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fr0stf4ll · 3 months ago

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Forge of Starlight - Part 4

paring; Azriel x reader

summary; In the heart of Velaris, a skilled blacksmith's quiet life is turned upside down when unexpected bonds begin to form with the enigmatic Spymaster of the Night Court. As she navigates the challenges of her craft and the complexities of newfound relationships, she discovers that love and loyalty may be the strongest forces of all in a world where darkness often lingers just beyond the light.

word count ; 5k

warning; /

notes; heyy, I hope that all of you are doing fine ! Here is part 4, pretty calm chapter but I think that you will like it ;))) To be honest I'm already done writing the story, I might change some details because I'm still not really happy about some parts but the overall storyline is finished. Otherwise don't hesitate to comment or ask to be on the tag list ;)) I'm always super happy to see your feedbacks and comments on the story. See you soon, bisous bisoussss

here is the link for part 3 or part 5

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Wrapped in the warmth of a thick, fur-lined cape, you made your way through the vast and unforgiving landscape that led to the Winter Court. The journey had been long, the cold biting at your skin despite the layers of wool and leather beneath your armor. Your boots crunched through the snow with every step, the sound a constant reminder of the icy terrain you traversed. The fur trim of your cape brushed against your face, shielding you from the harsh winds that howled through the mountains.

Your outfit was designed for both warmth and practicality—leather pants tucked into sturdy boots, a long-sleeved woolen tunic layered under a thick, high-collared vest, and over it all, the heavy cape that provided not just warmth, but protection from the elements. The fur-lined hood of the cape was pulled low over your brow, keeping the icy wind from nipping at your face. Gloves made of soft, supple leather protected your hands, though your fingers itched for the familiar feel of your weapons.

The landscape around you was breathtakingly beautiful, despite its harshness. The snow-covered mountains rose like jagged teeth against the clear, cold sky, their peaks piercing the heavens. The ground beneath your feet was a blanket of pristine white, unmarked by any sign of life save for the occasional tracks of a snow hare or a fox. The air was crisp and clean, filling your lungs with a chill that was both invigorating and biting.

As you neared the Winter Court, the terrain began to change subtly. The trees, tall and ancient, were dusted with snow, their branches heavy with the weight of winter. The air grew colder, the wind sharper, as you approached the heart of Kallias’s domain. The palace, when it came into view, was a marvel of ice and stone, a structure that seemed to rise organically from the frozen earth itself. Its spires glistened in the weak sunlight, the walls shimmering as if carved from a single massive block of ice. It was both awe-inspiring and foreboding, a testament to the power of the High Lord who ruled within.

As you entered the grand hall, the cold air seemed to intensify, but you were prepared for it. Your breath misted before you as you walked, the sound of your footsteps echoing off the ice-encrusted walls. The interior of the palace was no less magnificent than its exterior—glittering chandeliers of ice hung from the ceiling, casting a cool, ethereal light across the room. The floors were a mosaic of frosted tiles, and the walls were adorned with intricate carvings that depicted the history and power of the Winter Court.

Kallias awaited you at the far end of the hall, his tall, imposing figure clad in robes of pure white, trimmed with silver. His eyes, as cold and sharp as the winter wind, met yours as you approached, and he offered a nod of acknowledgment.

"Y/N," he greeted, his voice as icy as his surroundings. "I trust your journey was without incident?"

You inclined your head in respect. "It was, High Lord. The Winter Court is as beautiful as ever."

Kallias’s lips curved into a small, almost imperceptible smile. "It is. And I am eager to see the weapon you have forged for me."

With a practiced motion, you unclasped the leather strap that secured the long, narrow case at your side. Carefully, you lifted the lid, revealing the weapon within—a glaive, forged from the finest steel, its blade gleaming with an icy blue sheen that seemed to capture the essence of winter itself. The hilt was intricately designed, resembling the ancient, snow-laden trees of the Winter Court, with delicate, frost-like etchings that trailed along its length. At the base of the hilt, a crystal embedded in the pommel caught the light, glittering like freshly fallen snow.

Kallias’s eyes gleamed with appreciation as he took in the sight of the weapon. He stepped forward, his gloved hand reaching out to grasp the hilt. The glaive fit perfectly in his hand, its weight balanced, its craftsmanship flawless. He swung it once, the blade cutting through the air with a sharp, crisp sound that resonated through the hall.

"It’s exquisite," Kallias said, his voice filled with genuine admiration. "You’ve outdone yourself, Y/N."

You bowed your head slightly, a smile tugging at your lips. "I’m glad it meets your expectations, High Lord. It was an honor to craft something for the Winter Court."

Kallias’s gaze lingered on the weapon for a moment longer before he turned his icy eyes back to you. "It more than meets my expectations. It surpasses them. You have a gift, Y/N, and I’m fortunate to have been able to commission such a weapon from you."

There was a moment of silence as Kallias continued to study the glaive, the air between you filled with the mutual respect of two artisans—one of ice, one of steel. Finally, he nodded, his expression softening just slightly.

"You must be tired from your journey," Kallias said, his tone shifting to something more cordial. "Please, stay as my guest. You are welcome in the Winter Court as long as you wish."

You inclined your head again, appreciating the offer. "Thank you, High Lord. I may take you up on that, but I must return to the Night Court soon. There are other matters that require my attention."

Kallias nodded in understanding. "Of course. But for now, rest. My stewards will see to your needs."

With that, he handed the glaive back to you, and you secured it once more in its case. As you followed the steward who had been summoned to lead you to your quarters, you couldn’t help but marvel at the power and grace of the Winter Court—its beauty, its cold, unyielding strength. The journey had been long, but the successful delivery of such a finely crafted weapon made it all worthwhile.

As you were led to your quarters, you wondered what the days ahead would bring, knowing that whatever challenges lay before you, you were more than prepared to face them.

After a much-needed rest in the luxurious quarters provided by Kallias, you found yourself summoned to dinner with the High Lord and his wife, Viviane. The invitation was delivered with the same formality and grace that characterized the Winter Court, and you dressed accordingly, choosing an outfit that was both practical for the cold and respectful of the occasion. You opted for a tailored, high-collared tunic in deep blue, paired with fitted leather pants and sturdy boots designed for both warmth and movement. Over the tunic, you wore a vest of finely stitched leather, its dark hue matching the rich blue of your tunic, and lined with fur for added warmth. A thick, fur-lined cloak draped over your shoulders, adding the final touch of protection against the biting cold.

The dining hall itself was as magnificent as the rest of the palace, with walls of ice that seemed to glow in the soft candlelight. A grand table made of polished, dark wood stood at the center, set with fine crystal and silverware that sparkled under the light. Kallias and Viviane were already seated when you arrived, their regal presence filling the room with an aura of quiet power.

Viviane greeted you with a warm smile, her blue eyes sparkling with kindness. “Y/N, it’s a pleasure to have you join us. Please, sit. I hope the accommodations were to your liking?”

You returned her smile, inclining your head respectfully as you took the seat offered to you. “Thank you, Lady Viviane. The accommodations were perfect—your hospitality is most generous.”

Kallias nodded in agreement, his expression calm and composed. “We are glad to hear that. You’ve traveled far, and your work has been extraordinary. You deserve the best.”

As the first course was served—a delicate soup made with winter vegetables and fragrant herbs—you found yourself relaxing into the atmosphere. The warmth of the fire crackling in the hearth, combined with the rich scents of the food, created a sense of comfort that was almost surprising in the cold grandeur of the palace.

As the meal progressed, Kallias leaned back slightly, regarding you with an inquisitive gaze. “Tell me, Y/N,” he began, his voice casual but laced with curiosity, “are you finally settling down? It’s not often we hear of someone as skilled as you staying in one place for long.”

You smiled softly, nodding as you set down your spoon. “Yes, I’ve returned to my roots. I’ve settled back in the Night Court, where I grew up. It feels right to be back home, even after all the years of traveling.”

Kallias’s eyes sharpened with interest, though he remained composed. “The Night Court, you say? And how has that been? Is it… a unique place, from what I’ve heard.”

You nodded again, careful with your words. “It’s been a good experience, returning to the Night Court. It has its own charm, and I’ve found a certain peace there that I didn’t realize I was missing.”

Viviane, ever the gracious hostess, leaned forward slightly, her gaze warm. “It must be wonderful to return to your roots after so long. I can imagine it offers a sense of stability, something to hold onto.”

“It does,” you agreed. “After years of traveling and crafting for different courts, it’s good to have a place to call home again.”

Kallias seemed to consider this for a moment before his expression shifted slightly, a more contemplative look in his eyes. “Y/N, do you see yourself as a blacksmith for the rest of your life?”

The question caught you off guard, and you hesitated for a moment before responding. “I’ve dedicated most of my life to the craft. It’s something I’m deeply passionate about. But… I’ve also wondered if there’s more I could do, especially now that I’m settled in one place.”

Kallias nodded thoughtfully, as if weighing something in his mind. “With your skills and the relationships you’ve built across the courts, have you ever considered becoming an emissary? You already have a good rapport with most of the High Lords, and your experience is invaluable.”

You blinked in surprise, the idea not one you had expected to hear. “An emissary?” you repeated, trying to imagine the shift from blacksmith to diplomat. “It’s not something I’ve considered before… but I suppose it could be an interesting path.”

Kallias was about to continue when he seemed to catch himself, a small, knowing smile playing at the corners of his lips. “Of course, that’s a matter for Rhysand to consider. While our relations with the Night Court are… decent, I’m not one to aid in growing another court’s power.”

There was a hint of amusement in his tone, and you couldn’t help but smile in return. “I understand, High Lord. And I appreciate the suggestion, though. It’s something I’ll have to think about.”

Viviane reached out, placing a gentle hand on Kallias’s arm. “Don’t mind him, Y/N. He’s always thinking three steps ahead, even during a simple dinner.”

Kallias chuckled softly, inclining his head. “Indeed, but it’s worth considering. Your talents shouldn’t be confined to one craft alone, no matter how extraordinary it may be.”

The conversation continued in a more relaxed manner as the evening wore on, the three of you discussing everything from the beauty of the Winter Court to tales of your travels. Despite the formality of the setting, there was an ease to the dinner that you hadn’t anticipated—a warmth that contrasted pleasantly with the cold elegance of the palace.

As the dinner came to an end, you felt a sense of satisfaction not just from the meal, but from the knowledge that you were appreciated here in the Winter Court. The suggestion of becoming an emissary lingered in your mind, a seed planted by Kallias that you knew would take root in the days to come.

For now, though, you allowed yourself to enjoy the moment, grateful for the hospitality of the Winter Court and the new possibilities that lay ahead.

Later that evening, after the dinner with Kallias and Viviane, you found yourself back in the comfort of your room. The luxurious quarters were warm and inviting, the fire crackling softly in the hearth as you settled into a plush chair by the window. The view outside was breathtaking—a serene expanse of snow-covered mountains under a clear, starlit sky. The quiet beauty of the Winter Court seemed almost surreal after the intense conversations of the day.

As you stared out at the snow-draped landscape, your thoughts began to drift back to the events that had transpired before your journey here—specifically, the night with Cassian. The memory of his broken wings and the dark curse that had infested his body sent a shiver down your spine. You had dealt with injuries before, but nothing quite like that. The sight of Cassian in such a vulnerable state, combined with the pressure of having to save him, had shaken you more than you cared to admit.

You couldn’t help but wonder how Cassian was doing now. Madja was a skilled healer, but the curse had been something different—something darker and more insidious. You hoped that your efforts, combined with Madja’s expertise, would be enough to see him fully recovered.

But your thoughts didn’t linger on Cassian for long. Instead, they wandered to Azriel—his overprotective reaction when you mentioned your journey to the Winter Court. You had been taken aback by the intensity in his eyes, the way his voice had tightened with worry when he insisted that you couldn’t go alone. It was unlike him, or at least unlike the composed, stoic Azriel you had come to know.

A small blush crept up your cheeks as you recalled the way he had draped his jacket over your shoulders before flying you home. The warmth of the leather, combined with his proximity, had stirred something in you—a feeling you hadn’t allowed yourself to acknowledge until now. Azriel was undeniably attractive, with his dark, brooding looks and those piercing hazel eyes that seemed to see right through you. But more than that, he was one of the most skilled warriors in Prythian, a member of the Inner Circle, and someone who carried a weight of responsibility that few could comprehend.

You let out a small sigh, feeling a mixture of admiration and frustration. Azriel was everything you weren’t—an elite warrior, trusted confidant of the High Lord, and part of a circle that wielded immense power and influence. What were you, in comparison? A blacksmith, skilled in your craft, but still just someone who worked with metal and fire. You had traveled far and gained respect across the courts, but it was hard to shake the feeling that Azriel was somehow out of your league.

You couldn’t deny the attraction, though. Every time you thought of him—his calm presence, his quiet strength—it sent your heart fluttering in a way that was both thrilling and terrifying. But you reminded yourself that someone like Azriel wouldn’t be interested in you, not in that way. He was dedicated to his duties, and you… you were just a blacksmith.

Still, the memory of his protective concern lingered, the way his eyes had softened slightly when he insisted on flying you home. It was a gesture that spoke of something deeper, something that made your heart ache with longing.

You shook your head, trying to push the thoughts away. It was foolish to dwell on such things. Azriel was a friend, and that was enough. There was no sense in imagining something that could never be.

But even as you told yourself that, you couldn’t help the small, wistful smile that tugged at your lips. Perhaps, just perhaps, there was more to Azriel’s concern than simple duty. Perhaps there was a connection there, one that went beyond the roles you both played.

With a sigh, you stood and walked over to the window, staring out at the endless expanse of snow and stars. The Winter Court was beautiful, but your mind was already drifting back to Velaris, to the Night Court, and to the people who had become an unexpected but welcome part of your life.

And as you stood there, bathed in the soft glow of the moonlight, you couldn’t help but wonder what the future held—for you and perhaps most of all, for Azriel.

——

Back in Velaris, the shop was quieter than usual. Without the rhythmic clang of metal on metal or the hum of the forge, the space felt almost too still, the usual lively energy dampened by your absence. But that didn’t stop Alex from doing his best to keep things running smoothly. He was darting between customers, expertly answering questions and showcasing various weapons with the kind of enthusiasm that belied his young age. Stellan, your faithful direwolf, was sprawled out near the counter, watching the activity with an expression that could only be described as long-suffering patience.

A particularly persistent client had been lingering in the shop for the better part of an hour, his eyes darting around as if expecting to spot you at any moment. He was a tall, lanky man with a nervous energy, and he had been pestering Alex incessantly.

“Are you sure she’s not here?” the man asked for what felt like the hundredth time, his tone edging on desperation. “I need to speak with Y/N directly.”

Alex, who had been maintaining his polite demeanor with admirable restraint, forced a smile that was beginning to strain at the edges. “As I’ve already mentioned, sir, Y/N is currently away on business. She won’t be back until next week.”

The man’s eyes narrowed as if Alex were trying to trick him. “But I really need to speak with her. Can’t you just call her? Or maybe she’s in the back?”

Alex’s forced smile twitched, and he muttered under his breath, “On the name of the goddamn Mother, I’m going to hit him.” He forced his voice back to a more polite tone as he said, “I’ve already checked, sir. She’s definitely not in the back. And no, I can’t call her—she’s in the Winter Court. They don’t exactly have a postal service for emergencies.”

The client frowned, clearly dissatisfied with the answer. “But this is important! Can’t you at least take a message?”

“Sir,” Alex said, his voice straining to maintain its politeness, “I’ve taken five messages from you already. I promise I’ll give them all to Y/N when she returns. But for now, there’s really nothing more I can do.”

The man didn’t seem convinced and opened his mouth to argue again, but Alex had reached his limit. He could feel his frustration bubbling up, and he was just about ready to scream when the shop door swung open with a loud creak.

In walked Cassian and Azriel, both of them cutting imposing figures as they strode into the shop. Cassian’s broad shoulders filled the doorway, and Azriel’s intense gaze swept over the scene, quickly taking in the situation.

The persistent client froze, his eyes widening as he took in the sight of the two warriors. Cassian’s expression was one of barely concealed amusement, while Azriel’s was much cooler, a silent but clear warning to the man that he was pushing his luck.

“Is there a problem here?” Azriel asked, his voice light but with an edge that sent a shiver down the man’s spine.

The client swallowed hard, his resolve crumbling under the weight of Azriel’s presence. “N-No, no problem at all,” he stammered, his previous determination evaporating. “I was just… uh… I’ll come back later.”

With that, the man all but bolted for the door, nearly tripping over his own feet in his haste to leave the shop. The door slammed shut behind him, and the shop was suddenly filled with silence, save for the faint crackling of the forge in the background.

Alex let out a long, relieved sigh and leaned against the counter, wiping a hand across his brow. “Thank the Mother for that,” he muttered.

Cassian chuckled, walking over to ruffle Alex’s hair. “You handled that well, kid. He was lucky he didn’t push you any further—looked like you were about to go feral.”

Alex grinned up at him, his earlier frustration melting away. “I was close, really close. But thanks for the help! Can I interest either of you in a fine sword? Or perhaps a dagger? We’ve got some new arrivals that are really top-notch.”

Azriel, who had been leaning casually against the counter, let out a soft chuckle. “Not today, Alex. We’re not here to shop.”

Cassian, still grinning, shook his head. “Yeah, as tempting as it is, we’re actually here to see if Y/N’s back yet. We wanted to check in and see how things are going.”

Alex’s face brightened at the mention of your name. “Oh! No, she’s not back yet. She should be here by tomorrow, though. I haven’t heard anything from her, but she always keeps her word.”

Cassian nodded, his expression softening slightly. “Good to hear. We’ve been worried about her, especially after everything that happened before she left.”

Azriel’s eyes darkened slightly at the mention of recent events, but he remained quiet, his gaze drifting around the shop as if lost in thought.

Alex, ever the perceptive one, caught the shift in Azriel’s demeanor and quickly changed the subject. “But hey, if you want, I can show you some of the stuff she’s been working on! I know she’s got some special orders that are almost ready. You might even find something you like.”

Cassian laughed, clearly charmed by the boy’s enthusiasm. “Maybe another time, Alex. We’ll just wait for her to get back. But thanks for the offer.”

Alex nodded, a little disappointed that he couldn’t make a sale but still pleased that the two warriors had stopped by. “No problem! I’ll let her know you were here as soon as she gets back.”

“Thanks, Alex,” Cassian said, giving the boy another affectionate ruffle of his hair before turning to leave. Azriel followed, but not before giving Alex a small, almost imperceptible nod of appreciation.

As they walked out the door, Alex watched them go, a satisfied grin on his face. Stellan, who had been observing the entire exchange with his usual calm, gave a soft huff as if to say, “Finally, some peace and quiet.”

Alex glanced down at the wolf, chuckling softly. “Yeah, I know, boy. It’s never boring around here, is it?”

Stellan’s only response was to close his eyes and settle back down, clearly content now that the shop had returned to its usual, slightly chaotic but always interesting, routine.

As Cassian and Azriel stepped out of your shop and into the bustling streets of Velaris, the evening air was cool and refreshing, carrying with it the scents of the city—freshly baked bread, the distant aroma of spiced meats, and the crisp tang of the Sidra River. The sun was beginning to set, casting a warm, golden hue over the cobblestone streets and the elegantly curved buildings.

Cassian glanced over at Azriel, a sly grin tugging at the corner of his mouth. “You know, you didn’t have to scare the poor guy so much back there. He practically ran out of the shop.”

Azriel shrugged, his expression unreadable as usual, though there was a flicker of amusement in his eyes. “He was being persistent. Alexander was close to losing his patience.”

Cassian laughed, the sound rich and full of life. “True, true. That kid’s got more fire in him than most people twice his age. But I have to admit, it was fun watching you in action. You’ve always had a knack for that brooding intimidation.”

Azriel rolled his eyes, though the corners of his lips twitched slightly. “It wasn’t intentional. I just wanted to make sure the shop was running smoothly while Y/N is away.”

Cassian’s grin widened, his eyes sparkling with mischief. “Speaking of Y/N… you’ve been pretty protective of her lately, haven’t you?”

Azriel’s step faltered for just a moment, but he quickly recovered, keeping his gaze focused ahead. “She’s been through a lot. We all have. I’m just making sure she’s safe.”

Cassian chuckled, clearly enjoying this line of questioning. “Come on, Az. We’ve all noticed how you’ve been watching out for her. And don’t think Rhys didn’t told me the way you reacted when she mentioned going to the Winter Court alone.”

Azriel’s expression remained impassive, though his eyes darkened slightly. “It’s my job to protect the people in this court, Cassian. You know that.”

“Sure, sure,” Cassian replied, waving a hand dismissively. “But this feels a little more personal, don’t you think? You can’t tell me you haven’t thought about it.”

Azriel remained silent, his gaze focused straight ahead as they continued walking. The streets of Velaris were alive with activity—couples strolling hand in hand, children playing, vendors calling out their wares—but the conversation between the two warriors seemed to create a bubble of quiet tension around them. Cassian, always one to lighten the mood, decided to press a little further.

“You know, Az,” Cassian started, a mischievous grin spreading across his face, “it’s not like that little kiss she gave me means you’re out of the running.”

Azriel shot him a sharp look, his eyes narrowing. “That wasn’t a kiss, Cassian. She was removing a curse. You know that.”

Cassian laughed, the sound rich and full of amusement. “Hey, I’m just saying—if you’re worried about competition, don’t be. That ‘kiss’ doesn’t mean you’ve lost your chance.”

Azriel shook his head, resuming his walk. "It's not about that. Y/N deserves someone... better.”

Cassian rolled his eyes dramatically, catching up to Azriel with a few quick strides. "Oh, here we go. The 'I'm not good enough' spiel. Az, you’re one of the most honorable males I know. You're brave, loyal, and let's not forget, you have that brooding mysterious thing going on that females seem to love."

Azriel shot him a skeptical look. "Being 'brooding and mysterious' isn't exactly a selling point."

"Maybe not for you," Cassian quipped, "but trust me, it's working. Besides, Y/N isn't the type to be swayed by titles or power. She values character, integrity, and someone who sees her for who she truly is."

Azriel sighed, his gaze distant. "Even so, with everything in my past, the things I've done... I don't want to burden her with that."

Cassian placed a firm hand on Azriel's shoulder, stopping him in his tracks. "Listen to me. We all have our demons, our shadows. Y/N included. But that doesn't mean we don't deserve happiness. You can't keep punishing yourself forever.”

"She is… different. She’s strong, independent. She’s been through so much, yet she doesn’t let it define her. I admire that.”

Cassian nodded, his expression softening slightly. “She is all of those things. And she’s got a good heart. But, Az, you know it’s okay to feel something more. You don’t have to keep everything locked away.”

Azriel’s jaw tightened, and for a moment, it seemed as if he might brush off the conversation entirely. But then he sighed, a sound that was barely audible but heavy with unspoken thoughts. “It’s not that simple, Cass. She’s… well, she’s remarkable. But she’s also tied to things I don’t fully understand. And after everything… I’m not sure it’s right to complicate things further.”

Cassian looked at him, his expression serious for once. “You’re overthinking it, as usual. Sometimes, it’s okay to just… let things happen. If there’s something there, you��ll figure it out. And if there’s not, well, at least you won’t have any regrets.”

Azriel didn’t respond immediately, but Cassian could see the conflict in his eyes. Finally, Azriel murmured, “I don’t want to be a distraction for her. She’s got enough to deal with, especially after what happened.”

Cassian grinned, though there was a note of understanding in his voice. “You’re not a distraction, Az. If anything, you’re probably one of the few people who can help her with whatever she’s dealing with. And, just so you know, she’s not out of your league, no matter what you think.”

Azriel remained silent, the internal battle evident in his eyes. The bustling sounds of Velaris seemed to fade as the two friends stood in the midst of the crowd, locked in a moment of understanding.

After a beat, Cassian grinned, attempting to lighten the mood. "And besides, if you don't make a move, I might just have to swoop in. You know, for the sake of not letting such a wonderful female go unappreciated."

Azriel snorted, a rare genuine laugh escaping his lips. "I'd like to see you try."

Cassian winked, clapping Azriel on the back. "That's the spirit! Now, how about we head to Rita's and grab a drink? Maybe by the time Y/N returns, you'll have mustered up the courage to tell her how you feel."

Azriel smirked, his shadows swirling playfully around him. "Only if you're buying."

"Deal," Cassian replied, leading the way with a swagger in his step. "But remember, the next round's on you, especially if it gives you the liquid courage you clearly need."

As they made their way towards the river, laughter and camaraderie enveloped them. Yet, beneath the teasing and banter, the seeds of self-reflection had been sown in Azriel's heart, leaving him to ponder the possibilities that awaited with your impending return.

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inthedayswhenlandswerefew · 1 year ago

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When The World Is Crashing Down [Chapter 7: Keep Quiet, Nothing Comes As Easy As You]

A/N: Hello everyone! Thank you so much for reading and loving this fic. 🥰 We are now officially halfway done with WTWICD, can you believe it?! I hope you enjoy Chapter 7. 💜

Series summary: Your family is House Celtigar, one of Rhaenyra’s wealthiest allies. In the aftermath of Rook’s Rest, Aemond unknowingly conscripts you to save his brother’s life. Now you are in the liar of the enemy, but your loyalties are quickly shifting…

Chapter warnings: Language, warfare, violence, the smallfolk having a bad time everywhere you look, Aemond being a menace, serious injury, alcoholism/addiction, references to sexual content (18+), discussions of pregnancy/babies, dragons, murder, some new perspectives! 🥰

Series title is a lyric from: “7 Minutes In Heaven” by Fall Out Boy.

Chapter title is a lyric from: “Nobody Puts Baby In The Corner” by Fall Out Boy.

Word count: 6k.

Link to chapter list: HERE.

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In the Eyrie, Rhaena is praying for one of the three dragon eggs in her keeping to hatch. In the shadowy ruins of Harrenhal, Daemon and Nettles are bathing in rooms thick with steam, while outside by the lakeshore Baela brings plump goats to Moondancer. In King’s Landing, Rhaenyra’s Master of Coin Bartimos Celtigar is levying heavy taxes on the smallfolk: taxes on wine, taxes on ale, taxes on inn beds and shop goods, even taxes on the bittersweet parody of love purchased in brothels, taxes on every possible distraction from the ceaseless bloodletting that has infected the world like plague. In the North, Cregan Stark is following the Kingsroad towards Moat Cailin and imagining what you will say to him when you are rescued from the clutches of the Usurper: Oh my love, my champion, my savior, my lord. But south in the Reach, Daeron is flying.

Tessarion’s scales are a blue sheen like light on the ocean; the flapping of her wings is a deafening, roaring wind. She is nimble in the air, lethally quick, banking seamlessly when Daeron asks her to turn towards the Hogs Head, an inn from which torrents of men and women run shrieking. They do not run fast enough. Tessarion’s flames are an electrifying cobalt blue like lightning. Flesh melts away, bones are charred black, screams evaporate as lungs are singed, consumed, destroyed. Daeron’s own lungs work perfectly fine; he is cackling, almost loud enough to hear over the wings and inferno of his dragon. After the inn, Tessarion burns the sept, the marketplace, the castle that is the seat of the disloyal House Caswell. There is a stone bridge, after which the town is named, traversing the Mander River. People are fleeing across it. There are children on the bridge, but this does not stop Daeron. Maelor was a child when these traitors ripped him apart with their bare hands. Jaehaerys was a child, and so is Jaehaera, who may be alive in Storm’s End or may be dead but in any case has suffered the decimation of her family, her brothers and her mother and her grandsire. Daeron is burning Bitterbridge for the Greens, yes. But he is also doing it for himself. And in the wake of Tessarion’s fire, Lord Ormund Hightower’s forces pour into the rubble of the town to seize whatever treasures it has left.

In the Riverlands, Aemond and Vhagar are setting fields of wheat ablaze and incinerating cattle, pigs, sheep, forests that can no longer be used by the Blacks and their supporters for timber. In the Citadel, white ravens are being sent out to the great houses of Westeros to proclaim the end of summer. And on Dragonstone, the Beggar King heals.

He spars with guards that Larys found, is tended by maesters that Larys recruited from the turncoat houses of the Crownlands, rules over a microcosm kingdom that Larys built for him. Aegon tires quickly, sleeps often, aches and collapses and bleeds, gets sunburned when he is outside too long on those rare clear days. But he always rises again. “Perpetual Resurrection,” he says, grinning through the pain when you caution him to be patient, to be careful. “I’m not dying. I’m becoming brand new.”

You hunt for softshell crabs together on the rocky shoreline, fill a basket with them, bring them to the cooks to serve the skeleton crew of the castle for supper. You walk through the gardens, a pine-smelling woodland of towering coniferous trees, thorny rose bushes, blood-red cranberries, indelicate creatures that can thrive in the thin, inhospitable earth here. You study the books of the castle library—an impossibly vast, ancient collection, safeguarding texts from Old Valyria—while Aegon swims in the ocean with Sunfyre, laughing and diving as the dragon glides around him in large, lazy circles. Sunfyre can fly, but only a very short distance at a time; he is ungainly when he walks on land with his improperly-healed right wing. But in the water, he and Aegon are both unbroken again. Soon they will be ready for battle. Soon they will have to leave this island, this mist-and-smoke haven, to rejoin the war effort; soon they will have to leave you.

You crave Aegon like some people need wine, rum, gin, gold, power, violence, milk of the poppy. He is ecstasy, he is consolation, he is a spell. He is your home; and any place you’ve ever mistaken for home was only an echo of the truth that you would one day find him. Even on that very first night, as the storm raged outside, you whispered to Aegon when you both woke long before sunrise: “I want you again.”

“You’ll be sore,” he warned, a warm murmur against your forehead. “We can wait. I can wait.” But already his hands were moving, and your thighs were opening, and he followed your body and your words when they told him yes, now, and tomorrow, and the day after that, and the next day too.

You smile when Aegon calls you insatiable, but you know that’s not quite it.

You are acutely aware that nothing lasts forever, not even him, not even you.

~~~~~~~~~~

“Are the days getting shorter?” you ask, your bare feet ankle-deep in wet sand. Sunfyre is out in the waves eating dolphins; a slippery-looking grey tail hangs from his snaggletoothed jaw.

“I think you just want the nights to be longer.” Aegon winks up at you. His head is in your lap, his arms linked around your waist. You are weaving his little braid for him. His hair is just above shoulder-length and as choppy as ever. He periodically takes his dagger to it and hacks away haphazardly, determined to never look like Aemond, Daeron, Daemon, his father. He burrows into the softness of your belly and shuts his eyes. “Perhaps winter is coming.”

In more ways than one, you think bleakly, picturing Cregan Stark on the Kingsroad with snow in his long dark hair and dirt on his hands. “We should ask Lord Larys if he’s heard anything.” As the Citadel—and most of the rest of Westeros—believes Dragonstone to be unoccupied, they would not have sent a white raven here. But several times each week Larys receives visitors from Eagle Harbor, and they bring him rumors in exchange for gold coins and promises that when Aegon once again sits the Iron Throne, their faithfulness will be generously rewarded.

Aegon hums agreeably; he is dozing. After a moment he says: “I keep dreaming of her.”

“Who?”

“Helaena,” Aegon says, his voice lethargic and eyes still closed. “She brings me things. Butterflies, crabs, snakes. Things that are reborn. She puts them in my hands or in my bed and won’t take them away when I ask her to. She keeps telling me: Don’t fall, don’t fall.”

You finish Aegon’s braid and comb his unruly hair back with your fingers, soothing him, listening to him. You try not to think of the way Helaena died, crushed and hemorrhaging on golden sandstone. Instead, you picture her living: strange yet gentle, tragic but kind. You see her children as well, white-haired and beautiful and doted on not by their parents but by Alicent and Otto and you…and Aemond. You remember Aemond’s quiet resentment, his simmering and dangerous envy. You recall Aegon’s half-flippant accusation: You’re always developing attachments to things that are mine. Targaryens have wed brothers to sisters since long before the Conquest, but that doesn’t mean they always got the combination quite right. “Aegon, was Aemond…was he in love with Helaena? Did he desire her?”

“No. Not like that. He cared for her, but I don’t believe he had any lust for Helaena. He just thought he would have been a better husband to her than I was. That he would have caused her less misery. That he was more worthy of carrying on the bloodline, of being the children’s father. And he was right, of course.”

“What happened to Helaena is not your fault,” you say. “And neither is what happened to Jaehaerys or Maelor.”

“I’m glad Daeron burned them all,” Aegon says quietly, meaning the people of Bitterbridge, a tale ferried to Larys from one of his numerous, nameless informants.

“I know you are, Aegon.” You can’t bring yourself to agree with him. Does one dead child bring back another? Does each swatch of flesh burned away from a supporter of Rhaenyra replace one that was sheared off the bones of a Green? No, of course not, but the wheel goes around and around and around.

In the sky, another sort of wheel: a sun that burns cool and muted behind a thicket of iron-colored clouds. High above where you and Aegon are entwined on the beach, something crosses in front of the shrouded sun, casting an impossibly large shadow. You gasp; at the sound, Aegon bolts upright onto his palms and knees and follows your gaze. There is a profound, archaic rumbling, something old and intractable like thunder, earthquakes, floodwaters rising.

A dragon, you know immediately. You try frantically to determine whether you recognize its voice. Too large to be Tessarion or Syrax, too deep a roar to be Caraxes. Sheepstealer?? Vermithor?? But no, you have heard this beast before after all, it’s—

“Vhagar!” Aegon shouts, and scrambles to his feet. As the massive swamp-green dragon disappears behind the castle, soaring rather sluggishly, Aegon sprints as fast as he can up the stone steps towards the entranceway. You follow Aegon into Dragonstone and there the visitor meets you both, sailing down a staircase with eerie lightness, his boots hardly making a sound, his long silver hair secured in a single thick braid. Larys arrives as well and stands in the dreary, torchlit chamber, appearing as he always does: face servile and tactfully intrigued, hands laced together overtop the handle of his cane, back stooped as if to make himself smaller, less threatening, more invisible.

“I got to thinking you might be here,” Aemond tells Aegon. He sounds pleasantly surprised. “You look better.” Then he notices you. “Oh. Perhaps that accounts for some of it.”

“Where’s Criston?” Aegon asks. Meanderingly, so it is sufficiently subtle, he takes several steps until he has placed himself between you and Aemond.

“Somewhere near Saltpans.”

“You left him?” Aegon is incredulous, furious.

“Temporarily,” Aemond says. “It is not the first time. Between battles Vhagar and I raze the farms and villages of the Riverlands. Criston and his men are more than capable of fending for themselves. I’ll be back in a day.”

“You’re supposed to stay with Criston,” Aegon insists, speaking slowly and deliberately as if to a child who might have difficulty understanding. “You promised that you would. The war is on the battlefield, not on goddamn farms.”

“And what feeds Rhaenyra’s forces? Is it not grain and cattle? And so if I destroy their food supply—while our own soldiers are still receiving regular shipments from the Westerlands and the Reach—am I not inflicting catastrophic damage to the Blacks?”

“You’re burning…civilian property?” you say to Aemond. “You’re killing women and children and old people? You’re laying waste their homesteads?”

“It’s total war.” Aemond stares at you defiantly; there is no suggestion of self-doubt in his face. “It is a well-documented strategy employed across continents and centuries. We kill soldiers on the battlefield. We endanger their families back home. Many men will desert to return to their imperiled wives and children. Others will starve. All are broken. All are rendered ineffectual to our enemy’s cause. And thus we will triumph.”

You and Aegon gape at him, not knowing what to say, not knowing what is right or wrong in a world where children are slaughtered and grown men murder with impunity. When will this war be over? How can we end it? Will any of our souls survive the choices we’ve made with our backs to the wall?

“My prince, you chose an excellent time to pay us a visit,” Larys offers diplomatically. “I have just received news that may be of interest to you. And you can bring it back to Sir Criston and his men when you return to the Riverlands tomorrow.”

“What news?” Aegon asks.

“Wait,” Aemond says; and he smiles, dark and hungry like a wolf, like a dragon. “I want to see the place where my ancestors made their war plans. I want to sit in Rhaenyra’s chair.”

On the top floor of the Stone Drum, the main keep of Dragonstone that booms and growls during storms, servants light the candles beneath the Painted Table and bring wine, ale, bread, cheese, honeycomb, jam, candied walnuts, red cherries and violet grapes. The map of Westeros, older than the Conquest, is striped with snakes of fiery luminance like lava. Aegon twists the gold dragon ring on his finger, its jade eyes sparkling. You gave it back to him the day after you arrived on Dragonstone; he says that when he wins the war, he will have a matching piece made for you, but with a crab in place of a dragon.

Larys cautions before he begins: “I cannot tell you the perfect truth. I can only tell you what I’ve heard from the whispers that make their way to me.”

“And what have you heard?” Aemond says. Aegon glances petulantly at him, as if debating whether to remind his brother that a prince regent is not quite a king.

“The Dragonseeds known as Hugh Hammer and Ulf the White—and with them, Vermithor and Silverwing—have officially declared for the Greens.”

“Yes!” Aegon beams and raises his wine cup. He refuses milk of the poppy, even on his worst days; he does not want to be senseless, he does not want to leave you unprotected. But he drinks red wine often and grows ill if he is without it for long. Aemond is laughing victoriously. The brothers are momentarily united.

“There was a battle at Tumbleton in the Reach,” Larys continues. “Lord Ormund Hightower was slain by Roddy the Ruin who, allegedly, managed the feat after one of his arms was severed clean from his body. These Northmen are formidable beasts, to be sure.”

Aegon looks at you, a fleeting, fearful look.

“The people of Tumbleton believed the battle to be over, but then Vermithor and Silverwing joined Tessarion in torching the city. All the Blacks’ commanders were killed, along with most of their soldiers. And the city was sacked. There are reports of looting and…well, all manner of indecencies being committed against the civilians of Tumbleton, mostly women and children. Even septas and silent sisters.”

Now an awkward silence settles over the Painted Table. Ruin, heartbreak, agony, death; but somebody else’s. It could have been yours instead. Perhaps tomorrow it will be. Perhaps there is no end to suffering, only a reallocation of it to people who you do not know, do not love. Perhaps the debt can never be satisfied but only passed to another.

Larys goes on: “The people of King’s Landing are petrified that the Greens and their dragons will descend upon them and subject the capital to the same atrocities that Tumbleton experienced. Rhaenyra had to order the gold cloaks to seal the city gates to keep her supposedly loyal subjects inside.”

“The smallfolk’s support for her continues to weaken?” Aemond says.

“It does more than weaken. Many people there detest her. Bartimos Celtigar has imposed heavy taxes upon the city. The smallfolk fear that Daemon has abandoned Rhaenyra, and therefore that they cannot expect protection from Caraxes and Sheepstealer. And…” Larys peers around the Painted Table apologetically.

“…And?” Aegon presses.

“Rhaenyra’s youngest son…Viserys…” Larys sighs, an anemic, perfunctory breed of sympathy. “He is dead. Of illness, it seems. The luckless lad.”

“He was always sickly,” you say, remembering his unwaveringly watery eyes and dripping nose. And you almost say Poor Rhaenyra, but then you remember how the Blacks celebrated Maelor’s death with cheers and rare, bloody boar meat.

“Yes,” Larys concurs. “That is what the people believe, that he perished due to natural causes.”

Aemond is watching the Master of Whisperers closely. “What does Rhaenyra think caused it?”

“She suspects poison,” Larys tells him. “She is convinced of poison, I should say. She raved and she threatened and she spewed accusations. She executed a dozen people, none of whom could be connected to the death of the boy with any certainty. The smallfolk feel she has gone mad. And there is one more crime the people have branded her with.” Larys turns to you.

Your heard pounds wildly, hot blood thuds in your ears. “Has something happened to Everett—?”

“Not him. The Celtigars themselves are safe from her wrath. Bartimos is too near to the throne, and Rhaenyra trusts him. But the servant girl—Autumn, you called her—she went into labor a month early and was delivered of a boy.” Now Larys’ eyes flick to Aegon, whose face goes pale and panicked. “A boy with blue eyes and silver hair.”

Aemond rocks back in his chair and shakes his head.

“Oh,” Aegon moans. “Oh.” He clutches his chest with one hand and looks to you. He says weakly: “I’m so sorry, Angel. It didn’t mean anything. The child…it…it will never really be mine—”

“It won’t be anyone’s,” Larys says. “Rhaenyra had him run through with a sword.”

“What?!” Aemond exclaims. “A baby? An infant? In her own castle, in the Red Keep?”

You are horrified. “Did Autumn witness this?”

“I’m not certain, my lady,” Larys replies. “What I have heard is that Rhaenyra proclaimed it vengeance for agents of the Greens murdering her youngest son. She declared all bastards of the Usurper to be enemies of the realm and thus sentenced to death. She has offered rewards for anyone who brings a white-haired child to her for execution. And the smallfolk are absolutely, viciously appalled by her. The Street of Silk in particular is rife with people plotting the so-called queen’s downfall. She is surrounded by enemies. And she has only two male heirs left.”

“Two more than Aegon,” Aemond mutters.

“Is Autumn alright?” you ask Larys. “Did Rhaenyra harm her?”

“Your brother Everett attempted to advocate for Autumn and the child. He was ignored; your father and eldest brother were vehemently in support of the murder. Shortly after the baby was killed, Autumn disappeared from King’s Landing. I’m sure Everett facilitated this escape. No one knows her present whereabouts.”

“She’s just gone? No signs whatsoever?”

“Nobody ever knows anything.” Aemond waves at Aegon. “They think he’s in Dorne.”

“Seven hells,” Aegon whispers, rubbing his face with his hands.

“Rhaenyra is destroying herself,” you say. “She is doing the work for us. If you try to take King’s Landing with dragonfire raining down on Green supporters who are effectively held captive, there will be ill-will against you in the capital that will last for generations. But if they overthrow Rhaenyra on their own, you can reclaim the city bloodlessly.”

Larys taps his fingers meditatively against the Painted Table. “I do wonder if Daemon would intervene to support her. His present motivations are…somewhat nebulous. To Blacks and Greens alike. But he controls their most powerful assets.”

“You haven’t crossed paths with Caraxes and Sheepstealer in Riverlands, I assume?” Aegon asks Aemond.

“No. We are locked in a dance of sorts. I’m not certain that Vhagar can win against two dragons of that size; they must know that it is almost certain that at least one of them would be killed in the struggle even if they defeated me. This Nettles girl’s dragon riding skills are unclear. Perhaps Daemon is training her, perhaps he is now sufficiently attached that he does not want her in combat. So we avoid each other. But when the girl is gone—when Daemon tires of her, or when Rhaenyra sends assassins to murder her, or when she is removed from the board by some other means—I will meet Daemon in battle and end him.”

“Your priority is protecting Criston,” Aegon orders; but there is trepidation in his large, ocean-blue eyes, there is defenseless worry there. “Wherever Criston goes, you go with him. I’ll be ready to fight again soon. I’ll be able to help you.”

“Daemon is mine. I want to face him alone.”

“I am the king!” Aegon thunders, and you can see the strength leaving him like birds taking flight from cold, bare winter trees. “You will not behave recklessly. You will not abandon Criston. We are winning in the Reach, and we are winning in King’s Landing without even being there, and we will win in the Riverlands too if you don’t sabotage us with your relentless fucking pride.”

You and Larys study Aemond. He examines the flame-colored light of the Painted Table, tracing the etchings of rivers and mountains with his fingertips. “Fine,” he concedes, very quietly.

“And one more thing,” Aegon tells his brother.

With great reluctance, Aemond meets his gaze. “Yes?”

“If you have the opportunity to burn Cregan Stark, take it.”

~~~~~~~~~~

When Aegon collapses into the bed you share, you curl up against his scarred chest, listen to his heartbeat, breathe in heat and rose oil and the salt of the ocean. He does not ask you what is wrong. He does not speak of Autumn or her child, his child, no matter how indifferent or remorseful he might have been. He holds you knowing that there is nothing he can say to make the world whole again. He can only rest until he is well enough to fly into battle, where he might be further maimed or taken captive or murdered. And what then? What was this all for?

“Somewhere there are people just living,” you marvel. “They’re reading books, they’re having supper, they’re getting married, they’re tending to their crops and their animals. And none of them are thinking about war or massacres or dragonfire.”

“Yes,” Aegon says simply, pulling you in closer, one palm pressed to the small of your back and the other brushing your hair away from your face so he can kiss you, soft and slow. “But they’re not us.”

When Aegon is on the edge of sleep, you tell him that you love him, as you do each day. He has not heard it enough in his life; you are trying to remedy that now. And as always, Aegon does not say it back. Instead, he murmurs something in High Valyrian that you cannot understand. Now you commit it to memory, repeating it silently to yourself again and again until Aegon is sleeping deeply and you can rise from the bed without disturbing him. You go to your writing desk and scribble it down on a small piece of parchment: the way this word sounds in the letters of the Common Tongue. You have no way to translate it. There are books written in High Valyrian in the castle library, but you do not know the alphabet of the language, and you have yet to find a text that can teach it to you. When you ask Aegon for lessons, he demurs and says that he doesn’t know High Valyrian well enough to teach you. You think he just wants a way to say things you won’t be able to comprehend. You squirrel the parchment away in the pocket of your gown and slip out of the bedchamber you share with Aegon.

It is far too early for your mind to stop racing, only sunset. You wander down halls of shifting shadows and iron dragons, fantastically high ceilings and narrow slits of windows. Questions fill your skull like rushing blood in the chambers of a heart: Where is Autumn? Is she alright? Is she safe? Is Everett, is Jaehaera, is Alicent? Are Criston and Daeron? Are any of us?

When you cross through the doorway and onto a balcony that overlooks the ocean, Aemond is to your left. He is nursing a cup of wine and leaning over the stone wall that separates you from a long, treacherous fall onto black rocks that jut out of the sea like the hilts of daggers from a corpse’s back. You whirl away from him and towards the craggy staircase that leads down to the beach.

“Now you’re going to pretend you didn’t see me?” Aemond calls out.

You halt mid-step, consider it, then return to him. “You’re just so undistinguished in appearance. So easy to miss.”

He gives you one of his enigmatic, teasing smirks. His hair blows in the breeze that tastes like salt and sulfur and mist. He wears a dark, lush green. Then he peers avoidantly down into his wine. “I…I don’t think I ever adequately apologized for what transpired regarding the brothel. The Pink Pearl.”

“You didn’t.”

“It is a place…” Aemond pauses. He chooses his words cautiously, like handling something that could easily break, a glass goblet, an egg, a butterfly in an open palm. “It is a place that I associate with great unpleasantness. I made assumptions about where your loyalties lied. I felt that you had hurt me, that you had caused me to suffer. And I wanted you to suffer in return.”

“It was a horrific thing to do,” you say pitilessly. “It was cruel. It was evil.”

“Yes, I’m aware of that now. That’s why I’m apologizing.”

“Then do it properly.”

“I’m sorry,” Aemond says. It takes some effort. “I was wrong.”

“You were.”

“And I’m glad Aegon was able to haul himself out of bed to rescue you. It’s not often that he gets to be the noble brother, the gallant one.”

“It happens more often than you’d think.”

Aemond raises his eyebrow. Beneath his eyepatch, you know, is a winter-cold sapphire in a bed of mangled flesh, a treasure steeped in corruption. “How long have you been here?”

“Two months.” No, more than that. “Two and a half, or thereabouts.”

“And I assume there has been no shortage of…horizontal activities with my brother.”

“Not exclusively horizontal,” you snap, to make him regret being so forward, to make him uncomfortable. “We are more inventive than that.”

It works; Aemond flushes a gory mottled pink. Still he manages: “And you have not yet conceived?”

You glare at him, ice and fire at once. “No.”

“Why do you think that is?”

You shrug, exasperated, dismissive. “Aegon has been through so much physical trauma, perhaps he is no longer capable of having children. Perhaps I never was. Perhaps it will happen in a month or six months or a year. Perhaps it is not meant for us. Only the gods know.”

“You aren’t at all concerned?”

In truth, no; you are so consumed by whether Aegon will survive the war with any vestige of humanity intact that anything beyond this seems hopelessly distant, a constellation, a shadow on the moon, the silvery gleam of a comet. “It’s not something I spend much time thinking about.”

“It should be,” Aemond insists. “If the Greens expect men to go to war for us, for women to give up their husbands and sons to us, we should have a stable succession to offer them in return. Jaehaerys and Maelor are gone. Jaehaera is a girl and cannot inherit even if she is alive and well in Storm’s End. Aegon needs an heir.”

“Aren’t you next in line for the throne, Aemond?” you say cuttingly. “And isn’t that the role you believe yourself best suited for? Being king? Proving how worthy you were all along?”

He is uneasy, perhaps ashamed, evading your eyes. “Regrettably, I cannot begin trying for my own sons until the war is over and I marry Borros Baratheon’s daughter, as I pledged to in return for his support for our side. Daeron will not be able to marry for several years. In the meantime, there is this…disquieting lack of certainty. To complicate matters, Aegon has bastards in King’s Landing, I’m sure. The red-haired girl was far from the first whore to lie with him. If he does not have a trueborn son, claimants will appear to challenge mine or Daeron’s for the throne.”

You search yourself—unspoken longing and ancient cobwebbed fears—for any desire for a child of your own. You cannot find it. You are fond of children, you find fulfillment in caring for them, but the need to carry and deliver one yourself? It is not something you can remember ever yearning for. It always felt like yet another way in which your body would be used to further some man’s legacy, to give him pleasure at your expense. “Can you tell me what this means?” you ask, handing Aemond the folded piece of parchment that you’d tucked into the pocket of your gown. He takes it with one long, lithe hand. “I’ve probably spelled it wrong. I’ve never seen it written, only heard it spoken aloud.”

Aemond opens the parchment. His river-blue eye narrows; thoughtful creases appear in his brow. “Aegon has said this? To you?”

“More than once.”

“What prompted it?”

“Does your translation depend upon the context?”

“Hm.” Aemond skates his thumbprint over the dried black ink. Then he looks at you. “It means: To your misfortune.”

The alarm must show on your face.

“Not like a threat,” Aemond clarifies. “It is a common expression. It suggests that someone has entrusted something of value to the undeserving. It implies naivety. Unwise benevolence. But it is certainly not malicious. It is usually said fondly, like a backhanded compliment.” He returns the parchment to you. You rip it over and over again until it is only scraps that vanish in the wind, Aegon’s voice speaking to you: I ruin causes. I ruin people.

“Why did you kill Luke?” you ask Aemond, not accusingly but with hushed, weary wonder. “There was very little strategic advantage in it. There was great peril as a result. Rhaenyra will never surrender, never negotiate. You will forever be known as a kinslayer. You could have taken him captive. You could have humiliated him, you could have shown the world how weak he was. Why did you have to kill him?”

Aemond says nothing for a long time. He stares out over the ocean where the sun is setting, dolphin fins cut in swift arcs through the surf, Sunfyre dozes on wet sand, the sky glows dream-lavender and blood orange. He sips his wine and contemplates things that are mysteries to you. Aemond keeps his thoughts like untrustworthy animals: in cages, in darkness, turning fierce and feral, snapping jaws and rattling chains. At last he says: “They’re all dead anyway. They were from the moment Aegon was born and my father refused to name him the heir. It’s all of them or all of us. You think there is any scenario in which Aegon reigns as king while Rhaenyra’s children survive? No, no. Someone will always be willing to fight and die for them. Just like Green loyalists would have been willing to fight for Jaehaerys and Maelor.” Something shifts in his face like the breaking of a wave, and for a second you can glimpse the deep well of dark, helpless misery inside him, filling up drop by drop since he was a boy. Then Aemond is steely again. “Luke had to die. So did Jace and Rhaenys and that eternally sniffling toddler Viserys. And all the other Blacks will follow. Unless you care to see Aegon’s blood spilled. And mine, and Daeron’s.”

“No,” you say softly, an agonized little whisper that understands, that surrenders. “No, that cannot happen.”

Aemond takes another swallow of his wine and drums his fingertips restlessly against the cup. “Any heir our side puts forth must have undisputed parentage and Valyrian features. Aegon’s wife is dead. He can marry you. You are a Celtigar, you share our blood, you carry the memories of silver hair and rare magic in the marrow of your bones. These attributes are dormant in you, yet could be passed on to a child. A son of yours could secure the succession and one day inherit the Iron Throne. But the father has to be a Targaryen.”

You turn to Aemond, perplexed and wary. His wording is strange. “Well, it has to be Aegon.”

Aemond is impatient, irritated. You have not been keeping up. He says, his eye on the darkening horizon: “There are other Targaryens.”

You stare at him. You don’t understand, you don’t understand, and then suddenly you do. “What?”

This is not the reaction Aemond had hoped for. He gulps down the last of his wine, leaves the cup on the stone wall, storms down the staircase to reunite with Vhagar and resume burning the noncombatants of the Riverlands to ash.

~~~~~~~~~~

He finds her at the shore of the Gods Eye, rippling blue like a vast mirror. The Isle of Faces—forbidden, undiscoverable—is a faint mirage in the distance. Moondancer is circling overhead. Baela is perched on a large rock by the water’s edge and fishing; she is intrigued by tales of the strange creatures that dwell here, the hungry currents, the way this corner of the world has only a translucent, threadbare veil between our world and the realm of spirits, ghosts, demons. She has always been curious and bold by nature. She has always been his most beloved child.

“You found your way out of Nettles’ bed,” Baela pitches, a jest but not a judgment. She is already developing an appetite of her own that renders monogamy woefully lacking. She mourns Jace, but not the woman she would have had to pretend to be for him. “I’m shocked.”

Daemon smirks, tilting his head to the side like a wolf does as it’s listening. “You know how sheets have a way of getting tangled. Around ankles, around wrists…sometimes it is difficult to free oneself.”

“You were fighting hard, I’m sure.”

“Yes, all morning.”

Baela chuckles, reels in her fishing line, recasts it. She cares deeply for Rhaenyra and is loyal to her still, but Baela shares her father’s pathological aversion to weakness. She feels that Rhaenyra has driven Daemon away with her moodiness, her melancholy, her unmooring from the fearless, ardent woman she once was. Daemon says that being with Nettles is like being with a young Rhaenyra again. It would not be just to condemn him for seeking out what Rhaenyra took from him and has no intention of returning.

Daemon says: “I want you to go to Dragonstone.”

Baela is aghast, betrayed. “You are getting rid of me?”

“I am entrusting you with a vital enterprise.”

Now she is intrigued. Now she is considering it.

“Moondancer is too small to fight Vhagar, Tessarion, Vermithor, or Silverwing,” Daemon says. “If Caraxes and Sheepstealer meet Vhagar in battle, you cannot go with us. Nor should we leave you here unprotected. And I know you have been impatient for an opportunity to play a more…consequential role in the war.”

“I long to be useful,” Baela agrees. “More than anything.”

“Go to Dragonstone,” Daemon says. “It is vacant, it is safe. But it must remain under the Blacks’ control. Patrol it and ensure the Greens do not try to take the island and find riders for Grey Ghost or the Cannibal. Rhaenyra will return to Dragonstone if she is ever forced out of King’s Landing. I have tasked you with making it ready for her.”

“And I have permission to execute any traitors who might appear there?”

“Yes. You may swing the sword yourself. Or feed them to Moondancer, whichever you prefer.”

Baela smiles, a slow, toothy grin that spreads across her face like plague, like fire. “When can I leave?”

#aegon ii targaryen #aegon targaryen #aegon ii #aegon targaryen ii #aegon targaryen x reader #aegon x reader #aegon ii x y/n #aegon ii x you #aegon ii targaryen x reader #aegon ii x reader

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mint-yooxgi · 1 year ago

Text

Until Your Lungs Give Out - Prologue

Yandere AU & Dystopian AU

Genre: Mature, Horror, Angst, Fluff, Slight Humour, Sci-fi, Dystopian

Pairing: Ateez X Reader

Words: 1,331

Warnings: Minor violence mentioned. This is a Yandere story, it will contain themes such as stalking, violence, obsession, possessive natures, and just general overall creepiness and swearing. You have been warned.

A/n: I blame @anyamaris for feeding my ideas, and thus helping me create this. I plan for it to be almost a mix between Resident Evil dystopia (movies, specifically the third) and My Chemical Romance Danger Day's dystopia world. With robots! I really hope you all enjoy this little teaser hehehe As always, feedback is greatly appreciated! Enjoy~

Also, gentle reminder that I don’t do tag lists.

Mini Masterlist

The crackle of static sounds through your headpiece. The low hum of electricity surrounds you, what’s left of the city’s lights flickering above you as you race down the deserted streets. The heart of the city is a dangerous place, no matter how abandoned it might be. You’ll risk it any day of the week.

You have to. There’s no other choice.

Long since has the world gone to shit.

No, no major disease wiped out the planet. No virus that caused people to become the living dead, either. Humans are very much still alive, though their numbers dwindle every day, replaced by the Bots of Life, guaranteeing that people can never truly die.

These androids are so lifelike, that you cannot easily tell the difference between them and humans unless you are looking for them. Emotions, memories, habits - they are all the same.

Life Bots, another term for these machines, require a human host. Millions of underground facilities have been made to house the Sacrifices - unlawfully named, in your opinion - for the Bots of Life to thrive. All that’s needed is a specialized pod and a mind link, and humans never have to age again. They can live vicariously through their android counterparts, forever.

Great sale’s pitch! If humans actually got a choice in the matter…

What’s left of humanity fight to survive, living in hidden suburbs and scraping to get by every day. Every Life Bot is programmed to deliver humans to their intended Sacrificial Pod, destroying what’s left of the living world.

No more hunger. No more strife, chaos, or pain. Only order, and peace.

All things which are easier said than done.

An interesting side effect early Life Bot integrators noticed was how suddenly, members of their family which had undergone the Sacrifice seemed to lose all previous autonomy. The Creator made sure to emphasize his ideals into the Bots of Life, nearly forcing every human associated with one to make the change. He wanted total control over every living human, holding their lives in the palms of his hand for his own gains.

Naturally, the humans rebelled.

War broke out, and now all that remains of the earth above sea level are wastelands. Deserts span more areas than they used to, cracked, dry earth giving way to dead zones not even the Life Bots dare to traverse.

Still, there are those unlucky enough to be forced to live above ground without any protection, unable to have afforded to buy their way into the luxurious underwater cities or air fortresses that had been massed produced for the majority of the upper class and wealthy in society. Those left behind are stranded, lest they be forced to become a Life Bot of their own.

That’s where you come in.

You are one of the last few survivors in this division who still remains on earth, fighting for the human’s survival. Looking out for the stranded is what you do best, and you’ve made taking down Life Bots look like it’s child’s play. Which is exactly why you’re racing to answer the distress call you’ve just received not even a mere five minutes ago. There seems to be one human in particular that keeps sticking his nose into trouble looking for spare parts and supplies. It’s starting to get on your nerves, for he also seems insistent to flirt with you every chance he gets.

Only this time, he’s not alone.

When you originally latched onto the signal, you heard at least three distinct voices calling for help. The noises in the background indicated a fight, so there had to at least have been two more people with them, holding off the Life Bots at the time. You just hope you make it before someone gets hurt. Or worse.

Revving the engine to your motorcycle, you pick up your speed. The distress call came from just around the corner two more blocks up, and from the littered corpses of Life Bots you can see lining the street, you know a fight has just taken place here not that long ago.

Rounding the corner, you skid to a halt.

The screeching of your tires on the asphalt draws the attention of the small group of about eight males that seems to be surrounded on all sides by a small hoard of twenty Life Bots. A few hold makeshift weapons, like broken pipes and a rusted crowbar, while two hold Laftas, specialized stun guns made for subduing the Bots of Life. One practically cowers on the ground amidst the circle of survivors, covering their ears and shaking uncontrollably as his friends surround him as best they can.

The moment you hop off of your bike, you notice a familiar male’s eyes light up, hope dancing on his features. A smile begins to stretch across his features.

A click of your helmet, and it retracts from your face, practically disappearing from sight.

“I told you she would come!” Wooyoung, your resident damsel in distress, and certified pain in your ass, cheers.

“Yeah, yeah,” the tall one with what appears to be a sniper riffle strapped to his back, rolls his eyes. “If we manage to get out of this alive, remind me to give you one of my chocolate bars from my hidden stash.”

The way Wooyoung’s eyes light up even further says it all.

“Can’t go one day without getting yourself into trouble, huh, Gopher?” There’s an almost teasing lilt to your voice despite the disappointed sigh you heave as you spring into action.

Drawing your katana from your back, you unholster your Lafta.

“Guilty.” He chuckles, shrugging lightly.

You get to work, slicing through the Bots of Life as if they were made of silk rather than metal. With your opposite hand, you manage to shoot every target you set your eyes upon, cleaning up this mess in no time. Once finished, you make a show of twirling your sword a few times before sheathing it, shoving your gun back into its holster with a firm thwack.

“There,” you send a firm nod in their direction. “Get yourselves someplace safe before more of them return. I don’t like making multiple pitstops for the same people in the same night.”

You turn around, moving back over towards your bike before a voice calling out to you from behind halts you in your tracks.

“Wait!”

You spare the unfamiliar male a glance over your shoulder. He seems to have somewhat shaggy black hair, a black and red leather jacket covering his torso. A red birthmark rests beside his left eye.

“How can we ever repay you?”

You offer him a tight smile in return, noticing how more than just Wooyoung seems to be staring at you with wide eyes filled with awe.

“Keep yourselves out of trouble, and you won’t have to.”

The one crouched on the ground finally stands back to his feet. He rests a trembling hand on the shoulder of the male closest to him, who is also wearing a black and red leather jacket, but in a slightly different style.

“Really,” his voice comes out shaky, staring at you through thinly wired glasses. A tattered beige cardigan rests over his shoulders, a stark head of bright blue hair falling over his forehead and almost covering his eyes. “We should be able to do something.”

You huff slightly to yourself in amusement, finally crossing the last few steps to your motorcycle.

“Don’t worry about it.”

With a smooth movement, your leg is tossed over the seat, the engine revving to life. A click to your ear, and your helmet has rematerialized.

A final nod is sent their way before you’re racing back down the street, on the hunt for any more distress calls that might come your way for the night.

That is the last they see of you for two weeks, until your entire worlds come crashing down.

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t34-mt · 9 months ago

Note

I’m sure this was already mentioned but, in the war, who’s fighting who? Is it an ideological or territorial battle? The war is mentioned a lot in here but what is it? And of course what’s the outcome?

Sorry for just spamming you with questions lol I’m just curious

no it wasn't! This has been sitting in my inbox cause it's not something I could resume in 1 ask without getting mad at myself for bastardizing stuff with years of context in the world. Also, I started writing it then never finished, which thank god cause it was old info and now i can use this ask in another way. I'd like to clarify things about that period that I don't want people to assume!

I don't remember whatever I said about it on my blog, and since I don't trust myself I'll assume all of it is old content from when I wasn't sure what I wanted. Either way I started altuyur when i was 17 its my problem if it sucked.

1 - The first contact didn't instantly explode into GA.

first contact refers to kyhuines having first contact with their bigger cousins, maanuls, after the successful expedition to traverse the Mashrkhfrah mountain range. A mountain belt that almost surrounded the entirety of kyhuine's habitats.

The other exit of it being a biome kyhuines couldn't traverse with the technology they had at the time, "mierthri" biomes or "deep red". The microorganisms found in the air and water there are lethal to them, and the density of the flora (most of it are actually mushrooms that evolved to act more like plants) and the fauna found there don't help either. It was safer to pass by the mountain range, however it wasn't easy either.

The subject of the traverse itself is years of content too in the world with context on why and who, so its not something i can talk about in-depth here either. I will say that the mountains are a sacred place for multiple cultures where traversing the Alps wasn't permitted. It was taboo for many, politically many groups and representatives were involved, and so on.

The two species knowing each other lasts decades. Meeting maanuls after the traverse was a shock, obviously. However, they didn't go to war just cause they found a new species, because that's not what the war is about.

2 - GA isn't about a species war

GA isn't maanuls or kyhuines wanting the other extinct or some odd reasons.

There are many reasons why conflict started, which are mainly about systems sucking rather than them being species racist. Sure, harmful beliefs founded on baseless rumors could happen in some factions such as red troupes and section 4. But they were more based on the place they lived in rather than their species. The belief that “kaar’kchir people love living under this system, they all support it, it's in their nature” was a solid one during the conflict and even a bit after.

In short, a list of what caused it. But the causes in the world remain a debated issue in KEO period.

Civil wars in surrounding colonies of kaar’kchir city

Rise of milletarism in kaar’kchir

Security dilemmas

Growth of “nationalism” (in quotes because countries aren't a thing there)

Territorial disputes

which are linked to:

resource problems and famines

And so on. New political factions formed in response to specific events or actions from other groups. Them gained importance, the belief that war was inevitable, and misunderstandings in diplomatic communications didn't help. There is many factors, so much so that people who joined military factions weren't even sure what was truly happening, being lured in with promises of becoming a hero for your people.

also

The major factions of it

bronze talons, known as red troupes after reform (it is intentional to be written as “troupe”)

section 4

ktlle

tamsitkah

there are other groups around but the most known and important were these 4.

3 - GA isn't the first conflict ever

Conflicts has always been a thing between colonies on Altuyur. While their history was quite peaceful compared to ours in general, it doesn't mean they never had conflicts between two different colonies. however, they were vastly resolved through talk, and debates that could last days or up to a week. Or through organized matches, ranging from culture-specific board games to even sports. Wrestling an important cultural sport in the north, even originated from this.

If there truly was no way to settle on an agreement between the two colonies. Members who wanted to do it their way, thinking there was no reasonable agreement to be had, would sometimes (although keep in mind rarely) make small groups and would plan to attack the others. Due to resolving to violence instead of finding another way, they'd be shamed by their home colony for their behavior and other neighboring groups could go as far as not wanting to trade for a while with them. Even if combats can be a grey thing in certain situations for them there's generally never an excuse for it. But, that is different among certain cultures that aren't so against violence. High plateau kyhuine groups do not see the shame others do in the act of organizing combats with talon extension to resolve conflicts.

However while small conflicts were always a thing, that in the vast majority would be resolved quickly or at least with minimal harm, they never had an actual war. At least never something so big and important until the GA period.

Bonus - Forget everything you know about GA characters honestly

I am ridiculously shy about them online and used to not know what to do with these freaks before. So sadly my blog is a shelter for old characterization. I am well aware for example that Monmartre is my most known character yet its the one no one knows anything about especially considering the complete rewrite of it i did almost a year ago now.

But whatever I'll try to be more open about them someday, since they’re people of altuyur history some can be somewhat important to it.

Bonus 2 -The traverse wasn't the first actual contact!

Tales of "giants with a sword face" for kyhuines, or "tiny people" for maanuls, might stem from them meeting their cousin's thousands of years ago during what's considered as "prehistory" for them. Some rare cave paintings also depict people that look like x species.

They forgot about each others, and they became rumors that turned into mythical beasts.

—

yes i disappeared for a while and now i come back saying i wrote garbage on this blog before yeah

#this ask been rotting for a year or two #ask #worldbuilding #kyhuine #maanul #txt #GA #red troupes #section 4 #tamsitkah #writing #fiction #altuyur #2024 #oc discussion #im back from the trenches

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the-nocturnal-writer · 1 year ago

Text

Evenfall Grove

An 18+ Dark Fantasy, Mystery Interactive Fiction WIP (with a side order of romance).

Warning ahead for dark themes (blood, violence, murder, death), swearing, alcohol consumption, and optional sexual content.

(List will be added to as I write and release chapters)

You are a local witch of Evenfall Grove, a small town deep in the forests of Darkrow. Not the most gifted or strongest in any particular thing, but you have a rare talent in this world, one you were told was a curse since youth. Visions of death within the past, present and future plague your nightmares and recently you’ve seen the faces of those you know.

Residents of Evenfall have begun to turn up mauled to death, the guards concluding them as wild animal attacks while the locals all feared the worst.

You, however, already know the truth. There was a murderer in town. Visions of a strange creature far too sentient and smart to be a mindless monster, it has a purpose here in Evenfall.

This is where the mystery comes in. Why is the creature killing the people of Evenfall? Who and what is this creature? The small team of guards are doing nothing and to send for help would mean waiting for an answer from the main city and weeks of travel for them to get here. Besides, who’s to say they’ll believe anything from one witch?

Guess it leaves just you and maybe the help of others you seek out along the way, the town is full of interesting and mysterious folk.

Use your visions to gather clues. Investigate Evenfall and question locals for information. Find who or what this strange monster is. Be wary of the night.

Features:

Pick to play as a Female, Male or Non-Binary witch.

Customise your witch's appearance!

Be Straight, Gay or Bisexual/Pansexual.

Pick from a variety of romanceable characters (list to be released soon)!

Form friendships with others to gain assets for what's ahead.

Traverse your visions to find hidden details and information.

Don't get killed (fear the night).

Links:

Demo (TBA)

RO Profiles (Under construction)

Hope you enjoy!

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beatinginavoid · 3 months ago

Text

The Volcano

Part 4 of 6. Part 1, Part 2, Part 3

— — —

Don’t explore the volcano.

The volcano had an interesting and complex cave system formed by magma flows over many, many years. They were said to be beautiful, glistening with crystals of various types. Many spelunkers were drawn to the chance to investigate a whole new cave system that was easily accessible. Others were hunting for profit, wanting to extract the precious stones and minerals.

The area became crowded, people were going missing in the unmapped labyrinth, and safety leapt to the top of the list. Signs, fencing, and other barriers went up in an effort to dissuade people from approaching willy-nilly.

An office was established and exploration expeditions were scheduled, though many ignored the quick and shoddy set up. There were always people that slipped by, only known about when missing reports reached the area.

One newcomer, dressed in vivid, fiery shades of red and orange, was there to explore and to grab some shiny souvenirs. No fence or barrier was going to stop them!

So what happened when they went exploring?

— — —

Chain link barriers? Easy to step over or duck under. Fencing? Easy to cut through. The office and checkpoints were easy to circumvent, even in broad daylight while wearing bright clothing. It’s almost insulting how easy it is to sneak into one of the cave system’s entrances.

There are tiny glints of light speckling the tunnel’s walls, ceiling, and floor. Tiny crystals, or tiny parts of crystals showing – they don’t excite you though. You want ones from deeper in to make the trip truly worthwhile.

Excitement runs through your veins, your heart pushing you onward with every beat.

Sometimes there’s enough room for you to walk, while other times you’re forced to crouch or even crawl, dragging your backpack along with you. Good thing it’s mostly empty.

The magma flows have created interesting textures and patterns and you enjoy running your fingers over them as you progress. The flashlight attached to your helmet makes bursts of rainbows as it flashes around, catching on all of the crystalline surfaces. Every movement forward creates dazzling new displays.

The tunnels were a spelunker’s dream. Despite some tight spots, the way had been easy to traverse for anyone with a modicum of experience. It was fun, it was beautiful. After a good hour or so, you crawl out into a spacious cavern. There are crystals absolutely everywhere, spikes and spires of them forming stalactites and stalagmites all over. Piles and piles of them fill half of the floor space, some of them tickling the ceiling.

This is an absolutely gorgeous treasure trove you giddily giggle with glee over. It’s warm in here, but tolerable. You swing your backpack off and pick out a sizable specimen, stuffing it gently inside. You pick out another, and another. You reach for a fourth when the whole mound trembles, a few from the top tumbling down.

You step back to avoid the sharp edged projectiles.

A rumble resounds throughout the cavern. Is the volcano active? Is this a normal thing?

The whole pile shifted, crystals falling down like rain, and two long, dark, ridged, conical spikes appeared from the summit. You jump back further and gasp, watching as a reptilian head emerges, bright yellow, slitted eyes focusing right on you.

Wisps of smoke waft up from the nostrils and your brain screams dragon!

There is an actual dragon with a treasure hoard living in this volcanic cave system. Judging from that smoke, the stories of fire breathing are true. You don’t want to stick around and find out, so you finally get your legs to work and make a break for the way you had come in.

Something whips out from the side and knocks your feet out from under you. You tumble to the ground and something pulls you back. Fingers attempt to dig in, but the dried, hardened magma has no give to it, and you scream, lungs squeezing and heart pounding.

When you stop, you look around to see a black talon, half a dozen inches long, sunk into the hem of your pants. The dragon is now mostly revealed, and you can see a long, serpentine body, about twelve feet in length, with spikes jutting out from the spine. There were no wings, but the mouthful of fangs was very intimidating.

The dragon steps out of what is left of its crystal mound, and stands directly over you, your frightened gaze meeting its predatory one. It flicks its claw free of your pants and splays its scaly digits over your rib cage, holding you down.

Your heart thumps hard and fast and you begin to pant. The dragon’s skin is far warmer than the air and its heat seeps right through your clothes. With one quick swipe, the dragon rips the clothing off the front of your torso and lightly pins you again. The heat from its scales directly on your skin feels like a severe sunburn, and you gasp.

The beast opens its maw and growls. You can see flickers of flame over its tongue and between the fangs and try to flinch back. Sadly the ground does not yield and swallow you. Will it eat you before you develop blisters?

It moves its foot to pin down one of your arms and breathes onto your sternum, a thin jet of fire leaving its jaws. The heat is nigh unbearable and you scream loudly. When the fire stops, you lay there panting for a moment before you turn to look at the damage.

Your skin is unblemished despite the intense heat and pain. Your chest feels tight, every breath stinging your lungs. All of the organs in your upper torso feel like a piece of bread that just popped up from the toaster; now lightly browned.

You wriggle in a desperate bid to escape, but the dragon uses its other front foot to pin down your other arm. Your heart is beating faster than it ever has before, and you are left gasping and sweating in fright.

It gives a brief roar and breathes fire on your chest again. The heat quickly amps up and you swear you can hear sizzling, though the flames don’t seem to be physically damaging your skin.

Your heart hammers against your ribs, feeling like a burger on a barbecue, and your extremities tingle with warmth as the heated blood is pumped around. Everything starts to hurt as the heat spreads, like intense pins and needles.

The dragon stops the weird cooking ritual and leans in, sniffing your chest. Despite the reptilian face you can clearly see that the beast isn’t exactly pleased. Does it want you medium rare? Well done?

Another sustained burst of flame hits you, and every time your pump contracts there is a sharp ache, like you’ve stuck your heart in a fire. Your blood feels like hot water being poured down your veins and you scream again, fruitlessly writhing beneath the dragon.

It’s cooking your cardiac muscle like a slab of meat and boiling the crimson liquid it pumps around your body. Your skin is still unblemished, but the dragon is roasting you from the inside out.

It is utter agony and you barely have the breath to scream, the heat and your injured heart, desperately sprinting to the best of its ability, are stealing your oxygen. Are there bubbles in your blood? Is your pericardium filling with steam and smoke?

You imagine your lifeblood boiling away to nothing like an unattended pan of water on a stove top. You imagine your heart turning brown and tough, barely able to contract to pump any blood. You wonder which one will happen first.

Dizziness, light-headedness, blurry and fading vision plague you, and you fear what your heart looks like under this assault.

No one knows you’re here. You’ll be just another missing person to add to the statistics.

The dragon stops and sniffs your chest again. It gives a soft, low rumble, resembling a massive, reptilian house cat’s purr. It’s clearly pleased with the progress and you wonder if fangs will sink into you at any moment. But no, it breathes more fire.

Each breath you take is horribly painful, and now you can feel every rushed beat, each pump like pure torture. It feels like lava flowing through you instead of blood. You gasp like a fish out of water, your heart and lungs stealing every molecule of oxygen.

Ba-ow-thump-owba-ow-thump-owba-ow-thump-owba-ow-thump-ow

Your heart is beating and being stabbed at a rapid-fire pace, your lungs feel shrivelled from heat, and your vision is developing black spots as oxygen deprivation sets in. The scent of cooked meat invades your nose and you kick out and writhe in a last ditch, primal attempt to attain freedom.

Choking wheezes leave your throat and the dark spots increase, blacking out over half of your vision. Your lungs aren’t moving at all and your heart is no longer pounding. Each beat feels weaker and weaker, less blood being pumped around by the stiffened, barbecued muscle. You can literally feel your life slipping away.

As the darkness swallows your consciousness, you hope the wretched reptile chokes on your remains. Your heart finally stops as the fire cooks it beyond use. The complete lack of movement in your rib cage is a first, but it is also the very last thing your mind processes as death embraces you.

The dragon’s jaws snap shut, instantly cutting off the jet of fire. Sharp talons rend flesh and muscle. They curl around the top of the sternum and ribs and the dragon snaps off the exposed parts of the rib cage. The unmoving heart and lungs are fully visible.

A front foot delicately wraps around the heart, dark brown pericardium and all, and gently places it into fanged jaws. Another happy rumble echoes around the crystal filled cavern, and the dragon swallows the cooked organ as if it’s a delicacy. It licks its muzzle.

Don’t explore the volcano.

— — —

I wrote the latter half of this while watching Gordon Ramsey roast people on Kitchen Nightmares. Fitting, don't you think?

I have a couple of anon asks I'll probably get started on, but part 5 may be posted first depending on ease of writing and interest.

🔥🫀

#cardiophile #cardiophilia #cardiophile writing #writing #heartbeat #beating heart #dark cardiophile #volcano #cw: gore #heart rip #gender neutral reader

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anon109 · 1 month ago

Text

masterlist for my dumb Underswap take thingy

What is this?

It's my small take on the popular AU Underswap. It has been one of my favorite AUs ever since I was in the Undertale fandom, and so I've been slowly creating my own version of it.

The characters keep their personalities, but the order of their appearance, their game role and locations swap, effectively traversing the Underground backwards. Your journey starts in New Home, and ends at the Ruins.

Here’s a list of the main swaps as well:

Toriel ⇆ Asgore Sans ⇆ Alphys Papyrus ⇆ Undyne Chara ⇆ Asriel Flowey ⇆ Temmie Napstablook ⇆ Mettaton

Note that anything other than Asgore and Toriel is still being actively edited and revised.

Videos

Intro

Temmie

Asgore (Tumblr link)

Sprites + Art

Asgore

Asgore First sprites

Assorted Dreemurr doodles + Coat colors

early OW sprites for both Dreemurrs

More work on Queen Toriel and Asgore

First cast overview

Doodle in the ruins

Pixel art study

Miscellaneous mockups

CYF fight in the works

Toriel

Queen Toriel First Sprite

Queen Toriel """concept art"""

early OW sprites for both Dreemurrs

More work on Queen Toriel and Asgore

More Queen Toriel early sprites

Assorted Dreemurr doodles + coat colors

First cast overview

Pixel art study

Miscellaneous mockups

Undyne

First cast overview

Miscellaneous mockups

Alphys

First cast overview

Miscellaneous mockups + more Alphys stuff

Sans

First cast overview

Miscellaneous mockups

Papyrus

First cast overview

Miscellaneous mockups

#underswap #undertale #asgore dreemurr #toriel dreemurr #papyrus #sans #alphys #undyne #i got lazy at the end lol

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deuterosapiens · 2 months ago

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And that's that for Echoes of Wisdom! A pleasant, charming game to be sure!

There's good and bad to be had, but it's certainly an unusual game. I'll definitely be going back over it to collect those Echoes I'm missing, which luckily for me, is a scant ten, per the post-game break down. One of which, humorously enough, is the damn carrot Echo used to summon your horse. I did not actually bother to do the Horse Ranch quest until just after my fifth (or sixth, depending on how you're counting) dungeon. Just going to drop a break here though, because I want to talk a bit more freely about this game.

So, there are a couple of Echoes I've discovered fairly trivialize most combat encounters. The Wolfos echo, any of the Darknut series echoes (the Level 3 variant I actually used basically as a blender throughout the entire last act, in the Still Ancient Ruins), and the Chompfin echo for water.

This game does a fair job of combining the "play it your way" mentality of the recent Wild era titles with the more strict flow of classic dungeons' puzzles. While you have considerably more options in this game, they will typically amount to being a variation on the same sorts of themes. Use fire to light torches- whether that comes from a Brazier, a Torch Slug or an Ignizol is entirely up to you, for example.

Let's talk about the key feature that honestly probably amounts to one of the biggest draws of the charming little game: DUNGEONS (and their BOSSES).

Let's see, there's three main dungeons, followed by Hyrule Castle, then three more dungeons (plus the endgame). Which means we follow the Ocarina of Time dungeon structure, which actually means we follow the A Link to the Past dungeon structure, which is appropriate, all things considered.

Each dungeon requires the traversal of a short Still World segment, which will bring Pokémon Platinum fans immense joy, before pissing them off at the memory of the Distortion World's absence in BDSP, and Legends-Arceus. These segments are mostly platforming with little significant puzzle-solving. They are the reason the Old Bed echo appears at the front of my Most Used list. But the weird eldritch, distorted scenery is quite nice to appreciate. It really does a fine job of setting up the game's final boss too.

I'm a bit torn on if I have a favorite dungeon. I definitely have a least favorite, in the form of the Lanayru Temple. Oh sweet Demise, these ice puzzles pissed me off. I did, however, find that dungeon's boss (SCORCHILL) to be quite fun, so we've got serious points awarded. Eldin Temple is weirdly small, and kind of hallway-y, if you get my drift, but it has Volvagia which I absolutely refuse to complain about. Hated the Mogryph fight, though I expect that's because I made it significantly harder than it should have been. The Faron Temple is interesting in that it really tries to hide its linearity: the theme is Jungle Temple and it honestly captures that feeling pretty damn well: the miniboss is also immensely fun, at least in how it is presented to you, though it's not particularly challenging: Gohma is, well, Gohma, so I don't think we're winning any Boss points with it. Vocavor is a boss with an interesting design, but underwater fish bosses have never won any awards and they aren't starting to now (it did bring to mind a Bowser Junior fight in Mario Wonder, so there's that).

Huh.

Oh, right, Ganon. Eh, this is literally the exact same fight as in Link's Awakening and, if I remember correctly, A Link to the Past. Somehow, however, and I cannot for the like of me figure out how, Grezzo has completely thrown off the timing of this fight: for some reason, and I'm admitting this solely for opacity, the Dead Man's Volley sections are timed, and I literally cannot find a better word for it, wrong. Luckily, they are technically optional if you have the right Echo (which you will, as it's given to you in this very dungeon), but it brought me death and therefore annoyed me.

This game follows up with our recent (if you call Skyward Sword recent) trend of having a massive horde battle precede the final boss. Well, sort of a horde- Zelda's Echo casts Echoes of her own that should be a challenging horde, but alas! The Hylian Blender renders this fight significantly easier than any other.

I will have to look this up, bit did anyone on the dev team have any involvement with Kirby Star Allies? Everything related to Null reminds me of Void Termina, and I am struggling to believe this is simply a coincidence.

Speaking of Null, let's talk about Null!

This thing is one hundred and fifteen percent definitely my favorite thing this game presents us with. Null is an entity from the void, imprisoned within the world itself by the Goddesses of the Triforce (sorry, Prime Energy- this bothered ne immensely), imprisoned to prevent it from devouring all life that might appear within the void. A classic primordial horror, if I do say so, and if there's one thing I'm a sucker for, it's primordial entities who are world-bent on the annihilation of existence itself. When you see this thing's lair, Earthbound had better jump so far forward in your mind you are given extradimensional whiplash.

If I were a timeline fanatic, I imagine Null would screw it up so damn much.

So, where do I stand here. Where where where.

The ideas behind this game are quite odd, to say the least, and their execution is a bit short. I feel like if this map were larger, and if there were more Echoes and quests, I would have more thoughts on how it plays. I just finished the damn thing and I'm not quite sure how I feel about the actual experience of playing it, which is absurd, really.

This one does feel like a love letter to the franchise's highs and lows, a bite-sized sandbox just screaming "We love Zelda!"

#zelda #legend of zelda echoes of wisdom #loz:eow #loz eow #echoes of wisdom #null #eow null

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wooahaeruby · 4 months ago

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Chapter 2: Umbrella to Stand Under, Together

Chapter Word Count: 3,230

Possible "triggers" but not really All unrealistic government stuff, hacking, coding, etc. Don't take that shit serious, I just needed to add it because I needed the filler and for context later for jokes.

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The rain let up. It was the fourth day that it pelted the ground without fail and drenched the city in gloom.

You weren’t surprised. Long, random bouts of rain weren’t uncommon but were definitely unwelcomed by you and any passerbyers on the busy streets.

It was early, as it typically was when you left for work, and the fog that shrouded the city only added to the drowsiness that was taking over your senses. Your heels were no match for the rain but you were smart enough to pack them in a tote and wear flats to better traverse the slippery sidewalks and subway tunnels. Peak rush hour had you stressing yet your steps never faltered as you squeezed into the subway car and stood with your hand grasping the railing for stability.

You flatten out your dress pants the best you could, shivering at the small wet patches that dotted the fabric from the rain. You’d hate to have to walk home in them unless the sky magically opened up to the warmth of spring sunlight. The long sleeved, powder blue blouse you wore wasn’t any better, barely keeping in warmth without the jacket you slung on as you hurried out the door. A lot of work needed to be done today at the office and you shook off the annoyance that you held, not needing to be huffing over stupid clothes when you’d be behind a computer all day.

The office building wasn’t too far from the subway entrance, it provided your much too short daily need of exercise since you wouldn’t bother driving a car in the overpopulated streets of the city.

At the top of the steps, you were ready to weave through the busybodies that lined the street when a hand stopped you, gently holding your elbow.

“Don’t you want a nice umbrella to walk under, honey?” The voice caught you off guard but familiar nonetheless. It was silvery and bright, laced with a bit of teasing and a heavy drop of sarcasm. “Can’t have you getting soaked in the rain.”

Another day, another act.

You hummed and let your arm be linked at the elbow with the man, taking in his sharp nose and long, handsome face. “I’d love that, nice to see my husband is always caring for me one way or another. Though I wonder, how did you manage to be here early enough to catch me?”

“Ah, well you know, the early bird catches the worm and a loving wife keeps my head down from the clouds to remind me to pamper her.” He held the umbrella above you, hoping it was enough of a shield to keep the both of you mostly dry from the never ending rain.

“Good morning, Seokmin.” You properly greeted, a smile on your face as he laughed to himself.

“Good morning, beautiful.” Seokmin hummed, letting his usual long strides match up with your smaller ones. “Thought I’d be nice since you almost always forget your umbrella when it rains.”

“Not sure if you are calling me dumb or being thoughtful so thank you either way.”

You shared a laugh, the conversation settling for the loud patter of rain and the rush of feet hitting the pavement. Stepping into the building, you parted to remove your backpack and tote bag, sending them through the x-ray machine for security. You waited to be ushered forward through the metal detector, clearing it without an issue. Gathering your things, you waited for Seokmin, walking side by side through the second checkpoint where you each scanned your badges to pass through the gates.

“Email said we have a lot to do today, is it on SVT or is it stuff regarding the governor?” You asked, letting him press the button on the elevator.

“Depending on how fast you work, we are still running confidentiality on something for the governor and if you get it all done, maybe you can try and go back into finding information on SVT.”

Huffing out a sigh, you pouted. With new elections coming up, you had been swamped with cyber threats and finding the faults in them to send the proper authorities once identities were discovered. Your division worked mainly for the governor and mayor, however you were tasked with deep diving the web for any and all information you could find on the elusive underground group. SVT was hard to track, always covering their behinds and hiding behind thick firewalls that were ever changing. Any given day investigating them was tiring and fruitless.

One of the most frustrating parts of your findings was the encryption integrated with the firewalls. In college you majored in cybersecurity investigation and cryptography, you knew how the codes were written, how to solve them easily, but whoever was running point on SVT’s knew what they were doing and did it well. Each code was unique and almost a thumb print into who the person behind the screen was. You spent years looking over codes from your classmates, you could point out almost all of them just by their coding alone. The code for SVT…it felt familiar, you don’t know how it did but you thought you had seen the encryption code pattern previously and you’ve mainly kept that fact to yourself. Honestly you thought you were just going mad from staring at the screen too long and needing something to keep you focused.

Stepping off the elevator onto your level, Seokmin walked you to your office, letting you unlock the room and flick on the lights.

“I’ll email over what I need from you by the end of the day.” He gave a small wave, flashing a bright smile before making his way towards his office but backtracked and leaned against the door frame for a moment. “I can drive you home later if it’s still raining. Like I said, can't have you getting soaked .”

Fixating your eyes on his, you raised a brow. “I’m sorry, boss , are you flirting with me? On company time?”

“Always, honey.” He left you with a wink and walked off once more.

You hung your coat on the wall hook and pulled out your heels to slip on, knowing if you didn’t do it now you’d forget and you wouldn’t hear the end of it from your older coworker who were sticklers about how you dressed to work. As you sat down at your desk, you turned on your computer tower, one with some of the best specs you knew, seeing as it was fancy government money that provided it. Once you had joked that you would steal it and replace the gaming PC you had with it since it ran so smoothly.

Awaiting Seokmin’s email, you reviewed tasks and projects needing to be finished by the end of the week with your team outside of your work from Seokmin. Simple encryption and reviews were needed in regards to them but it was just a repeat of almost every project provided by the upper management. Occasionally it was different with a breach in security walls and needing to repair and strengthen them but it was more rare than what anyone in the media depicted with multiple teams watching over the servers.

Once the email hits your inbox, you set to work. It was easy work, really only needing to spend a majority of your time layering encryption to protect the assets data. The layer of code took the longest, having to skim through line after line to make sure your work was clean even though it was yet just wanted to double check. With your desire to finish and move from the first task, you skipped lunch and snacked on a protein bar from the top drawer of your desk. At some point you closed your office door and opened the blinds the slightest bit, a signal to your coworkers that you were focused and if they needed you they would need to knock and wait.

Slumping back in your chair, having kicked off your heels and sat criss-cross, both hidden under your desk, you were satisfied with the work you finished. Did it take a majority of the day? Most definitely, but it was done and a quick email told Seokmin you were moving onto the SVT firewall and diving into any dark web clues.

SVT wasn’t your company's main focus. As a subcontractor company under the bureau of investigation, you mainly worked for the state and the governor's office, however with the city and the rings that ran under the night’s sky, your company also tried to assist in searching up any leads on them. If you were to be honest, it was your favorite part about the job. The group had come to light in May 2018 when you were just finishing your second semester of college and while you didn’t condone their actions, you were intrigued by how fast they grew under the police’s nose.

It only further pushed you to top your classes to find a way to work for a division that even looked into them a little bit. You wanted to stay in the city after college and got a job at your current place of employment after finding out you would be getting paid decently. You were overjoyed when you got your first assignment against the infamous group. It felt even more fulfilling when Seokmin, your boss then and still now, complimented you on the work and the speed you got things done.

Speaking of the devil, he knocked on your office door later in the day. You called out for him to enter, taking note of the time close to clock out for the day.

“Anything juicy?” He asked, knowing you well enough to have an idea of what you were already diving into.

You shook your head and looked back towards your screen as he closed the door and rounded your desk. “A forum is making a comment about bringing down their business but I’m not really sure what that is aside from a silly threat they probably wouldn’t take seriously. The profile attached to it isn’t interesting, similar comments are made for other gangs so I’m not really interested in it.”

Seokmin peered over at your screen, watching as you scanned another few comments and huffed.

“I get a headache anytime I try breaching their servers. It’s like they know I’m trying to get it and add another layer to keep me out.”

“Ah, don’t think like that!” Your friend rested against the back of your chair. “Maybe they are just trying to keep their stuff strong so no one gets in, who knows!”

You leaned your head back, looking up to Seokmin who looked down at you with his dazzling smile. Breathing a sigh out from your nose, you closed your eyes. You weren’t satisfied with your findings so far and needed to get something solid to report to your higher boss just to ease the slight obsession you had.

“Come on, let’s get out of here.” He patted your shoulder and spun you in your chair, laughing at your sitting pose and the lack of shoes. “Tomorrow can be a new day and a fresh start.”

He gave you little time to get out of your desk and clock out, muttering something about changing your clock out time just a little bit with a wink.

Seokmin, ever the gentleman, something you joked about since he started playfully flirting with you a few weeks into your start at the company. He found your curiosity with SVT interesting and liked you even more when you joked with him in return. Other colleagues within your division were absolutely under the impression the two of you were dating no matter how much you denied it.

In the nearly two years you’ve worked with him, it felt like a blooming friendship since day one. While Seokmin was your boss, he was only two years and some months older than you. He never made you feel uncomfortable or misheard in the mostly male dominated workspace and never let the friendship you nurtured interfere with either of your work. He was a person you could rely on, someone who you didn’t feel like a burden to when traversing adult life or needing help.

Most surprising was how ready he was to be there for you. A year into your friendship he had said that if you ever needed anything or needed help with a situation to give him a call.

You took him up on that offer once last summer when you had a date go downhill and you camped out in the bathroom of a nice restaurant until Seokmin showed up, dressed in dark jeans, a fitted black shirt, and a shiny pair of boots. The guy that asked you out was a major dick that had some very…controversial opinions on women and you didn’t feel safe just walking out of the place alone. You hated that you didn’t notice the red flags prior. Seokmin had promptly escorted you out and into his car, locking it and going back in to pull the man outside to speak. He didn’t tell you what was said between them when got back in the car, but he told you that the guy wouldn’t be bothering you anymore.

In a fit of coping with the situation, you joked the entire way back to your apartment that he was living some double life and was all cool and some hotshot outside of the smiles and teasing you had received at work. He neither confirmed nor denied it, but the next day at work he had brought your favorite morning pastries and coffee with single rose, saying that any man that tried to date you wasn’t worth it. It warmed your heart that you had someone care about you platonically like he did.

He took you home from work, bugging you if you needed to stop anywhere since he was driving you. You insisted that, no, you didn’t need anything and you just got groceries delivered to your house the night before so everything was set. With the best hug you could provide over the center console as your parting gift, you quickly left and hurried your way across the sidewalk and into the apartment building you called home.

It didn’t…seem right. As you tried to process the encryption and the message hidden behind it, you leaned a bit too close to the screen and squinted.

Just a series of coordinates, a date, and time posted? Tonight?

This couldn’t be right but you were unsettled to say the least.

Quickly you wrote down the information on a sticky note, having looked up the location and jotting it down alongside everything else. As fast as heeled feet could take you, you hurried out of your office and down the hall towards Seokmin’s office. A quick peek inside showed him only typing something on his computer and you knocked hastily, trying to catch your breath.

Hearing his signal to come in, you pushed the door open and scurried behind his desk, slapping the sticky-note down on whatever papers were in front of him.

“Good afternoon to you too, what is this, honey?” The teasing in his voice was laced through each word. He sat back in his chair, raising an eyebrow at both you and the note.

“I found this while intercepting some messages between some people while sifting through SVT leads. Do you think it means anything?” Your voice held hope as you asked.

Seokmin peered over the note, moving his head side to side in thought. “I can send it over to my supervisor and see what he thinks. Don’t know if it will be worth it though. Did it come with any message or just this?”

“Just this.”

Nodding, you watched his face morph between two faces you couldn’t properly place but they both faded into a small smile. He gave a small pat to your arm, “I’ll keep you updated on it, try and get some more digging done if you can. It is a Friday though so don’t expect anything from the higher ups.”

You knew it was right and the grimace and roll of your eyes you gave showed just how annoyed you were. When you read over the coordinates and looked it up, you had a nerve wrecking gut feeling that it meant something, even if it was simply a distribution of products. Maybe you could even look into it more yourself…

“But Seokmin-”

He cut you off with a click of his tongue and a stern look. You’ve seen him serious before but never this serious. Seokmin had set his jaw some and squared his shoulders, sitting up straighter in his chair.

“You know how it goes, you give the information, I relay the info, then the feds try to handle it.” He paused, words direct. His gaze turned hard, almost like he could read your mind. “Don’t do anything stupid, Y/N. I know you too well and this doesn’t mean you do more than what your job is.”

Honestly you should feel offended, but staring down at him from your standing position, you could see the tension in his shoulders. You bit at your bottom lip and sighed out your nose. With him holding your gaze, you nodded, letting your shoulders drop and sighing once more.

“I just think it’s really important, I haven’t had this feeling in a while since we found that a few cops aligned with them but were killed not long after we found out and the feds sent people to look for them…”

Seokmin’s face softened, letting the tension ease from his body and he took your hand, gently patting the back of it and nodding along to your words. He had seen how disappointed you were when the department saw the news that the cops died.

“I know, beautiful. Let me pass this on and hopefully they will do something about it.”

Returning back to your office and shutting the door, you sat behind your desk, staring at the clunky screen of your computer monitor. Your mouth twisted and contoured as you chewed on your lower lip, thinking over what Seokmin said. With how your management has worked before, a part of you already concluded that they would think the information was lacking and wouldn’t investigate it at all. They’d probably think whoever found the message was an idiot since it had nothing backing it aside from being in with SVT leads. In a fit of rebellion, you wrote down the information and slid it into your backpack.

You had declined Seokmin’s offer to take your home and opted for the subway, needing a bit of time to think. He had told you that no supervisor took the shred of information seriously, as expected, and that you should simply move on from this lead and wait for another to come forward.

You couldn’t accept it if you were being honest with yourself. Why would all that information, albeit so little at the same time, be sent?

It didn’t make sense, it really didn’t.

Pacing about your apartment, stepping through each room while lost in thought, you debated whether to do something extremely stupid or not.

Tag List is Open! Comment on the BSH Master List to get added!

Tag List:

@unlikelysublimekryptonite @iiaweirdo

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kaitousassistant143 · 4 months ago

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Something that has always bothered me about totk, is that Zelda is the sage of light AND time. Like listen, I know she's been associated with both over the years but she's always been more associated with LIGHT more than time. She gives you the light arrows in most games, uses and summons them herself using HER powers, she's always wrapped up in a glowing golden pure light; even in tears of the kingdom, she's the dragon of LIGHT my guy. No time shit to be seen. And WHO has always been time hopping, time manipulating, and all around affected the most by time throughout the years? L I N K. Link has👏🏽ALWAYS👏🏽been the 👏🏽time👏🏽guy. The one who traverses through timelines, time periods, etc etc. Skyward, Ocarina, Majora, the list goes on. It just feels weird that they simultaneously switched their roles, and just gave Zelda all of it. I just think it could've been a cool parallel if Link was the sage of time and Zelda was the sage of light, especially since in ancient hyrule, it was the opposite. It would also make Zelda stand out if her ancestors were associated with time and yet she's more associated with light. It just feels like they too scared to give Link any title really besides just being the hero. Playing it plain and safe if you will. Yet making him the sage of time would be a good way to explain a lot of the plot things that go on in the main story. Not to mention his connection to the other current sages. You don't need to make Zelda a time sage just so that she can appear in the present. That has more to do with her essence or spirit. But anyway, I digress.

#loz #totk #do I need to still tag spoilers for totk?#I'll do it anyway #totk spoilers #I'm just a massive link fan and thinks he deserves better tbh #plus this shit just doesn't add up #and she never uses those supposed time powers anyway #you could honestly explain that it was link subconsciously using HIS powers to protect her #but what do I know #I just work here LMFAO #zelda

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nebularanger-art · 17 days ago

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Devil May Cry Furry AU Pt 1: The Sparda Family

Part of my Furry May Cry series of images. All designs are okay to draw, so long as I'm credited and tagged.

When it comes to drawing Devil May Cry characters as furries, the popular species choices for the Sparda family tend to be carnivorous, especially as canids/felids are the default choice of animals people go to for furry character designs. I, however, am someone who prefers ungulates as my go-to choice of mammalian species.

While Sparda is still a demon, the mortal form he takes on is meant to resemble a red deer, as stags are depicted to be guardians/leaders of the forests. Though, his size and antlers makes him look more like the extinct Irish elk. Eva, meanwhile, is a horse (albeit one without a distinct breed); An animal both quaint and unassuming, yet majestic and prized. And it ties into the Sparda twins being...

Unicorns. A creature long sought after for their elusiveness and the power they hold. (Technically they're actually hippocerfs, but I needed an excuse to make them unicorns.) Them being half-deer ties isn't as important outside of explaining why they have horns, but the horse symbolism reigns (get it) even stronger here so I'll list off how they tie into Dante and Vergil.

Dante:

Travel. Horses are the oldest mode of transportation besides our own two feet, and combined with them being used in myths as passages to and from the underworld, they fit right in with Dante traversing through literal hell and back.

Humanity. Horses and humans have had a long link with each other that almost rivals dogs in terms of just how much love we give to these animals.

Vergil:

Power. Horses are often seen as a commanding animal that demand your attention, from a status symbol by the royal to a vehicle for soldiers in war.

Death and demons. Did you know that the "mare" part of "nightmare" used to be literal? There's also the Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse, and more specifically Death with his pale horse

Going back to Vergil for a bit, let's look at V and Urizen specifically. V is technically a white horse, but the ink grafted onto them from the Nightmare demons they host gives them the appearance of a zebra.

Urizen makes it as obvious as possible that he's a stag through just how monstrous his antlers are. Not only are they representative of the Qilphoth tree he was desperate to seek, but they're also based on "monster" deer antlers that result from either hormonal imbalances or intentional breeding for deer hunting farms to create the ideal trophy. (Don't look that up if you're squeamish btw)

Now as for Nero, he (and by extension, his mother, the Lady in Red) is a roe deer. Though not the same species, he represents the side that his father Vergil most idolizes: The deer side, the demon side, Sparda.

Of course, Nero didn't know this even though he knew he stood out from the rest of his "herd", The Order of the Sword. This is also a reference to Bambi, who lives his life as an ordinary roe deer but eventually realizes that he's the son of the Old Prince. I'm talking about the original book, by the way; The Disney movie throws away half the story and turns Bambi from a European Jewish roe deer into an American whitetail deer of indeterminate religious status.

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gamesplication · 1 month ago

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So I beat Echoes of Wisdom the other day. (Not having a job makes beating the latest Zelda game very quick)

Some thoughts (spoilers ahead!):

I really enjoyed messing around in the overworld, traversing, and exploring the mechanics. The echos system is really great and makes for some very expressive gameplay. There's a lot of really interesting ways to use bind as well, and I know for sure that I underutilized it in my playthrough.

The story is a small step above for the typical top-down Zelda game. The NPC dialogues are usually a bit more expressive than the past few games, and some of the side quests go beyond, emotionally, the usual depth for Zelda. This is partly because Zelda as a character has a defined family and connections that are deeper than those of Link, whose usual interactions and relationships are fleeting and brief. The primary example of this is the interactions with your dad, the King. Although there's only one main side quest involving him that I can think of, the tone of the dialogue with him is something we don't frequently see in Zelda games because Link has never had quite the same kind of relationship with another NPC before. A real focus is placed on the kings love for his daughter and the admiration and love the rest of the people of Castle Town have for the princess.

I think the biggest issue I have with the game is the dungeons and especially the bosses. There's a few reasons for this, I think. Because the use of Swordsman mode is extremely limited (especially early on), all of the bosses require a certain amount of experimentation to figure out a viable strategy. It's not always obvious which echoes will be useful for any given encounter. This wouldn't be a huge issue, except that you have to rely on NPC monster echoes a LOT. This means you have to deal with their limited AI. (As an aside, it feels weird to use that term here now because the well has been so poisoned) It leads to extremely frustrating boss encounters where you're pitting dumb and weak enemies against huge bosses (unless you've managed to pick up just the right echo beforehand), and it's often a bit of luck getting them to attack the right place at the right time. It also doesn't help that the amount of non-enemy echoes that can be used for combat effectively is very low. Combine this with very sparse swordsman energy drops from most bosses, and it often becomes a war of attrition. I usually resorted to cheesing the boss encounters, but then again it seems that's what's called for in this situation.

The only exception here is the final dungeon and boss encounter. I won't say more, except that despite the issues I listed above it was still enjoyable and fun.

As a side note, and not something I have much room to speak on myself, I did notice that they really tried to play to stereotypical "girl" interests and themes throughout. It makes sense that they'd want to make sure this reaches a wider demo, but I think the idea that they had to do anything more than just make Zelda the hero is a little misguided. I don't have their market research available, but I suspect that the Zelda series is already popular enough young women and girls that some of their choices seem unnecessary. For example: instead of items to equip, they're called "accessories". Instead of meals, you make smoothies. Horses have never been used in a top-down Zelda before, and I feel like their inclusion here is to grab the attention of horse girls. I don't know, ultimately it's for someone else to talk more about, but I just wanted to point out what felt like a very deliberate attempt to incorporate what marketing departments usually think of as "girly things". No that it's wrong to try to aim the game at young women and girls, just that I don't know if this is the way to go about it especially considering the wide appeal the games already have.

Side note two: why are they moving away from using the term "Triforce?" I don't think that word came up once in this game (and it didn't come up in BotW and TotK either iirc). This time they called it the "Prime Energy", though they did acknowledge the three parts of Power, Wisdom, and Courage and (SPOILERS) the Triforce itself does appear at the end of the game. Anyway, just something I noticed.

Overall I really loved Echoes of Wisdom. It was really exciting to finally play as Zelda after all these years, and the incorporation of her role as keeper of the triforce of wisdom deeply into her gameplay was very satisfying and I think it paid off very well overall.

#Zelda #legend of zelda #echoes of wisdom #spoilers #the legend of zelda #gaming #video games #the legend of zelda: echoes of wisdom #loz eow

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lalazeewrites · 2 years ago

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What are your personal favorite Gallavich fics?

OKAY, BUCKLE IN!

I actually answer this fic and Tumblr like glitched and deleted it and I was crushed about it, but now I'm back. Ready to tackle this again!

First off, I have 90 Gallavich fics bookmarked. So let's start with the fact that I have a lot of fics that I LOVE and I'm going to link you right here to my Gallavich Bookmarks, should you want to look. I didn't add to my list any purely smutty fics and I have A LOT of amazing ones Bookmarked.

That being said, here are my personal standouts. I'm NOT putting these in order of how much I like them, because I would simply die on the spot under that kind of pressure.

BELOW THE READ MORE: 25 FIC RECS & SHORT RAVE REVIEWS

Life, or Something by @palepinkgoat

This fic encapsulates a lot of things that I crave in a fic that is designed specifically for my tastes. Personal journeys that begin rocky and work toward healing. Dark themes that are treated in a very matter-of-fact way instead of rolling in angst. The growth of mental health. You'll probably see those themes a lot in the fics I love. I also have a fascination with all things death, as someone who has almost died many times and who struggles with a chronic illness. This fic is so. . .beautiful? Articulate. FEELING. I love everything about it.

Belladonna by devovitsuasartes

Oh, THIS. Oof. Okay, this is fantasy HOW I WANT IT. So intricate, so unique, so embedded into the world-building that isn't word-dumped on us with exposition, but SHOWN to us. Witches and forced familiars, complicated family dynamics, rough pasts, coming full circle between the beginning and the end. Emotional journeys, coming back from tough experiences, PINING. This is the fantasy for ME.

Is There Somewhere by andchaos

Soulmates! Soulmarks! Mute Ian who is really fucking funny and sweet and Mickey who doesn't think he has a soulmate because he has no 'first words said to me' mark. I love the dance, I love their rapport, I love how warm this fic is. I've read it several times for comfort.

You Can Bite Me by @goodkwuestion

It's easy as breathing to love all of this author's fics, but this is the one for me, and it has nothing to do with the fantasy vampire aspect. This is one of the only fics that has made me cry. I don't cry from fics, almost ever. The write in this goes from hilarious, witty, clever, and sharp, and then swoops you into appreciating the beauty and sanctity of life, traversing the journey of loss and grief, embracing the passage of time, welcoming love into your life, and simply embracing what it means to be human. This fic touched me in ways I'll never be able to express without a five page essay.

Etherized Against The Sky by Snarfle

A canon-divergent story from 1x09 onward. I couldn't put this into words if I tried, because it is EVERYTHING. Everything that I could ever want in a canon compliant type of fic. Holy shit, does this make me ache. It explores so many facets of their growth, mental health, self-acceptance, found family, rebuilding blood family, and learning how to live in the world of Shameless, but this time, thriving. A complete work of art.

You make me feel human by Dragona

Listen. LISTENNN. Are you listening? Anything that is considered a 'dark' AU is going to be my jam. Anything that dips its toe or severed foot into Hannibal or Murder Husbands type worlds are not just up my alley, but they're leading right up to my fucking house and knocking on the door. This is it, folks! This is the one! No one did it like this fic did it! PLUS: A happy ending? Bitch, I'm on the ground.

My Nine Lovers by @annatrow

While we're talking kiss kiss bang bang gun boyfriends, let's just slap this fic right down here, because holy fuck, I have read it at least three times. The pining? The smut? The secrets? SEXY MURDER BOYFRIENDS TURNED HUSBANDS??? Yeah, honey, I'm here in the front row with my little #1 fingie! My Bookmark comment says "This was so fucking clever and reverent and heartening and joyful."

The Mask of Insanity by @annatrow

Yeah yeah, I am trying to pick only one per author, but I simply cannot with this one. It's so fucking gritty and smart and sharp and emotional. Full of depth, character growth, strange life coincidences, bad boys and good guys and where they fall in between together. I'm big on fics that make you fall down, get scraped up real good, then pick you up by the armpits and say, bitch, we're got more to go!

Conflict of Interest by @thisdivorce

Everyone and their mom knew this was coming. It has everything I crave in a fic. Exceptional characterization. Deeply flawed, real humans living through real life events. The struggles of being queer and unsupported, specifically within the trans community. Journeys through mental health and the pitfalls of navigating the world when you don't see it as clearly as others might. Tearing and screaming out of the confines you've built around yourself, even if they're comfortable and safe, but knowing it's no longer right for you. This fic as everything and more and I've read it three times now because it fills my heart.

(And since this author is possibly probably my fav ever in this fandom, check out WIPs Reckoner and Change Like Shifting Shadows because their writing speaks to my pain and love on a bone deep level.)

Burden of Proof by DodgerBear

Okay, I really fucking like crime fics. Whether on the good side, bad side, or grey side, I love crime fics. This one is soooooo good, and I LIVE for the pining, the draw between them, the SPICE. Please! This is so fucking well done! Whip smart and sexy!

(and shout out to WIP by the same author, Quatervois, for which I will wait an eternity to update, I don't care, go read it NOW.)

Wild West Ian and Mickey by 09cityskylights

Always always always, I will be invested in Western AUs. Any fandom, anywhere, any time. I love for Westerns and this author does it so perfectly. I fucking adore this journey and I can't recommend it enough.

Can't Figure You Out by Crimson_Bebop

If I'm going to pick one office AU from the lot (and there's so many good ones, check out this post for more), it's gonna be this. It's nerve-wrecking, hot as hell, an emotional rollercoaster. You're rooting for both of them so badly, but they both require different but equally important things in their lives, and finding that middle ground is MESSY.

Dancing After Death by @squidyyy23

Oh man. Oh shit. I don't know where or hot to start, because this combines two of my fav things, Sons of Anarchy with Shameless. It combines them, yes, but more important, this is completely it's own beast with an incredibly detailed timeline of events. It's hot as all HELL, it's gritty, it's real, it's loving and tender and difficult and highly charged with emotion and struggle. LIVING FOR IT. I have read this three times.

Teenagers Scare The Living Shit Out Of Me by Mellow_Yellow

Oh hey, we're back at the Lala Loves Murder & Crime Show, and yeah, this one is FULL of it. It's so fucked up. It's so well written. The character growth is fucking A+, the murder reveal is exceptional, the mystery is FRAUGHT WITH DANGER. Guys! It's so fucking GOOD!

Teenage Dirtbag by @celestialmickey

Hah. . .I have read this three times. I'll never have read it enough times. Ian is 17 in 1999 here and I was 12 at the time, so everything this fic speaks to speaks of my entire adolescence and I just. Deeply cherish every moment. I savor every chapter of slow build. I revel in their victories. I sing along to all of their songs that I already know by heart, I wiggle in my seat to the Spotify soundtrack, I live for the vingettes of their happy ending. This fic is so magicl and wias written with such love and care.

you'll never see us again by @spoonfulstar

Okay okay okay, listen to me. Yes, we ALL love Intro to Quantum Dating by this author. I fucking adore it. I open it up at random chapters just to read and make myself smile. But THIS FIC??? THIS ONE??? You have got to be kidding me. I cried. I fucking yearned. I hurt, I hurt so bad down to my toes, and I smiled when things went right, and I teared up when it didn't, and I hoped and prayed for a happy ending, and yes I got one that was fulfilling and beautiful and poignant. Did the fact that I am a kidney transplant recipient play into my deep-seeding feelings about this fic? Absolutely. Do I think everyone should read this fic to grasp what exceptional storytelling looks like? BIG TIME.

Solid Skies and Slate-Blue Earth Below by @sentimentalspiders

This is one of the weirdest fucking fics I"ve ever read and I LOVE LOVE LOVE IT. Best alien!Ian! Exceptional, fascinating, vivid writing style! The narrative is articulated in such an ethereal, out-of-the-box way that is perfectly fits a story that is about an alien and a very lost man. It's SOOO COOL.

Brand Spanking New by J_Q

I don't know what to tell you. Micky gets sent to a fuckin' retreat when he gets professionally spanked (by Ian) to fix his horrible behavior. He gets out of there and then he and Ian start a very detailed BDSM relationship. This is SOOO my wheelhouse of JOY, but if it is not yourself, y'know uh. I mean, I still recommend it anyway. It's so wildly delightful and hot as FUCK.

That's a Wrap by @crossmydna

Am I biased because this was written for me as a gift? Shut the fuck up, of course I am. But also, no, because well before Cross took on prompts, they were working on The Menagerie which is in my top five favorite Gallavich fics of all time, and I read it all the time AND YOU SHOULD TOO. Anyway, back to this fic. What can I say, it's EVERYTHING I WANT. Actor AUs! Meet Ugly, the hottest smut imaginable, banter that's sharp and strong, badass Ian & Mickey, everything everything everything.

The Stargazer by crazynadine

Hey yeah, hi, welcome to my Daddy Kink. There's a lot of it. Let me show you around, its got scrappy heart of gold sex worker Mickey, it's got age difference bearded and jaded by life Ian, it's got panties and road side motels, and secrets, jealousy, and hot hot hot smut, like holy shit. But if daddy kink is not your jam, then y'know. . .ahem.

The Question of Normal by blue_newman

Ian is a prison counselor and Mickey is in prison. The way that I LIVE for Ian breaching any of his professional protocols to help Mickey (this goes for so many fics in my bookmarked fics) is unholy, but how about you five me a fucking break okay. I just like it when they break the rules, as they should, because this is Shameless LOL. But seriously, this is so thoughtful and heartening and left me feeling really fucking right in the world after I read it.

Well, I hope this helped! This is only about a fifth of my Bookmarked fics, and I wanted to write about SO MANY MORE. Anyone is always welcome to ask me to rave about fics, I am always here for it lol.

I said this in the begining, but I have bookmaked A LOT of smut fics that I think are exceptional works, so I suggest you filter my Bookmarks by works under 10,000 words and you're gonna find 'em all.

#gallavich #ian x mickey #gallavich fic #gallavich fic rec #fic recs

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