed at me. I grow tired of it.”

She is unsure of who he means by they, but is eager to comfort him. “I think you are magnificent, Aemond, I’d never laugh at you. My compliment was genuine.”

“I know that now,” He admits. “No one has ever sought my company willingly before, or expressed that I am…desirable. It was hard for me to imagine you weren’t joking.”

Her heart aches for him. “Have you never even kissed a woman before?”

Aemond shakes his head. “Aegon took me to a pleasure house on the Street of Silk for my thirteenth name day. He said ‘time to get it wet’. I don’t really remember much of that day, just that it smelled unclean, and that when I encountered the woman I was to lay with…” He pauses, drawing in a breath. “...the sight of her spread out like that was too much. I couldn’t do it, so I turned and ran. Aegon laughed. He has always laughed. I haven’t bothered with that sort of thing since.”

She frowns, thinking back on her own experience in Flea Bottom with Aegon. “Aegon is a shit,” She tells him, earning the slightest of smiles from him. “But I am sorry that that happened to you, you deserve better. It is not supposed to be that way.”

“How should it be then?”

“You should feel safe and comfortable, it should be with someone who cares for you, who wants to take the time to learn what makes you feel pleasure.” She says wistfully, heat creeping across her cheeks.

“It sounds as though you speak from experience.” He says with a slight raise of his eyebrow.

She hesitates a moment, shame giving her pause, but she has trusted Aemond once already today and he has not failed her, so she decides to confide in him. “Yes, I am betrothed to Tommen Tully. We have…explored the various aspects of intimacy together during our courtship. If you are going to enter into an arranged marriage then it makes sense to know what you are doing, and are able to keep your partner happy.”

“Hmm, Lord Tully,” Aemond says quietly. “Lucky man!”

She giggles at the way he mimics her compliment from a few days’ prior, and they both turn their attention back to the expanse of the Narrow Sea.

It is dusk when Vhagar lands back on the outskirts of King’s Landing. Streaks of lavender, orange, pink and yellow all disappear into the horizon, slowly swallowed by the darkness of light as she climbs from the saddle with Aemond’s help.

She is taken aback when he sweeps her into his arms as she makes her dismount, pulling her close to him. He presses his lips to hers and it is filled with the clumsy inexperience that comes with the action of a first kiss, but the plushness of his mouth against hers is not unpleasant and she returns the gesture softly and slowly.

He pulls back, his eye looking deep into hers. “I feel safe and comfortable with you,” He murmurs. “And I would like for you to teach me…how to be intimate. If that is agreeable to you?”

Her stomach flutters as she stares back at him breathlessly. “Yes,” She whispers, before leaning back in again.

Aemond is a fast learner and over the coming days he becomes more confident with his kisses. He leans in to kiss her each day as he reads to her, begins walking her back to her quarters at the end of every evening so that he may kiss her goodnight, his tongue licking deftly against her own. His lips possess hers with such assertiveness that it steals her breath away, the softness of them molding to hers in a way that has her chasing forward for more with a whine when he pulls away.

She knows that she ought to feel guilty, she is betrothed to Tommen after all, but she reasons that they are not married yet, and it is unlikely that he has shied away from having fun of his own when they are apart. She is merely ensuring Aemond feels confident when the time comes for him to depart for Storm’s End in pursuit of his own betrothal. With this in mind, she does not push for more beyond what he is willing to give, waiting for him to give the signal that he is ready.

It is early evening as he walks her back from the library, his mouth moves unhurriedly against her own as he presses her back against the door to her bedchamber.

He lingers once they break apart, not bidding her goodnight as he usually would. “I thought I might…come inside, if that is fine with you?”

She nods, her breath quickening as he follows in behind her. Aemond sits himself on the edge of the bed, suddenly looking uncertain of himself.

“How do I–”

“It’s alright,” She smiles, sitting beside him. “I don’t mind taking the lead. Just tell me to stop if it’s too much.”

He nods, laying against the pillows as she gently pushes him back. Draping herself over him, she resumes their earlier kisses, deep and passionate, both savouring the taste of each other. She breaks away to trail her lips along the sharpness of his jaw as her fingers work to unbuckle his tunic. She delights in the soft sighs that he emits, unbuttoning his undershirt and admiring the hard planes of his lean torso.

“Do you ever touch yourself?” She whispers, feeling how his pulse races as she strokes her fingers over his neck.

“Sometimes…” He breathes, eyes fluttering closed as her fingertips trail across his chest.

“What do you think about?”

“Lately…” He inhales a shaky breath as her hand moves lower, toying with the laces of his breeches. “...I think of you.”

She feels the warmth of arousal pooling between her legs as she palms the hardness of him through his underclothes. Though she does not have much to compare Aemond to, he is much larger than Tommen. She cannot resist dipping her hand beneath the fabric to touch him. “And what am I doing in your thoughts?”

He hisses through his teeth as she wraps her hand around him, and she lets out a hum of satisfaction at how weighty and warm he feels against her palm as she strokes him.

“You are…fuck…you are beneath me, and I-I am inside you.”

“Is that something you’re ready for?” She questions, slowly lowering herself on the bed, mouth watering at the sight of him; long and thick, flushed pink with arousal at the tip.

“I want to be.”

“Why don’t we start with this instead…”

She licks delicately at the head of him, grinning to herself at his quiet gasp, then allowing him to pass between her lips, suckling delicately. He is slightly salty against her tongue, though not unpleasant. Releasing him, she glances up.

“G-gods…don’t stop…” Aemond all but whines, his eye screwed shut as he bucks his hips slightly.

She smirks, taking him once more into her mouth, deeper this time, bobbing her head back and forth and using her hand to stroke the length of what won’t fit. He tenses and trembles beneath her attention, his knuckles turning white with the intensity with which he grips the sheets. She readies herself as the telltale pulsation of his length indicates he is nearing his peak, swallowing as he releases down her throat with a low groan.

Wiping her mouth, she crawls to lay beside him, smiling softly as she takes in his lazy, blissed out expression; right eye hooded with pleasure and lips slightly parted.

“Can I stay with you?” He whispers.

“As long as you’d like.”

From that point on, when Aemond walks her back to her rooms he does not depart to his own. They spend every evening exploring each other, hands, lips and tongues roaming over every bared inch, before falling asleep in each other’s arms. She does not recoil when he lifts his eyepatch for the first time in front of her, instead she takes his face in her hands, turning it slightly, admiring the way his sapphire glimmers in the firelight, before softly stroking her thumb over the scar on his cheek.

He takes her that night. It is brief, as she knew it would be, a few awkward thrusts inside of her and he spills himself, embarrassed apologies uttered into the crook of her neck. She strokes his hair and tells him not to worry, they will try again once he is recovered, and they do.

She sits astride him, hips rocking back and forth, head tilted back in pleasure as the length of him stretches and fills her over and over, working at a spot inside of her that causes her to clench around him. Taking his hand, she guides it to her pearl.

“Stroke here,” She instructs, moaning wantonly as he begins to rub in tight circles.

She collapses against his chest, white hot waves of pleasure coursing through her as she falls apart, and he follows soon after.

Aemond is dutiful, fetching her moon tea without needing to be asked, and the pair fall into a happy routine of reading and dragon riding by day and lovemaking by night.

She lays against his chest, listening to the soft thud of his heartbeat as his fingers stroke through her hair.

“Thank you,” He tells her earnestly. “For all you have done for me.”

“I have done nothing but remind you of what is already there,” She replies. “You are intelligent, you fight fiercely, you are a skilled dragonrider, anyone can see that.”

“How do I fare as a lover?” He asks.

She does not need to look at him to hear the smirk in his tone and she giggles lightly. “Extremely well. Your Baratheon girl will certainly be lucky to have you.”

She hates the pang of jealousy she feels acrid and hot within her chest as she says those words, but what she detests even more is the look of sadness that flashes across Aemond’s face, his eye glancing away as the upward curve of his mouth falters. So they speak no more of it, clinging desperately to each other and the time that they have left.

On her final night in King’s Landing, Aemond fucks her into the mattress as though he means to push her through it, his grip on her hips so tight it is sure to leave bruises in its wake. She does not care though, clinging to him just as tightly, her nails digging crescent moons into his shoulder blades as she tries her best to memorise the way that he moves inside of her.

Come the morning, he sits up in the bed, his expression sullen as he watches her hurriedly throw her belongings into a chest - a task she ought to have completed the previous evening, but Aemond had kept her otherwise occupied.

“The stewards will be here for my things soon,” She says, stuffing a dress down the side of the rest of her haphazardly packed possessions. “You should leave before anyone sees you. You’ll be expected to be a part of the official send off for my family anyway.”

Slowly, Aemond rises from the mattress, walking over to her. “Don’t go,” He pleads quietly, taking her hands in his.

She could cry from the gesture; a month ago he’d have rather flung himself from the walls of the Red Keep than initiate any form of physical contact with her, let alone a gesture so intimate.

“You can’t ask that of me, Aemond,” She tells him gently, softly pressing her fingers into his palms. “It isn’t fair.”

He swallows thickly and the sincerity she sees in his eye is more than she can stand. “But I love you.”

She feels wetness rim her eyes, sharp and stinging. “And I love you. But so what? It’s not enough. We are duty bound, you and I.”

He bows his head sadly for a moment, but eventually nods. “I hope Lord Tully appreciates what a fine woman he has.”

Smiling warmly, in spite of her unshed tears, she nods. “And I hope the Baratheon girls give you a warm welcome. Be sure to kiss them all, don’t settle for what’s offered up first.”

He huffs a silent laugh, that releases itself as a heavy exhale through his nose.

“I mean it,” She urges. “This world is too small for you, never let anyone make you feel less than what you are.”

“Thank you,” He murmurs. “For everything.”

She lets go of his hands, crushing herself against his chest as she wraps her arms around him, as he envelopes her.

“Don’t forget me.”

“As if I could.”

She stares out of the carriage window as it rolls away from the Red Keep, away from King’s Landing, away from Aemond. Though she is returning to the Vale, she knows a part of her will forever remain in the capital, a part that she has imprinted upon Aemond. It is bittersweet to leave him behind. She is comforted knowing that she has pieced together the broken man she encountered when she first arrived. The world is too small a place for the likes of the Targaryen Prince, but she has given him the confidence to realise that he holds it in the palm of his hand.

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henrioo · 1 year ago

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°•*⁀➷ MORNING SICKNESS: SHANKS

�� SYNOPSIS ꒱ : "Being pregnant with Luffy, your first child with your husband Shanks, is a dream come true... But that doesn't make it any easier to deal with the recurring nausea."

꒰ WARNINGS ꒱ : TRANS MASC! Reader, TRANS MALE! reader, FTM reader, pregnant men, he/his pronouns, gay relationship, gay marriage, two daddies being happy, Shanks is an over-the-top father and husband, Luffy is your son's name, Shanks calls himself Daddy and calls you Papa (revenge against fan fiction with the reader being called Mama) Nausea due to pregnancy, Shanks is a very worried father and husband

꒰ WC ꒱ : 676

꒰ NOTES ꒱ : I've been on a roller coaster these last few weeks and I had decided to post on Saturday thanks to Bibi, but I almost changed my mind, I decided to be strong and post even though I was feeling like shit. I'm kind of excited but also extremely unsure about entering the world of imagines male, well we'll see how it goes

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And just like the last few nights you were abruptly woken from your not-so-peaceful sleep by the incredible need to throw up all your dinner. Your body was sweaty and hot even though you were sleeping wearing just a huge shirt from Shanks — one that he bought the wrong size and it was big even on him so it was huge on you — and your kitten print underwear that you got from a joke of Shanks in a Christmas prank.

The bedroom window was open, now with a mosquito screen since your husband was paranoid about you being bitten by an insect and dying since your pregnancy announcement, and you took advantage of the light breeze to sit on the bed and calm down a little to see if the nausea went away. There was a humidifier running, the curtains swayed slightly, and there was a child's light in the room that Shanks had bought in fear of you tripping when you got up in the dark and hurting yourself.

Sometimes you questioned whether Shanks knew that you weren't that fragile just because you were pregnant, after all you were proud of all your strength and masculine muscles... But you wouldn't deny that his extra care calmed your heart a lot. The bed was also huge, the redhead wanted to buy a bigger one after reading news about parents crushing their children for sleeping together in small beds, of course there was no point in explaining to him that this was sensational news since before you could argue he had already ordered it and paid for the new furniture.

A kick in the stomach and your dinner turning around as it climbed up your throat made you stop remembering how careful your sleeping husband was, you quickly got out of the soft covers and ran to the bedroom's bathroom. You quickly knelt on the rug in front of the toilet and it wasn't long before you were vomiting again, you loved your baby and you loved being pregnant, but you would also love to stop vomiting everything you tried to swallow.

“huh, he woke up early today” Shanks yawned as he awkwardly entered the bathroom, luckily the room was big enough for both of you.

“I shouldn’t have had dinner” you mumbled nauseously as you rested your head on the cold part of the white ceramic.

“You always say that but you always have dinner… Honestly you haven't stopped eating since you got pregnant” Shanks laughed and sat next to you, taking a towel from the cupboard and slowly wiping your face.

“It’s not me… It’s Luffy… He’s hungry like you” you teased Shanks.

“Of course… Hungry like his daddy and hyperactive like his papa” Shanks responded to the provocation and you knew he was right. If your unborn child was hungry because of the redhead, then he was also hyperactive because of you. Since, as everyone always said, you had extreme difficulty sitting around doing nothing, always looking for something to do and have fun.

“The perfect combination” you laughed tiredly as you felt the nausea slowly going away.

“Completely perfect… But look, this kid will find himself with me when he's born, making my husband vomit everything I cook for him” Shanks snorted, pretending to be irritated “He's thinking that money falls on trees so I can spend it on food and he can make you put it out?!”

You laughed but soon felt some light kicks in your stomach that made you both gasp.

“I think that was Lu telling you to go all out and he’s going to kick your old ass” you laughed, rubbing your stomach affectionately.

“Brat… Stubborn like his papa” the redhead laughed and gave you a wink “Okay, let's get you off the ground and put you in front of the window… And get you a glass of water too” the man smiled as he stood up ready to help you.

Maybe pregnancy wouldn't be so terrible if you had a husband who was so worried about you…

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#one piece x reader #one piece #one piece x you #one piece imagine #onepiece #anime imagines #imagines #anime and manga #one piece x male reader #one piece x transmasc reader #one piece x trans male reader #x male reader #x transmasc reader #x trans male reader #shanks x y/n #shanks x you #shanks x reader #shanks x male reader

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infini-tree · 1 year ago

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walks in. ponifies the characters. walks out

(+ some notes)

the kids' ponified names are just based on Vibes/keeping the same first letters as the original. i kept playing with the idea that the "Heart" part of pony!harold's name should be a compound word, to keep the same number of syllables as Hutchins, but i already broke the "same syllable count" rule with george, so Heart it will stay

the kids' cutie mark is just as straightforward. melvin's is science-y, while george and harold are meant to parallel each other-- at least with the 'pencil drawing part of the cutie mark' motif. the spiral in george's is me being a bit cheeky.

why is it every time i do an au that's more of a design challenge than anything with a concrete plot, george just is the hypno-ring that made krupp cu /j

krupp and captain was the most difficult out of all of them to design since if i had to design one of them, it had to be fitting for the other too. the more natural colors (in comparison to the others) was meant to be more of a reflection of krupp's character, but the neutral color palette also worked for captain too so his accessories popped.

the coat pattern was also there to make sure he doesn't seem too monotonous, but then i learned about horse coat patterns-- specifically blanket patterns... that basically meant captain's underpants is just built into both their coats. its less obvious on krupp since he has a shirt (blue now, since white on white wouldn't look good).

as for krupp's ponified name, it was also a similar struggle since there were no K words that fit his vibe. it was initially "Key" for the longest time (read as: i had to sleep on it), but i decided on "Keeper" since it still evoked that trapping feeling, but it could have more positive connotations in a... protector/caretaker/teacher sort of way.

as for the "Bantam" part, i had wanted to keep a similar enough word to "ben". and having it be shortened to "Ban Keeper" was too good to pass up. bantam is a kind of chicken (which fits krupp's farm past as established in tetocu), but bantam also meant "small and feisty person", which krupp is. but is also what the children he's "keeping" are.

so basically you can read krupp's name as "keeper/caretaker of unruly kids [in detention]", "controlling one's unruly nature", or "farmer keeper", which i personally think is fun

don't worry about krupp hiding his cutie mark! its fine. he's fine.

captain is captain! you know him. you love him. he has changeling motifs due to the nature of the "radiation". apparently, characters gaining radiation/magic based wings and horns are a thing that happened in G5, which i didn't know until recently, so funny coincidences.

captain's cutie mark is underpantyworld. his cutie mark is different from krupp (stares at the changeling motifs)

edith, thankfully was straightforward. her ponified name is just a food name, specifically a type of cheese. her cutie mark is a ladle with some sparkles around it. i changed her dress to just a shirt, and her gloves to be some galosh sort of deal.

and as a bonus since you can pry alien!edith from my cold dead hands, there's a bonus reformed changeling form since that's the closest thing to aliens in this world! "Stemmata" is a type of insect eye, to fit in with the changeling naming convention of naming them after bug body parts, but also eyes because of the whole Two Blue Eyes thing. she was originally supposed to be called "Ocellus", but there's already a character that exists with that name...

i imagine edith defecting from a small hive and accidentally unlocking her reformed form, and she thinks she can't go back even if she wanted to so she just kinda... stays,

#mells draws a thing #captain underpants #my little piqua

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weasm-82 · 21 hours ago

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Hello everyone

My name is Wissam Murtaja, from Gaza. I am 42 years old, married, and have 4 children, 3 girls and a boy. I live in war, fear and destruction. We were displaced from our home in Gaza in November 2023 to the city of Khan Yunis, then to Rafah, then we were displaced to Mawasi Khan Yunis after the ground operation on Rafah. Every time I was displaced to another place, I prayed that this would be the last. We were very tired and exhausted. Our bodies, we no longer have the energy to continue. We lived through hunger, thirst, cold, and all the difficult conditions that a person cannot imagine. We did not imagine that a day would come when we would live through all of this. I previously lost my home in the 2014 war, and now I have lost my home again in the 2023 war. I lived a beautiful life, suddenly I don't know what happened. We live in a small tent made of nylon in a situation that no human being can bear. Just standing in it for more than two minutes during the day is enough to melt you, in addition to insects, diseases and lack of privacy. Imagine all this!! Can you live??

I'm really afraid of losing and I don't want to lose. I lost a big part of my home, my job, and my entire previous life.

Things here are more difficult than you can imagine. The reality is painful. We wake up every day to the smell of death, massacres, and martyrs. Please help me save my life and the lives of my wife and children, get out of Gaza, and find a safe place to live.

Your donation will save my life, this is the only way.

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digital-matchmake · 1 year ago

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I wonder how the gang would react to a pet of the reader (you can pick what type), I would imagine it would be funny especially if the pet doesn’t like jax from first glance.

It really depends on the type of pet.

If its a dog, then Gangle and Zooble would try to avoid it especially if they are small because they would not trust the animal enough to not play with their body parts, Jax would honestly try his luck on teaching it how to tackle anyone on command but if it's a big dog he'll try to avoid it, Kinger would just go "Doggy~" and just pet it, Pomni would be nervous but I think she'll like it especially if its the more quiet and calm breeds, Ragatha would try and pet it but being made out plush she'll try to not have the animal think she's a dog toy *Last thing she wants is to be tossed around*

If its a cat, Oh Pomni would like them and she especially loves it when it purrs on her lap, which causing Jax to tease that she is with her kind, Jax would also try to encourage the cat to play with Gangle's ribbons or just straight up toss the cat to her, *He was sentenced to the gay baby jail for that*, Zooble would not care at first but may like the cat if it has some sass *Like her fr* and Ragatha would also love the cat as it purrs on her lap, especially thinking how it is so similar to Pomni while Kinger probably scares himself and the cat each time they bump into one another as the cat just always seem to appear out of no where to him.

now the funniest thing if the pet was a rabbit, because all of the gang except from Jax would immediently have it named The better Jax and they would actually love that fluffball. Funny thing is Rabbits are territorial and so I just have this funny image of Jax arguing to the rabbit like an actual person while the rabbit just thumps the ground in response and so Jax would stomp his feet too and now they are just having a thumping battle to see which of them last long *Reader had to pull them away before they actually begin to have territorial fights*

It would widely depend if the pet was an exotic one, if its an insect one you can count Ragatha out unless you encourage her to try and lessen her fears with them with small encounters, just make sure Jax doesn't let them out of their enclosure please. If its a reptile Zooble would not be in the mood especially after the encounter with gloink queen but they might find some like snakes and small lizards cool. And if its a bird, I can always imagine Gangle wanting to try those scenes were a birds pick someone up and fly with them but you had to remind her to your bird cannot carry her.

#tadc pomni #the amazing digital circus #tadc ragatha #reader #tadc reader #tadc jax #pomni x ragatha #tadc au #pomni tadc #tadc kinger #tadc zooble #tadc gangle #tadc Digital Roommates #Digital Roommates au #Digital Roommates

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rinwellisathing · 2 months ago

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Paint The Lines, Cut The Flesh: Part 30

As Shadowheart pulled the knife from Viconia's chest and stepped over her corpse, Lae'zel followed her towards the doors at the back of the auditorium, Kroger and the others hurried after. The darkness only seemed to get deeper and more oppressive, the air was stale and heavy around them as they entered what appeared to be a prison, watched over by massive, imposing statue of Shar. The cells were mostly filled with corpses and Kroger's chest tightened as he noticed a Githyanki corpse in one of them. He knew it was expected of their people, but to die so far from home and imprisoned by such a cruel enemy...He lowered his head and murmured a prayer, he wasn't sure to who at this point, he knew Vlaakith would not care and nor did he believe in her as a deific being any longer. He was jolted out of his distraction as he heard Shadowheart gasp in surprise, turning to see her gazing in confusion at an elven man with her green eyes and dark hair and an old human woman in rags chained just beneath the statue of Shar and suspended in the air. They had to be her parents, Kroger sensed she wasn't certain yet, but they had to be. Shadowheart doubled over and winced as she approached, the wound on her hand aching sharply. Lae'zel's sharp eyes darted to the two imprisoned people above, who also cried out in pain and tensed in that moment. “They are connected to your wound.” She murmured, taking Shadowheart's shoulders between her hands to steady her and turning her to look up at the two. “No...it cannot be, just another vile trick...” The elf coughed. “No, this isn't a trick...it's our little Jenevelle...Our little girl.” The human smiled weakly down at Shadowheart. “Jenevelle?” Shadowheart looked confused. The others moved in closer to her, Kroger imagined they all felt what he did, how fraught, how tense this must be for the poor young woman. She needed them. “That must have been my name then...these are my parents!” She gasped, smiling with relief as she gazed up at them. “Yes, it's me! You needn't worry, I've come to get you out of here, it's all over! You're safe!” Her enthusiastic words were cut off by another cry of pain as the darkness around them deepened.

A chill ran down Kroger's spine as a dark, foreboding presence filled the room. Lae'zel's hand went to her sword and Octavia conjured a ball of light in her hands. It was a small comfort at least that Jaheira seemed unimpressed by all this, folding her arms and watching the scene unfold. The form of the goddess rose above Shadowheart, towering above the party as Shar gazed down at her wayward servant, her expression yielding nothing. The three Githyanki were used to fury in the face of disobedience, a goddess who ranted and raged when she was denied, and perhaps that was why Kroger felt fear in the pit of his stomach at Shar's passive indifference. At least if Lae'zel was afraid, she wasn't showing it, her dangerous quiet fury fixed on the powerful being. She did not leave Shadowheart's side, a protective bulwark should she need it. “It is not over” The being spoke slowly, evenly. The avatar of Shar was as cold and aloof as the goddess was described. “Even if you razed this place to the ground, killed all of my servants, it would not matter....” She sounded almost bored. She had manipulated Shadowheart's life for so long, taken nearly everything from her, and she sounded bored. “That was never where my power resided...Every time you reach for Selune, every time you disobey, my hold tightens....If you had simply obeyed, if you hadn't struggled.” Kroger tensed at those words. He could feel his instructor's hands on his body again at those words and he looked to Shadowheart, feeling a wave of empathy for the pain she felt. “You're no goddess, you're a monster” He spat at Shar. “I am neither....I am absence...” She replied, her voice so hollow as she regarded Shadowheart with the disinterest one might show an insect. “Make your choice...” And with that, she faded away deeper into the shadows, leaving the party there, gazing up at Shadowheart's parents. “You must let us go, Jenevelle. We've done our part, you are the future, you must guide our people.” The dark haired elf spoke so calmly, so ready to accept his fate as he gazed with nothing but love and pride at his daughter, even after all she had been made to do. “We got to see you again, Jen...That's enough for us....we can be at peace.” The old human woman smiled softly. “But...But I've only just found you again! It's not fair!” Shadowheart's voice rose in panic, tears welling in her eyes. She looked to her companions for answers. “This is a choice you have to make, Shadowheart, none of us can make it for you.” Gale replied, his tone stern but gentle. “You've heard what they want, girl, it's alright.” Jaheira nodded. “Do what you feel is right, Shadowheart, we'll be there when it's all done either way.” Octavia offered softly.

“Don't let her win, not after all it took to break free of her.” Kroger added. Lae'zel simply gripped Shadowheart's hand, squeezing it tightly, a serious, sturdy expression on her face, she would be there through whatever Shadowheart decided. The tears finally came as Shadowheart lowered her head and inhaled deeply before looking up at her parents and raising her wounded hand to them. White, luminous moonlight shone on them and on her as their bodies slowly began to fade, the pain washing away as all that was left behind were gently shimmering motes of light, which floated around the party before fading away. Shadowheart turned and slowly collapsed into Lae'zel's body, face buried in the breastplate of her armor as the Githyanki simply held her there, her amber eyes only on Shadowheart. Kroger had never known his sister to show open affection in this way, but he could tell Shadowheart needed it. Lae'zel's freedom from Vlaakith, he supposed, had helped her grow in many ways, just like he had. She was more ready than ever, he thought, to lead their people. ------- “So, you finally decided to show up. Those Netherstones would have probably been much more helpful a little while ago...but I guess you had other things to do...more important things.” Sentry shrugged, slowly turning to face his former companions. “Now, see, I understand that those things might have been more important to you than me...I understand now, better than I ever have...Enver has always been the only one who really cares for me, really understands me...You can all pretend, but at the end of the day, you prove that point more than you know.” He sighed and shook his head, managing a small, pained smirk. “But you always fancied yourselves these big damned heroes and yet you let the city tremble while you fumbled around after someone who, by the way, clearly never gave a shit about you, Wyll....And Jaina and Karlach both know that. Hells, they didn't even WANT to rescue your father. He wasn't worth rescuing...And still you did it, you did it and you destroyed my gift to Enver, our special place together....And now his Steel Watch is in shambles too...bet you had something to do with that...” He drew his halberd. “Well, I won't let you destroy him too. If you want to get to him, you'll have to kill me to do it...and as you've seen, I don't die easily...” He chuckled hollowly. “I'm like the vermin you so clearly would see me as if I dared to slip up in that way.” “Sentry...” Jaina bit her lip. “Please...we don't see you that way, we care about you!” She took a step towards him, stopping abruptly and staggering a few paces back as a swing of the halberd just barely missed her throat.

“Save your breath, any one could be your last.” The paladin responded. He tilted his head, eyes slowly moving to glance at Halsin and Astarion with a look of hurt and betrayal. “Because I did love you...both of you...I'll give you this one chance to hand over the netherstones and run.” “Fine then, let's go! If you're choosing him over your friends, that's fine!” Karlach snapped, taking a step towards Sentry, her own axe in hand. “I can't believe I fucking trusted you anyway, you were only using us to get back to him.” Sentry smirked and shook his head. “Did you ever think, Karlach, that maybe...just maybe...” He chuckled softly, bright eyes gazing at her with manic glee. “If you'd been better at your job he might've sold someone else?” Karlach gave a cry of fury and the two tieflings closed the gap between them, axes crossing, the clang of metal on metal filled the air. Sentry was less physically powerful, but what he lacked in strength, he made up for in maneuverability, catching the head under the blade of his halber, flipping the axe from Karlach's hand and firmly planting the sole of his boot in her stomach, kicking her backwards. “Karlach!” Jaina and Wyll both cried out at once, rushing to her. “Oh don't let your guard down, giving up so easily? It won't be any fun for me then.” Sentry scoffed, giving a playful pout as he advanced on the group, his axe glinting with red light as he approached, footsteps hollow and echoing. It seemed to Jaina he truly was The Dread Executioner again. But she couldn't let herself believe that. This was brain washing...it had to be, he couldn't turn on his friends like this. “Sentry, enough!” Halsin shouted, raising both hands and facing the paladin. Vines cracked through the floor, twisting and writhing, wrapping around Sentry. The tiefling's eyes widened and he began to squirm and struggle. “Fucker!” He hissed, barely concealing the panic in his voice. He forced a laugh. “Oh what was the safe word again? Come on, Halsin....Is that always your solution with me? Tie me down and wait for it to be over? For me to be a good boy again, quiet and well behaved?” He pulled and tugged, even biting at the vines. “Just keep me nice and secure until the bad parts go away and I'm perfect again.” “Sentry, please....This isn't you!” Jaina insisted. “We don't want to hurt you!”

The vines tore and Sentry rounded on her. “Aww, I don't want to hurt you either, Jaina....so I'll make your death quick and you and Wyll can be a beautiful new statue together...Maybe I'll have Enver encase you in stone or metal and you can take that hero Minsc's place in the wide.” He cleaved a powerful blow, the blade managing to bite painfully into Jaina's shoulder blade, blood spouting from the wound before a heavy blow of force hit Sentry in the gut, throwing him backwards and slamming him into a wall several feet behind him. “Oh excellent shot! This will be fun after all.” He snapped his teeth, staggering to his feet as he watched Wyll gingerly help Jaina to her feet and put himself between her and Sentry. The two circled each other. “Sentry, stand down.” Wyll frowned, his good eye meeting Sentry's as he raised his sword. “When I'm about to fight the fabled Blade of Frontiers? No way. Come on Wyll, with your flare for the dramatic? Don't you deserve a proper villain in the end?” Sentry laughed, slowly closing the distance between them. Wyll held his own valiantly, and despite Sentry's superior strength and the paladin's weapon having longer reach, as they exchanged blows, blood blossomed along the fabric of Sentry's shirt and doublet, hell fire singed the tiefling's flesh. But ultimately, Sentry's physical strength won out and Wyll was brought to his knees. Karlach cut back in, reclaiming her axe from the floor and going all in, flames shooting from the exhaust vents in her skin as she swung her axe wildly, Sentry stepping neatly out of the way, waiting for his opening to return the blow. Finally, an ill timed blow aimed at his head was Karlach's mistake, Sentry ducked out of the way and brought his halberd's blade up directly between Karlach's ribs, smirking as it bit deeply into her chest, he followed through until he heard the tell-tale CLINK of metal on metal, wrinkling his nose in disappointment as her artificial heart protected anything more vital. “Fuck you.” Karlach growled, blood drooling between her lips as she slammed her head upwards into his, their horns clattering together as she managed a headbutt, but her energy was fading, it wasn't quite enough, too little too late. “Look at it this way, buddy, now you don't have to go back to Avernus anymore.” He sneered, kicking her away from him. “Just stay down.” He took an ominous step forward, stopping a moment, eyes widening as he felt a sharp pain in his back and then his world began to spin.

“Only if you do the same, darling.” Astarion frowned, lowering his bow as he watched Sentry sink to his knees and then onto all fours, eyes darting blearily as he collapsed. “I really want to believe you're under his control....Maybe it's foolish, but I want to....and I'm going to let them too.” He murmured, watching as Halsin knelt beside Karlach, closing the wound at her chest. Wyll limped over as well, Jaina's good arm slung over his shoulder, the one Sentry had damaged nearly severed. The five of them looked at Sentry's unconscious form, no one really sure what to say, what to do. Karlach was fighting back angry tears of betrayal. “We should kill him...We can't give him the chance to get back up and protect Gortash.” She growled. “I won't.” Halsin frowned. “He can fight this....We know this isn't him.” He insisted, though he had to push down the small part of him that didn't quite believe that. Still, he found himself gently taking Sentry's unconscious body in his arms, holding him so gently. Feeling his body so close to him again, he swore he felt a flicker of something odd, He breathed deeply. “I need to take him back to camp...We'll know for sure once he's far away from here.” Jaina nodded softly. “That makes sense...” She could understand, even if Sentry was in control of his own actions, she understood. What had happened back at The House of Hope had been hard enough for her, but for Sentry, she couldn't imagine. He had spoken to her about how he had lived for the first part of his life, the pain and fear. In her years teaching, she had seen so many vulnerable children act out when they were in pain. He must have felt betrayed that his own friends had, in his mind, allowed that to happen. And then, a man like Enver Gortash wasn't above manipulating and nurturing that resentment. Nobility was like that, after all. She glared at the massive door ahead of them, determination filling her. “We'll take care of Gortash....He has a lot to answer for.”

-----

Sentry sat at the edge of the docks, his knees pulled up to his chest, watching the waves lap at the sides of the boats. His tail flicked gently behind him as the gentle sea breeze passed over him, bringing a soft smile to his face. His head turned as a small, pale figure sat down beside him, placing a simple clay cup filled with gleaming white paint brushes between them. “The brushes are clean, slaughterkin.” Orin smiled brightly up at him. “Time to collect more materials?” Sentry nodded with a grin. “Yeah, I think so, kid....Wanna try the upper city? They've sometimes got gold bits, you know, replacement parts. And it's twice as good because they're cheating father by using those. Trying to escape death and all.” “We will show them how inescapable the crypt-gasps of the grave are.” Orin grinned back, rising quickly to her feet. “Yeah, for sure! And you know what? You can have the best parts.” He added, gently placing a hand on her back and guiding her towards the road to the upper city as he stood up. The two walked slowly through the city as the sun began to set. No one looked twice even with Orin's pale marble complexion, at first blush she and Sentry were just sweet children, a handsome teenage boy and his innocent little sister, such a loving family. No one batted an eye even as they merged into the crowd leading to the Upper City. “Halt. Only Upper City residents beyond this point at this hour.” A human man in the slightly more elaborate uniform of The Watch stopped them, eyes narrowing at the sight of a tiefling and...well, whatever this creepy little girl was. “Ah sir, not to worry.” The watchman looked behind him and there, standing bent slightly on a cane was a well dressed Kozakuran gentleman, his long black hair was worn tied back in an elegant knot pinned expertly with a jeweled hair pin. He wore a beautifully embroidered jacket and vest as well as many glimmering rings. “These are mine and Lady Tomi's children. Adopted you see.” “Of course, Lord Kisaragi. I apologize, I didn't recognize them.” The watchman stammered, bowing respectfully to the older man. He did not catch the hollow emptiness in those dark eyes or the occasional spasm of Lord Kisaragi's body.

“Thanks, dad.” Sentry grinned, nodding to his sister's puppet as he and Orin slipped past into the bustling streets, eyes sharp for their next victim, her hand grasped protectively in his as they walked together. “We created so much bloodsoaked beauty together back then, slaughterkin.” She smiled, not looking up at him. “We did, Orin...fuck...I'm so sorry I didn't see what he was doing....I'm so sorry I let him force us apart...I fought for Enver, but I didn't fight for you...” Sentry squeezed her hand tighter, biting his lip a moment as tears threatened the corners of his eyes. “I don't think I'll ever forgive myself for that.” “You shouldn't, slaughterkin. I won't.” Orin replied, looking up at Sentry with hollow, empty black sockets, blood oozing slowly from them. “You've only proven that you would betray everyone and everything for him.” Her neck cracked as she let go of his hand and stepped back from him, her head twisted sickeningly to one side as she danced jerkily away, each pirouette stumbling, unsteady. “Again, and again, and again, and again, and again....” Sentry's eyes flew open and shot up into a sitting position on his bedroll. A gentle hand pressed to his back, supporting him and trying to calm his hyperventilating. His pale eyes darted around the tent, seeing that it was his own. Malta lay curled near the side that singing sword still rested on. Scratch lay dutifully at Sentry's feet. Us was curled up by his pillow, and by his side, as always was Halsin. 'You should be dead' Sentry thought. 'You and the others...please let Enver be alright. I can't fail him.' He felt his stomach turn at thinking such a thing. Halsin had been nothing but good to him, all he had done was love him. This was wrong, so wrong. But he couldn't help it. Slowly he reconstructed the moments leading up to his unconscious state and he felt nothing. Jaina's sad, pretty eyes wide with shock as he nearly cleaved her arm from her body. Wyll's confusion even as the two had traded blows, Sentry's far more vicious, aiming to kill rather than subdue. Karlach's fury at his betrayal, her face bloodied and her body gravely wounded. He felt nothing. All he hoped for was that Enver would be alright. Could he fight his way out of the camp and back to him? Or could Halsin simply be convinced to let him leave? He looked at the druid and he could feel his heart break at the look in those hazel eyes. He knew Halsin loved him, and on some level, Sentry certainly returned his feelings, he knew he did. He wouldn't have fought for him against Orin if he didn't. He wouldn't have let him inside of him the way he did if he didn't. But it would never be the same as his feelings for Enver, and that didn't seem fair. Halsin deserved more than that. Sentry pitied him, he pitied the man for being so in love he would look the other way as Sentry had been prepared to tear him apart and return to Enver without a second thought. He pitied him for wanting to see the good in a broken, damaged, evil thing like him.

“It's alright, Sentry.” Halsin said softly. “I know...I understand.” He gazed at him sadly, though still so hopelessly in love. “Do you?” Sentry asked, his voice so much colder, so much more empty than he meant it to be. “More than you know.” The druid replied, reaching out to brush a pale strand of silver hair from Sentry's face. “And still I love you.” “Even knowing what I would have done?” Sentry asked, eyes meeting Halsin's never breaking contact, searching for the slightest hint of dishonesty. “Yes. I can't help it. I don't believe I could stop loving you any more than I could stop being a druid.” The elf shrugged. With a heavy sigh, he placed a hand on the side of Sentry's face. “And for what it's worth, I won't tell them.” “Thank you...But I don't deserve that. I don't deserve your protection.” Sentry smiled an empty smile and shook his head. “Even if I could make myself believe that, my children...our children...still do.” Halsin replied. Sentry's hand went to his flat stomach slowly, the tips of his nails dancing across the skin as he looked down and then back to Halsin in confusion. “How can you...?” He bit his lip. “I didn't even know...” “A druid has a certain connection with life, with new beginnings. Part and parcel with the whole 'defender of nature' role, I'm afraid.” Halsin gave a small smile. That's why he protected him. That's why he didn't let him die. Sentry felt a wave of nausea at the thought. It always came back to breeding a legacy. It always came back to Vereena the breeder. The bitter thoughts pushed at his mind, but they didn't consume him. He knew that wasn't true, not with Halsin. Halsin was not Sarevok. Halsin was not Jackal. Sentry could be bitter until the end of his days that Halsin had let him live, had rescued him from Karlach and the others' judgment, but he could never truly make himself believe it was because he was carrying the druid's child...children? Deep inside, Sentry knew Halsin would have defended him anyway, deep down he knew if he shot back that he wanted a potion to make this go away, Halsin might be hurt, but he would accept. Hells, likely he'd mix the potion himself to make sure Sentry didn't get ill from a poorly made back alley tincture.

He found himself resting his head against Halsin's broad, hairy chest, closing his eyes. He was still tired from the sleep potion that had coated the arrow, he was still reeling from being unable to protect Enver, and he still didn't know what to do. ------

Jaina's eyes widened and she quickly threw a crashing wave up, freezing it in place as a shield as the crossbow bolt sailed straight towards them as they passed through the door Sentry had been guarding. Well, at least now she could assure Sentry she hadn't had a chance to try and talk to Gortash. Karlach crashed through the shield of frost, the ice melting beneath the fire that burned across her body as she dashed forward, axe raised. The Steel Watch was destroyed, and it seemed Sentry and Gortash had been spending time alone together leading up to this, so no Banite guards or lackeys were there to help. Jaina might have felt wrong about the battle, how unevenly matched it seemed, if not for what had been done to Karlach, if not for the fact that she still held onto the belief that Sentry had merely been a charmed victim when he'd attacked her. Although healed, her arm still felt tender where the halberd had bit through even bone. Enver, for his part, felt less afraid and more angry as he watched these would be heroes storm his sanctuary, these simpering fools who couldn't simply take a good bargain when it was offered. And now, now once they were disposed of, he would need to resurrect Sentry clearly, how they bested the paladin, he had no idea. But regardless, they had gotten past him and now it was up to him to reclaim those two netherstones. 'Show them who is in charge, boy. My patience is thin.' A voice sneered in the back of his mind and he felt like his skin was on fire as the light brown flesh bristled with thick black fur and his fingers twisted into claws. His body cracked and stretched until the form of a massive creature replaced his human form. Those knife like claws gripped Karlach's ax by the blade, lifting her into the air by the weapon and crushing the blade in his hand and tossing Karlach back into the wall. “Enough of this.” He growled, the now leonine features of his face twisting into a snarl as he rounded on the remaining three. Jaina hurried over to Karlach, helping her back to her feet. Wyll put himself between the two of the and the creature, thrusting out his arm sending a barrage of glowing green tendrils to push Bane's avatar back. The party regrouped, facing the creature. Jaina tossed her cutlass to Karlach and summoned a lance of ice to her hands. Astarion notched an arrow as he stayed to the back. Wyll and Karlach gazed right up at the creature. It was easily eight feet tall, a lion-like thing with rippling muscles, obsidian leathery skin, long claws almost the length of the cutlass blade Karlach now held. He was clad in shining golden armor and his eyes were massive and luminous green.

-----

Wyll lay sprawled across the floor, breathing shallow, barely breathing, bloodied clawmarks raked across his chest. Astarion was a crumpled, bloodied heap not far from him, his pale skin and hair so soaked they'd become fully red. He did not move, did not make a sound. Jaina stood but just barely, her breathing was heavy and her robes were bloodied, her golden hair stained red as well, pale eyes wide and fearful as they focused on Karlach and the Avatar of Tyranny engaged in combat. Karlach wasn't letting up, but she was clearly wearing down. Sweat poured down her forehead and her flesh was scarred and tattered, slick with blood and perspiration. Jaina swayed on her feet as she tried to focus. Her vision was blurring but she kept her eyes on the scimitar in Karlach's hands. If she could only concentrate on a spell, but her head was swimming, he vision was blurry. “Karlach...I can....I can do this....you can do this...” She muttered, doubling over in pain as she raised a shaking hand. She sank to her knees, one hand pressed to the ground, desperately trying to keep herself upright, her eyes focused blearily on Karlach and her hand extended as she called out to Umberlee with all the strength she had left. 'Wave mother....Bitch queen...he has invaded your domain, polluted it....he would see even the sea around the city brought to heel...You wouldn't abide that...I know you wouldn't...please....make me your vessel...Help me.' She thought, blood beginning to trickle from her nose. Lightning crackled around the scimitar in Karlach's hands and the blade glimmered with frost as she went for the throat, her feet leaving the ground as she leapt to bring the icy blade across the avatar's neck. Those glowing green eyes widened in shock as the body began to shrink down again, falling to the ground, Karlach following him down and slamming into his chest, sinking the blade deep into Gortash's chest with a raw scream of rage, eyes wide and tearing with fury as she watched the light leave his eyes. She threw the scimitar aside and her fist slammed into his face again and again, over and over, screaming the entire time, although he was already gone by now. She stopped only when the scimitar returned to its ordinary dull metal sheen as Jaina collapsed to the ground, curled into a broken ball. Karlach slowly rose to her feet, wiping her tears on her forearm as she approached Jaina, gently collapsing to her knees and pulling her into her lap, gently raising her head and tilting a healing potion into her mouth carefully, supporting her body as Jaina began to cough and choke back to life. “Karlach....are you alright?” Jaina asked with a small smile.

“No....No I'm fucking not....He's dead and no sorrier for it than he ever was.” She spat bitterly. “And now he'll never be...And I'm still going to die.” She choked back a sob, biting her lip. “I'm still going to fucking die, nothing's changed.” Jaina clamored to her knees across from Karlach and gently took her hands in hers, squeezing them tight. “Karlach...I'm so sorry.” She pulled her closer, hugging her. Karlach simply rested there numbly in Jaina's arms. So often at the start of their journey she would have given anything to feel that soft, smooth, sea-slick flesh against hers, the cooling nature of her water and storm magic, the gentle ocean breeze scent of her hair. So often recently, she had felt happy and comforted in those lightly frilled arms, but now, now even being held by Jaina felt as empty as everything else in this moment. She placed her hands softly on Jaina's shoulders and pushed her back. “We need to bring Wyll and Astarion back to camp...it's going to take more than potions to help them. Besides, let Sentry see what he let happen to Fangs. If he ever even REALLY cared about him.” She murmured bitterly as she rose and crossed the room, gently taking Wyll and Astarion's battered forms in her arms, Jaina following closely behind, simply leaving Gortash where he had fallen. She had had enough of this place and so, she was certain, had Karlach. ----- Sentry refused to leave his tent, refused to even acknowledge Karlach when she returned, demanding he look at what Gortash had done to the others. He numbly absorbed her tirade, his head down, eyes lowered. Nothing felt real anymore, even as Jaina had gently pulled Karlach away and given Sentry a shockingly sympathetic look. He did not join his companions to eat or when they gathered to plan their attack on The Elder Brain. Even The Emperor's words fell on deaf ears. 'I know you can hear me, Sentry....' 'Leave me alone, I don't care anymore...do whatever you want with the brain.' 'Unfortunately, that is not how this works. Your Githyanki friends intend to use the hammer, it is very likely only you can make them see reason.'

'I really don't care. If Orpheus kills me, all the better.' 'You cannot mean that, after all you've been through, all you have accomplished.' 'I do. I mean it. Without Enver, what's the point?' 'Your freedom. You broke free of your father's control only to end your life because you've lost one person? Perhaps this can offer you a new perspective instead. Perhaps now your ties to this form are immaterial. Join me. I think you will see things more clearly then.' 'Fuck you' Sentry pulled his pillow around his ears, closing his eyes tightly. 'Fuck you fuck you fuck you. I will NEVER become a mindflayer and you're fucking sick to use Enver's death against me like that. Maybe they SHOULD use the hammer.' Outside of Sentry's tent, Wyll and Astarion were both recovering with Wither's help, sitting at the camp fire with the others. Octavia and Gale brought dinner and passed around plates and the party sat down to discuss what would be their final confrontation with the brain. “Sentry should be there with us. I know he would want to see this through.” Jaina insisted. “He doesn't care, Jaina, all he ever cared about was Gortash. Face facts.” Karlach replied coldly. “I don't believe for a gods damned second that ass hole was under any kind of mind control or charm spell. He didn't even care when Astarion nearly died.” “Well, to be fair, in the moment neither did you.” Astarion replied nonchalantly. “And with Withers around, death is cheap after all...Not the worst death I've had by far.” “Joke all you like, but you saw how he turned on us.” Karlach shot back. “Well, obviously he's going through quite a lot, his emotions are high, we all know the feeling. You can hardly blame him for a lapse in judgment.” Astarion continued. “Ugh...I can't believe I'm the one of all people who has to say this, but it's really best we put that little relapse aside and just work together. We're near the end of this now, it wouldn't do to fall apart over a momentary bad decision.”

“I agree. Sentry's been there for us this whole time. He defied his father in the end, he wants to do what's right. Love makes fools of us all.” Wyll nodded. “It being Gortash does sting quite a bit and I know it's worse for you, Karlach, I know I can't begin to understand how much, but we need to work together to survive.” Karlach's expression fell and she lowered her head, silent and dour for the rest of the meal. It hurt Jaina not to see Karlach as her usual upbeat, irrepressible self. A part of her, even believing as she did that Sentry hadn't been in his right mind, was angry at the paladin for putting Karlach through this, but of course Wyll was right and more than that, Karlach would never move on or heal if she kept all that anger in her. It occurred to Jaina as well how similar the Steel Watch was to Karlach's heart. It occurred to her that maybe, just maybe what Dammon was missing to truly repair her heart was something to go off of. Sentry must know where Gortash kept his schematics, who else would know better with The Tyrant himself gone? She swore to herself that when all this was over, she would ask him. She would find a way to save Karlach's life and bring her home for good, and perhaps if Sentry agreed to help, maybe, just maybe, Karlach could forgive him.

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cuoredimuschio · 1 year ago

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part two of the guitar lessons au (feat. a side of buckingham)

A shitload of doubts had reared their reasonable, humongous heads the second Steve walked out of that clearing with an agreement to meet on Friday night and Munson’s address tucked in his wallet.

What did you just do? He’d asked himself with every step, all the way back to his car.

His guts sloshed around in his shoes, nearly tripping him up, while his heart lumped in his throat. It was the same bucket-of-ice-water-over-your-head, door-locking-behind-you kind of feeling he imagines you’d get seconds after you signed a contract with the devil. A sort of gaping, full-body, no-going-back regret, radiating out from the stomach, spackled over with hasty, flimsy confidence as you try to convince yourself you made the right choice, that it’ll be worth it in the end, that there won’t be any hell to pay, even as the shackle tightens around your neck and the flames lick at your heels.

He was being overdramatic—piling heaps of dirt onto not even a molehill, an anthill at worst—and he knew it, and Robin repeatedly seconded that opinion. But it was like a rock had been kicked over inside him and some scaly, sinuous thing with too many legs had skittered out into the light and made a point to clamber over every one of his organs, vital and otherwise, leaving a slimy trail of unease in its ceaseless wake.

Thirty bucks a week. Thirty. Three-zero. And who knew how many weeks it would take.

That insect had been swiftly, beautifully obliterated, though, when Jenna stopped in on Wednesday to return the Last Unicorn tape she’d rented for her little sister. One smile, that’s all it took. One dimpled, heart-stopping smile, handed to him like a fat slice of starlight pie on a plate of roses, one laugh that lit up her June-sky eyes, one whiff of her billowy, flowery perfume as she swept out the door he’d held open for her, and he’d understood why all those Greek dudes in that poem started a whole war over Heather or Heidi or whatever her name was. He could and would face a thousand armies on his own if only Jenna was waiting for him on the other side of the battlefield, if only she called his name and asked him to find his way to her. Munson, he’d realized, was nothing but a small, small roadblock on the way to eternal bliss. Just a speedbump, really.

That courage lasted for all of two days.

On Friday, the doubts come roaring back. Louder than ever. Near deafening, ripping that insect from the grave, as he jams the Beemer into park outside Munson’s trailer. At least, he’s pretty sure it’s Munson’s trailer; the guy’s directions weren’t exactly useful. Or entirely legible. Light green, white stripe is the only real clue the paper gives him, but looking at it now, bathed in the glow of his headlights, Steve would argue it’s more on the blue side of the spectrum. Doesn’t help either that the trailer doesn’t have an actual address, only a lot number which, in Munson’s handwriting, could be fifty-three or eighty-three or eighty-nine or S-eight or five other numbers. But at the end of the day, there’s no mistaking that piece of shit van.

He’s in the right place, whether he wants to be or not.

He turns the keys. Pulls them out of the ignition. Clicks off his seat belt.

But his hand doesn’t reach for the door handle.

Maybe ‘doubts’ is the wrong word.

Maybe what he really means is ‘dread’.

Not because he’s scared of Munson. Let’s get that straight right off the bat: he is not—in any way, shape, or form—afraid of Eddie ‘The Freak’ Munson. The guy’s all bark, too much bark, and no bite. Like one of the yappy little rat dogs his mother’s friends drag around everywhere, the ones that snap at anything that moves but shiver and piss themselves the second you take a step toward them.

So, no. It’s not fear-based dread. It’s just regular dread. The dread of being stuck in a glue trap that, admittedly, you laid out for yourself. Hours, days, weeks on end, subjected to the wonders of Munson’s winsome personality, stuck alone in a room with a guy who hates his guts, and he’ll be paying—dearly—for the privilege of his own torture: he’s not sure he’s ever made a worse decision in his life.

But Steve’s never backed down from anything, even when he probably should have, even when walking away might have saved his bright shiny future. He’s got almost twenty years of pigheaded determination in the face of abject stupidity behind him, and he’s not about to let a loudmouthed loser get the best of him now. He can make this work. He can steer them back on track, keep things civil, maybe even win Munson over in time. Who knows, stranger things have happened.

The porch steps squelch and squawk under his feet as he marches up to the front door, head held high, fingers skimming along the rickety, ice-cold iron rail. Already, he can hear the thunderous pound of the abrasive, screechy garbage Munson mistakes for music, thumping against the thin door like it’s trying to break out. He stops on the top step, squinting at his dim reflection in the glass, and shuffles a hand through his hair before he pastes on a breezy smile and knocks, nice and loud.

There’s no answer.

He knocks again, harder. The glass clatters under his knuckles.

The music gets louder. Still no answer.

He’s a fucking child, Steve thinks, clinging to that smile—though it’s less breezy and a bit more at-gunpoint now—and his newfound sense of bonhomie by the skin of his near-chattering teeth as he raps against the door once more. This time, he doesn’t stop until it’s yanked open.

Munson looks pissed already. But that might just be the natural state of his face.

Steve would probably walk around with a permanent scowl too if he was living with a whole, pretentious tree shoved high-and-mighty up his ass.

Either Munson’s really committed to constantly maintaining his aren’t-I-so-cool-and-rebellious-and-definitely-not-just-a-total-tool aesthetic, comfort be damned, or he just got in from his little nerd game session. Because he’s still decked in denim and leather, sporting that hideous t-shirt that he forces all his lackeys to wear like they’re some kind of tacky cult, and still speckled with chunky silver jewelry, gaudy rings glinting on his fingers and wallet chain jangling at his hip. He drops his shoulder against the door jamb, one ankle kicked over the other, and runs a less-than-kind, soullessly dark eye over Steve.

“You got my money?”

“Yeah, relax. I’m good for it.” Steve starts to step forward, angling to slip around his ungracious host and out of the cold, but a blunt hand rams into his chest, pushing him back.

“Not so fast, Harrington,” Munson says, and Steve’s pretty sure he’s meant to find that withering tone and stony glare intimidating; he doesn’t, not in the slightest. “Money first.”

For the sake of trying to start things off on the right foot—or at least the not-actively-hostile foot—Steve doesn’t laugh in his face, and instead asks, light and polite, “That’s a bit backwards, don’t you think?”

Munson’s hand hangs in the space between them, palm up and adamant, waiting like it isn’t below freezing and he’s got all night. “I’m sorry, they let you eat your Whopper before you pay for it, your majesty?”

What annoys Steve most is that it’s a fair point. A petty, prickish point but a fair one. Doesn’t stop him from grumbling under his breath and calling Munson a few choice names in his head as he digs out his wallet and pries it open. It’s almost physically painful, to pull those three bills out and hand them over into Munson’s greedy paws, and it leaves him high and dry but for a tattered one and a sloppy-edged coupon for forty cents off Tide. Great.

Munson, being the obnoxious prick that he’s obnoxiously proud to be, makes a show of counting the bills, licking his finger as he flicks through them, one by one. When he’s satisfied that Steve hasn’t stiffed him, he folds them up and shoves them in his back pocket, slithering into a smug smile that Steve wants to smack off his face with the business end of a shovel that was most recently used to muck a full-capacity stable.

“Your generous donation is much appreciated, sire.” He bows and steps aside, an arm swept out with a looping flourish. “Welcome to Casa di Munson.”

(read the rest on ao3)

#steddie #steve x eddie #steddie fic #steve harrington #eddie munson #stranger things #my writing #guitar lessons au

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drakemire · 2 years ago

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Fire the headcannon! #01

About the meanings of names. Ganondorf. That the first component alludes to either "hate" or "curse" feels natural after finishing a particular game. I regard the initial Ganon as spiritual manifestation of the emotion flaring while the execration was voiced. For its more forceful tone and personal connotation, my preference picked "hate". Dorf is actually the word for "village" in my language. I tried to derive use from it, reflecting which qualities I associate with the concept. But "calm", "secluded", "sheltered" ring hardly appropriate for the King of Evil. Or do they? Is there not something that shall be secluded and sheltered within him as the reason for his existence, as concocted by the two who not only gifted him his names? Shall he not keep it calm until it grows potent enough to creep out of its cradle? My contemplation made relieving sense as I captured it in the result "harbour of hate". Agahnim. The sole full-blooded Gerudo with two parents living is given an additional name, and You may recognize this one. I noticed a similarity to "Ghirahim", therefore decided that Gerudo language is rooted in Demon's. All known with these names have the aptitude for magic in common, so the resembling parts - ahnim/ahim - I translated as "sorcerer". In the course of time, one n slipped between the letters, perhaps due to phonotactics. While "Ghir" absorbed the almost identical German "Gier" (greed) to make Ghirahim the "greedy magician", Aga should emphasize the ability. And the first attribute that flew to mind was … well, "first". Combining both "first one" as well as "first-class", no one versed in the language must doubt the "first sorcerer"'s magical competence. Dragmire. To achieve a compromise between this invention from Nintendo of America and my affection for it, I think of it as the name of Ganondorf's sire, the man who gave nearly the entire Gerudo population in Ocarina of Time its life. Out of traditional devotion to their father, strengthening the sister's bond, all descendants of one king wear his name. Even so, mostly the son gets addressed in this manner by representatives from the East. Amongst themselves, the practical women see no reason in doing so. Formerly assumed as "dragon", I must not ignore that Drag is built in NoA's second creation: "Mandrag" (of the enchanted thieves). Considering my vague grammar, "man" means "enchanted" as in "possessed by evil" and "drag" "thief". Mire seems like an ancient word for "might". "Thieves' impact" tells about the potential of the desert community, although ironic for Ganondorf. Koume & Kotake. The syllable their names share is as evident as the difference between these hags. Ko is a Latin allomorph - e.g. in "cooperation" - that means "together", "with". Adopting this, I added the respective element: The smooth sounding ume, the cracking take make them "with fire", "with ice". Two further seconds were spent to translate Twinrova as "twin witches". Nabooru. "No" and "not", "non" et "ne … pas", "nein" und "nicht" - Na sounds just like another word used for denying. Booru reminds me of German "verborgen" (hidden, concealed). I imagine it a naughty choice of Nabooru's mother to name her "uncovered", as one of wise foresight. Both expectations came true, for the daughter is neither covered by much cloth nor covering her mouth instead of complimenting the Hero or expressing her loathing towards Ganondorf. Twinrova pervert this meaning when they not only shroud her in a full-body armor, but also silence her loose tongue. Gerudo. Skyward Sword implies that the term is first bestowed upon a dragonfly, hence would my translation relate to the insect rather than the people. However, since Geldarm and Geldman are two sand-affiliated monsters which in Japanese are actually called Gerudo Āmu/Man, there remains little space for me to get creative. So, Geru became "desert", and do, shared with the designations for other Āmu, means "coming from". Because of the name-giver being a human or a Goron, this term is one of the few used in the arid West not based on Demon language.

#The Legend of Zelda #Ocarina of Time #Ganondorf #Nabooru #Kotake & Koume #Gerudo #Delivery Bag #headcanon #my bad

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family-wisam · 2 months ago

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Hello everyone

I'm really afraid of losing and I don't want to lose. I lost a big part of my home, my job, and my entire previous life.

Your donation will save my life, this is the only way.

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monologuerhead · 2 years ago

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You can drain the water but the swamp remains.

The Great Dismal Swamp on the eastern coast of the US used to occupy a range of what is now estimated to be over 1,000,000 acres. With the completion of the Great Dismal Swamo canal in 1805 the swamp was drained to approximately a third or less of its original size, leaving behind swathes of sandy soil later appropriated for farmland and industrial logging. Driving through Southeastern Virginia even at a distance from the swamp’s proper boundaries will reveal a landscape accustomed to standing water: nigh any divot in the landscape will be occupied by a pool or a puddle of some kind. Even the persistently logged tree stands demarcating fields of cotton, peanuts, or soy beans will under closer inspection reveal a gradual shift from eastern white pines and scrubby briars to cypresses with their knees perched at the surface of black water.

Further north, occupied the greatest and most terrifying city on the East Coast, the island of Manhattan was once home to an abundance of ponds, marshes, and natural springs. Collect Pond, perhaps the largest and deepest of the island’s original bodies of water, once occupied 40 acres and was fed by a natural spring. The original area of the pond is now only memorialized by a park the size of a half-block bordering the city’s civic center. An ephemeral pond is the hallmark of the park, but more often than not its bed hosts flocks of roving pigeons instead of the water its namesake suggests.

It is well known, however, that buildings in the area are especially prone to flooded basements. Most infamously of these are The Tombs, a penitentiary across the street from Collect Pond Park. Built, demolished, and rebuilt no less than four individual times, each new iteration of the tombs seems condemned to sinking foundations and foul conditions. Deep underneath these city blocks, is it really such a stretch of the imagination to consider that original spring still might yet flow?

Consider further the history of Canal St, which true to its name once was the site of a canal that itself was dug as part of the effort to drain Collect Pond. In the summers a smell hangs over the area that can only be described as miasmic, unexplainable for its unique intensity despite the hot garbage, cheap restaurants, and sewer grates that also occupy every other part of the city. Even I, four stories high in a walkup a few blocks north of Canal, can’t escape the mosquitoes that cloud the area from July to September. Despite the overwhelmingly cynical attitude of every old new yorker towards the mechanical encroachment of gentrification into the area, the neighborhood can’t shake the ghostly presence of water that sat here almost two centuries ago.

Back in rural Virginia, where the air is cleaner and the planets shine at night, every small parking lot has a holding pond to the side and every grandmother complains about the pools of water out back. While surveying the land in 1728, William Byrd II described the swamp as “a miserable morass where nothing can inhabit.” The statement rings true today if only in the landscape brought about after centuries of industrial agriculture. I’ve chosen not to look up the current figures, but I remember back in 2019 an article about global insect density being a third of what it had been only decades before, and a second article months later detailing a similar situation in regards to the world’s population of birds.

There’s no real wrap up for this essay, no good moral that I could spin. I’m just depressed and thinking about lost waters. Still, I guess what I can end with is that ghosts are always with us, and whether or not we can see the death that sprung them into existence, their absence will be felt.

#great dismal swamp #manhattan

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rainbowywitch · 1 month ago

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‏Hello

‏I hope my message finds you well

‏I would really appreciate it if you could help me by donating to save me and my family from the dangers of war and death in Gaza and escape to a safe place

‏Please share, repost or donate to my family ,🍉🍉🙏🏻🙏🏻

https://gofund.me/4f3cdc58

Hello everyone My name is Wissam Murtaja, from Gaza. I am 42 years old, married, and have 4 children, 3 girls and a boy. I live in war, fear and destruction. We were displaced from our home in Gaza in November 2023 to the city of Khan Yunis, then to Rafah, then we were displaced to Mawasi Khan Yunis after the ground operation on Rafah. Every time I was displaced to another place, I prayed that this would be the last. We were very tired and exhausted. Our bodies, we no longer have the energy to continue. We lived through hunger, thirst, cold, and all the difficult conditions that a person cannot imagine. We did not imagine that a day would come when we would live through all of this. I previously lost my home in the 2014 war, and now I have lost my home again in the 2023 war. I lived a beautiful life, suddenly I don't know what happened. We live in a small tent made of nylon in a situation that no human being can bear. Just standing in it for more than two minutes during the day is enough to melt you, in addition to insects, diseases and lack of privacy. Imagine all this!! Can you live??

In addition to that, I was injured by a Quadcopter plane in January 2024 in my foot, and there are no hospitals to receive treatment. I do not know where to get treatment for my wound. I am the only one who takes care of my children. I'm really afraid of losing and I don't want to lose. I lost a big part of my home, my job, and my entire previous life.

#palestine #free palestine #gaza #free gaza

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jojotier · 2 years ago

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@cure-typhoon GOD can you imagine. Your name is Karkat Vantas and youre only just now unpacking to your earth therapist about your friends, who are the recently discovered super secret 'old Gods' o the rest of the denizens of earth c, and then you switch to a lifetime movie and its murderstuck. But that bears the question of which is worse: a faithful shot for shot recreation of the story, or one with... Creative liberties?

Bc on the one hand. If its shot for shot thats just catching a glimpse of your exact trauma in broad daylight, triggering the most fearful insect brain part of your brain, but if it's faithful then it can at least be passed off as a show of devotion to the faith. But if it's a "reimagining"?

What do you do if its a showrunner deciding that the ""story"" where all of gods friends are hunted one by one is too problematic and decides to Fix It? How do you as Karkat Vantas feel as you catch that one scene, and its supposed to depict Feferi's death, but in this dramatized version she scoffs at Sollux's KOd body (bc obvs it wouldnt be girlpower if she tried to attack Because Of A Boy, and Sollux obviously deserved it, so-), only for Eridan to attack her for no reason? Maybe even a vers where Feferi doesnt even get the chance to fight back bc Eridan's shift is so sudden and unexplainable? A version where Sollux has to cradle Feferi's corpse after the fictional Karkat scurries off, blindly feeling the puncture wounds in Feferi's neck?

What do you as God do when people are taking your life and criticizing your trauma for not being 'realistic' enough? As if your life experiences need to be fixed so that theyre more easily marketed to the public who want desperately to see the motes of your suffering?

Okay but like I wonder if earth c has a genre of media thats just modern retellings / retellings/ Reimaginings of the events of the game but like the denizens of earth c treat those events like we treat mythology.

Like imagine if you will. Youre like, Dirk or someone right, and you hear about this niche indie folk group called the Machinations or whatever who pretend to be immortal space pirates. theyre supposed to do a lot of tragedies. Not really your scene but whatever.

Then you learn that apparently the bit of the game where you chop your head off and ship it to Jake for a smooch is a bonafide Myth, with all the Trappings of religious ceremony and discourse. Very weird to think about, but again, whatever.

Then you learn that the Machinations have Retold This Story. In song form. And youre like okay wait what bc theres an entire subset of people going wild over it so you listen and the song is a jaunty electroswing deal where a half feral Brittish man pretending to be you sings about needing a lil love to heat up along with the heat of the literal volcano

So you are now realizing theres an entire album of these things reimagining your creation of the entire universe as a 1920s esque bootlegging operation gone horrorterrors with cosmic horror somehow and you gotta wonder. What goes through your head there? Hope no one knows yet? Indifference? Annoyance that the sole rap number on the album was given to Jane and Gumshoe Gunshow ? like what do you as god do when people are writing highly marketable fanfiction about you

#murderstuck #death tw #it just makes me think bc like #its all fun and games until a mortal decides that gods dont know their own stories actually

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kitomyx · 1 year ago

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CHARACTER BIO TEMPLATE

GENERAL INFORMATION

NAME: Kitomyx NICKNAMES/TITLES: Kit / Kit Paine (when playing human) SPECIES: Nobody (Shapeshifter) AGE: 32 HEIGHT: 6' 3" (190.5 cm) PRONOUNS: Any (Most commonly goes by 'he' or 'they') DATE OF BIRTH: 13 March 1991 NOTE-WORTHY ABILITIES: Shapeshifter, artist (mostly sketches of what he sees), highly adaptive/flexible (both literally and figuratively), high tolerance for pain, high kinetic ability, good overall control of his body, appreciation for life CURRENT RESIDENCE: Verse-dependent OCCUPATION: Verse-dependent; generally an artist of some sort AFFILIATIONS: Verse-dependent SPOKEN LANGUAGES: English

PERSONALITY

ALIGNMENT: Chaotic neutral ASSETS: The clothes off his back, his jewelry FLAWS: Heartless/emotionless without his heart (though acts on memories of his emotions to hide this), generally shameless, has trouble dealing with emotions, lack of imagination, lack of respect for personal boundaries, often comes off as a creep due to habits such as people-watching/sketching and flirting LIKES: Change, people, pleasure, pain, physical sensation, living in the moment, colors, drawing, stories, story-telling, symbolism, symbols of change (mood rings, chameleons, butterflies, dragonflies, etc.) DISLIKES: Getting wet, being stared at, being called childish/compared to a child, children, being emotional/emotions FEARS/PHOBIAS: Being overcome by emotions

CONNECTIONS

FAMILY: Tymiko (heart), Rakiak (younger brother) FRIENDS: Verse-dependent ROMANTIC INTEREST: Verse-dependent ENEMIES: Verse-dependent

FACTS AND TRIVIA

-Kit's element as a Nobody is change, so his primary ability is to shapeshift his body. His most common form (when not pretending to be outright human) is humanoid with cat ears on the sides of his head where human ears would be and a fur-tufted tail. Occasionally, when feeling particularly ostentatious, he manifests three sets of wings: feathered, insect, and leather. These seem to be more symbolic or for show than anything, though he can and does fly with them.

-He has a difficult relationship with Tymiko (the personification of his heart) which to an outsider may seem akin to a sibling relationship. As they are a part of the same person, he loves her as himself. However, their priorities, beliefs, and values differ quite a bit so they usually have trouble getting along (reflecting the self-conflict and inner turmoil they faced when they were one person). Kit embraces reality, change, and growth while Tymiko values staying the same, believes in defying reality with imagination, and fears growing up.

-The closer physical proximity he has to Tymiko, the more emotional Kit gets. Since he doesn't like to deal with emotions and fears being overwhelmed with them, he has a certain aversion to being around her which directly contradicts his instinct as a Nobody to rejoin his body and soul with his heart and his fascination with her as a person so opposingly different from himself. Thus he is simultaneously drawn to and repulsed by her at the same time, but constantly finds himself chasing after her and seeking her out when she escapes and hides from him.

-Though Kit fears being overwhelmed with emotions and dislikes having to deal with them, he considers the extremely emotional and temperamental Tymiko to be far stronger than him for enduring and experiencing those feelings (in contrast to her view that her strong emotions make her weak) and respects her for it.

-Despite his respect and love for her, Kit often doesn't know how to deal with Tymiko and her strong emotions/passionate outbursts/temper tantrums much like how adults often find it hard to relate to and thus deal with children. As a result, his default method of dealing with Tymiko is trying to temporarily shut her up somewhere (such as a locked room) when she seems as though she might get out of control.

-Kit dislikes children and being compared to them due to their generally egocentric perspectives and selfish natures. He considers these to be some of Tymiko's major flaws, especially when it comes to her wanting to stay a child forever because she doesn't seem to see what a selfish wish that is.

-Kit's dislike of being wet seems to have something to do with the symbolic connection between emotions and water as well as the fact that Tymiko, the personification of his heart (and therefore his emotions), is a water elemental. (She dresses as a pirate and goes by the title of 'Tymiko the Pirate Girl', however, due to her association with the worlds of Neverland and Pirates of the Carribean.)

-Kit's favorite/lucky numbers are 3 and 13 which may have something to do with his birthday (3/13) but also the symbolic significance of each number. (3: Heaven, Earth, Hell. Moraltiy, amorality, immorality. White, gray, black. 333: Only half evil. Etc.)

-Due to Kit's appreciation of change, colors, and physical sensation, his favorite piece of jewelry is a mood ring. Due to his appreciation of symbolism, change, and colors, his favorite animal is a chameleon and his favorite insect is a butterfly (specifically the Blue Morpho Butterfly).

-As a shapeshifter who can alter his appearance at will, Kit places very little value on people's personal appearances. He is, however, very interested in people themselves.

-Since (unlike Tymiko) he doesn't have much of an imagination, as an artist he mostly just draws what he sees and has become fairly good at it.

-Kit's favorite color is bright blue (specifically, hex code #0033ff) and he wears so much of it because it's Tymiko's favorite color. Ty claims it's her favorite color because, in her opinion, it's such a bright, intense, and highly-saturated blue that it defies the common association of the color blue with the emotion of sadness. As a result, the mere sight of it makes her happy and to her represents happiness itself. It also doesn't hurt that blue is the color most often associated with water.

-Being a character originating from the Kingdom Hearts multiverse/universe which in itself includes various worlds, Kit is also a multiverse character. Tymiko is the same, though her 'main world' is Neverland (despite also originating from the Pirates of the Carribean fandom which is where her title of 'pirate girl' comes from).

-Kit and Ty are both half Asian Indian, half Filipino in ethnicity.

-As beings of change and water respectively, Kit and Ty are both gender-fluid, but Kit most commonly associates with being male and Ty most commonly associates with being female.

-Because he can't feel emotionally without Tymiko around, Kit values what he can feel physically instead in order to make up for it. This is why he appreciates pain as much as pleasure - because both physical sensations remind him he his alive and living in the moment. And being a Nobody - a being who shouldn't exist but exists anyway - makes him value his existence that much more.

-As Nobodies are born when their hearts fall prey to darkness and despair, turning the corrupted hearts into Heartless and separating them from their bodies, Kitomyx (as a being made of a body and soul) was born when Tymiko (as his heart) succumbed to darkness due to her strong aversion to and denial of growing up, separating from Kit and becoming her own person. Since, as Kit's personified heart, Ty's newly-manifested body wasn't bound by the laws of reality that his was, she could stay a child, which suited her just fine. As Ty's actual body animated by the soul of the person she was, however, Kit continues to grow and change.

-One day, Kit would like to rejoin with Ty to become the former, complete person they once were yet again, but that would require Kit to be able to embrace, accept, and deal with the emotions Ty harbors while Ty would have to embrace, accept, and deal with the fact that Kit, as her body and soul, is an adult and doesn't deserve destruction just because of that simple fact.

-Just as Kit appreciates enjoying the present, living in the moment, and embracing the future, Ty prefers to reminisce on the past and her childhood and fears the future, change, and growth because she fears it will corrupt her as a person, further causing her to lose whatever innocence she has left as a child. As a result, she believes she is better off perishing in a fight against the reality that would force her to grow up than to actually do so and thus betray herself and her values of staying a child. Kit seeks to get her to see the merits of living a life past childhood, but it's difficult when Ty doesn't trust him because she believes him to already be corrupted by adulthood.

GENERAL INFORMATION

NAME:

NICKNAMES/TITLES:

SPECIES:

AGE:

HEIGHT:

PRONOUNS:

DATE OF BIRTH:

NOTE-WORTHY ABILITIES:

CURRENT RESIDENCE:

OCCUPATION:

AFFILIATIONS:

SPOKEN LANGUAGES:

PERSONALITY

ALIGNMENT:

ASSETS:

FLAWS:

LIKES:

DISLIKES:

FEARS/PHOBIAS:

CONNECTIONS

FAMILY:

FRIENDS:

ROMANTIC INTEREST:

ENEMIES:

OTHERS:

FACTS AND TRIVIA

#General information #((Blank under the cut!))#((Got this from codenamejudas but added 'height' to it))#OOC

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