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fllagellant · 8 months

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Tagged by my friend @aphoticfairy for Wip Wednesday ( come . Play Pretend with me . It is still Wednesday . )

Since I am nervous to tag anyone for this, please feel free to take this post as your invitation to join in if you wish ! ( also tag me so I can see , pease … )

Fic wip for a fic I like to call “ Wyll and Giilvas are going to get married also Ulder is scheming and Giilvas and Ulder are going to enact psychic warfare on each other “ it’ s a great working title !

——

The Ravengard estate. A rather proud, pompous building. Overlooking the sprawling gardens and the intricate stone archways. The hedge maze was a wonderful touch, maybe, when Ulder was younger and he would race through the hedges. Now, it was an all-consuming nightmare to keep trimmed. And it proves his internal compass has… lost its skills, so to say, he’s gotten lost many more times than he will admit.

The halls come alive at known intervals, for political parties. Or political meetings. Or for political holidays. Ulder has to pause and think hard about the last time a celebration occurred in these wall and it didn’t have some form of political weight. The resounding answer being never.

But. Nevermind that. It was still a few months off before anything should be happening. The next larger, world devorning event was the Feast of the Moon, and the many little events that it managed to spawn that Ulder was left trying to herd like righteous tressyms. Which is to say, poorly, with many colourful words, and he ends up tripping over his own feet.

He had just managed to survive the screaming, meowing, forever pissed off hoard of metaphorical tressyms for Highharvestide, and was rather content to spend a few days in bed. Dead to the world. Or in his study. Dead to the world. Or in the gardens. Once again. Dead to the world.

So he was rather concerned when he awoke to a frantic set of knocks on his study door. Reading spectacles clattered on oak floor, book that was laid politely on his lap joining them, Ulder jolted to attention when one of the maids creaked the door ajar. Blue eyes peering inward like a child, checking to see if her parents are sleeping.

“Sire? We have word of visitors. I think they’ll wish to see you, when you’re available, of course.”

She doesn’t push the door open any further, but she does not close it either. Just offers a bow of the head, and her quick footsteps mark her rapid descent down the hall.

Ulder manages to blink a few times, vision taking pity and unblurring after the third try. If he can see, then he can hear. And if he can hear, he can retroactively acknowledge what the maid-girl just said. And if he can acknowledge what was just said…

By the Gods. Give him mercy.

Highharvestide had just concluded. No one was supposed to be coming around. Unless… no. No, the ball was perfect. There would be no way any self-respecting noble would send a pageboy to deliver a message of displeasure. Not so soon, anyhow.

But maids and watchguards do not go into a state of panic over a pageboy, so who could it…?

Putting the window to use, finally pushing the lovingly embroidered curtains to the side- ah, good afternoon to you as well, shower of dust- and he tries to focus his eyes to the horizon.

There is… something! There is something coming up the front path.

He needs his glasses. Damnable things.

By the time he manages to save them from their temporary spot on the cold floor, hips be damned he can manage that bend, the something is further up the path.

Ulder gives the lenses the old one-two swipe with the cloth of his shirt to get rid of anything unneeded smudges, and finally places them back on the bridge of his nose.

Oh. By the Gods.

It’s Wyll. His boy, Wyll Ravengard. Coming up the path with singed armour and a travel pack slinging over his shoulder. He’s grinning, the lingering autumn warmth slowing his pace as he approaches. He looks well. Very much so, since the last chance Ulder had to see him. Would have brought a tear to his eye. If there wasn’t a concern pushing at the base of his skull- joyous! A migraine is already coming on.

Wyll wasn’t the concern. Wyll wasn’t the reason Ulder was feeling the need to call upon the Triad.

The hulking other, a step behind his son? That was the reason.

The Golden Rose. Giilvas Quickfoot. His boy’s betrothed. Ulder’s nightmare.

Ulder wanted to scrunch his face. In fact, he does allow his nose to wrinkle and his lips to go tight. But if he can see them, they can see him. And, since the Fates have made the decision that Ulder is their current focus of tortures, Wyll’s betrothed is scarily perceptive.

So, if he was to snarl from his study, far above them, Giilvas would see it. And made sure Ulder knew.

Instead, with an air of calm and I don’t care that you’re coming up my walk and will be inside my estate, Ulder yanks the dusty old curtains back in place. Then, he allows himself to scowl at the old embroidery that dances across the fabric. He swears he can see those mismatched eyes of the Rose staring back at him in the tapestry. And he swears they’re laughing at him.

With a dizzying clarity that he, Duke Ulder Ravengard, is about to pick a fight with his curtains, he pulls away. There’s a warm rush of embarrassment across his neck. He’s acting like a child. Get it together, he scolds himself.

It is a blessing that his boy and his… boy-in-law? Were coming for a visit. They’ll probably spend the night out at the tavern, and they’ll spend only an hour or two here.

Ulder smooths out the wrinkles in his shirt, and affirms his thoughts. He would not demand Wyll stay the night here. And besides, this was just a visit. It wasn’t like the two of them were coming to the estate with world-changing news. The two of them were travellers- one of which had Ulder’s respect, but that was besides the point- they’d probably be seen leaving Baldur’s Gate by the dawn of the ‘morrow.

Now, time to take his place in the foyer, and wait for his welcomed guests to step inside.

——

“Father, we plan to be wedded!”

Ulder Ravengard was going to smash something. Over his head? Over the head of the smug man clinging to his son? Both of them?

Yes. Both of them, he decides. But, since the Fates chose that their newest decree would make it so no butler bearing two heavy bottles of wine came through the foyer at that instant, Ulder chose the high road.

He smiles, he knows it isn’t quite reaching his eyes but what can he do, and he nods like a village fool at the excitement in Wyll’s voice. There was something soft in his chest, seeing his son so… happy. He truly desires this, he wants the wedding. And he wants his father to know. It was sweet and Ulder wondered why he was so bitter a moment ago.

“Of course, this means I am here to ask for your permission, Mr. Ravengard.”

Suddenly, and without warning, Ulder Ravengard was bitter again. Wonder who caused that.

Giilvas kept a large hand almost permanently interlocked with Wyll’s, and Ulder has half a mind to tell him that Wyll isn’t going to run away on him. But the other half?

Oh.

Oh. It was planning. Spinning a web, even. Laying a dastardly trap. And the Rose would walk right into it.

“Of course. It would be wrong of me to deny you both from each other. But… May I make a request?” Ulder notes how Giilvas nods rather enthusiastically. And how Wyll nods, but slower. Brow furrowing just enough to faintly recrease his forehead. By the Helm, was he already onto him? Ulder didn’t think he was that predictable.

Well, he cannot back down now. He was the Duke, dammit. Dukes do not tuck tail and run.

“I would like to aid in the wedding. You’ll,” and Ulder locks his eyes with Wyll, making sure the fact that the you in this case is singular well known, “ have full access to our coffers for planning. We can even host the ceremony here. The garden can be kept alive by magic, you see-“

“You make it sound like we’ll be wed in the winter.” Giilvas cuts in, and Wyll eyes his father knowingly. Too knowingly. Ulder, suddenly, finds the wall behind Wyll far easier to lock eyes with.

“I was getting to that. You see, to make sure this wedding is perfect, you’ll both have to stay here. Allows us all to plan and have everything ready. It will be perfect, between Uktar thirtieth and Nightal first.”

Wyll sucks in a gasp.

“But that’s the Feast of the Moon-“

Giilvas’ eyebrows shoot up to his hairline, things slotting into place with Wyll’s words.

“You plan to wed us on the night for the Ball of the Moon.”

Clever boy.

“I think it would be grand. Wouldn’t it?” It also gives him the time to try and scare away the rapscallion that is trying to take his boy from him.

But, in a twist that Ulder feels more shock at the fact he did not see this coming, rather than the twist itself, Giilvas smiles at him. Not really a smile, top lip pulled too far back and it seems to refuse to reach his eyes, but he made the face all the same. It is the thought that counts.

“It’s a deal, gracious Duke Ravengard.”

Oh, the boy wishes to play the game with him? So be it.

Wyll eyes the both of them as they seal the deal with a shake. He is aware, the third party always is, but that only means Ulder will have to choose subtly. Espionage can win a war. It wasn’t like Giilvas knew how to navigate a noble home or the ecosystem of one. He has home advantage- literally.

He holds his potentially probably not son-in-law’s gaze for a few moments that last a century, seeing if he’ll shy away from the eye contact. When those mismatched eyes start to look like they’re laughing at him, Ulder releases the hand and turns to call for someone else.

“I’ll make sure a bed is prepared for you, my good man. And Wyll? Your room is the same as when you left. Make yourself comfortable once more, my son.”

He makes a mental note to tell the maid to make up Giilvas’ room on the opposite wing of the estate. Good luck avoiding squeaky floors in the night, foolboy.

For now, he guides the boys to deposit their belongings and encourages them to shed the heavier layers of armour. Might as well let them have as much comfort as they can now.

Hell stained metal and fabric collect alongside their travel bags, and Ulder holds his tongue. He will ask his son about it all later. The battles. The terrors. The cruelty. Now was not the time for any of it. Especially not when his son was still buzzing with the energy of announcing the plan for marriage.

“Father, are the gardens in good shape right now?”

Ulder knew was Wyll was asking for, and he reminded himself of the eye bags under Giilvas’ eyes. They both must be exhausted. And it would be cruel and unusual to try and being the warfare when one party was in poor condition. Ulder was nothing, if not a merciful man.

“Oh, go ahead Wyll. Everything will be taken care of in here.”

That damn warmth spread in his chest, seeing Wyll relock his hand with Giilvas’ own. He gives a tug, pulling the larger man along, and Ulder cannot help but sigh wistfully when Wyll mentions the maze to Giilvas. They’re going to get lost in there. Ulder knows it to be true.

But, with them both gone and busy, Ulder can plan with no risk of ever-watchful eyes catching him.

How does one drive away a man like Giilvas Quickfoot. It was time to delve into the worlds of speculation and trial and error.

He won’t be empty handed.

#bg3 #bg3 tav #giilvas #wyll #wyll ravengard #ulder ravengard #willow trees #wyll/tav #wip wednesday #wip whenever #bg3 fic

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vale-isei · 7 months

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Headcanons #2

◉ Dynamic and his brothers are Aurorian royalty. Fatal and Dynamic are princes, and Sonder as the oldest is the supposed king (Sonder married Enouement and gave him the full title of “King”, hence why Enouement is the main leader of the Republic of Aurora (though he doesn’t like being addressed as “Your Majesty”, etc.)). Dynamic, unlike his siblings, carries his title with pride. As the youngest, he has a lot to prove as an Aurorian Prince serving in the Days Union. He’s very flamboyant with his status.

Also going off of this huge headcanon: Macabre joined the Union the same time as Dynamic for obvious reasons. Sonder and Enouement commanded him to be Dynamic’s bodyguard, and since his new assignment, Macabre has been watchguarding Dynamic. From this stemmed a comfortable friendship between them.

Most of the Union likes or at least tolerates Dynamic. Except Radiant.

◉ Sorrowful isn’t from this time period. He grew up in Brazil, 2041.

◉ If you have ever watched Hannibal, you know Will Graham and his unique thinking process. I headcanon Practical to have the same thinking process: walking in someone else’s shoes, thinking of every little detail and re-enacting it in his head. “This is my design.” He can perfectly imagine a scenario, a thought, and use it at will. For example, he will sit at his desk and close his eyes. Every little noise fades away as he thinks about the blueprint of a new circuit board. He can see every wire, feel the warmth of every spark---the entire experience feels so surreal. He can take apart this mental image of the circuit board in his head, over and over again until he comes up with the most exceptional design. Once he has it, Practical opens his eyes and draws out the blueprints. Another example could be strategizing battlefield plans with Great, Scary and Dreadful. The three of them will be talking, but Practical closes his eyes and shuts out the noise. Everything around him fades into the battlefield setting. Practical can see the future movements of the enemy soldiers and predict multiple outcomes. He can see every enemy cannon placement, the exact formations made, the physical conditions surrounding the battlefield. Upon opening his eyes, he knows what to do.

This ability is completely unique. It’s the process of elimination and imagination intensified by the thousands. (As you can see, I admire Will Graham’s thinking process very much)

Of course, there are repercussions to having this ability. Intense imagination can be a blessing as much as it is a curse. Endless nightmares, constant thoughts of horrible outcomes, just to name a few.

◉ Unstable has a mechanical right hand. A night creature bit his hand and Benevolent… well. Benevolent had an axe and only a few moments before the infection reached Unstable’s brain. You can surely put two and two together on what ensued.

◉ Dreadful wears two inch-heeled boots, the reason being, “It’ll hurt harder when I kick someone in the balls”. He also enjoys the clicking noise they make on metal platforms and tiled floors. And it “coincidentally” boosts his height.

◉ Nobody has ever seen Sorrowful’s face except Scary (but nobody knows that).

◉ On that note, Placid has only ever revealed his face to Macabre and Practical.

#days union #days union roblox #valedysduwriting

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if-haber · 1 year

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Siber Sigortanın MSP’lere Sağladığı 5 Fayda Siber saldırganların durmaksızın yeni hedefler aradığı günümüz tehdit ortamında, şirketlerin siber sorumluluk sigortası ile desteklenen iyi bir siber güvenlik ...

#WatchGuard

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dirtyoldmanhole · 11 months

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fuck it, have a decently long slowburn excerpt, this was morbidly fun to write.

Xander confronts Gunter on his relationship with Corrin, set right about "Black Flame" in Revelation.

unedited.

Discipline was even more crucial in these knife-edged days when former enemies and bloodied soldiers were spending every waking hour in close quarters; the old knight had no illusions that many of them had fought on the same battlefield on opposite sides, and that the whole camp could erupt into seething tensions over old grudges or quarrels at any day.

Such matters, he debated, might’ve just become a non-issue with the arrival of the last Nohrian royal.

Crown Prince Xander—young black diamond and star of the Nohrian kingdom—was a powerfully built figure, especially on horseback where he preferred to lead the ever-shifting tides of warfare from. At twenty-nine tender years, he was in his prime and a lion that boasted the reverence of the army and the grudging respect of the mages guild for his matchless prowess in the battlefield.

Xander was also Garon’s favoured sword to use to bring miscreants into line, an association that the old knight had never forgotten since the days of the Concubine Wars.

The very same blonde princling had been pacing outside the healer’s tent for him, strangely enough, and glanced up with recognition when Gunter strode out. He was thankful that his nose was not bloodied as an embarrassment, small mercies, though the old knight was sure his luck would run out soon.

As if reading his mind, fate obliged.

"Sir Gunter, a word in private, if you will."

“Of course, your majesty.”

Trailing respectfully a step behind and to the side in the customary position, the old knight followed the prince further into the twisty dark recesses of the volcanic rocks that made the canyon, beyond earshot of the watchguards who were long since distracted to even care about their conversation. Everyone was either paying attention to the circus amok in the camp or too uneasy by the Bottomless Canyon’s endless gloom to care about two figures slipping away.

Gunter would have to lay into the watchguards for their slip, after this conversation.

“I would have your thoughts on Princess Corrin.” Xander’s expression was smooth and polished. Too smooth. “I have reports that you have spent considerable time with her as of late.”

The trap was carefully worded, carefully deniable. And yet, Gunter was all too aware of court politics to see the naked dagger ensheathed in the other hand, behind the open hand. It was fitting that this prideful lion would be the one of the royal siblings to come with this particular threat at hand.

Gunter had known the court would make its opinion on their relations clear, at some point.

“Milady Corrin is a natural leader and well equipped to lead this force.” Gunter replied back with forced neutrality. “She has bridged tensions that will benefit Nohr and its citizens immensely in the coming years.”

Xander gave a pitying smile. “With all due respect, sir knight, I am referring to more personal time.”

Gunter stayed silent, waiting. The prince was not done, and it would not do to interrupt the inevitable dressing-down that came from the highest ranks. He grimly considered with the darkest humour it was a warped honour that somebody no less than the crown prince would consider the dalliances of such an elderly knight worthy of his time.

"Girls like her are... flighty." The worst part was he could tell by the Prince’s pitying expression he meant the words as a kindness. Xander fiddled with the cuff of his white riding glove, a half smirk playing on his face in an obvious attempt at the unsavoury male bonding that went on behind doors. "You do know silly chits like that. Fancies, whims of fantasy, such adorable little crushes. Wonderful when they're young flowers, simply wonderful to remember such beauties exist."

Gunter tasted blood intermingled with raw hatred on his tongue as the Nohrian prince continued, oblivious. "In time these girls will bloom, and they too have their own purpose with proper marriages as according to our esteemed tradition. And that one is simply too..." There was a gleam in Xander's eye as the crown prince licked his lips, such a predatory gleam the old knight had to suppress a powerful urge to rip the royal's throat out on the spot with his gauntlets. "Simply too unique, as a true flower among many such blossoms in Nohr to be picked so willy-nilly. Her future will be just so."

To be wasted on someone like you, was the clear threat. A desiccated ghost of a commoner that didn't deserve a single touch of hers.

If you only knew, prince. It was hard to resist the contemptuous sneer. If Xander had been any other Nohrian man, honour stipulated that the old knight would strike him down on the spot.

You truly are one of Garon's own, crown prince. A fitting legacy for him.

'I'm disappointed in you, Gunter. Nohr will not be kind to the choices made here." It was the only glance that Xander deigned to meet his with. And still, the old knight stood with his gaze burning into the cliff wall slightly to the right, his jaw flexing with cold fury. There was nothing the old knight could fucking act on except take the barbs on the chin with stoicism of a stone statue. Any such open defiance would be the certain death of his lover’s strained little alliance.

In that moment, It was the only thread of reason that restrained his hand from acts of cold murder, and regicide.

"My lady Corrin will make her own decisions, as she has always done." Gunter replied flatly, an abyss of malice flavouring every syllable. And I will ensure that to my last breath, scion of Nohr and blight upon this world.

Xander looked askance, almost looking boredly disappointed at the reminder.

"So she will."

"Is there anything more, my lord?"

The prince didn't even meet his eyes now, fluttering a hand in clear disdain. "No, I suppose that will be it. Dismissed."

Your delicate little flower has bloomed under my hand, so strong and beautiful that you come running to her feet like a bitch in heat, Gunter ached to hiss in his ear as the old knight stiffly stalked past the crown prince. You, my tender royal, are ensnared in her garden now, in ways you are eternally blind to—that same garden I have tended for decades—and your grave will be buried there, at her feet.

At her feet and mine.

But he stayed silent.

For Corrin, for his love, for her plans, for his plans—Gunter stayed silent, and fervently begged to any god or devil that would listen that his revenge would taste as profoundly sweet as he had fantasised for decades.

#gunter slowburn liveblog

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