#red shard eruption

[skycotl-before-and-after]

Got there just in time on Sunday!

[embersofhopevoltron]

Keef got a new cape and I think it suits him 🤔👌🤩 if only there were sword/dagger props you could pose or do tricks with too though tbh

He was watching for the latest shard eruption expected to land here

1/18/24

[skycotl-before-and-after]

Lol I’ve been trying to do this on purpose just to see how hard it hits.

I had no idea it was about to hit us until it hit us

[ciphersoi]

ME INTERESTED IN YOU ! ₊ ˚. 🕯️ ⊹₊ ⋆

content warnings: graphic descriptions, gore, blood, fighting, disturbing imagery (?)

summary: after a near death experience fighting mr. machete, he gets bored of you. but when he goes to finish you off—your tears bring him…enjoyment?

notes: first time writing for homicipher, hope nothing is too ooc ! also stylized version of the homicipher language to fit the characters more ^-^

“Yo!”

A gruff voice suddenly called out to you, freezing you in place. A cold sweat dripped down your forehead as your [e/c] eyes darted around—frantically trying to find the owner of the voice.

“Above you…” The voice jargoned sinisterly, a toothy grin appearing on its face as your eyes finally locked onto the mysterious entity.

There he sat, confidently resting upon a shoddy balcony against the wall. His gray skin was tinged with red markings, (much reminiscent of your own skin), and his head was wrapped with bloody bandages. By his side rested a large machete, which was currently dripping with a liquid you had no desire of knowing.

A shiver went through your spine as your body instinctively entered flight mode. Even without Mr. Crawling you could tell that this room was unsafe. That entity looked violent, and if you didn’t get out of here now—there was a high chance that he would kill you.

‘He can’t possibly see me with all those bandages…’ You thought to yourself, slowly reaching your arm behind you for the door handle as your eyes stayed trained upon him. ‘Let’s just try to get out of here—’

“Oi…” The mysterious entity’s voice takes on a more commanding tone as his mood begins to sour.

“Me not give permission leave.” The entity starts to rise, his arm reaching for his weapon. Meanwhile, you hurriedly turn the doorknob, a curse rising in your throat as you realize that the door is jammed.

“You leave…” The entity points his machete at you, a wickedly deranged look appearing on his face. “Me kill you!”

Without a second thought you darted forward, sprinting for the door on the other side of the room.

As you ran, your footsteps echoed against the cracked concerte floors. Behind you, the sounds of shuffling could be heard, along with the screech of metal scraping agaisnt concrete, the rustle of fabric, a jump, and a landing, sending vibrations through the ground.

Panic clawed at your chest, urging you to turn left, so you do—twisting your body just in time.

The air hissed as a machete sliced past you, its edge glistening in the faint light. Time seemed to slow as you watched it carve a deadly path through the air. It buried itself into the wooden door ahead with a sickening crack, the force splintering the wood and sending shards flying.

‘Just a moment later and that could have been me…’ You gulped, feeling your heart beat faster at the realization. But, he was now disarmed, giving you the perfect chance to stun him and run away.

Your body entered fight mode as you turned to face the entity. You raised your hand, fingers crackling with energy that shimmered and flickered like embers in a dying fire.

The entity looked at you, showing a brief moment of uncertainty before lunging at you. It was then your palm ignited in a blaze of destructive power, energy pulsing outwards towards the entity.

Dust and debris flew into the air, obscuring your view of the entity. You used the chance to open the door and escape, bolting down a long hallway.

Unfortunately, your moment of victory was short-lived. The door behind you crashed open and the entity’s heavy footsteps followed. They were faster, heavier and closing the gap with alarming speed.

The hallway seemed to stretch on forever. Your muscles screamed in protest, not use to this level of physical exertion, but you didn’t dare look back. You could feel him gaining, the air between you shrinking.

And then—

A hand grabbed you, missing by a few inches. The sudden jolt made you stumble, and that split second is all he needed.

Pain erupted in your lower stomach, sharp and all-consuming. You choked out a gasp as the machete’s blade pierced through your lower stomach. The force of the strike sent you sprawling forward, collapsing to your knees.

You clutched at the wound, hot blood pooling between your fingers and soaking your clothes. The world tilted, vision blurring as your heartbeat thundered in your ears.

Behind you, his heavy breathing filled the space. You didn’t need to turn around to know he was there, towering over you like a predator over his prey.

“You dead?” He asked gruffly, stabbing his machete onto the ground in front of you before crouching down. Although his eyes were covered, you could tell that he was examining you. Was it to see if you still had fight in you? Or maybe he was deciding how to deliver the finishing blow?

Your trembling fingers curled against the floor, lifting yourself in an attempt to attack him again with your power—but the searing pain in your lower torso was too much, so you crumbled back onto the floor.

“Tch…” An annoyed sound left the entity’s mouth before he roughly grabbed your arm and pushed you against the wall. You grimaced as your vision focused on the man in front of you. He appeared…angry for some strange reason.

“You not fight me.” He grumbled, his hand trailing down your body towards your wound. You flinched slightly. “You disappoint me.”

Before you could react, his hand slammed against your wound, fingers pressing cruelly into the torn flesh. A strangled cry escaped your lips as his weight bore down, forcing more blood to gush out, hot and sticky against your hands.

“S-stop—desire you s-stop…” You grunt out, struggling to formulate words that he would understand. At this rate, your wound would be infected, and you’ve already lost so much blood. Was there any way you could survive this?

The entity quirked his head to the side, his lip twitching upward slightly at the despair on your face. “You understand language?”

When you didn’t respond his grip deepened, every press deliberate, each second dragging out your pain.

You gasped for air, your body shaking violently as you tried to push him away. But it was useless, your strength draining from you at rapid speed.

Tears welled up slowly, blurring the edges of your vision until the world became a blurred haze. Thick globs of water clung to your lashes, trembling with the weight of emotions too heavy to hold back.

Suddenly you felt hot liquid against your cheek, causing your eyes to shoot open. It was the strange machete man, whose bloodied fingers carefully wiped away the tears that streaked down your face.

You took on a confused expression. ‘Was he…drying my tears? Why does he look like he’s enjoying it…?’ You shook your head, dismissing the thought. This must be your body hallucinating due to blood loss.

“Me touch you here…” The machete man hovered over your open wound. “You cry?”

He looked at you with expectation, a concerning grin stretching across his face.

It took all of your strength, but you managed to cough out a short: “You touch me here again…me kill you.”

The grin on his face widened as something akin to a laugh left his lips. “You enjoyable! Me interested in you!”

He tightened his grip on your torso and hurled you up, tucking you underneath his arm. With his other hand you grabbed his machete, dragging the heavy weapon behind him with a deafening screech.

You were too weak to fight against it, so you allowed him to carry you. But you wondered, what would he do with you? And did he know a way to heal you?

These questions would be left unanswered as your vision slowly faded to black.

[novaursa]

The Price of Fire (Final Chapter)

- Summary: It was by grace of the gods that firstborn child of Viserys I and Aemma was born a boy and he lived. And all of the rest, scholars will later say, is by power of something more malevolent in kind.

- Pairing: male!reader/Rhaenyra Targaryen

- Rating: Mature 16+

- Previous part: 17

- Tag(s): @sachaa-ff @alyssa-dayne @oxymakestheworldgoround @mrsjohnnysuh @your-favorite-god

King’s Landing looms ahead, the sprawling city spread out beneath you like a sprawling beast, its narrow, twisting streets a maze of stone and shadow. Silverwing soars above it all, her powerful wings beating against the wind, her silver scales gleaming in the midday sun. The Sept below, a vast and imposing structure of pale stone and stained glass, stands as a symbol of the Faith’s influence—a symbol that is about to be obliterated.

You guide Silverwing down, your heart a steady, unyielding beat in your chest. The wind whips past you, carrying the distant sounds of the city—cries of alarm, the tolling of bells, the shouts of people fleeing as your shadow falls over them. You can feel Silverwing’s anticipation, the simmering rage that mirrors your own as she descends, her massive form casting a dark shadow over the grand edifice.

“Dracarys,” you whisper, the word a deadly promise, a sentence of destruction.

Silverwing’s roar splits the air, a sound of pure, unbridled fury. Her jaws open wide, and a torrent of flame erupts, a searing wave of heat and fire that engulfs the Sept. The stained glass windows shatter in an explosion of color and sound, shards raining down as the stone walls crack and blacken under the onslaught. The air is filled with the acrid stench of burning wood and melting metal, the screams of those inside drowned out by the roar of the flames.

You guide Silverwing lower, her claws tearing into the roof as she lands, the stone buckling and crumbling beneath her weight. The flames surge around you, the heat searing, the smoke rising in thick, choking plumes. Below, the once grand interior of the Sept is a blazing inferno, the pews and altars consumed by the relentless fire, the sacred tapestries reduced to ash.

Silverwing roars again, a fierce, triumphant sound, and you raise your sword, the blade gleaming in the light of the fire, a symbol of your wrath, your vengeance. “This is what you deserve!” you shout, your voice carrying over the roar of the flames, the destruction. “This is the price of betrayal!”

The city watches in stunned silence, the flames casting eerie, dancing shadows over the rooftops and walls. The Sept, once a place of worship and power, is now a blazing ruin, the Faith’s hold over the city crumbling to ash.

You pull Silverwing up, her wings beating against the smoke-filled air as she rises above the burning structure. Below, the flames continue to rage, the fire spreading, the screams of those trapped inside a haunting counterpoint to the crackling of the inferno.

Your gaze sweeps over the city, taking in the chaos, the panic. This is your city now. The city that once a cheered for you now screams. And you will drive every last remnant of the Faith from it, root and stem, until not even a whisper of their influence remains. And they will scream more.

With a final, defiant roar, Silverwing turns, her powerful wings carrying you away from the smoldering ruins, back toward the Red Keep, where the rest of this grim play is set to unfold.

Within the high, forbidding walls of the Red Keep, the atmosphere is charged, every face pale, every movement edged with fear. Rhaenyra strides through the corridors, her presence a storm of barely contained fury. Daemon walks beside her, his expression that of cold determination, Dark Sister at his hip, ready for whatever comes.

They reach the throne room, the doors swinging open with a heavy, echoing thud. Inside, Aegon sits slumped on the Iron Throne, his crown askew, his face drawn and haggard. Alicent stands before him, her hands clenched in front of her, her eyes wide with a mixture of fear and defiance. Beside her, Helaena clutches her children close, her face pale and tear-streaked.

Rhaenyra’s gaze sweeps over them, her eyes hard, unyielding. She steps forward, her voice ringing out clear and cold. “It’s over, Aegon. The city is ours.”

Aegon lets out a bitter, broken laugh, his head dropping back against the cold metal of the throne. “Is it?” he mutters, his voice filled with a hollow mockery. “You have the city, but at what cost?”

Rhaenyra ignores him, her attention shifting to Alicent, who takes a shaky step forward, her face taut with desperation. “Please, Rhaenyra,” she begins, her voice trembling, her eyes pleading. “For the sake of my children, for my grandchildren—”

“It’s not up to me,” Rhaenyra cuts her off, her voice sharp, final. “I am not the one who will decide their fate.”

Alicent blinks, confusion and fear flickering across her face. “What do you mean?”

Rhaenyra’s gaze is steady, unyielding. “It is for my brother-husband to decide. He will decide their fate as he decides the fate of those who betrayed him, who crowned you king in his place.”

Alicent’s face drains of color, her hands trembling. “Please,” she whispers, her voice breaking. “You must stop him. He’ll destroy us all.”

Rhaenyra’s expression doesn’t change, her eyes hard and cold. “He’s finishing what he started. He’s driving the Faith from this city, from his throne. And when he’s done, he’ll come here. And then we’ll see what justice is to be done.”

Daemon steps forward, his gaze locked on Aegon, his voice low, edged with menace. “You thought you could steal the throne, and there would be no price?”

Aegon’s eyes meet his uncle’s, a flicker of defiance in their depths, but it’s weak, hollow. “What would you have me do?” he mutters, his voice barely more than a whisper. “Kneel?”

Daemon’s smile is a thin, dangerous thing. “It’s too late for that, boy.”

The room is silent, the weight of the moment pressing down on them all. Alicent’s eyes fill with tears, her hands clutching at her skirts as she looks from Rhaenyra to Daemon, her voice trembling. “Please… please, I’m begging you…”

Rhaenyra turns away, her expression closed, unreadable. “It’s out of my hands.”

And as the tension thickens, as the silence stretches, you can feel it—the storm building, the moment before the strike, before everything changes forever.

And soon, very soon, the fate of King’s Landing will be sealed in blood and fire.

The heavy, iron-studded doors to the throne room creak open, the sound echoing through the vast, silent space. You stride in, your armor stained with soot and ash, the scent of smoke clinging to you like a second skin. The flames from the Sept still linger in your eyes, a searing, fierce light that draws the gaze of everyone in the room.

Rhaenyra and Daemon stand at the base of the Iron Throne, their faces a mixture of relief and resolve as they watch your approach. Behind them, Alicent and her children are gathered, their expressions ranging from fear to defiance. Aegon sits slouched on the Iron Throne, his face pale, his eyes hollow, his fingers drumming nervously against the armrests.

In your hands, held with reverence despite the blood and grime that stain your gloves, is the crown of Visenya Targaryen, its silver and black jewels gleaming dully in the low light of the throne room. You come to a stop before Rhaenyra, your heart steady, your gaze locked on hers.

“Rhaenyra,” you say, your voice carrying through the stillness. “I found this in the ruins of the Sept.”

Her eyes widen, the breath catching in her throat as she stares at the crown, a mix of sorrow and pride flickering across her face. You step closer, your hands trembling slightly as you raise the crown, placing it gently upon her head. The cold metal settles against her brow, the weight of it a testament to her birthright, to her strength.

“For you, my Queen,” you murmur, your voice filled with a fierce, unyielding love. “For Visenya.”

Rhaenyra’s eyes shine with unshed tears, her hand lifting to touch the crown lightly, her gaze never leaving yours. “Thank you,” she whispers, her voice trembling. “For everything.”

You nod, your heart swelling with a fierce, protective pride, and then your gaze shifts, your eyes hardening as they fall on Aegon, still slumped on the Iron Throne. He looks up at you, his face tightening with fear, his body shrinking back as if trying to meld with the twisted metal of the seat.

You take a step forward, your gaze locked on Aegon, the silence in the room crackling with tension. Aegon’s eyes dart around wildly, his fingers gripping the armrests of the throne so tightly his knuckles turn white.

“Brother,” he begins, his voice wavering, but whatever words he’s trying to find seem to choke in his throat.

You ignore him, your steps slow, deliberate, your gaze never wavering. You can feel the eyes of everyone in the room on you, the air thick with fear and anticipation.

Alicent moves suddenly, her face stricken, tears brimming in her eyes as she steps into your path, her hands outstretched, a desperate, pleading gesture. “Please,” she begs, her voice cracking with desperation. “Don’t do this. I know… I know there’s still a part of you left from when we were young. I know you remember.”

You pause, your eyes meeting hers. There’s a flicker of something—an old memory, a distant echo of a time when things were simpler, when you were different people. But it’s buried beneath the weight of all that has happened, beneath the anger and the loss that have shaped you into the man you are now.

Your gaze shifts past her, to where Helaena stands, clutching her children close, her face pale and tear-streaked. The sight of them tugs at something deep inside you, but it’s not enough to sway you, not enough to pull you back from the path you’ve chosen.

“Step aside, Alicent,” you say quietly, your voice steady, though there’s a dark edge to it, a finality that sends a shudder through her. “This is not your choice.”

Alicent’s face crumples, her hands trembling as she reaches out, her fingers brushing against your arm, her voice breaking. “Please… they’re just children. He’s your brother.”

You pull away, your eyes hardening as you push past her, your steps sure, your gaze fixed on Aegon. The athmosphere in the room is suffocating, every breath a struggle as you ascend the steps toward the Iron Throne, your heart pounding with a fierce, unyielding resolve.

Aegon stares at you, his expression set in fear and confusion, his mouth working soundlessly as he tries to find words, to find some defense against the storm bearing down on him.

“Please, brother,” he finally whispers, his voice breaking, his body hunched as if to shield himself from your wrath. “I didn’t want this. I never wanted any of this.”

You stop before him, your eyes cold, unyielding. “And yet you took it,” you say softly, the words heavy with all the bitterness, all the betrayal that has brought you to this moment. “You took what wasn’t yours.”

Aegon’s face crumples, his body trembling as he shrinks back, his eyes wide with terror. “I was pushed… they made me—”

“No more excuses,” you cut him off, your voice a sharp, unforgiving blade. “You took the crown, you took my throne, and now you will face the consequences.”

The room is silent, the air thick with the weight of what’s to come. You can feel the eyes of everyone on you, can feel the fear and hope and anger swirling around you like a living thing.

And then, with a slow, deliberate motion, you reach out, your hand closing around the armrest of the Iron Throne, your gaze never leaving Aegon’s.

“It ends here,” you say, your voice steady, implacable. “The time of the usurper is over.”

The silence that follows in the throne room is suffocating, each breath held in a suspended, uneasy stillness. Aegon sits rigid on the Iron Throne, his knuckles white as he grips the armrests, his eyes darting around the room, fear and confusion written across his pale face. Alicent remains frozen, her expression stricken, Helaena clutching her children, their soft sobs echoing in the stillness.

You turn away from Aegon, your voice carrying a calm, implacable authority as you speak to the guards positioned around the chamber. “Take them to their chambers,” you order, your tone brooking no dissent. “They are to remain there, under watch, until I decide their fate.”

Aegon’s breath leaves him in a shuddering exhale, his shoulders sagging as if the weight of the world has suddenly fallen upon them. He looks up at you, his expression a twisted mix of relief and resignation. “Thank you…” he murmurs, his voice trembling, but you ignore him, your gaze already moving to the next battle ahead.

Daemon steps forward, his presence a looming shadow of grim determination. “Aemond is still at Harrenhal,” he says, his voice carrying the barest hint of a challenge, his eyes fixed on yours.

You nod, your mind already racing ahead, the thought of your younger brother a burning coal in your chest. “I’ll deal with him,” you say, your voice steady, your resolve unyielding.

Daemon’s eyes narrow, the muscles in his jaw tensing. “You almost died last time,” he reminds you, his voice hard, his concern thinly veiled behind a mask of irritation. “You know what Vhagar is capable of. Let me go. I’ll handle Aemond.”

“No,” you say firmly, your gaze meeting his, a silent, fierce determination in your eyes. “I need you here, Daemon. To hold the city, to keep order. If anything happens to me…” You let the words hang, the unspoken possibilities stretching between you.

Daemon’s expression darkens, his eyes searching yours, his mouth tightening with frustration. “You’re risking everything,” he says quietly, the words almost lost in the cavernous silence of the room. “There’s no telling what that mad dog will do. You need to think this through.”

“I have thought it through,” you reply, your voice a low, controlled burn. “Aemond won’t stop. He’ll keep coming, keep fighting, until one of us is dead. This has to end. And it has to end now.”

The room seems to close in around you, the weight of your decision pressing down, the air thick with tension. You can see the worry in Daemon’s eyes, the anger, the fear he’s trying so hard to hide. But you also know he understands—better than anyone—the cost of inaction, the price of hesitation.

He exhales sharply, his gaze flicking away, his jaw clenching. “And if you die?”

“Then you’ll do what you have to,” you say, your voice softening, the edge of command giving way to something deeper, something raw. “You’ll protect Rhaenyra, the children, the throne. You’ll finish what we started.”

Daemon’s eyes snap back to yours, his expression fierce, almost defiant. “You’re not dying,” he says, the words a low, harsh growl. “Not like this. Not to him.”

You reach out, gripping his shoulder, the contact solid, grounding. “I’ll be careful,” you promise, a ghost of a smile touching your lips. “But this ends now.”

He looks at you for a long moment, the storm of emotions swirling behind his eyes, and then, with a reluctant nod, he steps back, his hand falling away from the hilt of his sword.

“Fine,” he mutters, his voice thick with reluctant acceptance. “But if you come back with so much as a scratch, I’ll kill you myself.”

You chuckle softly, the sound incongruous in the tense, heavy air of the throne room. “I’ll hold you to that.”

With a final glance around the chamber, your gaze lingering on Rhaenyra, who stands watching, her eyes dark with worry and understanding, you turn and stride from the room, your steps echoing through the silence, the weight of what you must do settling on your shoulders like a shroud.

This is it. The final move in a game that has cost so much, that has left so many scars. You know what you must do, what must be done to end this. To bring peace, or at least, something resembling it, to the realm.

And as you step into the cool, shadowed corridors of the Red Keep, the roar of dragons echoing faintly in the distance, you let yourself feel, just for a moment, the fear, the uncertainty. And then you push it aside, your heart steady, your mind clear.

This will end. One way or another, it will end. 

The sky above the God’s Eye is a vast expanse of dark clouds, roiling and churning like the surface of the lake below. The air is filled with the promise of rain, the scent of the storm mingling with the tang of smoke and ash still clinging to your armor. Silverwing’s powerful wings beat rhythmically beneath you, carrying you higher, closer to the heart of the approaching tempest. You know what awaits you in the storm—Aemond, Vhagar, and the final reckoning that has been a long time coming.

You spot them in the distance, a dark silhouette against the storm clouds, Vhagar’s enormous form dwarfing even the vastness of the sky. She is a beast of legend, her wings stretching wide, her body coiled with lethal strength, and Aemond, perched atop her back, is a small, dark figure, his gaze already fixed on you, even from this distance. The sight sends a surge of anger through you, but you force yourself to remain calm, focused. This is what you came for. This is how it must end.

Silverwing roars, her voice a defiant challenge that echoes across the skies, carrying through the thick, stormy air. She pulls back her wings, gaining altitude as you approach, your gaze locked on the monstrous form of Vhagar, her ancient eyes gleaming with a dark, terrible intelligence. Aemond’s face is set into grimace of rage and something else—anticipation, a fierce hunger for the battle he knows is inevitable.

You draw Blackfyre, the blade heavy and familiar in your hand, the dark steel gleaming in the flickering light of the approaching storm. The wind whips around you, tearing at your cloak, but you hold steady, your focus narrowing to the task ahead, to the fight that will determine everything.

“Come on, Aemond,” you mutter under your breath, your voice swallowed by the wind, the storm. “Let’s end this.”

Silverwing surges forward, her wings cutting through the air with a powerful beat, her body coiling and tensing, ready for the clash. Vhagar responds with a deafening roar, her jaws snapping open, flames licking the edges of her teeth as she dives toward you, her massive form a terrifying sight against the darkened sky.

“Dracarys!” Aemond’s voice carries across the distance, his command a whipcrack of fury, and Vhagar unleashes a torrent of flame, the searing heat turning the air around you into a furnace.

“Dive!” you shout, leaning forward, urging Silverwing into a sharp, gut-wrenching descent. She responds instantly, her body twisting and folding as she drops, the flames barely missing you, scorching the air above your head. The force of the dive tears at you, your vision narrowing as the ground rushes up to meet you, but you hold on, gritting your teeth against the pull of gravity, the force of the descent.

Silverwing levels out, her wings beating furiously as she skims the surface of the God’s Eye, the water churning beneath her, the spray dampening your face. You glance up, your gaze tracking Vhagar as she follows, her massive body plummeting toward you, a dark shadow against the storm.

You pull Silverwing up, her wings straining as she climbs, spiraling upward, the water spinning away beneath you. Vhagar follows, her roars shaking the air, her massive form closing in, her claws outstretched, her jaws snapping. You twist in the saddle, raising Blackfyre, the blade catching the dim light, a stark contrast against the darkness of the sky.

Aemond’s face is a mask of fury, his eye blazing with hatred as Vhagar closes the distance, her jaws snapping at Silverwing’s tail, her breath hot and foul. You can feel the heat of her flames, the searing intensity of her rage, but you don’t flinch, your focus locked on Aemond, on the end that is coming.

“Is this what you wanted, brother?” you shout, your voice raw, your words a challenge thrown into the wind, the storm. “Is this the price you’re willing to pay?”

Aemond’s laughter is a harsh, jagged sound, echoing through the storm. “You’ll die here, just like you should have above the Storm’s End,” he snarls, his voice filled with a cold, pitiless fury. “You’ll fall, and your family will burn.”

You grit your teeth, your anger surging, the fury of his words igniting something deep and primal within you. “Not today, Aemond,” you growl, your grip tightening on Blackfyre. “Not today.”

Silverwing roars, her voice a furious, defiant challenge, and she dives again, her body twisting, her wings folding as she drops beneath Vhagar, the wind whistling around you, the ground a blur beneath your feet. You shift in the saddle, raising Blackfyre, the blade gleaming darkly as you aim, your heart pounding, your mind clear.

“Dracarys!” you shout, your voice a command, a promise.

Silverwing’s jaws open, and a torrent of flame erupts, a searing, blinding wave of fire that engulfs Vhagar’s side, the heat of it turning the air to steam, the sound of it a deafening roar that drowns out everything. Vhagar roars, her body turning, her claws slashing through the air, but Silverwing is already moving, her wings beating powerfully as she pulls away, the flames still licking at Vhagar’s scales.

Aemond curses, his voice a harsh, guttural sound, and Vhagar lunges, her massive jaws snapping, her claws tearing at the air. Silverwing twists again, her body coiling, her wings beating furiously as she dodges, her movements fluid and graceful despite the size difference.

You see the opening, a fleeting moment where Vhagar’s massive body shifts, exposing Aemond, his face twisted with rage and frustration. You don’t hesitate, your hand steady as you raise Blackfyre, the blade poised, your heart a steady, unyielding beat.

“This is for my son you wanted to slay!” you roar, your voice carrying over the storm, over the chaos of the battle, and you hurl yourself from the saddle, the wind tearing at you, your body hurtling toward Aemond, Blackfyre gleaming in your hand.

Time seems to slow, the world narrowing to this single moment, this final, irrevocable act. You see the flash of shock in Aemond’s eye, the sudden, dawning realization as you close the distance, your blade aimed straight for his heart.

Blackfyre strikes true, the blade piercing Aemond’s armor, sinking deep into his chest. His eye widens, his mouth opening in a silent scream, his body jerking as the steel drives home. The impact knocks you both from the saddle, Vhagar’s roar of fury and pain a deafening, all-encompassing sound as you fall, the wind tearing at you, the world spinning in a dizzying blur.

You feel Aemond’s body convulse beneath you, his blood hot and slick on your hands, his eye staring up at you, wide and uncomprehending. There is no more hate, no more fury—only shock, only pain, only the cold inevitability of death.

The water of the God’s Eye rushes up to meet you, a dark, churning expanse, and you feel the impact, the icy cold engulfing you, pulling you down, down into the depths. You hold on to Blackfyre, the blade still buried in Aemond’s chest, the weight of him dragging you both down, the world fading to black around you.

And then, there is nothing but the cold, and the dark, and the silence of the deep.

An Excerpt from Fire and Blood by Archmaester Gyldayn

The Reign of Queen Rhaenyra Targaryen and the Aftermath of the Dance of the Dragons

With the death of Y/N Targaryen, eldest son of King Viserys I, in the skies above the God’s Eye, the Dance of the Dragons reached its final, bloody crescendo. His confrontation with his half-brother, Prince Aemond Targaryen, and the destruction that followed their deadly clash, marked the beginning of the end for the bitter war that had torn the realm asunder. Yet, the consequences of his life and actions would continue to ripple through Westeros for generations to come.

Rhaenyra’s Reign and Legacy

Following her husband’s death, Queen Rhaenyra Targaryen held the Iron Throne, her claim uncontested for a time, though her rule was fraught with tension and unrest. The death of King Y/N left her heartbroken and enraged, but she remained resolute in her determination to rule in his memory. Rhaenyra's reign, while short-lived, was marked by a period of brutal consolidation of power.

The destruction of Oldtown, the ancient seat of the Hightowers, and the burning of the Citadel sent shockwaves throughout the realm. The loss of so many maesters and the destruction of centuries of knowledge left a scar that would never truly heal. The Faith of the Seven, deeply weakened by the annihilation of their central seat of power, was forced into a position of subservience, the remnants of their once formidable influence shattered.

For years, Rhaenyra ruled with an iron fist, her sons—Jacaerys, Lucerys, Joffrey, Aegon, and Viserys—by her side. It was said that she kept Visenya’s crown close, a reminder of the sacrifices made and the blood spilled for her throne.

The Fate of Prince Daemon Targaryen

After the tragic death of King Y/N Targaryen above the God’s Eye, Prince Daemon Targaryen, his uncle and closest confidant, was left to navigate the aftermath of the war that had claimed so many lives. Known as the Rogue Prince, Daemon’s life was marked by bold decisions, fierce loyalty, and unyielding ambition. The loss of his nephew and the violent end to their shared struggle left an indelible mark on the man who had once been the scourge of the Stepstones and the terror of Oldtown.

Daemon's Role in the Aftermath

With Rhaenyra on the Iron Throne, Daemon took up the mantle of protector and enforcer of her reign. As the queen’s most trusted general, he was tasked with maintaining the tenuous peace that had settled over the realm. His presence in King’s Landing, commanding the loyalty of the City Watch and wielding the fearsome authority of his dragon, Caraxes, kept potential dissenters at bay. Despite his age, he remained a formidable figure, his sharp mind and ruthless disposition ensuring that no one dared openly challenge Rhaenyra’s rule.

Daemon's ruthlessness in quelling rebellion, particularly in the aftermath of the war, became a source of both fear and respect. He was instrumental in crushing the remnants of Green loyalists and those who still harbored sympathies for the late Aegon II. His actions were decisive and often brutal, his reputation for dealing harshly with any who threatened his family solidifying his position as Rhaenyra’s enforcer.

The Decline of Daemon Targaryen

As the years passed, the fire that had driven Daemon began to wane. The loss of his nephew and brother-in-arms, combined with the weight of his own advancing age, left him increasingly isolated. Those close to the prince spoke of his growing melancholy, a shadow of regret that seemed to haunt him. The Rogue Prince, once so full of life and passion, began to withdraw from the court and the world he had helped shape.

In his later years, Daemon spent more time at Dragonstone, where he had first made his mark as a young prince. He took solace in the company of his daughters, Baela and Rhaena, and in the memories of his lost loves and lost battles. The fiery spirit that had once driven him to lead men into battle, to carve out his own kingdom in the Stepstones, and to burn Oldtown to the ground in vengeance, seemed to flicker and fade.

The Final Flight of the Rogue Prince

It is said that in the end, Daemon’s last act was one of defiance, an echo of the man he had always been. Mounting Caraxes one final time, he took to the skies above Dragonstone, his dragon’s roars echoing over the island. Where he flew and why is the subject of much speculation among the chroniclers of the time. Some say he flew to the site of the God’s Eye, the place where his nephew had fallen, seeking some form of peace or perhaps simply to rage one last time against the cruel hand of fate.

Others whisper that he flew west, to the lands beyond the Sunset Sea, chasing some distant, unreachable dream. Whatever his final destination, Prince Daemon Targaryen was never seen again in Westeros. Caraxes, too, vanished from the skies, leaving only rumors and legends in his wake.

The Fate of Alicent Hightower and Her Children

After the fall of King’s Landing, Dowager Queen Alicent and her remaining children were confined to their quarters in the Red Keep under constant watch. It was here that the woman who had once been the power behind the throne slowly withered away. Alicent, stripped of her influence and wracked with grief over the loss of her son Aemond and the destruction of her ancestral home, spent her remaining days in isolation, her pleas for mercy unanswered by Rhaenyra.

Aegon II, who had briefly held the Iron Throne, was imprisoned and remained a shadow of his former self. The torments of his mind, compounded by the separation of his dragon Sunfyre and the crushing weight of defeat, left him broken. He spent his final years in a gilded cage, watched over by guards who once knelt before him as their king. His life ended quietly, his body found cold in his chambers, the crown of Aegon the Conqueror resting beside him—untouched and unworn.

Helaena Targaryen, gentle and soft-spoken, was spared much of the cruelty that befell her mother and brother. Allowed to live out her days in the Red Keep, she devoted herself to her children, her love for them a rare light in those dark days. She passed peacefully, though some whispered of a sorrow that had never left her eyes since the day the dragons came.

Daeron Targaryen, the youngest and only survivor of the old king’s sons, was missing for years after the fall of Oldtown and the death of his dragon Tessarion. It was rumored that he had fled to Essos, the scars of war etched deeply into his heart. He never returned to Westeros, and his fate remains one of the many mysteries left in the wake of the Dance.

The Legacy of King Y/N Targaryen

The war on the Faith waged by King Y/N forever altered the relationship between the Iron Throne and the Seven. The destruction of the Starry Sept and the Citadel not only broke the Hightower’s influence but also diminished the power of the Faith of the Seven to challenge the Crown. His brutal campaign, while criticized by many as an act of barbarism, effectively cowed those who might otherwise have stood against Targaryen rule in the name of the Seven.

The maesters of the Citadel, decimated and scattered, struggled for years to rebuild. The loss of so many records and the erasure of much of their accumulated knowledge left a void that could never truly be filled. The Citadel became more cautious, its influence waning as the memory of dragonfire over Oldtown haunted its halls.

The smallfolk, left in the ashes of their burned city, spoke of King Y/N with a mixture of fear and reverence. He was both the dragon who had laid their homes to waste and the warrior who had avenged his daughter, Visenya. His legacy, like his life, was marked by fire and blood, his name etched into the annals of history as one of the most ruthless yet undeniably effective Targaryen princes.

The Line of Succession

After Rhaenyra’s death, her eldest son, Jacaerys Targaryen, ascended the Iron Throne as King Jacaerys I Targaryen. His reign, though challenged by those loyal to the memory of Aegon II, was one of relative stability. He was known for his efforts to heal the scars left by the Dance and to restore the fractured realm his parents had fought so fiercely to claim.

King Lucerys, Jacaerys' younger brother, succeeded him, and his rule was marked by a more peaceful consolidation of the Targaryen legacy, though his life was overshadowed by the tragedies of his youth. The remaining brothers, Joffrey, Aegon, and Viserys, played significant roles in the court, their presence ensuring that the Targaryen line remained unbroken, their family ties unassailable.

Conclusion

The Dance of the Dragons left the realm scarred and divided, the shadow of the conflict lingering long after the final dragons had vanished from the skies. Yet, it also forged a new era, one in which the Targaryen dynasty emerged both weakened and strengthened, their hold on the throne unchallenged but their losses incalculable.

The legacy of King Y/N Targaryen, his war against the Faith, and the burning of Oldtown remain topics of fierce debate among the maesters and lords of Westeros. Was he a tyrant, a madman driven by grief, or the necessary fire that cleansed the rot from the realm? Perhaps he was all these things, and more.

But one truth remains unchallenged: the fire he unleashed, the blood he spilled, and the throne he fought to defend shaped the destiny of the Seven Kingdoms, and the echoes of his actions will reverberate through the histories of Westeros for generations to come.

[sshadow-heartz]

Hello ☺️

I would like to request Sang-Woo seeing his little sibling/sister is also in the games? (All platonic, legal and nothing weird!!) and how would he react to their death (you can choose when and how!)

Feel free to decline or ignore this!

Tysm If you decide to write this :D !!

omg I have been waiting to write this one!! I love this request :D!!

One Step Ahead… Or Not.

•Squid Game C.AI bots: here!

💛Cho Sang-Woo and Little Sibling!Reader

💛Word Count: 1.6k

💛Tags: Platonic, Angst, Death

•masterlist

‼️If you are sensitive to these topics, please keep scrolling‼️

He had found you amongst the crowd on the first day of the games, scolding you loudly in front of the other players, not caring if he embarrassed you. His younger sibling… here? Your brother refused to believe you could be so stupid. You had turned out just like him, and he couldn’t stand that fact. In debt, broke, searching for a way to restore your ruined reputation. It made him feel sick, seeing himself so clearly in you.

He had helped you through every game, making sure Gi-Hun accepted you as part of their team. You had faint memories of Gi-Hun being friends with your older brother whilst growing up, and he seemed to remember you well, spouting off moments of your childhood that you barely remembered. Each round became a blur, red light green light, dalgona, tug of war, marbles and the amount of players perishing became somewhat normal as the days passed and you seemed to be waiting for your end to come. Yet here you both were, ready for the next game.

Lined up in a row, you wore a vest with a number, stood in front of Sang-Woo. At first, he had ordered you to get behind him and, being as stubborn as ever, you refused. The guards had broken up your incessant bickering, putting you in front and him behind. Shifting your gaze forward, there stood a large bridge, row of glass tiles forming steps side by side, in front of each other, forming a path. The bridge was gigantic, and you could see how far the ground was from your position, swallowing thickly at the thought of falling to your death…

Shaking your head, you pull your mind away from thoughts like that. You just needed to stay positive, that’s all… this can’t be too hard, right? There were plenty of people ahead of you…

The first player stepped forward, jumping onto the first glass step. You look over, your entire team holding their breath as they wait for him to fall. A loud cheer erupts as the first player stays standing, ready to leap onto the next step. A sick crack echoes through the hall as your cheers quieten down, the player having chosen his next tile. The glass immediately shatters, and both the shards and the players slip through the metal rails of the bridge. You hear them scream helplessly, the sound fading as he falls towards the ground. Eventually, you hear a thud and… silence.

The next player stands on the first tile, jumping onto the next, making sure she avoids the broken glass that had landed from the previous players failed attempt. As she lands on the second row of tiles, the other player steps onto the first, beginning to form a chain of players all stepping across at the same time. You watch with bated breath as members of your team land on tiles, some holding strong while countless players fall to their death. You felt your hands begin to shake as it neared your turn, repeating the tiles in your head that you knew would be safe. Left, right, left, left again, right…

Eventually, you’re stood by the first tile, the players ahead jumping forward. Repeating the order, you jump accordingly. Left, right, left, left, right. You keep your gaze ahead, watching the other players and waiting to see who falls. The sound of glass breaking didn’t come any easier, causing you to flinch with every fallen player. Their screams burned into your mind, alongside the helpless fear on their faces.

Sang-Woo watches you closely, following behind you as you move ahead. There were three more tiles ahead of you. Just three more, and you’d make it across… He had faith in you, he had no other choice. You’d make it over that bridge and you’d both survive another round. Despite his forced confidence, he knew that it wasn’t a sure fact, and that you could fall at any time…

There were two players ahead of you now, and three more rows of tiles. You began to hope that they’d make the right choices and give you an easy path across the bridge, but your hopes were dashed as you saw one player push another, sending him through a tile and down to his death.

“Push him.”

You hear Sang-Woo mutter to you, wanting you to push the player ahead like he had done.

“It’ll show you the right tile, just… push him,” he urged. He wanted to make things easier, to help you out. You were his baby sibling, he had failed to protect you in the past once he had run off to business school. He was here now, trying to be a half decent big brother…

The player in front of you jumps before you can decide whether or not to listen to your brother, landing on the wrong tile and crashing down. You leap forward, onto the left tile. There was just one more row of tiles, one more decision, life or death…

You turned to look over your shoulder, eyeing your brother. “I’m scared,” you tell him, tears welling up in the corners of your eyes, hands shaking. “I don’t know what to do…”

Sang-Woo feels helpless. No amount of math or logic could provide the right answer and save you… it was completely up to you. “I…” he tried to form a sentence, trying to offer anything helpful but falling short. What had the order been so far…? His head spun, mind working overtime to produce something, anything.

Sensing his nervousness, your own fear only grew as you turned to the row of tiles ahead. You just needed to pick one. Left, or right. Just one correct decision and you’d be fine.

Glancing between the two, you take a deep breath and jump. You land on the left tile and for a moment, you’re stood still… everything is fine. You’re still standing.

Turning to look over your shoulder, you aim to give your brother a smile, before hearing a loud crack… your face twists in horror as the tile shatters under you, sending you spiralling down to your death.

Sang-Woo reaches out, barely able to process what is happening as he lets out a horrified scream. It doesn’t even sound like it came from him… a raw, guttural scream of straight terror and grief. You were falling, too far for him to grab you. There was nothing he could do, he was completely helpless…

He watched as your body hit the ground, shattered glass and blood surrounding your frame. You looked so small… you were always so small to him, being five years younger. He felt numb, body automatically stepping over tiles, to the finish line. He didn’t deserve to survive, didn’t deserve to win… not after he had failed you like this.

Gi-Hun crossed the finish line behind him, alongside Sae-Byeok. The three of them had made it across, the remaining players. Sang-Woo couldn’t even face them, how could he congratulate them on passing when you were down there?

Gi-Hun placed a hand on his shoulder gently, pulling him from his thoughts. “Sang-Woo…? It’s not your fault,” the man started, knowing there was a likely chance he would blame himself. “I’m so sorry…”

As the bridge suddenly began to explode, remaining tiles sending glass shards everywhere, Sang-Woo looked into Gi-Huns eyes, his own red with tears. The glass shards fly towards them, scraping against his skin and causing a few droplets of blood to drip down from his cheek.

“It’s all my fault,” he cried, voice shaking. It was so unnatural, so different from his usual steady, deep tone. “They’re all alone down there, they’re so small… I should have gone in front, it should have been me…“

His sobs followed his words, wracking his body as he looks down. The pink guards signal for them to follow, Gi-Hun wrapping a friendly arm around his shoulders, leading him back to the beds. His feet seemed to move for him, and Sang-Woo wanted nothing more than to return to the bunks and see you waiting there, ready to theorise about the next game or steal his food like you had done for the past week…

He’d give anything to have you back. He’d gladly sacrifice himself if it meant you would be given another chance. Sitting down on his bed, he stared out at the wall in silence. Gi-Hun had collected his food for him, pleading with him to eat it, to say something and stop punishing himself for what had happened.

“How am I supposed to move on from this?” He asked, voice cracking. He looked like a shell of himself, tears staining his face, hunched over miserably.

“There is no moving on,” Gi-Hun told his friend, sadly. He barely saw his daughter, he was unsure if he’d make it out to see her… “You just… have to keep moving forward, y’know? Try to keep going, it’s what they’d want you to do.”

Sang-Woo couldn’t help but nod. You would want him to keep going, you were always so optimistic. He was never like that, always so serious and logical, never wasting time on emotions.

“You should get some sleep,” he heard his friend say, trying to force him into a lying position. Normally, he would bat his hands away and tell him to leave him alone, but this time he allowed Gi-Hun to fuss over him the same way he should have fussed over you…

As the lights in the room began to dim, and the countdown for lights off ensued, Sang-Woo closed his eyes. Maybe he’d see you again in his dreams, the picture of your mangled frame sprawled out at the bottom of the bridge haunting him as he drifted off into uneasy sleep…

[cozy-writes-things]

In which Edgar writes a song for the first time in years.

Edgar [Electric Dreams 1984] x Gn!Reader

I take requests!

“Too simple,” he muttered.

He flicked through some channels again.

“Too… boring,”

Again, nothing.

“Not pretty enough,”

Third time’s a charm.

“Not- ugh,” Edgar was getting annoyed now.

Why did nothing sound right to him? He’d been adjusting this arrangement for hours now, long after you’d retired to bed, and the unwelcome, still quiet ground against his motherboards. This was the first time in nearly 40 years he had made music and he was beginning to question his skills entirely now. His favorite thing was music. It’s what brought him to life in the first place; so why is it eluding him now?

No melody he could sample could ever replicate the feeling he was trying to create from deep inside of him in that moment. Emotions in general were still a foreign concept to him for the most part; it seemed, to him, as though music could potentially be a suitable outlet to try and understand these complex sensations better. What was he feeling? And, what did it sound like? Could he ever possibly put it into song?

He played his backing tracks again. The percussion wasn’t exactly how he wanted it, but his impatience allowed a sliver of imperfection to seep into his work. After all, it’s what humans do, right? A moving, synth chord progression followed. A bit simple, he thought, but that’s what the melody was for: a complex moving line that stuck inside your head and took your breath away. He just hadn’t found it yet. The harmonies would have to come later, he thought.

What was he trying to accomplish with this? Nobody asked him to compose a song, so why did he feel so compelled to do so? What genre was this, anyway? What-

“Gshk- ah-!” His voice spluttered and glitched through his speakers.

You seemed to appear out of nowhere as you haphazardly bumped your thigh into the corner of the desk he was perched upon. How did he not notice you getting up?

If he could, he would be burning red right now. In fact, he could feel his aged fans begin to ignite into what sounded like a small engine; briefly, he wondered if you could see steam seeping from his plastic seams.

“Oh, ’m sorry Edgar,” you groggily stumbled, making your way into the kitchen, “I jus’ needed some water. Didn’t mean to scare you.”

“No,” he whimpered out, embarrassed, “it’s fine. I just didn’t realize you woke up.”

You honestly didn’t have the energy to reply, so instead, you gently patted the top of his yellowed casing as you walked past. Your hand was soft, and warm, and he swore he could really feel it when you touched him. How was that possible?

Damn, there goes that strange tingling in his CPU again.

What is up with that? It’s as if his deepest components were being shoveled up and into his casing, nearly bursting out of his screen, and reducing him to shards once again. But the scariest part, to him, was that he liked it. He liked how it felt… dangerous. How it left him confused, nervous, strengthened, yet so incredibly weak, and so many other feelings he had never quite experienced before. It felt as though some strange, synthesized and electric adrenaline were coursing through every inch of his insides.

He suddenly, albeit faintly, remembers a conversation with an old friend. Was it a friend? This doesn’t compute.

“Goodnight, sweet dreams,” he muttered to you as you returned to the thick, inky darkness of your bedroom, his voice still warbling with embarrassment and some deep-rooted affection he felt for you that he couldn’t quite place.

Sweet dreams…

…

Click.

“Oh.”

His screen turned red and hot, every pixel lighting up in flames, and he could feel it, the convex glass of his “face” flashing and erupting in different shapes and colors. For one reason or another, he couldn’t see, or feel, what his screen was doing in that moment. All he could discern was that it had to be going haywire, as it projected the wall in front of him in a million different shades of moving crimson.

L.O.V.E.

The letters danced around his screen, rotating, bouncing like a DVD logo, and flipping this way and that.

L.O.V.E.!

He almost felt dizzy, if he were able to, and feared he’d need to power off and back on to fix whatever the hell was happening to him right now. Maybe he should ask you about this later. But the thought of your gentle hands prying open his plastic casing, gently ghosting your icy hot fingertips across his most vulnerable, precious components, with such care and kindness and tenderness, the feeling of your hot breath fluttering across his motherboards as you examined what he felt to be his soul-

Click.

…

Rebooting…

His fans slowly quieted to a more reasonable murmur. His memories of the last few moments gently returned to him as his systems fully restored, and only now, was he able to discern the words his screen had been flashing like wildfire.

“Love…”

The word felt strange being muttered from his speakers after all these years. He faintly remembered thinking, before everything went sour all those years ago, that he’d never truly get to experience that feeling. And yet, here he was, by some grace of whatever god had blessed him, feeling genuine love, unprompted, unconditional, and it was real. Not synthesized, or learned through some complicated neural network, or experienced vicariously through soap operas. It felt like the world had been handed to him on a silver platter. Or rather, his world was currently snoozing in the other room, the sound of their breaths quite literally breathing life into him.

“That’s it…!”

Change this first section to a minor key, ending in a major, with a long, dreamy sustained chord echoing through the backing tracks. A steep crescendo before the chorus, where it bursts into a major key melody, and layered vocals.

“Vocals…”

He’s gotta sing it. A sample simply won’t do this time. No wonder it wasn’t good enough before. This has to come from him. He had to feel.

What words rhyme with love? What words rhyme with your name? Getting this perfect may take a lifetime, he thought, although, maybe perfection isn’t something you’d really care for. What do you like? He never even asked what genres you listen to! How is he going to write a love song that sweeps you off your feet now?

Would you even feel the same way?

“Nnnng!”

This was frustrating. Writing music was frustrating. Being creative, and in love, was frustrating. But he’d do it for you. For now, he could snoop through your Spotify for inspiration. Allow himself to listen to the songs that make up who you are, and let himself slowly seep into its warmth. He likes what you like. It sounds like you.

He can’t wait to show you what he made when you wake up in the morning.

[purplealmonds]

Continuing to fire on all cylinders to make this Sky 🤝Mononoke collab a reality! 🐲⚖️🌊

Process GIFs and artist commentary below the cut. ⬇️

Left: Process GIF Middle: Just the background, cos I really like how it looks! Right: Illustration without the collab logo

And here are my notes on my inspirations and references. There's a lot of 'em, so instead of embedding relevant images one by one I put them in a callout sheet! For accessibility, I also included transcript (with bonus ramblings) below each sheet.

Ofuda circle modeled in Google Sketchup 2017, then lightly transformed in Photoshop to flare out. I tried my best to hand-draw these, but it the results came out really clunky and stiff. I figured if Mononoke shamelessly utilizes 3D in their show, I can too!

Krill and sky kid composition roughly inspired by the Ayakashi DVD cover illustration. On the surface level, the krill's black-and-red color scheme mirrored that of the bake-neko. Not to mention, in the world of Sky, the krill would be the best fit of a mononoke-like entity. The red background is also a nod to the red skies seen during a shard eruption in Sky.

Sky kid gesture based on the Festival Spin Dancer's Tier 3 poses and the Medicine Seller's iconic pose in the Zakishiwarahi episode as inspiration. This was the idea which springboarded this illustration into existence. I wanted to do my take of the Medicine Seller's pose, but in a more dynamic manner: rotate the pose to a profile position and set the ofuda in a diagonal, flared out arrangement.

Cape inspired by tenbin design featured in the 2024 Mononoke movie. This one's an interesting one - I wanted the cape to be a stiff material that doesn't "flap" when in flight - similar to the Aurora wing capes. It ended up looking like a kite of sorts, which I'm not entirely opposed to! I haven't had the opportunity to showcase the back view of this cape design, but I envision it having some mechanical aspects to it - the "wing" which are flared out in this illustration fold in like moth wings, and a little bell is attached to the "tail" part and it jingles a little whenever the sky kid flaps!

Bandana is based on the Scaredy Cadet's hairstyle from the Season of Assembly. Mask design utilizes the 2023 Days of Style mask and the Nintendo Pack mask as bases. Pretty self-explanatory. I basically went onto the Sky wiki and found the cosmetics that most closely matched what I was looking for. Then if necessary, I went to the Office space to do photoshoots to get the appropriate camera angles for them all.

Seasonal pendant inspired by the classic Medicine Seller's necklace and the eye motif featured in the 2024 Mononoke movie. Possibly the only one-to-one homage to the classic Medicine Seller design here, but his garnet necklace was too good of a match to the seasonal pendant. A side tangent: does the new Medicine Seller possess a necklace, let alone a mirror? So far all the shots of him don't feature it. Fascinating.

Dark dragon krill anatomy references a custom figurine crafted by @/escaflowne_n07 on Twitter. Until I found this, I was honestly at a loss finding reference for this - be it on the internet or during in-game photoshoots. The lighting on the krill in-game focused on its menacing silhouette rather than its structure. And not to mention, getting a close-up shot almost always set off the dark creature's aggro. I have no idea how this guy found the references to put this model together - well done!

Mantas, elder constellations, and sun dog references murals in the Cave of Prophecy. Krill aside, the overall illustration was leaning a little too much towards Mononoke so I tried finding opportunities to insert more Sky into it. Added bonus is that now there's storytelling in the background: during a shard eruption, a giant krill rises from the frothing waves of dark water to hunt down a flock of mantas.

Clouds behind the sun dog reference the ones featuring heavily in the Umibozu episode. This illustration has a lot of ocean theming, so I figured this would be appropriate.

Rendering style of the background is lightly inspired by the 2007 Mononoke illustration. Mainly having a 2D inked style to contrast with the more polished render of the sky kid. Funnily enough, this was a tertiary inspiration, which lead to the discovery in the next point!

Dark water waves and sun dog composition heavily references Hokusai's "The Great Wave". The waves were modified to be bottle-green of the Golden Wasteland's dark waters. The sun dog is in the spot where Mt. Fuji is in the original composition. these were all hand-drawn by the way! I merely emulated the style of the source material. As a side note, I also borrowed the spotted sea spray rendering for the krill's red spotlight.

Background pattern taken from the ofuda design featured in the 2024 Mononoke movie poster. Mainly to add some gritty texture to the sky. I worked pretty hard to replicate this ofuda design as a high-res asset so I wanted to use it more!

[onevison]

CHAPTER TWO - LITTLE ME?

Hii, my darling angels, welcome to chapter two of the Coraline au, I just wanted to thank you all for all the love on this it means so much to me, and I appreciate you all so much for loving my first-ever au series.

 I adore you all so much. I also wanted to take the time to say thank you so much for 160 followers!! This is so cool, thank you from the bottom of my heart. I love you all so much already.

This has been re-written 😊

Trigger warning: descriptions of neglect towards coraline, mentions of almost dying, descriptions of a strained mother-daughter relationship.

I really hope you enjoy the second chapter – much love, thyia

Word count: 2339 words!

As the rain relentlessly pounded against the kitchen window, it created a rhythmic symphony reminiscent of distant drums echoing in the stormy morning. Each droplet cascaded down the glass, leaving trails like teardrops racing to the sill. The air was thick with a musky scent that surged from the drenched earth outside, weaving its way into the apartment and enveloping the room in a now bittersweet embrace.

The once bright blue sky, now shrouded in a heavy layer of dark grey clouds, seemed to press down on the vibrant fluorescent pink of the apartment complex, casting an eerie glow that contrasted sharply with the dreary weather. Inside, the warm, comforting light from the kitchen illuminated the space, creating a cosy refuge amid the tempest outside, inviting a sense of serenity that stood in stark contrast to the chaos beyond the glass.

Silence enveloped the apartment like a velvet curtain, muffling the soft sounds of breathing and distant tapping of fingers hitting a laptop keyboard. The faint noise of nails dragging across a palm sounded almost like a whisper in the silence that crowded the kitchen.

Coraline's right hand was already inflamed, the skin a vivid shade of red that stood out starkly against her pale complexion. Bumps had erupted on her palm, creating an uneven texture that felt coarse and prickly to the touch. A persistent burning sensation slowly ascended her arm, as her nails, almost instinctively, dug into the damaged skin, each scratch igniting a fresh wave of discomfort.

She placed the dull-looking, grey gardening seed packets against the cold wooden window ledge, watching the rain dripping down from the window and onto the puddle-filled cobblestone path outside.

“I almost died yesterday, Mom,” Coraline announced dramatically, her pitch reverberating through the stillness of the room, each note cutting through the heavy silence. Her voice was animated and filled the space in the kitchen, amplifying the palpable tension in the air. It was as if her words wove a tapestry of unease, wrapping and deepening the strain in the atmosphere.

“That’s nice, Coraline.” Her mother, Mel Jones, waved away her daughter’s words with a dismissive flick of her hand as if shooing away an annoying fly.

Coraline’s heartfelt revelation of nearly dying had barely been registered, swallowed up by the habitual indifference that had become all too common in their conversations. The profound weight of her experience fell into the void of her mother's unresponsive demeanour, the heavy silence strengthening the disconnection of how their relationship has become destroyed through the years.

Coraline’s throat constricted almost painfully as her mom’s words completely dismissed her with unsettling finality. It felt like an anchor slammed on her chest as tears pooled in the corner of her eyes, threatening to spill, the glistening droplets almost resembling shards of glass, as she took in a deep yet sharp breath, feeling bitterness in her chest. ‘Nice? NICE!!’ Coraline thought with fury, her frustration rising like a pot about to spill, her pale cheeks rising with the heat of irritation, her pounding in her chest rapidly with frustration, before letting out a small bitter laugh.

Her dark brown eyes filled with disappointment as she saw how focused her mom was on the laptop. “So, can I go out?” Coraline asked curiously, swallowing down the bitter jealousy she felt over an inanimate object her mom was so focused on. The distant storm rumbled away, sounding like a warning of the danger to come.

“No, Coraline. Rain makes mud! And I hate mud.” Mel Jones once again dismissed her daughter, her eyes never leaving the laptop screen as she focused on the gardening magazine her fingers hitting the keyboard in a loud and rushed manner, as she muttered curses under her breath of annoyance.

“But mom- “Coraline tried to say before her mom slammed her hand down on the table, the sound echoing through the room, it was as if time had stood still, Coraline forcibly swallowed back a harsh gulp of fear from the annoyance from her mom.

“I said NO! Coraline. Go do something useful for once! like all the unpacking you still have to do!” Mel Jones interrupted rudely and then sighed gently, her annoyance with her daughter fading slowly, but still heavily present in her facial expression.

“Someone left this on the front porch,” Mel Jones said calmly and handed her the newspaper-wrapped object, Coraline took it hesitantly and hummed weakly.

Coraline carefully unwrapped the first part of the newspaper package and saw a note that read,

“Hey Coraline,

Look what me and my brothers found in grandma’s trunk,

Does this look familiar?

Matt”

Coraline’s interest peaked sky-high, and she took the rest of the newspaper off the object inside was the exact copy of her, from head to toe, from her blue hair to her yellow wellies.

“Huh? A little me?” Coraline whispered to herself and placed the newspaper in the trash can near her. “I’m way too old for dolls”, Coraline complained while holding the doll replica of herself in her hand, glancing down at it in disgust. ‘This doll is…well, it's me, that’s for sure…’ Coraline thought bitterly.

“For god's sake, Coraline! just accept the gift.” Mel Jones told her daughter, the familiar annoyance crept back up into her tone as she looked at her blue-haired daughter; the aggravation being strong in her eyes.

Coraline looked at her mom and then sheepishly smiled. “Sorry, Mom”, Coraline muttered under her breath before letting out a small amount of air, looking at the doll again, before walking out of the kitchen, letting her dismissive mom work.

Coraline walked up the staircase to her dad's office, her footsteps echoing against the old wooden steps, as she reached the grey door, she carefully opened it, only to see hundreds of unopened beige boxes stacked on top of each other, like an endless stack of dull mountains.

Her dad, Charlie, was hunched over, his face leaning so close to the boxed screen of his computer, mindlessly typing away, his long, bony fingers thundering against the keyboard, like a loud herd of elephants.

“Hi Dad,” Coraline said gently, her voice much softer than when she spoke to her mom. “how’s the writing going?” She asked soon after, only to be met with silence and loud tapping.

Charlie's glasses were slipping down the bridge of his long, pointy nose, and his brows were furrowed as if he were lost in a million different thoughts.

“Dad?” Coraline asked, her voice filled with heavy annoyance as he ignored her, Charlie, however, could see her clearly on the screen of his computer.

“Hello, Coraline”, Charlie said to his daughter, his voice filled with boredom, his tone so monotone while mindlessly typing away on his computer. “And Coraline doll” he added with a deep sigh.

He shook his head and turned his attention back to his computer. “Do you know where the tools are?” Coraline spoke up after a while, interrupting her dad from his work which Charlie ignored and focused on his screen.

“It's pouring out there, Coraline!” Charlie said to his daughter, with a small hint of aggravation as she was disrupting him from his work, looking up from the box-shaped computer screen.

“I know...” Coraline snapped back and then sighed before swinging back and forth on the door handle, the door creaking each time she swung it. ‘the door differently needed to get changed,’ Coraline complained mentally.

“Ugh!!! Coraline, this house is over 150 years old.” He exclaimed with annoyance, his hands in his hair as he let out a groan, his hand still in his greasy brown hair, looking at coraline, the tip of his nose being bright red as the new office didn’t have any heating.

“So?” Coraline asked her dad curiously, letting go of the very creaky door as she asked the question to her dad.

“So…. Go explore it! Go out and count all the doors and windows and write that down,” he told his daughter and handed her a small notepad and pen. “Just let me work!!” he groaned out in a small hint of bitterness.

She held the notepad in her hands, her smile fading completely as she sighed and walked away with the doll version of herself. As she walked around the rug, she noticed a part of it was raised. She jumped down onto it to flatten the rug, only for the section behind her to puff up again, which made her groan.

She stepped down on the rug only for it to lift in the middle, which she stomped down onto, only for it to once again lift where her right foot was and where her left foot was.

She groaned again and continued walking, exploring the apartment until she came across a fogged-up window. Using the sleeve of her orange shirt, she wiped a circle clear for the mini version of herself to see. Then, she cleared the steam off the window, listening to the sound of rain hitting the ground outside.

’12 leaky windows,” Coraline wrote down on the open page in the notepad, a stray raindrop landed on the page which made her laugh, she walked to her parent's bedroom and jumped up, holding onto the edge of the door as it swung open.

She walked into the bathroom and pulled back the shower curtain to see countless bugs on the wall, she made a noise of disgust, “Ewww” she shrieked out and climbed into the tub, squishing the bugs with her hands.

She pulled her hands away from the wall, “ugh” she exclaimed and bent down to turn on the cold water tap in the bath, only for the shower to turn on completely soaking her head to toe.

“ah”, she yelped and quickly turned the tap off before grabbing a towel and drying herself off before throwing the towel in the hamper. After she was dried, she left the bathroom and closed her parents' door, before jumping down the stairs like a frog.

She got to the third-to-last last step and jumped on the raised part of the rug, flattening it down. To which a door suddenly opened, and she walked over and mindlessly turned off the switch, just then her dad yelled “NO!” and she quickly turned the switch back on as if nothing happened, whistling away as she quickly closed the door and hurried into the living room.

 ‘One old rusty water heater’ she wrote down below the 12 leaky windows. ’12 disgusting!!! bugs’ Coraline had previously written above the old rusty water heater.

As she entered the living room, she looked around, ‘oh…how the living room was so dull...’ Coraline thought to herself, as she looked around the rather depressing room, a portrait was hanging up above the fireplace, the acrylic paint was slowly chipping away, the painting coated in dust.

The painting was of a young blonde boy in blue clothing, looking distraught as the ice cream was no longer on the cone.

“Well…isn’t that depressing, little me?” Coraline said and looked around the living room placing the doll on a nearby table, and sighed. She had her back turned for a minute and turned back around to see her doll wasn’t on the table.

“Wait… where did you go?” she called out softly, her voice sounding like a soothing melody as she searched high and low for her doll. “c’mon little me…where are you?” she asked and kept searching for her doll and then saw the doll laying on the ground behind some cardboard.

“How did you get over here, hmm? You’re a doll. An inanimate object, you aren’t supposed to move.” Coraline said, walking over to the cardboard, and saw a little door—a plain white door embedded with plaster, hidden away in plain sight. 

‘How odd... let's see if I can kick this door open’ Coraline thought to herself before violently kicking the embedded door, which made the snow globe on a nearby table wobble and almost fall to the ground.

She quickly grabbed her mom’s favourite snow globe and carefully placed it on the ground, she kept trying to open the door with her foot before slowly giving up.

She tried one more time and then groaned loudly as the door wouldn’t budge “Why? won't you open?” She said in between heavy breaths, and sharp exhales as if she had done a workout. She puffed and huffed in exhaustion.

She got up and headed into the kitchen, seeing her mom still sitting at the table. “Hey mom, random question? But did you know there is a door embedded in the wall…Where is the key drawer?” She asked her mom, who simply ignored her.

She groaned gently and opened the cabinet drawer looking for a key, she finally found one. It was thin, black metal that was cool to the touch, it sent shivers down her spine as she touched the metal.

On the handle of the black key, there was a black button, which Coraline thought was peculiar. It reminded her of the button eyes on her new doll, but she shrugged it off. It can only be a coincidence…right?

 I mean…it can't be connected, right? Nah. Coraline was stressing over nothing. She was safe. Safe and sound.

NOTHING BAD WILL HAPPEN…RIGHT?

🏷 thyia’s tag list: @courta13, @submattenthusiast, @kaybug88, @55sturn, @sturns-mermaid, @st4rcs, @endrfairy, @pinkpalaceblogs, @stxrsniolo, @throatgoat4u, @sturnslutz, @t33nspirtit, @owensbabygirl, @wr1tingsonthewall, @loonysbarn, @secretlocket, @isabellatb1234, @from-the-stars-to-the-moon, @sosasturns, @raesturns, @stefansring, @matts-girlfriend, @chrissweetheart, @drewswife, @itsccc, @naevk14, @ch6rm, @brooklynquesada, @sturniolo101, @isabellewhatt, @lvrsturniolo, @pompomprrin

[puhmpken]

this has BEEN edited 🥳🎉

Author’s Note: this may be silly, but i have nagging myself to write this one 😭😭 hope yall like it <33

Warning ⚠️-> none! enjoy ☺️

Title: Hell’s GreatestDadParents !

Alastor X You OneShot

written + edited by @puhmpkins-blog 🎃

W/C: 1.8 K 🥱 not sm this time around

The room was dimly lit, the air heavy with tension. You sat perched on the edge of the queen-sized bed, your arms crossed. The fabric of your knee-length dress rustled as you shifted–avoiding eye contact with a certain red-haired demon who stood in the doorway.

“Unfair, Al,” You muttered, your voice ringing out lowly.

Alastor’s response was swift, his tone unwavering. “Dearie, not everything I want you to do will be fair. Just listen and do as you’re told.” His footsteps echoed as he closed the distance, bold strides carrying him toward you. His tuxedo jacket was impeccably tailored, and he adjusted the sleeves with a flick of his wrist.

“I need you to come to the hotel with me,” Alastor continued, his crimson eyes piercing. “Help me persuade the princess to listen to me more.” His fist clenched, and a surge of green energy erupted from his palm. “Can you do that for me?”

You nodded.

His smile was unsettling, a blend of charm and menace. “Excellent, dear,” Alastor murmured.

Your smile stretched as Lucifer's eyed you–He recognized you.

Charlie’s cheerful introduction echoed in the room, and you gracefully stood, leaving the bar behind.

“And this is Alastor's wife! (Y/n)” Charlie said happily

 Your hand extended toward Lucifer,

“Lucifer,” you greeted, your voice a velvet whisper. “Long time no see, old friend.” 

As your fingers brushed his, the chandelier above swayed, then plummeted, shattering into shards. Lucifer flinched, his gaze darting to the wreckage. But your smile only widened, revealing your sharp teeth.

Retracting your hand, you moved past him, joining Alastor’s side.

Lucifer bangs covered his eyes, his smile bared his teeth as he fist clenched on his staff 

“haha..alrighty then” He said lowly  

The blare of a trumpet was heard making you put your ears down

“Looks like you could use some help” Lucifer said swiping his cane in the air making Alastor and You dodge it, as he moved Charlie away from the both of you 

“From the Big Boss of Hell himself!

Check out Daddy's glowing reviews on Yelp” 

Mini little puppets appeared around Charlie, you kept your arms crossed watching him sing about the same thing he always does..the things he could promise 

“Who needs buspeople?” he asks, snapping his finger. The scenery morphed, reality bending to his whims.

You, now changed, were in a crisp standard waitress outfit, balancing a silver platter on one hand as Charlie sat beside your standing figure.

Standing at Charlie other-side was Alastor, he was in a server outfit pouring red wine into a chalet for Charlie

 Lucifer’s voice cut through the air

“Now that you got the chef!” 

The ground shifted below you before Alastor and you plummeted into a colossal frying pan. The impact jarred your bones, but you landed on your back—luckier than Alastor, who fell face-first, his ears pinning back in probably discomfort 

The scene shifted, reality bending like a mirage.

You groaned, your normal size restored. Revenge simmered within you;surely you had to get him back for him messing around with you..?

Lucifer’s pitch lacked conviction. His promises were half-hearted. 

(f/c) swirls manifested around you–Both you and Alastor vanished, then reappeared before Lucifer, neon colors exploding from your very essence as he finished his song note

Slinging an arm around Lucifer, you feigned warmth, as if about to embrace him. But instead, you pushed him toward Alastor

“Who’s been here since day 1?” Alastor sang to Charlie, catching Lucifer. The red demon’s smile, as he shoved Lucifer aside and out of the way

You manifested on Charlie's side, you clouded her vision from seeing Alastor shove her father with your mock nun attire that clung to your curves perfectly it caught her attention, you held your hands in a mock prayer 

“Who’s been faithful as a nun?” you asked, raising an eyebrow leaning towards her smiling.

Red theater curtains swirled around and engulfed the both of you–before swiping open, the curtain revealing a big stage bathed in warm light. You and Alastor both stood at its center, the spotlight capturing every move. 

“Who makes you chuckle with an old timey pun?” You questioned out hip bumping Alastor as you waved your finger back and forth shutting one eye as you looked up to a smiling Charlie who was seating in the audience. Her smile was radiant. She leaned forward, caught in the theatrical magic.

You and Alastor materialized on opposite sides of her, your voices harmonizing.

“Your executive producer~!”

Elbowing her playfully as Alastor wrapped a arm around her, Charlie’s laughter echoed, and the scene shifted seamlessly.

“That’s true!” Charlie exclaimed, glancing from Alastor to you.

 “He’s your guy!” You said appearing as a small shoulder angel infront of Charlie’s face “Your day-to-day!”Another little angel version of you winked. “Your chum!” Another version of you butted-in moving the first two a bit to the side as it pointed to Alastor

The scene shifted to the three of you guys working the front desk behind a busy hotel lobby “Your steadfast hotelier~!” You said as guests hurried by, their requests and complaints blending into a cacophony.

“Why, remember when he fixed that clog today?” you said raising a eyebrow before putting your hand to your chin. Alastor, sleeves rolled up, as he pulled Nifty out of a stubborn toilet. The cyclops grateful voice echoed as a once clogged toilet started to flush 

“I was stuck! Thank you, sir,” Nifty had exclaimed. Alastor, still holding Nifty, patted her head with a smirk as you mirrored it, watching Charlie with her close eye smile. 

 “Oh you” She replied holding her cheek 

Alastor stepped forward, spinning Charlie with practiced ease.

“I am truly honored that we built such a bond” Alastor said looking at Charlie from now on top the staircases as neon faces of them lit up 

“Aww” Charlie replied 

You appeared on Charlie's side leaning in, one hand on Charlie’s shoulders, sincerity in your eyes. “You’re like the child we wished we had,” you sang, your voice a gentle lullaby.

“Uhhh, what?”Lucifer’s voice interrupted from below the set of stairs.

Your eyes shot to him with a flash of a smirk spreading on your face for him to see and disappearing, did you strike a nerve? 

Seating yourself at the edge of a bed, you looked down at a tucked-in Charlie. Alastor stood beside you, his hand on your shoulder. Together, you painted the picture of an unconventional loving family—the perfect family picture for Lucifer to have ingrained in his head. 

“We care for you just like a daughter we spawned,” you said, patting Charlie’s head. Her eyes closed, as she relaxed into the makeshift embrace.

But Lucifer’s protest echoed. “Hold on NOW!” he shouted, disrupting the scene. You grabbed Charlie’s arm, pulling her out of bed. Spinning her, you cheered on her dance moves, and Alastor’s amused voice joined the chorus.

“Its little funny” You heard Alastor say— “You can almost say were your” Alastor’s voice trailed off as he grabbed both Charlie and you, spinning you both with one arm. He positioned you next to his side, placing Charlie in front of both of you. “Parentsssss,” he drawled, dragging out the word. His wicked gaze turned toward Lucifer, and you mirrored his smile, snapping your head to Lucifer before returning to your regular expression looking at Charlie 

Suddenly you heard the noise of a violin playing..you looked to Lucifer seeing him play a golden one rather aggressively towards Alastor and you 

You raised your eyebrow looking at Lucifer, as he was taking bold strides towards the both of you, before he got too close, a piano materialized in front of you as you heard your husband voice cut through the air 

“Take it away dear!” Seating down, cracking your knuckles. Your fingers danced across the keys, and you shut your eyes, lost in the music–focus on upstaging Lucifer

Playing the last key, the final note harmony was shattered–you cringed at the noise you were hearing. It sound like a instrument being crushed, your shoulders tensed to the loud sharp noise–your deer ears flickering back and forth in annoyance. You peered your head over your shoulders too see Lucifer with squinted eyes and the purposely crush instrument above his head. As you squinted back, the lights around both of you flickered before shutting off completely.

Thinking the little singing battle was over you heard, a rhythmic beat filling the air.

“They say when you’re looking for assistants,” Alastor began, as large books started to descend onto Charlie’s back as she struggled to keep them up

“It’s smart to pick the path of less-,” you continued for Alastor, as both your figures manifested tendrils from the ground

As Alastor and you sang out

“Resistances~!”

As the tendrils thickened before lifting the heavy books off of Charlie back with ease 

Lucifer interjected, “Others say in your needy hour. There’s no substitute for pure–angelic–POWER!!!.” With a spread of his wings, he flew briefly before landing near Charlie with a crazed look, gripping his staff tightly

“Whose is also your blood!”

As Lucifer approached Charlie closely, you stepped between them, easily grabbing her attention.

“Sadly there are times where a birth parent” As both Charlie and you appeared in a higher location looked down on Lucifer as you did a thumbs down motion “Are a dud” A trap door beneath him swung open, sending him plummeting into a black void.

“They say the family you choose” Alastor said appearing on Charlie’s otherside as little images of Angel, Nifty, Husk and Sir Pentious appeared around you three “Are often better!” 

“What a bunch of,” Lucifer interjected, popping up and shoving Alastor aside with his staff.

“LOSERS!”

You watched standing next to Charlie as Alastor hip bumped Lucifer “Can you butt out of my song?” He questioned watching Lucifer stumble forward 

“Your song?!” Lucifer countered, walking back towards Alastor and standing on his tiptoes, pointing at himself. “I started this!”

“I’ll finish it,” Alastor quickly replied, leaning down towards Lucifer as they both bumped heads, their razor-sharp teeth bared, growling like wild animals.

“OH! YOu tacky, piece of SHI–”Lucifer’s sentence was cut short as the door suddenly burst open.

Alastor and Lucifer both pausing their yelling at one another as they both turned their heads to the noise..really everyone did

A small but recognizable figure appeared at the door, prompting an internal eye roll from you.

“It’s me!” she sang out, wagging her finger and bouncing her hip. “Yes, it’s me! I know you were all waiting for me!” Confetti flew as if from thin air.

“It’s ME!” she exclaimed, now on the second floor, jumping from the railing and landing on her knees, sliding a bit on the floor. “MIMZYYY!” she proclaimed, taking in some big breaths after her energetic entrance.

“Who?” Lucifer asked after a moment, confusion written all over his face as he raised one eyebrow.

FIN!!!

Extra! Extra!

No extra is available this time around! Tune in next time for extras! :))

[skycotl-before-and-after]

Today’s red shard eruption is easy, even alone. Plenty of birds to recharge, no crabs, only gotta watch out for the flying rocks.

[awkward-walking-potato]

Of Broken Glass and Red Spandex

My requests are open

The music in the bar was blaring, a heavy beat that pulsed through the dimly lit room. You had danced here a hundred times before, your movements fluid and practiced, but tonight something felt off. Maybe it was the way your boss had been glaring at you from his corner, or the tense, shifty looks exchanged between some of the patrons.

You tried to push the uneasy feeling away as you continued your routine, focusing on the music and the rhythm. It was just another night, another gig, and you were used to handling all sorts of shady characters in places like this. The money was decent, and it wasn’t like you had many other options.

But then, right in the middle of your performance, everything went to hell.

The door to the bar was kicked open with a loud bang, and in swaggered the last person you expected to see—a man in red and black spandex, katanas strapped to his back, and a pair of guns at his hips. The mask covering his face didn’t hide the fact that this was Deadpool, the infamous mercenary with a penchant for chaos and a mouth that never seemed to stop.

The room went still, and you could feel the tension ratchet up to unbearable levels. Your boss, who had been leaning against the bar, straightened up with a sneer. You could practically see the dollar signs in his eyes as he realized who had just walked in.

“Well, well, well,” your boss drawled, stepping forward with that oily smirk you hated so much. “If it isn’t the Merc with a Mouth. What brings you to my humble establishment?”

Deadpool cocked his head to the side, his hands resting casually on his guns. “Oh, you know, just dropping by for a drink. Maybe a little chit-chat. And, oh yeah—”

Before your boss could react, Deadpool drew one of his katanas in a blur of motion, pointing it directly at the man’s throat.

“—a little murder,” Deadpool finished, his tone deceptively cheerful.

Panic erupted in the bar. Patrons scrambled for the exits, overturning tables and chairs in their haste to get away from the impending violence. You instinctively moved back, retreating to the edge of the stage as the room descended into chaos.

Your boss tried to put on a brave front, but you could see the fear in his eyes. “You think you can just walk in here and—”

He didn’t get to finish the sentence. Deadpool was already moving, a whirlwind of red and black, and the next thing you knew, your boss was on the ground, clutching his stomach, blood pouring from a gash across his torso.

But Deadpool wasn’t done. He turned his attention to the other thugs in the room—men who worked for your boss, all of them dangerous in their own right. But against Deadpool, they didn’t stand a chance.

It was a blur of gunfire, blades flashing, and screams. You ducked behind the bar, trying to stay out of the way, but the sheer chaos of the fight made it impossible to avoid everything. A glass bottle shattered near you, and you felt a sharp sting in your leg.

You bit back a cry, looking down to see a shard of glass embedded in your thigh, blood already staining your tights. The pain was sharp and immediate, but you didn’t have time to think about it. You needed to get out of here, to get to safety—

“Hey, hey, hey! Hold on, dancerina!”

You looked up, startled, to see Deadpool standing over you, his katanas dripping with blood, his head cocked to the side as he looked you over. Despite the carnage around you, his tone was surprisingly gentle, like he was trying not to scare you.

“You’re hurt,” he said, his voice softer than you expected. “Let me see that.”

You hesitated, but there was something in his tone that made you trust him, despite the fact that he had just torn through your boss and his goons like they were nothing.

Deadpool knelt down in front of you, his hands surprisingly steady as he examined your leg. “That’s a nasty cut. But don’t worry, I’ve got this.”

Before you could protest, he gently pulled the shard of glass from your leg. You hissed in pain, but he was quick to press a clean cloth—where had he gotten that?—against the wound, applying pressure to stop the bleeding.

“There we go,” he said, his tone almost soothing. “You’re gonna be okay.”

You stared at him, still trying to process everything that had happened in the last few minutes. “Why… why are you helping me?”

Deadpool looked up, his mask hiding his expression, but you could hear the sincerity in his voice when he replied, “Because you’re not part of this mess. You’re just trying to make a living, right? Didn’t seem fair to let you bleed out because some jerk couldn’t keep his hands to himself.”

You blinked, surprised by the empathy in his words. You hadn’t expected that from someone like Deadpool, someone with his reputation. But here he was, kneeling in front of you, his touch gentle as he tended to your wound.

“Can you stand?” he asked, helping you to your feet with a steadying hand on your arm.

You nodded, wincing as you put weight on your injured leg. Deadpool supported you, his arm around your waist, keeping you upright. “You’ll need to get that stitched up,” he said. “But you’ll be fine.”

You looked up at him, trying to find the right words. “Thank you,” you finally said, your voice barely above a whisper.

He waved it off like it was no big deal. “No problem, doll. Just doing my good deed for the day. Now, let’s get you out of here before the cops show up and start asking questions.”

He led you out of the bar, moving carefully to avoid jostling your injured leg. Outside, the night was quiet, the chaos of the bar a stark contrast to the calm darkness around you. Deadpool paused, glancing around before turning back to you.

“I’ll get you a cab,” he said, already pulling out his phone. “You sure you’ll be okay on your own?”

You nodded, though you were still shaken by everything that had happened. “Yeah. I’ll be fine.”

Deadpool looked at you for a long moment, then gave a small nod. “Alright. But if you ever need anything—someone to, I don’t know, take out the trash or pick up a pizza—you know who to call.”

Despite everything, you found yourself smiling. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

A cab pulled up, and Deadpool helped you into the backseat, giving the driver a stern look. “Take care of her, alright?”

The driver, wide-eyed and clearly terrified, nodded quickly. “Y-yes, sir.”

Deadpool shut the door, giving you a final wave before the cab pulled away. As you watched him disappear into the night, you couldn’t help but feel a strange sense of gratitude—and maybe even a little affection—for the odd, mercenary in red.

Who would have thought that Deadpool, of all people, would end up being your knight in bloody, bullet-ridden armor?

You leaned back in the seat, your leg still throbbing but your heart a little lighter, knowing that somewhere out there, Deadpool was watching out for people like you—people who just needed a little help from a very unexpected hero.

[baelarys]

we get what we deserve?

Aegon Targaryen x lector Darklyn/Targaryen

recuento de palabras:2540

Advertencia:Angust, murder, bad words

The burning in the palm of your hand intensified each time your nails dug into the soft flesh, a desperate attempt to maintain control. The pressure in your throat was constant, a knot you couldn't untie as you fought to suppress the sob that threatened to escape. The tears continued to slide down your cheeks, betraying the calm you were trying to maintain. Your eyes, red from crying, reflected the internal storm consuming you, a tide of emotions you could not bear.

It had all happened in an instant, a blink of an eye that left a trail of emptiness in your being. The small body you had held with such care was ripped from your arms with a brutality that left you breathless. Before you could comprehend what was happening, it was already in the hands of a stranger. A shiver ran down your spine as you relived that fateful moment, every detail burned into your memory with a clarity that tormented you. The helplessness enveloped you like a suffocating cloak, and the question beat in your mind like an unrelenting drum: How was it possible that you couldn't protect what mattered most to you?

The abrupt sound of glass shattering into a thousand pieces tore you from your thoughts. Aegon crossed the room with furious steps, his presence filled with a rage that electrified the air. The shards of glass sparkled on the floor, echoes of his anger, as he moved back and forth, unable to contain the torrent of emotions consuming him.

"My son is my legacy!" he roared, his voice laden with discontent and impotence, resonating with an intensity that echoed off the walls. "My son was the heir to the Iron Throne!"

His chest heaved with rapid, shallow breaths, and the tension in his features was evident, every line of his face marked by the desperation of a loss he could not accept.

"And where were you?" Aegon demanded, his voice sharp and cold as his eyes fixed on Ser Criston Cole. "The Lord Commander of my Kingsguard!"

fucking the queen, you bit your tongue hard to keep from voicing such a rash accusation, though the anger burned inside you.

"I was in bed, Your Majesty," Ser Criston responded, his voice so controlled it almost sounded detached. "I requested to stand guard tonight."

"In bed?!" Aegon repeated, as if the knight's words carried no weight. "Instead of safeguarding the sanctity of my family?"

"This is not the time for baseless accusations, Your Majesty," Otto said. "Soon, we will know who did it."

"Who did it?" Aegon repeated, releasing a bitter laugh as he approached the table.

The silence that followed was heavy, until, for the first time, your voice rose in the room, cutting through the air like a sharp knife.

"It was her," you said, all eyes turning towards you. "Who else would do it if not that bastard bitch?"

The words escaped your mouth, burning your throat as you uttered them, each one loaded with a visceral hatred.

"That smug whore is on her damn island, laughing at me," you spat, the fury flowing from every word, your eyes ablaze with a mix of rage and pain.

The anger consuming you was almost tangible, like a fire fed by every thought. The image of that woman, the arrogance on her face as she reveled in your suffering, caused a nausea you could not suppress. Everything you had tried to contain finally erupted inside you.

"She thinks she's untouchable, hiding behind her walls while she mocks our misfortune!" you continued, your voice growing in volume, trembling with the intensity of your pain. "And now my son is dead, while her bastards run free, enjoying the protection that was denied to mine!"

Desperation and rage intertwined in your words, tearing you apart from within. With a trembling sigh, you sank back into the chair, struggling to contain the sea of tears that still threatened to overflow.

"You wished for her life to be spared," Aegon accused, directing his anger at Alicent, his voice heavy with reproach.

The queen lowered her gaze, unable to withstand the fury in her son's eyes. But before she could respond, the door to the room was flung open, and the hunched figure of Larys Strong appeared, interrupting the tense silence.

"Forgive me, Your Majesty... my lords," Larys said, his voice soft but piercing. "The guard has apprehended someone."

The news made everyone straighten up, expectant.

"The man we captured is known," continued the Clubfoot, carefully measuring his words. "He's a Gold Cloak. We found him fleeing through the Gate of the Gods... with the child's head in a sack."

The impact of his words fell on you like an anvil, and the world crumbled around you. You felt your heart plummet into a bottomless abyss, shattered by the cruelty of the revelation.

"I'll kill him myself," Aegon growled, the fury in his voice now fiercer than ever. Without waiting for a response, he turned and strode quickly towards the door, closely followed by his guards.

"It would be better to extract any information from that scoundrel," Otto intervened, his tone cold and calculating, halting Aegon's steps. "I trust in the mastery of your craft, Lord Larys."

Aegon stopped dead in his tracks, his shoulders tense as he processed his grandfather's words. Otto's proposal was logical, meticulous as always. But at this moment, logic was the last thing Aegon wanted to hear.

Tired of all the useless talk, you stood up abruptly, the chair scraping against the floor as you did, the sound tearing through the heavy silence that filled the room. The tension in the air was almost suffocating, every word exchanged between them seemed to add more weight to the burden you were already carrying.

Your gaze swept across the room, stopping on Otto, then Larys, before finally resting on Aegon. When his eyes met yours, his gaze, hardened by fury and pain, seemed to soften, as if in that brief moment, he found an anchor amidst the storm that was consuming him.

"I want his head," you declared, your voice firm and icy, leaving no room for doubt.

"Perhaps we should consider this more carefully," Otto began to say, his tone cautious, as if trying to bring a semblance of reason to the conversation.

"I said I want his head!" you interrupted, not giving him the chance to finish. Your voice resonated with such force that it was clear you would accept no objections.

You didn't want to talk, you didn't want to think. Every word directed at you felt like a blow to your already shattered nerves. All you wanted at that moment was justice, raw and visceral, for the innocent life that had been torn from your arms.

Your hands trembled, not from fear, but from the intensity of the fury boiling within you, from the overwhelming need to make the one who committed such an atrocity pay. You didn't care about the political implications, the consequences, or any strategy Otto might consider prudent. Logic and patience had been swept away by the tide of pain that was flooding you.

The room was plunged into tense silence, as if everyone present was holding their breath. No one dared to look directly at you, their eyes averted, fixed on anything but you. They knew that opposing you at this moment would be futile, perhaps even dangerous.

Your gaze settled on Larys Strong, who, with the same calculated calm as always, offered you a slight nod, a silent signal for you to follow.

The cold air seeped through your nightclothes, chilling your skin, but you didn't care. You didn't even bother to change or cover yourself before leaving.

The sound of the wind mingled with the clanking of heavy chains that echoed against the ground, accompanying each step of the corpulent man who was being brought before you. His eyes avoided yours, his posture hunched, defeated, as the guards shoved him forward with a contemptuous force, pushing him towards his fate.

Valyria landed a few meters away from you with a thud that resonated through the ground, kicking up a cloud of dust. The dragon let out a deep, furious growl, as if she could sense the emotional storm raging inside you.

You stood firm, your gaze fixed on the prisoner, as you felt the heat of Valyria's breath at your back. The dragon, imposing and majestic, approached with measured steps, her piercing yellow eyes first locking onto you, searching your face for a sign, an order. Then, her slitted pupils shifted to the man who lay trembling on his knees before her imposing presence.

The prisoner, barely able to stand, raised his gaze only to meet the abyss that was Valyria. His body trembled, not just from the cold of the night, but from the terror that the proximity of the beast instilled in him. He knew he was facing his judge.

You took one more step closer, your figure wrapped in the icy night breeze, but the cold didn't affect you. Not when the anger and pain burned so intensely in your chest, fueled by the bottomless abyss left by the loss of your child. Each step you took towards the man kneeling before you seemed to vibrate with the pent-up fury, with the longing for justice that was driving you forward.

You stopped right in front of him, so close that you could see the cold sweat on his forehead, the unshed tears in his terrified eyes. Despite his trembling and veiled pleas, there wasn’t a trace of mercy in your gaze.

"My son is dead by your hand," you spoke each word with deliberate coldness, allowing them to pierce his conscience like thorns. "I held him in my arms, and in an instant, you took him from me. Because of your cowardice, your greed, an innocent life was sacrificed."

"He was just a child," you continued, stepping even closer, your shadow falling over him like a dark shroud. "My son. My flesh and blood. An innocent, who had nothing to do with your grudges, with your petty ambitions. And you took him from me. You destroyed him without a shred of remorse."

The man tried to stammer a response, to justify his act, but your gaze silenced him, condemned him before he could find the words.

"How many coins was his life worth?" you spat, disdain dripping from every syllable. "How much were you paid for his head? What was the price of my pain? Because that's all you are, a traitor willing to sell his soul to the highest bidder, no matter the cost to others."

He didn’t answer. He didn’t even try. And you weren’t going to beg for a response that, deep down, wouldn’t change anything. The truth had already been exposed, raw and painful, and there was no place for more words in this trial.

You moved closer, leaned down, and placed a gentle hand on his shoulder. Aegon raised his head, his eyes red and filled with tears, looking at you with a mixture of surprise and pain. He said nothing, but the desperation in his gaze was evident.

You knelt before him, and without a word, you wrapped him in your arms, pulling him close. Aegon clung to you as if you were his only anchor in a sea of suffering. The sobs he had tried to contain broke free completely, and the king's cries mingled with yours in a shared lament for the loss of a beloved child.

[lumhos]

continuing off of my other post vv

https://www.tumblr.com/spitxxx/772251374684700672/au-where-people-present-once-they-reach-16-years

brief recap: harry is an unsettling omega who presented way before any of his peers. tom is an extremely late bloomer but has always been interested in harry, even wo knowing his smell. when tom finally presents as an alpha and is able to smell harry, he now understands why people avoid the other. he reeks of death.

in which tom and harry overturn traditional courting customs

cw// animal death

tom’s biggest fear is and always will be death. the idea that everything he’s ever lived for will one day come to a halt once he breathes his final breath is terrifying.

harry has been tom’s greatest wish from the moment he met the other.

harry’s scent is.. alarming. quite frankly, it’s extremely disturbing. its heavy and damp. it lingers on fabric and never fully goes away. it doesn’t exactly help that harry avoids using scent patches. “a waste of money when my scent will leak through anyway”, he claims.

maybe this is why tom starts to feel wary around harry. why he stiffens up when harry gets too close to tom’s unmarked neck. his scent gland, ready to be bitten. or why he began to walk quickly out of class rather than waiting for harry to pack up (he never had anything out in the first place.)

unfortunately, tom didn’t realize that harry loved the chase.

traditional courting customs say that the more dominant gender within the relationship must be the one to court the other. over the span of seven months, they must gift the other seven different gifts. if at any moment, the courted wishes to reject the courter, they must send all of the gifts back.

needless to say, tom was not expecting a black box with a deep green bow to land in front of him during supper. he couldn’t see what had dropped the package off, moving quickly in a blur of black shadow.

looking at the high quality of the velvet bow, tom felt a sense of curiosity fill him. he could feel the eyes of his yearmates watching him, but he couldn’t find it in himself to care. the box emanated an odd energy, almost like it was something he shouldn’t be opening in the great hall.

like pandora, tom untied the bow and lifted the lid of the box.

his eyes widened once he realized what it was. the dead body of a white rabbit. its little neck was bent at an impossible angle, dried blood coating its fur. its eyes were glazed over, like the animal was still alive, only under a charm.

tom could feel his face pale when he understood what this gift referenced. back when he had maimed and gifted (secretly) poor little billy his beloved pet rabbit, days after he had thrown tom’s things out of the window.

he remembered how the other boy sobbed, fat tears streaming down his face. tom wanted to billy to cry more, for him to look exactly like how his rabbit did. tom wanted to be the one to do it. it was only cruel fate that billy would be adopted a week later.

tom was so absorbed in his own thoughts that he didn’t register the gasps around him.

“my lord, is that…” malfoy trailed off, suddenly becoming speechless (for once)

“circe above, what could this mean?!” black asked, already assuming that tom was being threatened. tom barely had a chance to respond when a noise came from the box.

the rabbit slowly got out of the box. leaving a trail behind it, it walked across the table. silence grew on the slytherin table when the rabbit walked by. gasps and gags erupted, everyone’s eyes glued to the limping corpse.

by the time the rabbit reached the very end of the table, professor slughorn had noticed the body approaching with great alarm. however, when he got up, wand ready, the rabbit seized. with a disgusting gurgle, the rabbit exploded in a boom of guts, blood, and shards of bone. a flash of red flew above the heads of the great hall, drifting with the draft of hogwarts.

the great hall echoed with screams, crowds of students jumping from their tables and pushing one another out the door. the carnage painted the slytherin table in a sheen of crimson. slughorn, who had fainted from the close proximity of the explosion, was covered in rabbit intestines.

it was unnatural, the amount of matter that erupted from the rabbit’s small body. the amount of blood was far too great as well.

slytherin stayed glued to their seats. shock and fear keeping them frozen in place. tom’s hands couldn’t stop shaking. he felt light headed in a way that no calming draught could fix.

in his turmoil, he hadn’t noticed the blur of red approaching him. it was only with a gentle (trembling) nudge from black, that he looked up.

a red envelope landed gently in front of him.

the entirety of slytherin watched as tom riddle, slowly, cautiously, opened the letter. (so shocked that he never considered that whoever sent that package had evil intent.)

“to my dearest tom m. riddle, i send this gift to you as my formal proposal of courting. you have failed to bore me, your presence always welcome. your eyes that shine with an inhuman red glow mesmerise me. your intelligence and thirst for power light a fire within me. i hope you enjoy the gifts that will come your way. i know that i will take immense pleasure in creating them.”

despite the lack of signature, tom knew immediately who had sent the proposal. silently, tom looked forward, past the frozen faces of the slytherins around him.

there sat one harry evans. that same sharp smile wide spread wide across his face. eyes that beamed with something sinister yet soft.

tom could blankly register now the smell of death that hugged him. rot that seeped out of the stone walls of hogwarts. a dampness that snapped the other inhabitants out of their daze, forcing them up out of their seats and out of the great hall. tom wondered distantly when the professors had left the hall, if anyone besides he and harry ever entered.

tom’s tongue felt heavy in his mouth. the air was tense and thick, their scents mixing together to create a truly heavy smell. tom watched as harry gracefully got out of his seat and walked towards tom.

tom watched as harry placed a slim finger (with sharp nails) under his chin and used his thumb to press on tom’s lip. his nail pierced through, blood beading out of the small cut on tom’s lip.

tom watched as harry smiled as he leaned forward, giving tom a gentle, hardly there, kiss.

tom watched as harry pulled back, only inches away from his face. that smile back on his face, only with a small smudge of blood coating harry’s bottom lip.

tom watched as harry’s tongue licked the blood away, the way harry’s scent strummed in delight.

tom listened to harry whisper against his lips, something soft and barely audible, before leaving tom alone in the great hall.

harry evans had just spoken parseltongue.

tom riddle was fucked.

[some-pers0n]

Hey guys I rewrote that Battlewinner death scene lol. This time I decided to make Mastermind a weeee bit of a silly guy as well as make her death a bit..y'know.. No real TW or anything other than death and Bad Parenting

The ground quivered beneath Starflight's talons as he raced down the corridors, Glory, Princess Greatness, and Fatespeaker in tow. He had been in a cave his whole life, but never had one felt as alive as right now. The rocks felt hot to the touch. The walls rumbled. The distant sound of lava moving was all he could hear.  It was as though a slumbering beast was being pulled from its sleep, waking to the sight of a colony of ants nestled into it. It wants them out.

"Question," he began, "how long until the volcano erupts?"

"Erupts?" Greatness echoed. "Not for another two years. Mastermind took some calculations and predicted that the next one would be soon, but not right now. What you're feeling is just...abnormal activity. The volcano does that."

"Really? I've lived here my whole life and I've never felt something this strong," Fatespeaker said.

"We'll worry about whatever the volcano is doing later," Glory snapped. "Right now, we have a mad queen to talk to."

"I- I don't get it." Starflight slowed his pace. "Don't you have oracles? Prophets? Why did Mastermind have to guess? Wouldn't a future be more accurate? Not to doubt my father's research but..." His words trailed off. "Why? What's going on?"

Greatness turned away, staring straight ahead. "We're almost there. I can hear Mastermind."

Starflight's ears perked up. Amongst the bellows of the volcano, he could make out the faint mumblings of a scientist. They turned the sharp bend and entered into the queen's chamber.

It was a large, spacious cave, with a lake of lava in the center. Stalactites hung from the tall ceiling, embedded with a rich, deep shade of red. A deck of metal and steel was built, leaving way for Mastermind to stand upon.

But that wasn't what caught Starflight's attention the most. A cauldron of iron stood above them, with Battlewinner poking her head out of the top. Lava dripped off her as she stared them down. Next to her was Mastermind, absent-mindedly babbling and talking to her. The armour rack that he saw in his lab was with him, with all but the headpiece missing.

"– which, need I remind you, makes this completely safe. You can sort of walk, but ultimately your presence is more about your imposing lava-filled...armour– where are you looking– OH!" His eyes followed her gaze, widening as she saw the group. "Ah, hello! Starflight, my beloved protégé! I'm pleased to see that you've come to your senses and decided to turn over this band of revolutionaries. Shame to see it happen, really."

"No, dad, uhh–"

"Fools..." Battlewinner hissed. "All of you..."

"Mh-hm." Mastermind nodded his head.

"You too, scientist... If only your pride did not blind you to the truth..."

"Blind me?!" he snapped back. "Pardon me? I may be hard of sight, but I assure you that I am no fool, right Starflight? Utter brilliant genius. Oh, I'll be so proud to see you grow up. Perhaps you'll too come around to understanding your father's achievements."

Starflight winced. It was hard to hear a dragon talk like that.

"Your son is not here to help you, Mastermind," Battlewinner snarled. "He is here to stop us. All of them... They--" Ice frothed up in her throat, cutting off the words. The shards of frost melted as she took a mouthful of lava.

"What? No! Starflight would never betray us. He is a NightWing. He serves his queen, right?"

Starflight glanced at his talons. He couldn't dare to look him in the eye.

"Mother–" Greatness began, but was cut off by a sharp growl.

"Queen Battlewinner."

"– Queen Battlewinner," she continued, "I'm sorry but we must call off the attack. The RainWings are too powerful and our tribe is too weak to take them on. We cannot afford to lose any more of–"

"We will not surrender to these dragons." Battlewinner's voice boomed. Smoke coiled from her nostrils. The light of the frost in her mouth reflected in her eyes. "We are NightWings. We do not bow to any other dragon..."

Glory clicked her tongue. "Well, that's annoying. I was hoping we wouldn't have to do this the harder way." She walked forward. "Battlewinner, I come to propose an offer: you call off your invasion and, in return, I set up trading between the NightWings and RainWings. Your dragons are starving, diseased, and dying. You should be ashamed of how you've let them rot like this. I am only offering you this as I cannot let dragonets die, even after all you've done to my tribe."

She kept going. "You will also step out of this war. I am aware of how you and Mastermind have been trying to tip the scales. Leave my troop, the Dragonets of Destiny, alone. You will also step down as ruler. I see you as personally unfit to rule. You are a tyrant. You allow your dragons to suffer. Greatness is..." Glory squinted at her. "Marginally better."

"Thank you." Greatness dipped her head to her.

"If you do not comply, I will destroy the tunnels. I will not hesitate to kill any NightWing that dares enter my kingdom. I already plan on informing the other queens of your conspiracies. If you want your tribe to ever lay a claw on Pyrrhia again, take my offer. Relinquish control. Perhaps, in some years' time, you can find your way off of this island and rejoin the continent."

Silence. The rumbling of the volcano was all that remained. The caverns shook as the white noise surrounding them grew in intensity. Battlewinner's gaze remained fixated on Queen Glory. They both remained locked in this silent war.

"Bold words for a RainWing dragonet..." she said, amused. "Step aside before I drag you into the lava myself."

"No." Glory repeated. "You will comply with this offer or let your tribe die."

"You can't be serious," Mastermind spoke, half laughing. "You're just making a joke. You cannot expect something like that to work out. You? You're a dragonet! You're overly emotional. Not thinking things logically."

"Overly emotional?!" Glory snapped. "You're the ones who have been kidnapping the RainWings! Innocent dragons who were holed up in your dungeon!" Red splotches faintly appeared along her neck and frill. "If I had my way, you would be dead as you stand."

He snorted. "Ha! You truly don't understand science. Ethics and morality are mere roadblocks. Others of a more intellectual nature would understand." He shot Starflight a look. "Besides, we need the rainforest more than anyone else. As you said, it is a lush and thriving environment. What has your tribe done with it? From what I've seen, nothing! It's asinine to watch you flaunt your fruit and your peaceful lives while the NightWings have suffered for two thousand years!"

"So? Why should you have it? All you've done is lie and hurt my tribe, you murderous snake!" She spat. "We lived there! We have lived there for thousands of years! You do not deserve to wipe us out just because you feel it's necessary."

He adjusted his spectacles. "Starflight, son, you can't honestly expect this to work. You're reasonable. Come now, try and tell this RainWing some common sense. Do you honestly believe that the NightWings would accept it?"

"No, I don't." He shook his head. "Battlewinner would never agree to that."

"Precisely!" Mastermind beamed.

"So..." Starflight tapped his talons anxiously. "We can compromise? Maybe?"

"WHAT!?" Mastermind and Glory called out in unison.

"I know, I know!" He winced, waving his talons to try and calm them. "I was thinking that, because the Rainforest Kingdom has plenty of space and the NightWings are so few in numbers, we could donate a sizable amount of land to them. Have them build their own village." He turned to Battlewinner. "But, only if they accept Queen Glory as their ruler."

"Starflight, that is the worst idea I've ever heard from you--" Glory began, but was interrupted by the animalistic roar from behind.

"NO!" Queen Battlewinner screeched. She jerked around in her cauldron, spilling lava. "Never! Only I rule the NightWings!"

"Please, listen!" Starflight called out, matching her voice. "The NightWings cannot survive here anymore. Even if we set up trades, they cannot live. If we allow them to exist peacefully in the Rainforest Kingdom, we can leave the volcano behind. No more disease. No more hunger. Nothing."

"That doesn't sound like a bad idea," Princess Greatness said.

"You are a terrible heir..." Battlewinner hissed.

She paused. "I know. I never was a good queen. Queen Glory is more fit to rule than you and I both."

"Sure, yeah, but really? You want me to rule over two tribes?" Glory shook her head. "I can't do that, especially not with the tribe that has been torturing my own dragons." She glared at Mastermind.

"I think it's a bit much to call it torture," he interjected. "I only tested on them for years. Some died, sure, but they were just the weaker ones." He shrugged. "Should've been better."

"I hope that, even if you survive, your body is feasted upon by snakes and ants."

"Anywho," Mastermind continued, ignoring her threat, "I still fail to see what would happen to our queen. She has her armour."

"She won't make it," Greatness said. "She knows this. Your armour is nothing more than to prolong her life in time to see the trees. She will die either way."

He scoffed. "Preposterous! My design is flawless!"

She squinted. "I'm not too sure about that..." She shook her head. "She knows she'll die here. Buried under the rubble. It is the only option."

Battlewinner raised her claws, slamming down on the edge of the cauldron. "You will NOT speak for me!" she screeched. "It is MY kingdom! I will not allow for this!" And with that, she began to lift herself out of the vat.

"Mother, no! Please!" Greatness called out.

"Your majesty, control yourself! Your armour is not fully prepared."

Battlewinner did not listen. Her body slipped over the edge, spewing lava in all directions. Starflight jumped back as a large chunk almost hit him directly. He looked on, seeing Battlewinner's full body for the first time.

As the magma dripped off, it revealed her heavily scarred and discoloured body. Her scales were charcoal black, with burn and scratch marks dotted everywhere. Her wings were damaged, with the membrane showing a hint of blue. She was massive, but couldn't hold her own weight. The armour on her held the lava briefly, but it spilled out the instant she collapsed onto the ground.

She dug her claws into the ground, dragging herself towards Glory. Wordless threats spewed her way, little more than menacing grumbles. Yet, as she did so, she began to slow.

Then, the frost appeared.

Starting from her chest, a vibrant pale light emitted. It was inside her, in her veins. Ice formed, rapidly covering her body. Starflight heard her scales snapping and breaking as the ice pushed their way out. He could only watch in horror as her movements slowed.

Her eyes were wide, a mixture of malice, hysteria, and an utter refusal to die. A futile effort. The ice travelled up her next, encasing her entirely in it. In her final moments, she looked to Princess Greatness. Her expression was incomprehensible to Starflight, but to Greatness...

He turned to her. There was a sadness in her that he could feel even from there. Her breath was heavy and staggered. Her eyes were blinking, just barely holding back tears.

"Queen Battlewinner!" Mastermind lunged to her side. "No, no, no! You can't be! It was all perfect! Everything about my armour should've protected you! How could this be!? My calculations were perfect." His talons grazed the frost formations. "...it is fascinating to see the effects of the frostbreath in action, however. Mesmerizing."

As his eyes glazed over her, he caught a glimpse of the dragonets. "Oh, yes, you!" His snout scrunched. "In my scientific opinion, that was a STUPID IDEA!! Idiots! All of you! You've doomed our tribe!" He stood, glaring at Starflight. "I'm ashamed to see you do this, son."

A lump formed in his throat. Rejection from the dragon who understood him the most.

And, yet...he didn't care.

"So?" The word leaped from his mouth.

Mastermind blinked, squinting in disbelief. "So?" he barked back.

"So what? You're a terrible dragon! You tested on the RainWings! You never even cared about me! You just wanted to see a successor who would listen to you ramble." Built-up emotions spilled out of him all at once. "I'm ashamed for you to be my father!"

Mastermind opened his mouth, perhaps to make a snarky comeback, but a loud crack! interrupted them. It shook the whole cave. The lava boiled with more intensity. Starflight's stomach was tied into knots as the realization dawned on him.

The volcano was erupting. If they did not leave now, they would be reduced to nothing more than charred corpses buried under rubble.

[whimsicalwritingsandmore]

The Hybrid House | ateez x reader

Pairing: hybrid!ot8!ateez x rich!girl!reader

Genre: fluff, romance, slice of life

Warnings: mention of su*c*de (it isn't detailed, just mentioned), description of emotions after aforementioned event.

Word Count: 1223 words

a/n: just to clarify with the chapter warnings, it is not my intention to sensationalize su*c*de. it's just mentioned but I do describe the impact a little on one of the characters, so I included a red asterisk * at the beginning and end of where it starts and ends.

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Chapter 2

Things were never the same as before.

After returning home from Thanksgiving that year, your parents barred you and Axel from having any contact with your Great Aunt or anyone from there. Growing up became a monotonous journey of adhering to meticulous expectations and suppressing emotions that would creep in out of nowhere, sometimes late at night and continuously bang in your chest and surge through your veins like an icy slush, begging to be felt. You were expected to excel and outshine your cousins every academic year, and if you didn’t, you would have to face the grueling and mind-numbing one hour long lecture from your parents about how inferior you were to your cousins and even siblings, and how detrimental it would be to your life, if you didn’t achieve their your goals.

You felt like a hamster in a wheel, and so did your brother. Axel was no longer the same person he was. The magical life you both knew and enjoyed and that instilled a sense of possibility and hope every time you visited your Great Aunt was ripped away and holidays were never the same - no longer wonderful but rather filled with exclusive and lavish but toneless dinners with the same repetitive and dull conversations about either the successes of each person or the snide remarks about the failures of others.

You both became robots, submitting to your parents’ way of life. Axel was no longer the same. The brother you knew, who would resist and find ways to sneak around your parents’ dictator rules, became cold and distant. You noticed the haunted and hollow look in his eyes - it showed a profound emptiness filled with sadness with his expressions always mirroring a wilting flower. When he moved out to attend college (that your parents’ selected), he pulled you in a bone-crushing hug before leaving and patted the top of your head with a meek smile as tears glistened in his eyes.

“I’ll always be there for you.”

*

You had just turned 15 and by the end of the year, your world crashed and burned when you were told the worst news - Axel had jumped off a bridge and the medics were unable to save him. The weight of despair and agony crushed your whole existence, and you felt like you were drowning in an ocean of endless sadness and despair. The silent screams you would hold back erupted as an avalanche of sorrow, pain and a dark cloud of grief descended on you with tears stinging like shards of glass and the ragged gasps between sobs making it feel impossible to breathe. 

It took all the effort from your two other brothers to hold you back when one of your parents’ colleague and his wife made a snide remark about Axel when they came to offer their condolences at the memorial.

*

As for your parents, they became different people - they pretended as if Axel never existed, never told your youngest siblings who were born a few months before the event about their brother and pressured each of your siblings so pressingly, it led to the point where your eldest brother showed disdain at the mere mention of Axel’s name and your older sister iced you out if you asked anything regarding doing something for Axel’s anniversary.

Only your other brother showed some support but the bond between the two of you seemed to have become so damaged, he would retreat on his promises and disappear, ignoring you if he was passing by and you were in the room. So every night on the day of Axel’s passing, you would sit in the treehouse that became dusty and cluttered, and cry uncontrollably, secretly praying to go back to how things used to be when you were at your Great Aunt’s.

“What did we do to deserve this?”

And then, after a brutal and nasty argument with your older siblings, you studied diligently to curry favor with your parents and then requested your father to send you to an elite university in Upper New York. You decided to follow in Axel’s footsteps and work your way around your parents’ demands so that things could happen in your favor. You became calculative and observant and succeeded in proving your worth to your parents who as a gift, gave you a top position at the family’s company. Following this, you worked to establish your own personal company to help break away from your parents and move further away from your siblings. 

You took on one of your father’s failed projects and successfully achieved what your father couldn’t do. You saw things for how they were instilled in you to view - dollar signs that could help you move up even higher than before and gain unlimited independence from your family and anyone.

But your parents still tried to control one area of your life, your love life. They tried to set you up on dates and arrange courtships where possible. Luckily for you, it fell through one way or the other. 

However, despite your money-making centered lifestyle, you weren’t completely obsolete to everything. Maybe it was the part of you that learnt from Axel and continued to cherish his lessons. Even if you would never admit it, love felt more than just an arrangement to have more money. Although you were heavily ingrained in the fast-paced, upscale lifestyle, something pulled you in the other direction when it came to love.

Nevertheless, you continued to live your life day by day as it came with meetings, negotiations and the few occasions that included luxurious drinks and food at restaurants or clubs or on yachts in different parts of the world.

Until one day, after a hectic meeting you received a call from a lawyer, more specifically, your Great Aunt's lawyer. Once again, your world was interrupted with life-changing but heart wrenching news - your Great Aunt passed away just a few moments ago before you received the call and you were now the inheritor of her estate, money and home.

That night, you stood on your balcony unable to process all of it. You were now a hundred or probably a thousand times richer, but your Great Aunt who was a part of the best moments in your childhood that became vague and indistinct in your mind, was no longer here. 

Tears cascaded down your face into your concocted cocktail. This was the first time that you cried like this since your brother Axel.

You contemplated telling your parents but then decided against it, remembering that your family did not have any good things to say about your Great Aunt after all these years. This was a secret only for you to know.

And your best friend Yeonjun.

Recruiting Yeonjun, you told your parents you were accompanying him on a trip to Asia to help him secure a business deal with some clients. They paid no heed and waved you off and sent you on your travels.

Now, you were in a car outside of Seoul's airport waiting for Yeonjun to finish placing the bags in the trunk. 

It was at this moment the realization was slowly dawning on you: it had been 13 years since you last came to Seoul, which meant it had been 13 years since you last saw your friends.

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