#as well as between her and the warden pride!

[the-friendly-warden]

I dunno if these guys will eventually get their own blog or not, but I got the idea of a necromancer becoming allies with a warden, then I remembered a character I created in high school, Mezrith, a melanistic deep elf necromancer who was also a vampire and his familiar a white cat he creatively named "Cat". So he's been reborn, and has been adopted into a warden pride.

You can interact with them and ask them questions if you want!

Voryth is actually Zylarath's sire.

Seraphis: Usually fairly lazy, but can be very aggressive and territorial like a normal warden. His colors are more towards greens. He will sometimes try to challenge Ophelion for leadership of the pride, but always fails. The big, powerful old warden can easily kick his ass to the surface and back again any time he tries. This never seems serious, and they always get along just fine after one of these noisy spats

Ophelion: Incredibly old and powerful. Thick in build, tall and muscular. The long bone growths denote his age and power. Ophelion is surprisingly patient, especially with Seraphis. His power is immense. Ophelion can flatten most other wardens simply due to age, experience, and size. His territory is vast and well established, and very healthy. He's a good pride leader, looking after Seraphis and Voryth and keeping them safe. He's sired cubs with both of the smaller wardens, though the pride doesn't have any cubs currently.

Voryth: Fairly chill. They may be where Zylarath got their friendly demeanor from. Voryth does have the natural territorial nature of a warden, but they generally don't really care too much. They leave all that stuff up to Ophelion. They very much look up to the big warden.

Mezrith: A deep elf who grew up in a viciously abusive home, seen as cursed due to a birth mark on his chest (Not shown, he keeps it covered). He was seen as a bane on the family he was born to, and his brother, Triew, was especially nasty to him. He ran away from home and took up studying necromancy when he was around 12 years old. He learned a lot as he grew, but he ended up getting exposed to the blood of a vampire, which caused him to turn. This angered him because it made necromancy MUCH harder. He found notes about wardens, and decided to try to seek out the sculk, to see if he could learn how their sentinels worked. If he could figure out how to harness sculk spores to animate corpses, it would take far less energy and he could get his vengeance. He eventually encountered Ophelion, who sensed that the deep elf was hurting and had been through a lot of pain and strife in his life. The big warden decided to adopt the elf into his pride, despite Mezrith being in the equivalent of his 30's. While he wasn't so sure at first, having a found family that treated him well made him feel a lot better. He ended up deciding against seeking vengeance because he realized it wasn't worth it. His family was cruel and chaotic, they'd have their own downfall given enough time and he would be thriving with his familiar and his new family. He's generally quiet, cranky, is not fond of people at all. He gets along well with the three wardens, though has a special bond with Ophelion.

"Cat": This is not her real name. Cat is a grimalkin, a creature that can be compared to a sort of fae cat. They are shapeshifters, able to take a human form, highly intelligent. They always have split tails and are poly-dactyl. Cat, of course, is not her real name. She posed as a normal cat to give Mezrith comfort when he was with his abusive family, and once he was away from them she revealed her true nature, shaking off the glamour spell that cloaked her. She decided to keep the name "Cat" because she found it amusing just how "creative" Mezrith was at naming. She's spoiled, can be sassy, confident, and not at all afraid of the wardens. Grimalkin are fierce and proud creatures, and incredibly powerful in their own right. She has a special bond with Voryth, often sitting on their shoulder. She is known to sometimes flirt with the warden in her human form, because seeing them get flustered amuses her. She's a bit of a trickster. She loves food.

#Warden #Minecraft #Deep Elf #OC #Cat #Grimalkin #I made Mezrith when I was in high school xD #It's really nice to be able to breathe new life into an old character I adored back in the day #Cat underwent the biggest change #She went from just a normal pet cat that got turned into a vampire to keep her alive #And became one of my Grimalkin species #Magical fae cats that can shapeshift into a humanoid shape with human intelligence #It makes her a lot more fun and can give rise to some really amusing dynamics between the two #as well as between her and the warden pride!

[aboxofcereales]

I’m slowly working on a piece of paper about changes in Wyll’s character between early access and game release, but I don’t really know when I’m going to finish it, in the process I’m more and more fascinated by potential story of Wyll’s parentage and their own story. Although mostly this is purely headcanon, but may I suggest the following:

There are few things we learn about Wyll’s mother during the game.

After stumbling upon Arabella in Shadow-Cursed Lands, a following dialogue may happen: “You've talked about your father, but not your mother. Why's that?” “Because there's nothing to tell. She died when I was born. As a boy, my bond with father was too deep to miss the mother I never had. Now, well - I'd be lying if I said I'd never thought about my mother. What life would've been like if she'd lived.”

During romance scene in Act 3, Wyll says: “My mother always said the Wilden Oak's acorns held just a touch of wishing magic.”

There are two weapons, belonging to Ulder Ravengard, which describe some details about Wyll’s parents - Duke Ravengard's Longsword (can be found on Ravengard himself) and Ravengard's Scourger (can be found at High Security Vault 5 in The Counting House): Longsword: “Cradling his newborn son awkwardly, the Duke's face pulled into a rictus of misery. His love Francesca smiled at him, briefly, and died. He stared at her until the boy cried, and he told the boy it would be all right, though he himself did not believe it.” Scourger: “Duke Ravengard's father was the sort of man who works with his hands, and communicates in grunts. In his heart his son vowed to do better. But when Wyll was born, Ravengard felt a strange gravity that drew him away from his son.”

To sum up, what we learn in-game is that Wyll’s mother was named Francesca, she died giving birth to Wyll, Ulder loved her and their son, and tried his best to raise Wyll well.

Ulder’s parenting style deserve its own piece, but I think its obvious that he cares for Wyll deeply, though often failed to show it, acted to strictly, to righteously. Ultimately, it fall down on Ulder character, the “Murder in Baldur’s Gate” describes him as following: “Blaze (Major) Ulder Ravengard is the incarnation of militarism. The only beauty he appreciates is precision, and the only quality he values is utility. He believes that personal ornamentation other than military insignia is a waste. A meticulous man, he forgets nothing and forgives less. Ravengard has never married and has no interest in domestic matters. Someone might consider him handsome, if not for his constant scowl and many scars.

Blaze Ravengard is Marshal Abdel Adrian’s right hand man. He is both the second Highest ranking officer in the flaming fist and the warden of Wyrm’s rock. Ravengard’s soliders do not love him. They do respect his leadership, however, and pay for it with their obedience, which is exactly how Ravengard prefers things.

Naturally stolid and terse, Ravengard is slow to speak and make decisions in any arena expect the battlefield. Once he decides on a course of action, Ravengard is relentless in it’s pursuit. He believes the Flaming Fist is the Gate’s backbone and the key to the city’s strength.

With the Death of Marshal Abdel Adrian Ravengard has risen to the Rank of Marshal of the Flaming Fists.”

What’s interesting, its noted that Ulder Ravengard was never married, and the longsword description calls Francesca Ulder’s love, not bride or wife. This more then likely mean that Wyll was born out of wedlock, as Wyll is about 16-17 during  the death of Abdel Adrian.

When talking with Counseller Florrick, when Wyll is reveled to be Ravengard’s son, he says “The circumstance of my birth is no matter of pride for neither me nor my father.” This may refer to Wyll’s birth leading to his mother’s death or the fact that Wyll’s technically was born a bastard. In the latter case, Wyll’s mom might as well have been a worker at  Sharess' Caress, with whom Ulder could have had a one night stand, but its specifically stated that Francesca was loved by Ulder, and of what I read about the Grabd Duke he seems to be the man who would marry her out of duty and responsibility of getting her pregnant. So there should be another reason behind it.

 There’s this banter between Shadowheart and romanced-Wyll:

“Someone of your social stature, Wyll, are they typically allowed to pursue their heart whims as they like?” “I don't have to ask for permission if that's what you mean.” “Really? I'm surprised, I thought dowries, alliances and old blue blood feuds might have to be balanced against your desires.” “I'm my own man, Shadowheart, in this sense at least.”

Wyll’s a hopeless romantic, who wishes for a happily ever after with her one true love, and Ulder apparently never minded the potential social status, despite him and Wyll being a high-ranking member of society.

Of course, Ulder’s marital status and Wyll existing can be explained by the fact that Wyll being Grad Duke Ulder Ravengard’s  son was a part of the character rewrite. It was datamined before that originally was supposed to be a great-grandson of Duke Eltan, the founder of the Flaming Fist and a Grand Duke of the city of Baldur's Gate in the 1300s DR. And the bits of this storyline are still presented in the game: Fist Art Cullagh with his original writ of duty, signed by Eltan himself, pre-final part of Wyll quest taking place in the Iron Throne, where Eltan nearly assassinated.

Currently, House Eltan, the descendants of Duke Eltan, is one of the noble patriar families. The Forgotten Realms wiki states that: “The family held partial financial ownership of the Flaming Fist mercenary company. At one point however, they were forced to sell their interest to help pay significant debts they had incurred.”. Which I believe corelates with what EA!Wyll spoke of his father (the man saw any shining bauble he liked and took it, and my hand were ever so stinky or smt along those line).

So, what if Wyll is still Elatn’s great-grandson through hid mother? What if somewhere along 1460s DR Francesca Eltan, a granddaughter of a once Grand Duke of the city and a member of  patriar family, met Ulder Ravengard, a son of a poor blacksmith and a mercenary of The Flaming Fist, steadily ascending through its ranks? What if Franceesca taught the stern and disciplined Ulder to dance, read to him her favorite stories and poems under the Wilden Oak, made him on other things then duty and order? What is if their time together resulted in Francesca getting pregnant with Wyll? What her family did not approve of the union due to Ulder being merely a mercenary, who hailed from the Lower City, or they wished to marry her off to someone who could aid with the family’s financial problems? What if Francesca ran away, hoping that the birth of a grandchild could convince her family to attend their wedding afterwards? What if Wyll’s love of dancing and dreaming came from the mother he never knew?

#baldur's gate 3 #bg 3 #wyll ravengard #ulder ravengard #bg3 wyll #wyll bg3 #wyll #in my mind ea!Wyll and gr!Wyll are the same person #just one was take in by the Eltans #and another was raised by his father #I just wish the game provided more contents for Wyll #and Ulder for that matter #there is so much more the could’ve done #gods

[siilvan]

IT'S GIVING JEALOUS-IN DENIAL-GRUMPY-SIMP!MAKAROV I- im crying

oh god i've never seen that first pic, the way he's leaned back and sorta manspreading… good lord i need him in ways disastrous to feminism. till he forgets his tragic past. gonna make him forget he wants to take over the world, save humanity frfr

*ahem* this, uh… i'm not responsible for this drabble, loosely bloodsport-based but more or less just simping, enjoy bestie 🤭

(little bit of suggestiveness BTC, y'all have been hungry for him anyway <3)

ангел – angel (pronounced as written, with a hard 'g' lol)

мое небо/moye nebo – my heaven

he is not a man often annoyed by the "small things" but this, this sight has his blood boiling beneath his skin.

you're standing across the room, about fifteen paces away, chatting with one of his captains. a loyal soldier and a fine field commander, often successful when fulfilling his orders, and makarov's willing to admit: not an unattractive man by most standards. the captain is allowed to walk behind him for a reason, he's pleased with his work.

but, he is just a captain. he holds only a sliver of the power that makarov holds. of the people in the room, he is a mere ant, something that he could crush under his boot in a fit of rage and the only quarrel would be disposing of the body. why are you so interested in him? are you not drawn in to the strength, the pride, the influence that makarov has?

he shifts in his seat, leaning forward and letting his eyes narrow at the sight. your back is to him, but the captain— oh, the captain knows very well what the look makarov sends his way means.

you've encroached on my territory.

makarov doesn't hear the next words quickly stuttered out by the man, but it's shortly after that he nods in farewell and darts out of the room. like a child being scolded; the smile that pulls at the edge of his lips gives away his feeling of cruel satisfaction. no matter how esteemed any of his men may be, he stands alone at the top.

you blink at the door after the captain darts out before visibly shrugging and shaking your head. you turn around, eyes immediately finding his, and some unfamiliar sensation tugs at makarov's heart when he catches the glimmer of familiarity in your gaze.

he shifts again, leaning back into a more relaxed position. with your attention on him once more, he can allow his shoulders to drop, his rigid posture to soften. just keep your eyes on him.

"let me guess – that excuse of 'i need to clean my knives' was actually meant to mean, 'my commander is glaring daggers at me?'" you ask, crossing the space in a leisurely stroll, far more collected than when you first arrived several weeks ago.

he chuckles, lifting a hand to signal to his soldier standing nearby. "warden, give us some space."

the masked woman's gaze flits between you two, before she responds with a single nod and a clipped "yes, commander." she marches out of the room and the door clicks shut behind her, leaving you standing alone in front of him.

"if he has time to chat, he has time to work." makarov says, his hips briefly lifting as he adjusts his position, head lolling back just slightly to look up at you.

"that's a shitty way to boost morale," you comment, mouth briefly twitching up into a bemused smile nonetheless. "why did you really send him away?"

he dismisses your question, shaking his head. "i suppose i shouldn't be surprised that a woman of your position is observant, should i?"

you smile, again, wider and longer this time. "no, you shouldn't." you mutter.

for a moment, you two are left in that position, locked in a stalemate of neither person wanting to make the next move. observing the other, attempting to read their thoughts through nothing but minimal body language. you shift your weight from one leg to the other, hands clasping in front of yourself as you tilt your head to the side slightly, barely noticeable.

your next move.

makarov says nothing more as he pats his knee, silently giving a command. it's not a question, not a request— there is no uncertainty in the action.

he catches the flash of hesitation that crosses your face, and in reply, he offers his hand. the red light cascading over the room could almost be mistaken for an omen, a sign of what is to come in the distant future as soon as you place your hand in his.

he pulls you forward, gently, urging you to close the distance yourself. take the final leap.

carefully, you step forward and place your legs on either side of his, knees pressing into the plush cushions of the sofa as you let your weight rest on his thighs. your free hand, originally awkwardly sitting at your side, comes to rest on his bicep before lightly skating up to clutch his shoulder, the crisp fabric of his suit soft under your touch.

he draws you closer still, arm moving to circle around your middle, bringing you forward until your chests are flush, your rapidly-beating heart a contrast to his own, thumping steadily as he lifts your hand to his lips, pressing an uncharacteristically chaste kiss against your skin.

"he is not worth your time, ангел." he murmurs, lowering your hand.

"and, you are?" you ask, brows lifting curiously with the question.

"by birth right, i am," he replies quickly, voice low but confident. he isn't hiding the confession, he's reserving it for your ears alone. "no matter how many men may catch your eye for a fleeting moment, no matter how many think they stand in front of me in the queue for your hand, i will always be at the front, even if i must eliminate the competition to do so. i was born superior, i alone am worthy of your grace, мое небо."

a small part of you wants to argue, to tell him no, he has to earn that privilege, but a far larger part of you keens at his words, at his hands on you, gloved fingertips dancing along your spine and digging into the plush of your hip.

"you seem awfully confident for a man silently begging to be touched." you mutter, a sharp exhale escaping you when his hand leaves your hip to slowly slide up your side, thumb trailing along your front and stopping just below the curve of your breast.

he chuckles, dropping to a gravelly whisper as his lips hover mere inches from yours, dark eyes boring into yours and rendering you immobile.

"kiss me, then." he says, unabashed. "please, ангел." he adds after a beat, tongue darting out to wet his lips. the darkness in his gaze gives way to hunger, like a beast eyeing prey, waiting for it to run so he can give chase.

you draw in a breath, metaphorically and physically swallowing down the hesitation that bubbles up again. he has you right where he wants you, caught in his trap, but as his hands push you down, his hips raising again to press right into your clothed core, you find that you suddenly don't care.

you practically fall into his embrace, cupping his jaw and pressing your lips to his, matching the predator in hunger; like a rabbit leaping on a wolf instead. his firm grip becomes almost painful as he tugs you impossibly closer, his hand coming up to the nape of your neck, holding you in place against him.

you should have expected him to take over, to reclaim his spot in control. the most makarov will ever do is share, which alone is an honor, but he will never completely give his control away.

you're falling deeper, watching the light fade as you burrow farther into the earth, further into the pitch blackness that is him. it's hard to care, nigh impossible to think about anything else when you're so far down the rabbit hole.

worry about his touch, his lips, the satisfied rumble in his chest when he practically purrs your name against your lips. everything else can wait.

#went a little crazy sorry #btw the only reason why i didn’t finish bloodsport last night #is because i was outlining a historical au for the series… #so even once bloodsport is finished.. there’s at least two spinoff/au fics planned currently #i make no promises but that’s where i’m at LMAO #sylph.replies #sylph.writes

[socialprawn]

My desire demon mini essay on why im mad theyre not in dai and why theyre so misunderstooood </3

In order to make my point I wanna describe the concept of what a desire demon is in the franchise. She is a demon who seeks to experience the thrills of living outside of the Fade, using her victims as her vessel. She may use sex as a weapon, but in the game the only notable time this happens is with the Warden when they enter Connor's mind (as an option).

Even if her appearance and attitude are alluring/sexy, the instances where we see a desire demon in action is when she fulfills desires that are almost always not sexual. Connor desired to rescue his father from dying, Amalia wanted a cat, Allure offered political power to lady Harrimann in exchange of her family. I think this contrast is what confused both fandom (example: we want incubus demons, people aren't only into women!) and the franchise itself (It's the mid 10's and desire demons have no place in DA:I! which I disagree.)

They are described as the second most powerful demons after pride demons, and sometimes the lines between the two blur. Where pride demons seek to dominate their vessel and then the world around them, desire demons co-depend. They feed on their emotions and life experiences, they seek to fulfill them as well as despair them. I think a good example of pride/desire difference is Connor. The desire demon seeking world domination was not expressed in the same way a pride demon would have, in my opinion, because she was put in a position to possess royalty, and what's more thrilling than to abuse that power?

This is why I feel really sad when I didn't see the desire demons in DA:I. During an apocalyptic scenario, what better time for a desire demon to use the rifts and experience the thrills of living outside the Fade, which is their whole premise? Maybe it can be said that they don't enjoy fighting like other demons, but they have proven to be able to amass armies, and in an event where demons are able to dominate Thedas, why not fight? (Imagine Mass effect banshee-like fights guwaaahhh) They have the upper hand. And even then, I believe with so many people's desperation over the rift ripping apart and desiring safety, it would have been so easy for a desire demon to utilize those common fears and vow for their 'well being'.

Maybe their designs and attitudes, as nice as they are (I LOVE THEM 😭) they managed to confuse their concept. It's really easy to see them as a simple sex succubus, and she can be at very little instances (I can only think of the ONE that I mentioned but I want to finish replaying the games to really know), but they are for the most part demons who fulfill dreams, at a heavy cost and with great trickery. What also confuses their concept might be their initial association with with the sin of Lust, which is what they're based off. The writers clearly didn't want them to go that way, but the designers did 😂

Anyways... i will go touch grass now :V

#desire demons theyre never gonna make me forget about u #im aware its not profound but im speaking of my own observations 🫡

[lovelyladyabsinthewrites]

A Stark Bride

Pairing(s): Aegon Targaryen x Stark!Reader, Aegon Targaryen x Visenya Targaryen, Aegon Targaryen x Rhaenys Targaryen

Warnings: mentions of inc3st cuz you know how targaryens be

Words: 2642

Summary: Aegon Targaryen reduced your father, Torrhen Stark, to a mere lord. The Targaryen conqueror had taken the title of king for himself. You wanted to depise them, those beautiful Targaryens with their lavender eyes and silver tresses. But they were beautifu. Terrifying and beautiful just like their dragons.

Silver hair. Rich lavender eyes. Dragons as large as the castle of Winterfell. Targaryen invaders. Your family had heard whispers of the Targaryens slowly making their way through the country, claiming everything as their’s. And now they had made it to the north. They had made your father, Torrhen Stark, bend the knee; surrendering his title as King in the North. A title that had been in your family for generations. Indignation rose in you but what could you do? You may have had direwolves but they were nothing compared to three dragons. To stay alive and ensure the Stark legacy went on, he had to agree to the terms. At least Aegon had still let him keep the north in his domain, naming him Warden. It was better than nothing. Well, that’s what your father tried to convince you; but even his words were laced with wounded pride at having to hand over the north to a foreign ruler.

The Targrayens, Aegon and his equally beautiful sister-wives, decided to stay to take in the splendor of the north; their newly conquered kingdom. Everyone was on edge at their stay, even more so with their ferocious dragons lurking above. You would admit though that they were beautiful creatures. Something you never thought you’d see in your entire life. Your own direwolf, Cerelia, was massive.

*

She was taller than you by two heads and was nearly as tall as Aegon himself. Their dragons were different though.

Beautiful and terrifying, just like their riders.

After Aegon announced that he and his sisters would be staying for a little while longer you kept to yourself and stayed mostly inside of your chambers or in the godswood. Cerelia being your constant companion. But you knew your direwolf needed her exercise and to stretch her massive limbs. It wasn’t fair to keep her locked up with you just because you didn’t want to see the faces of the people who stripped your father of his title.

Having made up your mind, you and Cerelia leave the castle and make your way out through the gates. Immediately Cerelia takes off in a run. You grin and follow suit. The two of you weaved between trees in a dizzying manner, the cold air burning in your lungs but how you loved the sensation. Mid-run you pounce onto Cerelia’s back; once she’s feels you seated she runs faster through the woods. You release a carefree laugh, feeling so giddy. It had been a while since you had last felt like that.

A screech from up above made Cerelia halt in her tracks, her bright yellow eyes lifting up. The earth trembled slightly as the screech became louder, closer. The Black Dread known as Balerion parts the trees to make his entrance. Cerelia steps back, hackles raised and the skin on her snout curling in a snarl. In an attempt to soothe her you run your hand over her night black fur. Ground shaking as Balerion finally landed you have to crane your neck all the way up to see his rider. Aegon.

“Fancy seeing you here Lady Stark.” He shouts from atop his dragon. Balerion lowers himself even more to allow Aegon to get off. His giant wings had caused the bordering trees around him to crack and bend, ultimately breaking them. Enormous trees that had been there since the First Men and the Children of the Forest. You feel your cheeks flare again with anger. This foreign king didn’t care about your land. Even less about the history.

Bristling a bit, you keep your tone cordial and cold. “I could say the same for you. Taking a gander of what you have won?”

His smile is light and you catch the shine of his eyes the closer he gets to you. “The north is truly a beautiful place. A bit too chilly for my comfort though.”

“You get used to it.” Recalling your manners, you get off of Cerelia. As you do so Balerion shifts and moves until his snout is mere feet from you. You panic and jump back a bit. To your surprise Cerelia doesn’t seem as concerned about the dragon being so close to you. Instead she swiftly goes in front of you and gives Balerion’s snout a sniff. She looks back to you as if telling you that you shouldn’t be such a chicken.

“It’s alright.” comforts Aegon. “He won’t hurt you.”

Hesitantly you ask him skeptically “You sure about that?”

“Not entirely. But your direwolf seems to be sure.” He points out as Cerelia now abandons you to go sniff Aegon. He chuckles as her wet nose prods at his neck and moves up to his forehead, giving his silver hair a lick and making it stand up. Balerion, seemingly wanting to get familiar with you as Cerelia was doing with Aegon, goes over to your frozen form as you stare at him with wide eyes. His whole entire head was simply enormous. Red eyes peer into you as he inhales and breathes out hot air into your face. With the confidence that only a huge creature such as himself could possess, he bumps his snout gently against your forehead. His scales are hot but not unpleasant.

Gingerly you take your glove off and stretch it out to press your fingertips experimentally underneath his chin. Unblinking red eyes close, content with your touch.

“He likes you.” Aegon pipes up finally, having been silent during the whole interaction. “He would never have let anyone else touch him.”

“I suppose I should be lucky then.”

“Lucky indeed.” When you turn your attention back to Aegon you find him smiling so gently at you that it makes your cheeks burn in an entirely different way.

You take note that his sisters are nowhere to be find. “Where are your sister? I never see one without the other.”

Absentmindedly, he waves his hand in the air. “They’re exploring as well. We all need our personal space. Now tell me, Lady Stark, enlighten me about the north.”

You raise an eyebrow, surprised at his request. He offers his arm to you and as if on cue, Balerion lifts back up into the sky. You shoot Cerelia a timid look. To reassure you, she slowly blinks her eyes.

Taking Aegon’s arm, you lead him through the forest. Telling him all about the north’s history. All that had been bred into you. All that you and your family were.

*

Compared to her sister, Rhaenys was much more mild-mannered. An easy-going personality that was hard not to like. Rhaenys had already managed to win a few hearts of the north when she wasn’t on Meraxes. It made the northern lords feel better about her brother conquering them. Everyone saw now why there was a reason that there were rumors of her being Aegon’s favorite. Not that she would ever admit it. She didn’t want Visenya to feel bad.

She felt something sour in her though when Aegon returned to Winterfell with the Stark daughter hanging off of his arm.

Of course she shared him with Visenya. That was the only exception. Seeing him with another woman, a conquered woman, well, Rhaenys didn’t like the sight of it one bit. Anyone that wasn’t Targaryen was beneath Aegon. To see the Stark girl with him wasn’t right. They didn’t go together.

Visenya followed Rhaenys’ jealous gaze. “The nerve of her.”

“Aegon doesn’t seem to be opposing.” Rhaenys notes with a dry mouth.

Folding her arms, she continues to watch the two with her sister. “I never took you for the jealous type.”

“You’re different.” she murmurs. “Aren’t you upset?”

“Of course I am. I would like nothing more than to feed that slip of a girl to Vhagar.” Visenya replies easily. “Tensions in the North are already high though. Aegon wouldn’t like it much if we were to make things worse.”

“They couldn’t possibly do anything to protest. We have three dragons. They know what would happen if they were to argue against us.”

Visenya arches a silver brow. “You seriously want to hurt her. Well well. This certainly is a new transgression.”

Her younger sister shrugs. “This has never been an issue before. Aegon has always been our’s. There is no room for anyone else.”

“It’s not uncommon for kings and lords to have mistresses though. It means nothing to them. Just another notch on their bed. Another conquered thing. Don’t let it get to you sweet Rhaenys. She means nothing to him. We are the wives. We are his sisters.”

Unlike Visenya, Rhaenys was ever observant in body language. She saw the way Aegon leaned in toward the Stark girl. How his smile was too warm and his grasp on her more than cordial. He was attracted to her. He wanted her intimately. Not just as a mistress. He wants her as a wife. As a permanent staple in his life.

You glare, partly blaming Cerelia for the time you had spent with Aegon. In that time your cold heart had thawed toward the conqueror. You found him more agreeable and were able to see the humanity in him. He would tilt his head skyward and smile at Balerion. Affection. He would touch the bark of the weirwood tree you had taken him to. Appreciation. He would gently run his thumb along the back of your hand. Want.

Blushing, you throw down Cerelia’s brush onto the straw strewn floor of the horse stables. She looks over to you. Faux confusion as you could already sense the smugness radiating off of her. “Why couldn’t you have growled at him like you do any other man that comes near me?” Moaning you sit your but down on the dirty ground, the sound of horses whinnying and the pounding of the blacksmith was soothing to your ears as you lean your head back. “Why couldn’t his dragon just eaten me.”

More importantly was the question of why you had felt your stomach flutter with energy when he would train those lovely lilac eyes toward you.

“Damn him.”

Cerelia walks away from you, large plume of a tail bouncing with each step out of the stables. You lean your head against your knees. Nothing good could come of this new found infatuation.

“What’s the matter, Little Wolf?”

Head jolting up you meet the beautiful face of Rhaenys, Aegon’s youngest sister-wife. Her long silver-blonde hair spilling over her shoulders as she leans into the stable you’re in. Her breasts heaved up by her arms as they rest on the stable’s door. Rhaenys’ face was a lot softer than her sister Visenya’s.

“N-Nothing.” You stand and with difficulty you add “Your Grace.”

“That must have been so hard for you to say.” She muses out loud.

“Pardon?”

“Well, you used to be princess here. Before we took over. You must have been used to others calling you ‘Your Grace’. Not the other way around.” Rhaenys says nonchalantly. “It must be hard to have been downgraded to ‘lady’.”

There was something you didn’t like about what she said. You knew it to be true, but the way she said it had a taunting tone to it. Like she was holding the fact over your head. You have to fight every instinct not to talk back. Never had anyone spoken to you like that.

You stood up as she opened the door to the stall you were in. Rhaenys was not much taller than you yet she still held authority as she sauntered toward you. The sound of her boots crunching the straw underneath makes you inwardly wince.

Her lips curl downwards. “It’ll take some time for you to learn your place.” The glint of a dagger draws your attention to her hand. “But don’t worry. I can help.” Slowly she lifts up her arm that’s wielding the dagger. Valyrian steel.

“Remember this Little Wolf, Aegon is far above you. He is your king now. Keep your distance.” In a blink of an eye, Rhaenys struck at your face. You hiss at the burn of the blade, the bite as it sliced open your cheek. She goes to strike again but is knocked down to the ground by Cerelia. Rhaenys’ arm is held tightly in Cerelia’s jaw as the Targaryen cries out for help.

“LET GO!!” She screams. You hear the shriek of a dragon off in the distance. Meraxes.

Your heart pounds violently in your chest. “Cerelia! Down!”

Cerelia contemplates for a moment, glaring down at Rhaenys before releasing her and padding over to you, giving off a menacing growl when Rhaenys scrambles to her feet and bolts out.

“Gods. . .” Fearfully you look at Cerelia. What would happen to her now that she’s harmed a Queen of Westeros? She licks at your bleeding cheek, trying to comfort your worries.

“Your direwolf harmed my wife. Your queen.”

“I want it dead.” Rhaenys says to her husband. “Look at what that beast did to me!” Sure enough as she rolled up her sleeve there were terrible teeth marks on her otherwise creamy skin. They would scar.

“You can’t let this impudence go by without a consequence.” Visenya adds.

Your father is right beside you, hand on your shoulder as you tremble. Cerelia is on your otherside, undisturbed by the fact that she might be executed. The black direwolf merely flicks her ears and snorts.

Torrhen speaks up. “I’m sure there’s an explanation for this Your Grace. Please. Cerelia must’ve been protecting (y/n), as she has always done. Maybe she mistook your wife as a potential threat.”

Visenya laughed with indignation. “Now he calls one of your queens a threat? How much more do you intend to offend us?”

“That’s enough.” Aegon tells his sisters, making them finally fall silent. Finally he turns his attention to you. “Explain yourself, Lady Stark.”

You can’t help it as tears spill onto your cheeks. The thought of them killing Cerelia just for protecting you. . . It was too much to bare. “Please Your Grace.” You fall to your knees and bow your head.

“Please spare her. Do what you will with me, but not Cerelia. She is the other part of me. Please do not hurt her. I will take full responsibility for what she has done. Just please don’t kill her.”

There’s a pause for silence before Aegon gives out his sentencing. “There is only one way to mend this wrong.”

You choked out a sob. He was going to have her killed.

“Rise (y/n) Stark.”

Your father has to help you up as your legs could no longer support you. So many memories with Cerelia flashed before your eyes. The day you found her. Nights when she was still a small pup and would curl against you as you slept. When you first realized that the two of you had a spiritual bond that you couldn’t quite explain.

Your Cerelia.

“You will make up the damage your direwolf has caused by becoming my wife. If you accept that term, then I will spare Cerelia’s life.”

“Aegon!” Rhaenys exclaims, throwing aside her chair in fury.

Even Visenya stands at this injustice. “You can’t possibly mean it!!”

You exchange a teary-eyed look of utter confusion with your father.

“I’m. . . I’m sorry Your Grace?” Torrhen stares at Aegon making the king smile.

“Yes. I wish to make your daughter my bride. My third wife. In exchange for the life of her direwolf.”

Well, you hadn’t exactly been expecting that. But you would take it. If it was to save Cerelia, you would become (y/n) Targaryen.

Wiping your face with the heel of your hands, you take a deep breath. “Okay. I accept your proposal.”

“Okay.” Aegon’s smile warms and you can’t help but feel that flutter once again in the depths of your tummy.

#aegon targaryen #aegon the conqueror #aegon targaryen x reader #reader insert #game of thrones #game of thrones fanfic #game of thrones fanfiction #asoiaf #asoiaf fanfic #asoiaf fanfiction

[heniareth]

There's a line where Zevran says:

"Don't worry, my sweet lady. I never asked you for anything, did I?"

And I just. There's a lot in there.

It's the immediate distance he puts between himself and the Warden. "I never asked. I merely offered. It was you who accepted, you who wanted. And it was you who put an end to something that was solely one-sided." Except that's not how relationships work and you know it, Zevran!

It's the hiding of what he wants. He never asked, he only offered what somebody else wanted. It's the people pleasing to be kept alive and well, yes, but it's also the hiding of his own motives and desires. Nobody will know what he wants. Nobody will be able to hold it over his head and make him scramble and beg for it. Nobody will blackmail him. He will have his pride and the opportunity to level an accusatory look in your direction if you mistreat him. What is given or withheld is entirely your fault and he gets to walk away with his head held high because he never asked. He let you do as you wanted and the only one whose character was revealed in this exchange was yours.

It is also, however (this mask has three layers as every good thing does) the hiding of his own desires from himself. He didn't ask for anything, he didn't want anything, didn't think it might be nice, didn't look at the way the Warden acted with close friends and had to turn and choke down the stirring of envy, no, he never asked for anything because he never wanted anything. If you do not want anything you can't be disappointed, after all.

And can you blame him? They took away his gloves. He constantly had to find his own pleasure and happiness because nobody else would give it to him freely (except maybe Rinna and he killed her). It's no wonder what he wants is not even a question he bother to answer anymore because it won't change a thing! It will only hurt when he doesn't get it. He doesn't want anything. Nothing good ever came out of wanting (or loving for that matter).

That line I think comes up if your character chooses another LI over Zevran in his jealousy dialogue, and it's funny bc he later asks if you may at least remain friends. He does want. There's just no way he'll admit it, to others or to himself. He's shrouded himself in apathy and you can hear it in his voice when he talks to Howe and Loghain, when his approval is low (but doesn't descend into hostility), when he's bargaining with you for his life after his failed ambush, in the first few conversations when talking about the Crows. He's so numb and then he's so careful to not get ripped to shreds again and it's so satisfying to see that numbness gradually fading away

#zevran #zevran arainai #zevran meta #dragon age #dao #dragon age origins #this man gives me feelings #apathy

[waywardstation]

Learned Behavior

Powder the sneasel kit picks up on an annoying habit she learned from Akari and Zisu, to get treats from Ingo.

I wrote this off a request to expand on Until Then, Don't Worry with more about mischievous Powder, a request for more ticklish Ingo, and three requests to just write more Powder in general. So sorry it took so long to get to this, I kind of forgot I had this WIP for a few months!! ^^

OR read here on AO3!

Enjoy!

————

“Powder, I can assure you I have no food for yOu-!”

“Snea!”

Zisu watched Ingo reach into the flap of his coat and tug Powder off of his side for what felt like the twentieth time that day. 

“She is still searching for more plump beans,” Ingo set Powder down on the ground gently, but the tiny creature mewled loudly and latched back onto his pant leg, attempting to clamber up again. “Beans that I do not have!”

“You’re sure you don’t have any in your pockets or anything?” Zisu crossed her arms as she observed; Powder was being particularly persistent. “She’s been doing that all morning!”

“I checked, I am positive!” Ingo attempted to intercept Powder’s path, but she’d simply zip out of the way, tiny claws hooking into the fabric flexibly. “I do not understand her persistence!”

“Snea!” As if disagreeing, the sneaslet let out another chirp as she continued to climb Ingo despite his efforts. He could have easily shaken his leg and knocked her off, something that wouldn’t have done any harm to a full-grown sneasel, but it was obvious Ingo was doing his best not to harm the comparatively fragile runt.

His leniency allowed her to latch onto his tunic, and she quickly escaped under the concealing safety of his coat flaps. Ingo cut himself off with a sudden jerk and a funny sound, scrunching his side as if a qwilfish had stung him with a spine. “Ahg- Powder-!”

“It’s almost like she knows the best spots!” Zisu clearly found the whole predicament entertaining; she herself was laughing, crossing her arms and standing idly by as she watched Ingo try and deal with Powder.

“It’s because she does! Miss Zisu, you set her on these trACKs-!” The little sneaslet chirped demandingly within his coat and nuzzled her muzzle somewhere ticklish in search of food, earning a flinch out of Ingo and making his voice jump. “She learned from watching you, and Miss Akari! She is simply mimicking what you enCOURaged her to do!”

“Well you did want her to practice her gathering skills.” Again, Zisu was no help. Something about watching Ingo fumble like this so uncharacteristically was entertaining - who was she to stop it?

“This is hardly a reliable method in the highlands; and against my wishes, she’s relayed this method to all of her other siblings as well, you know!”  The warden continued, trying to reach around for Powder. The runt let out a squeak, and the bump under his coat crawled behind his back - she had quickly become aware he could not grab her there. “It is quite difficult to defend myself from all nine of Lady Sneasler’s kits when they get hungry. And currently, that is a constant!”

Ingo’s words provided a visual in Zisu’s head - his legs sticking out of a pile of yowling sneasels clumped all over him. The imagery made her snort.

“Sounds truely vicious, Ingo.” She joked with him. “I don’t know how you survive that.”

“You have no idEA-!” Another jump in his voice as the Powder-shaped bump under his coat shuffled about dangerously close to his underarm. Then-

“-GAH!” Ingo wrapped his arms around himself, in an effort to isolate the Powder-shaped bump that was now moving under his tunic, by his shoulder. “She- she has traveled up my sleeve-!”

Ingo seemed about ready to just tear his coat off in an effort to alleviate the situation. But before he could, Powder’s tiny head popped out of the hood of his Pearl Clan tunic. Her eyes were scrunched in sly pride, a plump bean secured tight between her teeth - the prized fruit of her efforts.

Powder chirped, bean clutched tight, and jumped off Ingo’s shoulder to zip away and enjoy her hard-earned reward in peace under the training ground’s wooden platform.

“Looks like you had one after all!” Zisu laughed heartily, making Ingo’s ears burn faintly. But she was right - somewhere, he did have a bean, and Powder had probably been aware of this the entire time. 

Well, at least her hunting skills were indeed improving, it seemed.

“But, where did..?” Rubbing the sensations away, brief confusion in Ingo’s features gave way to realization; he sighed. “-Miss Akari. Of course.”

In retrospect, he probably should have checked the hood of his tunic when the teen had suspiciously reached up to hug him around the neck that morning, instead of around his middle like usual. 

Akari had found the whole situation more amusing than he had expected when he relayed to her the kits’ new habit of attempting to pry food from him - of course she had snuck a plump bean into his hood when she knew he’d be watching over Powder today.

Ingo was going to have a talk with her when she returned from her fieldwork, but he had a feeling she would only laugh when she found out her prank had worked so well.

#submas #ingo #warden ingo #zisu #pokemon zisu #pokemon legends arceus #pokemon legends #pokemon #pokemon fanfic #pokemon fanfiction #waywardstationfanfic

[strangest-loser]

Thorns of War ~ Aemond Targaryen X Stark! OC

MASTERLIST

Chapter One

The braiding of her chestnut hair was the cause of severe annoyance to the young Stark girl, who wanted nothing more than to be running wild with her brothers playing with their wolf pups that were recently gifted to the children in a ceremonial presentation that dated back generations. 

The Free Folk from beyond the wall would present the children of the Warden of The North with Direwolf pups on their fifth name day as a show of good will between the neighbouring peoples, the northern lord of Winterfell served as the pillar that stood between the Free folk and the Targaryen rulers of Westeros after all, they liked to remain on their good side. Rheyanna still remembers the ceremony that awarded her the wolf who slept at her feet this very moment. She stood before a group of three Wildlings, two men and a woman. While she didn’t remember the features of the men, her memory not finding any reason to retain such information, she didn’t think that she would ever forget the woman who held the then tiny bundle of fluff in her arms. She had striking red hair, a richer colour than that of her own mothers auburn locks, like the woman had her own personal fire surrounding her shoulders, battling off the cold, she also held this look in her eyes, shocking green eyes, the colour of wildfire. Rheyanna knew better than to share her instincts about the woman to her family, but if she didn’t know any better, she would have thought she was gifted her canine by one of the old gods themselves. The fluffy coat of snow-white fur was streaked with deep grey patches in random strokes along the wolf pup, and this became more apparent when the wildling woman set the pup on her feet and she began to march forward on her four paws, staring down the child she was being presented to. Direwolves are different than dragons in that way. Both are fearsome beasts in their own right that could bring about the death of a man before he even had time to unsheathe his dagger, but a dragon was a prideful creature, that bonded with a rider, but once that bond was severed it would bond with the next worthy contender, this is how the Targaryen warriors maintained the power of the dragons. A direwolf however, bonded with their human in an instance of connecting souls, the beast and its master became one forever, and this connection was one that not even death could supplant, legend has it that the old gods created the direwolf for the first humans, as extensions of their beings to protect them in the world the gods had given them.

In the instance that Rheyanna stared her pup in the eye she could read every thought in the pups eyes, judging Rheyanna’s character and in an instance the two souls felt their connection being sewn by invisible strings that knotted together to solidify their souls as one, and the direwolf trotted to the young child, where she lay down at her feet, and the hall of Winterfell erupted in cheers and applause, the young mistress had her wolf, her extension of her very being.

And now, four years later, it was springtime in the north, and the Lady Rheyanna, now nine years old, was preparing to leave the comfort of her family home for the first time. She was to be presented to the court of Kings Landing and meet The King, as well as her intended the prince. She tried her best not to fidget in her seat as her maid Arenna finished braiding her hair for the long journey south with her father and oldest brother. “There we are,” Arenna mumbled, she was a woman of six and thirty who had been serving the Stark family since Rheyanna’s mother married and brought the woman with her to Winterfell, Rheyanna was practically raised by the woman. “Beautiful braids to suit a future princess.”

Rheyanna was still a child, and her nerves sometimes had a habit of getting the better of her, her wary energy would have been well concealed had it not been for Raksha sitting at her feet, sensing her masters unease the wolf let out a deep whine, mirroring her worry for leaving the only place the two had ever called home. Rheyanna raised her eyes to meet her reflection in the mirror she was sitting in front of, she looked older than she was, her hair tamed back in the sophisticated style that was popular in the north at the moment, she was wearing lighter dresses than usual and she would be shivering had it not been for the hearth roaring in the corner of her chambers, the only thing that remained constant in her features were her eyes, strong, resilient grey eyes that met those of Arenna, who seemed to tear up in the reflection before she moved her gaze to the Stark cloak that laid on the bed. “Come now Rheya, it’s almost time to meet your father.” The Stark girl finally broke her nervous silence when she stood and turned to face the woman who was fastening her cloak over her shoulders, “The Prince, do you think he will be kind like father?” Rheyanna was wise for her age, and she knew her impending marriage was one of convenience, a union to solidify an alliance between the crown and its northern territories, she also knew that marriage among families of her rank weren’t always kind, she was aware of the stories of how some men treated their wives as less than, she was even at her tender age willing to fulfil her duty to her family and her king, she just hoped she wouldn’t be miserable while doing so. Arenna paused for a moment before kneeling before her Lady, a kind and warm look in her eyes, “Prince Aemond Targaryen was raised by a dutiful king and a most kind and gentle queen, he will make a wonderful husband to you little one, dragons are extremely protective of their treasure, and you Rheyanna are the diamond of the north. I have no doubt he will love and protect you, the same way you will, because-.” Rheyanna felt her nerves soothe into the background as she giggled “Because the wolf protects her pack, I know.”

The sun was at its peak in the sky when Rheyanna emerged from the halls of Winterfell into the noon sunlight, Raksha leaving her side for the first time that day to greet her elder brother, Cregan’s wolf, a great beast with black pelt named Akela. The two wrestled in the snow as Rheyanna walked past to greet her father, mother and brothers, all standing at the carriage that would cart her away from her homeland and into unfamiliar territory for however long, Rheya didn’t know. “There she is. You were almost so late we were going to leave without you.” Cregan was fourteen and loved to rag on his sister at every given opportunity, like he wouldn’t throw himself in in front of any conceivable danger to protect her. “You can’t leave without me I’m the reason we’re going.” Goodbyes were hurried as it was in fact Rheyanna who held the party from leaving so they were behind schedule, but a tearful goodbye was exchanged between Rheya and her mother as well as her other brother Benjen, as Rheyanna stepped into the carriage to ride with Raksha as protection on the road, and with the cold winds soothing her cheeks as she gazed at her home getting smaller and smaller in the distance, Rheya settled into her seat and Raksha laid her head on her masters lap, the excitement and nerves teamed with the lull of the carriage lured them both into their dreams.

It was ten days later when the carriage began its slow climb to the red keep, the windows of the carriage carrying the future princess had been locked tight for three days, and now she was accompanied by a guard, a young Karstark knight her father knew, who alongside Raksha acted as Rheyanna’s protection as they passed through the streets. Rheya was exhausted and lethargic from the travel but the news that they were approaching the red keep made her perk up as her nerves kicked up ten-fold. What if something went wrong? What if something went right? She didn’t have time to freak herself out any more before the carriage came to a stop and the doors were opened. She was immediately hit with the heat of the climate, being used to the cold temperatures she had grown up in all her life she felt her head spin as she took her father’s hand as he led her down into the morning air. She was quickly followed by Raksha who took up her dutiful position on Rheyanna’s other side. The red keep was huge, and far grander than she could ever have imagined, where Winterfell was large in length it didn’t raise too far from the ground, but this place seemed to reach to the heavens. At the soft urging of her father’s guiding hand Rheyanna began to climb the steps to the doors leading to her future, she allowed herself a moment to feel fear, feel uncertain, to be worried that she wasn’t ready for this, that her years of studying and training for this moment might not have been enough, but when she reached the last step and stood on solid ground, level with the doors that stood between her and the rest of her life, she let every plaguing doubt shrivel up and die on the steps of the palace. She was ready for this, she had to be. With one last look at her father, who nodded with a tightening grip on her hand, his silent promise not to let her fall, and a glance at Raksha, who seemed to implore with her kind, wild eyes that no harm would befall the young girl, Rheyanna stepped forward and the doors opened.

I just wanted to pop a little AN in here to state that this is going to be a story that diverges off of the GOT/ASOIAF canon for obvious reasons, to make an entertaining story. Anyone who would like to be tagged just let me know and you can be notified of future chapters. ~ Aoife

Taglist:

@grippleback-galaxy

@nsainmoonchild

#aemond the kinslayer #aemond targaryen #aemond x reader #aemond x y/n #house of the dragon

[badbedforbedding]

@riana-one My answer got too big to fit the comments section, but here it is.

I asked you what did Rheagar do to his wife and children, and you said:

"Nationally humiliating his pregnant wife."

You are saying that Rhaegar "showing favor to/sleeping with" Lyanna while being married caused Elia to be seen or talked about as if she is not good enough but literally no one ever describes Elia as being lesser than Lyanna on account of what happened, no one describes Elia negatively at all. Elia is not remembered in any way unfavorably to her image, honor or worth.

I know cheating is a thorny subject and people have their own feelings about it but there is no textual proof that Elia might have felt humiliated or hurt by whatever happened between R/L.

You're assigning these feelings onto her, it's just your personal opinion of how you think she should feel. Call it a theory, a headcanon or whatever, still; we don't know what she felt, and the noble society of Westeros did not bolster any ill rumors about her after her death. So where is the public humiliation?

Furthermore, to propose a headcanon of my own versus yours; I think there is the slight possibility that Elia had her own secret lover on the side and that comes from a quote by Varys:

Varys gave him a shrewd look. "My little birds tell me that Princess Elia cried a . . . certain name . . . when they came for her."

Next you said:

"Disappearing after kicking off a major war while leaving his wife and children unprotected and in the reach of Aerys."

I think you choosing to talk about Aerys fits exactly on my original post's point, after all Aerys wasn't the one to rape and kill Elia. Who was it again? Have we forgotten already?

Elia was by Aerys's reach the moment she moved into the Red Keep, but that is besides the point, the guy was terrible, but he didn't kill her.

Aerys actually needed Elia alive to use her to control the dornish as seen in this Jaime's pov:

He (Aerys) had finally realized that Robert was no mere outlaw lord to be crushed at whim, but the greatest threat House Targaryen had faced since Daemon Blackfyre. The king reminded Lewyn Martell gracelessly that he held Elia and sent him to take command of the ten thousand Dornishmen coming up the kingsroad. Jon Darry and Barristan Selmy rode to Stoney Sept to rally what they could of griffins' men, and Prince Rhaegar returned from the south and persuaded his father to swallow his pride and summon my father. But no raven returned from Casterly Rock, and that made the king even more afraid.

Also in the quote above, we see that Rhaegar did came back from wherever he disappeared to (as you put it) in the south to hold back the rebellion. If he talked to his wife in this time, how and about what they might have talked, unfortunately we don't know. There is not much evidence of anything, but to conclude Elia was left all alone with no information about anything by her husband is a bit too much. Or are you saying Elia would avoid/ignore Rhaegar just out of spite or anger when he is the guy she depends on for her security and that of her children? Take Ned and Catelyn's marriage for an example.

Lastly I disagree again when you say "Rhaegar kicked off a major war", that's a reach because it wasn't just one action that kicked off the war, but a series of events mixed with Aerys declining sanity being well-known throughout Westeros at that point.

The Prince disappearing with the daughter of the Warden of North did cause tension with the northern Lord, but then Aerys killing said Lord and his son was what crushed any chance of peaceful relations.

By then each lord picks their reason to stand for war, but the truth is that this moment was long coming and the lords of Westeros were waiting for the slight show of vulnerability by the Targaryen king to take over KL.

My point still stands: people will rather complain about Rhaegar for cheating on Elia than point out Tywin and Gregor's involvement in her murder.

#elia martell #rhaegar targaryen #asoiaf

[chucapybara]

—INNAMORATI; A FROSTBITTEN ELEGY.

an entry on the tsaritsa's abyssal knight; for context regarding future innamorati pieces. think of it as an archive description :] this is my oc concept for inna!

Innamorati—thought of as even lesser in rank than the Harbinger Tartaglia, born mortal, tainted by the everlasting dark beneath the soil of the earth. Within one vessel strains a second beast, begotten by a chosen fate. Thrown to the wolves.

But within the Tsaritsa’s domain, the woman whose flesh was cast in obsidian shell may yet know the everlasting grace of Her Majesty’s ‘ffectionate gaze.

In the Tsaritsa’s house, even those who have nothing but loyalty and skill may yet find some purpose to make of themselves—to revel in the score of a requiem for the end of heaven itself.

KEEPER OF THE DAMNED;

The bearer of Innamorati’s name bears also its cursed inheritance: a cycle of tragedy, of loss. Those who have come before her are known for their brutally romantic sacrifices, for their unabiding devotion; to be The Lovers is to be two as one, interpreted often as a necessity of partnership under the same title—thus, most strange it is indeed for Innamorati to be of one body, of one mind.

Of the many Harbingers, as actors upon the Tsaritsa’s stage, the Innamorati is best suited towards pursuits of love. She finds herself deployed across Teyvat, engaging in diplomatic endearments of sorts. With a quiet and frigid voice does she bring the good word of the Cryo Archon; with her lonesome, crystal-glazed tipped spear does she pierce the hearts of the unbelievers, to turn them towards the arms of Her Majesty; with their blood does it paint and glorify its Host.

(Yet, sometimes, it still mistakes the Host for prey.)

Whenever Innamorati is given brief from her Mission, she tends to the Fatui’s fallen, commemorating them by name, praying the rites of honour. What most of the prideful Harbingers would consider to be grunt work is the quieter part of The Lovers’ calling: remembrance of the nameless. On behalf of the sinners, it is Innamorati who bends her knee to repent, and to ferry the memories of those lost to duty, pride, sorrow, as their unyielding warden.

THE ABYSSAL PERMAFROST;

The world beneath Teyvat is unforgiving in ways those above may never yet know. Smears of her crimson handprints across the rock faces still linger like murals, her gasps echoing infinite in the empty dark.

Before the abyss, the Permafrost was a knight first, virtuous and true: her armour polished, her uniform radiant and well-pressed. In her pursuit of a criminal adversary, the depths swallowed her in its maw, along with two others equally as unfortunate.

A tavern waitress, a Treasure Hoarder-turned delinquent gang member, and a Knight of Favonius, with no bar in sight for the drink of wine they would have needed most for the trials that lay ahead.

Days spun on the loom of fate, each hour thrice its value on the surface. Stale air, cool stone, and no way out: the pursuer becomes the pursued, and with the battles below came the inevitability of injury.

A knight’s duty is to their people, both foreign and known. Such was her mindful chant to steady her heart.

‘Tell me of your friends.’

‘What’s your favourite season?’

‘Here. Take my cape. Stay warm.’

‘There! Run for it! I’ll cover you both!’

After time unknown in the darkness, two of the three fled into the light at the third’s behest, as a well-timed throw of a polearm staged a cavern collapse. Slivers of light would vanish, sealing her chance. Sealing her fate, with the forlorn whisper between the tumble of rock—

...A knight’s duty, too, is their weakness.

THE LOVERS TO THE FORGOTTEN.

The day she first emerged from her grave, her mangled and emaciated form stumbled, robes torn into makeshift bandages tied around a missing right arm. Only later would the Doctor find evidence of corrosion, claw-cut gashes, stricken bone molten.

Pinned at the base of her nape pulsed the faintness of a god-gifted gem: a Vision, its years-worn shell fashioned in the manner of that faraway dandelion land. The dame that would later become The Lovers was far from herself, every breath a trembling, misting whisper—her body temperature had dropped below what ought to be livable for a human being, much less a surface-dweller. Of what tatters were left from the robes she donned, any such knowing eye would surmise the embellishments and craftsmanship to be sourced from the harbour of contracts.

A living contradiction, spurred step by step: motions jagged, stiff-limbed. Trekking through bush and undergrowth of a land foreign to its host, searching for the last bastion it recalls.

Home.

…Home.

I have to go home.

In tandem, both parasitic occupant and vessel seek refuge and respite. Whatever thing had latched on to the knight in the unknown time of her entombment could not, of course, permit the death of the host—and so it endeavours through the thicket, through the blanketing snow, until it arrives at a starving village…

The howls in the woods were not of wolves, that day.

With regaining their strength came the seeking eyes of Her Majesty, and everything else that came after. Were it not for the presence of something that did not belong, Innamorati may have never been considered a candidate for the rank of Harbinger.

That sweet, forgotten knight, birthed anew from the soil, thawed from the permafrost. They do not recall it still, but the heart remembers in the spans between consciousness, when Innamorati is herself and not another. If only for that woman’s sake, Innamorati pursues her legacy—the tragedy she had inherited with her name, with the creature that shares her.

To love,

In defiance of Until her fated end.

#🌕 chuca writes #innamorati #geu #had a lot of vacant time between classes for this one #and yes that's a formally-written bar joke AHSJDHWJ #ohhh innamorati you are going to be SO fun to ponder my orb on #can't wait to write more of her with arlecchino <3 #the cursed from birth vs the cursed by sacrifice

[lunaetis]

@avaere asked :

he's tired of it. tired of having to report to whenever the whispers of a traveler sporting dark attire has wandered into his domain, tired of having to escort her back out again after --- time and time again --- stating that there is nothing of interest at the fortress. tired of her, and the way she puts him in these situations that have the duties of the duke in a chokehold, causing conflict in every gesture and action rising between them in the oddest of ways; the way her hair slid so neatly between his fingers remains in the back of wriothesley's mind, frequenting wandering thoughts on nights where he may admit to find loneliness far too boring of a company. eden is trouble, for he doesn't know her, not the wriothesley has had it in him to make any advancements in that direction. who and why are questions unanswered, left in nothing but assumptions from the warden's end, all thoughts skeptical in most ways. she's a stranger to fontaine, a stranger to other nations. there's no file on her. " i don't trust you," wriothesley mused, chains rustling as he rid himself of the heavy coat weighing down his shoulders, its heavy fabric meeting with the surface of the desk in his office. " i don't know anything about you; who are you, why are you here, why do you keep insisting on coming back ---" when he clearly attempts to deny her ( rather , himself ) the pleasure of --- what exactly ? their banter, seeing each other break boundaries and haul out parts of themselves that don't seem to do well in light? wriothesley finds it hard to answer, hard enough that boots echo through his office as steps carry him close to his guest ( clearly, it's a title she has begun to live up with how often he finds her around ). silvery gaze fall down onto hers , examining every feature as if trying to figure her out by here glances. he doesn't trust her. every bone in his body says so. ( there is something dangerous about her / what is it ? ) when did dangerous stop him ? so how come there's something in him that wishes to break past that skepticism, to reach out and --- eyes close for a second, chest heaving in a heavy, long sigh. oh , archons. why. " i don't understand you," and here there's a hand reaching out, sliding up against eden's cheek, that silvery gaze finding its way back onto her golden eyes ( they settle so quickly, sink into hers so willingly, starving for the gaze offered by her ), savoring in the gaze shared between them ( his touch is so soft , yet wary , ready to pull itself away if she proves to be hostile or raise threats to his name ). for only a moment, it might seem as if the duke... ... yearns. " ... but maybe i'd like to."

unprompted. || always accepting

─「エデン」─  why do you keep coming back ? a question that he had posed to her many times prior to yet another meeting of theirs, much to his displeasure. it was a question that the TRAILBLAZER had neglected to answer every single time he had uttered it. a shrug was what she usually gave him, followed quickly by her being distracted by something else and in turn, diverted even her own attention away from the query. sometimes, she'd humor him by claiming that she simply wanted to challenge herself whether or not she would be able to find another loophole in his security system he took pride in. the FORMIDABLE FORTRESS. or, maybe she simply took it as a personal goal to prove his effort in keeping her out futile.

                one would never know with her. no matter what the real reason was, she had found her way into meropide once more, and in his OFFICE this time.

                i don't trust you.

                it wouldn't be the first time anyone felt that way about her. the words themselves didn't offend nor hurt her. it was simply THE TRUTH, and the trailblazer had long understood that about him. she would be blind to not know that from the way he treated her and the way those icy blue hues landed on her. DOUBT, skepticism, conflict. and to be fair, he had all the reasons not to. that was why she didn't blame him. it was only NATURAL to be wary of things you don't understand.

                eden was leaning against the edge, the railing supported her weight as her frame faced his desk, facing him whether he was looking at her or not. it was as though he was trying to make sense of his own emotions, of his own actions up until this point. she could still remember his SCENT and taste when her fangs sank themselves into his skin — that, and the taste of his lips upon hers for that impulsive moment that she wondered if he regretted doing at all.

                her eyes didn't take themselves off of him, not even for a second, not even when he had shortened the distance between them, and the moment his hand slid to her cheek, she TILTED HER HEAD UP, meeting his gaze. there was a quiet moment on her part as he spoke. each syllable lingered in the air — the warmth of his hand seeping into her skin and instinctively, she nuzzled towards his hand. it was different from the way she had acted around him. different from how she was so eager to bite him. her eyes closed, and she leaned into his hand.

                ... for once, wriothesley saw the usually rebellious intruder turning into ... a lost soul. in that moment, it was as though there was no WALLS nor masks between them. it was a raw, unfiltered emotion and vulnerability. she stayed still, allowing his touch to remain before her gaze slowly reopened.

                " i don't know who i am ... " the words were uttered barely above a whisper. it sounded like a SECRET even when it wasn't one. her tone wavered for a moment as each syllable hung in the air. other than those upon THE ASTRAL EXPRESS and selected few upon herta space station ( barring the stellaron hunters who were responsible for her awakening, ) no one else knew that fact. if one listened carefully, there was a hint of REGRET lacing the words themselves.

                regret ... ?

                regret ... that no matter how much she wanted to tell him what he wanted to know, no matter how DESPERATELY she wanted someone to know her, to understand her, it was impossible. how could anyone hoped to know something even she didn't know ? gloved hand slowly came to his, placing over it to press it closer to her cheek.

                and her fingers shook unconsciously.

                it was the FIRST TIME she had ever looked so unguarded around him. so ... openly vulnerable. to allow someone to see through her, to see a part of her that was resonating with the core deep within. he had witnessed once of her faltering, of her control SLIPPING from the seed of disaster, but it was nothing like this. for once, she was ... genuinely scared. of what, exactly ? of the truth, of consequences, of WHAT she was, what she is, what she could be. when your path was decided for you, what did that make you ? when some strangers you don't remember, the destiny's slaves, probably know more about you than you do yourself. then how are you supposed to feel ?

                i wish i could tell you. but i have nothing i could give. nothing i could offer. no past. no memory. nothing. and that's the truth.

                i don't know who i was. i don't know who i am. i don't know who i'm supposed to be.

                the WHIRRING of the stellaron inside of her made her thin her lips. what could she say ? what else could she tell him ? that she wasn't even HUMAN ? that she was made to become a vessel of something capable of destroying worlds and civilization ? that the burning warmth in her chest was CANCER OF ALL WORLDS ? that he was right to be wary ? she was dangerous. he was right to want to keep her away from here.

                hold me. hold me. hold me.                 i don't want to hurt anyone.

                why do you keep insisting on coming back ---

                because ... because —

                i want to be seen. not as a hero. not as a perfect vessel. not as the pawn to the script. because you don't know anything about me, maybe ... maybe you could see who i am without all those titles, without all those expectations, without the PAST i don't remember.

                her fingers that rested upon his trembled. aureate orbs peered up towards him, gold meeting silver. the look she was giving him, it was one of HEARTBREAK.

                " am i a threat to you ? "

                i was hoping you'd see me as eden.                 even though i don't know who eden is myself.

#avaere #.answered #.[ eden | trailblazer ] #.wriothesley.eden tag #[ i have been staring at this ask for THREE WHOLE WEEKS #and my response changes EVERY TIME i tried to think of what eden might do #but all of it revolves around that question of who she is --- bc ... i realize that eden WANTED to tell him who she is #she wanted to #but the fact that she doesn't know #makes it impossible for her to do so #and she regrets that A LOT #coupled with that lingering fear that he'd find out about the stellaron #and that he'd view her as a threat #I DON'T KNOW IF THAT LAST QUESTION IS DELIVERED PROPERLY BUT IT WAS A VERY DEFINING MOMENT FOR HER TO ASK HIM THAT #this is all over the places i HOPE IT MAKES SENSE THO HJKLHLK ]

[noodyl-blasstal]

After the aftermath - Blupjeans Week day 8 (weeks are longer now, sorry)

My @blupjeansweek prompts are part of a story and this is a little ficlet to tie it all off! Find the others here: Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6 | Part 7 or on Ao3

When people asked for the proposal story Barry never really knew what to say. They didn’t want to hear “one day Lup said it’d be baller if we made our wedding rings out of bone and I had some at home, so we did it, and look here it is! She did that cool twisty thing here first try. Isn’t she great?” Most people outside their immediate family just did weird squinchy faces about it or looked sympathetic. Barry had no idea why, as far as he was concerned it was perfect, mostly because Lup wanted to marry him and he wasn’t really bothered about anything else. 

“How about the bone church, babe?” Lup asked, stretching her legs out in front of her on their picnic blanket. 

Barry stayed cross legged and hidden from the midday sun in the shade of Lup’s parasol. “I know it’s what your spooky heart longs for, and I want you to have the perfect day, but bones or not it’s still a church.”

“And?”

“We’re not in any way religious? Or, well, the right kind of religious, church religious, obviously I worship you.”

Lup snorted. “Bad. Awful. I love you.”

“I love you too.” Said Barry, and squeezed her hand. “How about the university?” 

“So we don’t have to take leave?”

Barry laughed. “Yeah, we’ll just get Dav to use his captain powers and do it in the 10 minutes between lectures when we rush past each other in the hall on Fridays.”

“Taako would have to be there.” Lup said thoughtfully. “But  I think we could make it work… the drama of the time limit sounds kinda hot.”

“I… No, I mean… that wasn’t a serious suggestion, Lup. I was thinking more like the library, or the fancy hall? We could shove everyone round one of the big dramatic bench tables. Plus, we’d get staff discount. I bet they’d let us decorate it however we want as long as we put it back again after. We’re fire wardens too, so that’s the safety certificate sorted.” 

“Ooooh, we do have all those skulls to en-candle. They can’t stop us from having flames if we’re qualified about it.” Said Lup, sitting up a bit straighter. “And we could wrap twinkly lights round the beams…”

“... oh! And we could probably steal the flaming carpet from the office and see if Taako would be able to transmute something longer.”

“Pssh, he’ll be offended if we imply anything other than unfailing confidence in his ability to do it.” 

“Good point. I’ll let you bully Taako into doing a lot of manual labour.”

“He’s got Kravitz for that. Goth boy will be on carpet rolling duty as soon as Taako asks. He’s got it bad.” 

“They both do.”

“Yeah, they do.” There’s a long pause, a comfortable one. “I wasn’t sure I’d ever have this, you know?” Lup said. Barry didn’t dare say anything yet, Lup didn’t talk about the past a lot. He knew it was a hard topic and he wanted to let her get the thoughts out without interruption so he just squeezed her hand and hoped it conveyed ‘I’m here’, ‘I’’ve got you’, ‘I love you’. “There was just a time in the middle there where I wasn’t sure how we were gonna climb our way out of the shit pit life dropped us in.” 

“But you did.” Added Barry, unable to hide the pride in his voice. Sure, his life hadn’t been a walk in the park, but he’d always had Marlena.

 “We did.” Lup nodded. “And now we’ve built a whole family, and Taako has Kravitz, and I have you.”

“Forever and always.” Said Barry, nodding firmly. “You can’t get rid of me now…” He winced. “Okay, wait, no, that sounded creepy, but you know what I mean.”

“I do.” Said Lup, and leaned over to kiss him on the nose.

#Okay now I'm done #blupjeansweek2023 #Blupjeans #Barry bluejeans #Lup #Lup tacco #Noodyl Writes

[lady-myrcella]

Alistair watched as Neria’s sleeping body rolled to face him. Her face, illuminated by the flickering light of the campfire, was tucked beneath her cloak, which was serving her as a snug blanket against the night’s chill. This was not an uncommon sight; he was used to seeing Neria like this while he was on watch for the night. There was not much else to do during the long hours alone other than to rummage through his thoughts and glance around at his sleeping companions wishing he was in their places. His thoughts and wandering eyes inevitably gravitated toward Neria, and as their journey progressed, so did the duration of his glances.

While awake, Neria was reserved and cautious, but as she slept, the walls she seemed so careful to maintain faded away. Alistair liked witnessing this transformation – the soft features of her face relaxed and laid bare. The mere notion of her catching him looking at her mortified him (he was a gentleman afterall, not some drooling lecher), but witnessing her emotions play freely on her face while she slept was too tempting. She looked much younger whilst asleep. Come to think of it, he did not know her age. 

Her breath quickened, and she began to twitch—another familiar occurrence. Nightmares of the Archdemon haunted both of them, though Neria's seemed particularly intense. Duncan once told him that the nightmares are worse if you join the Wardens during a Blight. Just another reminder that what they were dealing with was a real Blight after all. Maker preserve them .

As if on cue, Neria’s twitching escalated into thrashing, her arms becoming entangled beneath her makeshift blanket. Alistair's shoulders tensed at the sight of her distress. He once again found himself hesitating on what to do, questioning whether it was his place to intervene and attempt to wake her. 

The first night he saw that Neria was having a nightmare he opted to patiently wait until she naturally woke to explain their ordeal. Her response to him, though courteous, remained distant. 

Would he appreciate it if she were to wake him in such a situation? Undoubtedly, yes. Yet, waking from the Archdemons nightmares left one confused and disoriented. It was clear that Neria exercised great caution in how she presented herself to the world. Her hair, her robes, were curated with precision. She even refrained from engaging in conversation until she had cleansed her face, brushed her hair, and secured it in her customary bun each morning. 

Alistair harbored no doubt that Neria did not want to see him of all people in such a vulnerable moment. Why would she? 

But... they seemed to have been growing quite close during their travels together. Alistair prided himself on his newfound ability to make her laugh seemingly on command – yet in some moments she would suddenly become aloof, making an excuse to leave his presence, and leave him confused. 

He couldn't help but wonder if his own shortcomings since Ostagar had contributed to this distance between them. In the aftermath of the battle, Neria had assumed the role of group leader without complaint. She had once been apprenticed to the First Enchanter, after all. All he was trained to do was follow orders well enough not to be a nuisance, which he was well content with.

But now that he has regained himself since Ostagar he found within himself a new desire. A desire for Neria to make more use of him, to confide in him. He could see the toll their journey was taking on her. She's been looking more and more tired. He longed to help her in any way he could. He longed to be someone in her life she could lean on.

Her pretty face scrunched in agony beneath her cloak. It was getting difficult to watch her. She clearly was in such torment. Alistair found himself walking towards her sleeping form. 

Gingerly, he crouched and placed a hand on her shoulder, careful not to touch her hair. She groaned, still not fully awake. Was this weird? Alistair began to feel awkward and wasn't sure if he should just cut his losses now.

“Alistair?”

He looked down at a confused Neria, rubbing and blinking her long lashes over her large elven eyes. Her breathing was still fast, but she was beginning to get a hold of it.

“You were caught in a nightmare, it seemed. I—I thought it best to wake you. It didn't look fun.”

“Thank you,” she replied, pausing for a brief moment, clearly remembering it. “It wasn't.”

Alistair shifted awkwardly. “I’ll, uh, head back to my spot on watch, if you need anything.”

She nodded.

Alistair returned to his cramped, moss-covered seat at the log by the fire, internally cursing the heat of the blush that crept over his face. Very, very smooth, Alistair.

Wanting to avoid her gaze as she settled back into sleep, he busied himself with a small stick he found in the dirt, sharpening it into a toothpick with his pocket knife. As the stick began to take a misshapen shape, resembling something akin to a toothpick, a low voice pierced through the quiet. "Um, Alistair?"

Startled, he glanced up and saw Neria outlined by the light of the fire. She was standing above him in her sleeping clothes; a man's shirt and trousers too large for her frame. Her cloak was draped over her shoulders, her arms crossed over her breast, with boots worn haphazardly and the strings untied. The fire's glow exaggerated the dark circles beneath her eyes.

"Can I join you for a moment?" she murmured in response to his silence, her voice soft against the crackling of the flames. "I... I don’t think I can find sleep again."

“Oh! Yes, of course!” Alistair said in a low voice, making room for her on the log. Her leg brushed against his and remained so as she joined him on their small shared seat.

They sat in silence, Alistair's gaze flickering between the flames and their slumbering companions. Neria fixed her eyes on the fire, her gaze unwavering until she spoke in a hushed whisper.

“Alistair… I’m scared,” she murmured.

Alistair turned to her, noticing the fatigue in her eyes and her hands clasped tightly between her thighs. She shifted her gaze from the fire to meet his, catching him off guard. He had never seen her like this, so vulnerable.

"Scared about the Blight?" he ventured, his voice gentle yet uncertain. "I think we all are. But we'll find a way. We always do."

“Is that so?” she sighed. "And these nightmares... They're not helping. Honestly, the dreams leave me so unsettled that even sitting here like this, with my back exposed to the darkness, has me on edge.” She shivered. 

Her distress ignited a force within him. 

Without hesitation, Alistair unfastened his cloak and draped it around Neria's shoulders, tucking it snugly under her chin. "Here," he said softly, the corners of his mouth rising into a foolish grin as he continued, "I'm afraid I can't help you with your dreams, but don't worry, my Lady. I assure you I won't let any grumpkins or ghouls sneak up on you in the night. It's my duty, of course, as I have drawn this night's watch."

“Hey!” she giggled in surprise, “You’re mocking me!”

“Mocking you, dear Lady? Perish the thought!” Alistair responded in a mockingly playful tone, trying to compose his heart swelling with warmth at the sound of her laughter.

Neria smiled up at him, covering her mouth as she giggled so as not to wake the others. Alistair felt like his heart was about to burst. His foolish jests had always made her laugh. It was his main source of pride, of course.

Neria tugged at his cloak around her frame. “Are- are you sure?” she said, motioning to his cloak, a pretty blush decorating her cheeks. “Are you sure you are not cold?”

“Don't worry, I’m a little warm actually.”

“Hmm, well... please let me know if you do become cold.”

She looked to the fire once more, a shy smile still gracing her lips.

“Thank you, Alistair,” she began, her voice soft. "Talking with you... always cheers me up. I am just… getting so exhausted. Back in the Circle, I was taught mana conservation and how to stay awake during long, boring lectures, not how to survive camping every single night," she chuckled lightly, though there was weariness in her voice. "It's been so long since I’ve had a real, good night's sleep. I believe it’s getting to me... But I guess I could say that for all of us…”

“I think it's a bit different for you," Alistair reassured her.

A chill wind swept through the camp, tousling her hair and tugging at her cloaks. The swaying light of the fire danced across the red strands of hair that fell from her braid and framed her face. Shuddering, she drew the cloaks tighter around herself.

“So, so cold," she exclaimed. "As if sleeping outside in the mud wasn't cursed enough! I thought it was supposed to be Spring. Damnable Ferelden weather... and damnable Fereldans, apparently immune to it." She shot a playful pout in his direction.

“Alistair, I cannot believe you are not cold,” she remarked with disbelief.

He must have been lost in thought, looking at her, as he was caught off guard when she reached up and gently touched his cheek with the back of her hand. “You’re as cold as ice!”

Neria lifted her arms, first picking up Alistair's cloak and then deciding to pick up both of theirs together and wrapped it around them both. Alistair grabbed his end of their cloaks as she scooted closer to him on the log. The side of her body, now pressed up against him, was warm. His mind almost went completely blank as he became aware of how close she was. He could really get used to this.

“Is that better?”

"Much," he replied.

"I just thought I should share my warmth," she teased. "Seeing as you're so generous with yours."

"What can I say? I could not have had you catching a cold and withering away now, could I? How else will I find the courage to face a morning Morrigan without you there to temper her wrath."

“And here I was thinking it was just your knightly duty to protect me from all manner of discomforts," she quipped back at him.

"Well, you know me," he replied, his voice gentle. "Always ready to play the gallant knight, especially for a beautiful damsel in distress." 

He didn’t intend for his words to be so forward, but he spoke them before he could catch himself. 

She looked up at him, her eyes widening for a brief moment before she responded, her tone coy but with a hint of something more beneath the surface, “Well, Ser Alistair, you certainly do play the part well." Alistair felt a rush of warmth at her words, his heart beating just a little faster in his chest. "But I assure you, I am quite capable of fending off grumpkins and ghouls on my own, should the need arise.”

"Of that, my lady, I have no doubt," he replied, trying to keep his voice steady. "I must say, it is a relief to know that I am not the only one keeping watch over our camp tonight."

Neria opened her mouth to reply but was interrupted by a yawn. 

“Though however grateful I am for your company, perhaps you should try and get some sleep?” he suggested. “We do have a long day ahead of us tomorrow.”

“Perhaps so, but… truly, I don’t believe I can.”

“Here, close your eyes at the very least. You can rest your head on my shoulder if you wish.”

He was blushing furiously now; they both were, he saw. Neria obliged and placed her head down on his shoulder, her hair tickling his face. He wrapped his arms around her under their cloaks. At the back of his mind, he worried if what he was doing might exceed the bounds of propriety, but he stopped caring. What he was doing just felt so right .

Slowly, Neria's breathing grew steady as she eventually drifted off to sleep, her weight warm against his side.

~~~~

As the moon made its journey across the starry sky, Alistair saw that his time on watch was done. Gently, he lifted Neria into his arms, cradling her as he carried her to her bedroll. Careful not to disturb her sleep, he placed her head back on the traveling pack serving as her makeshift pillow. No wonder she cannot sleep, he thought to himself.

After the hideous act of waking up Morrigan for her turn to keep watch, Alistair returned to his own bedroll. Drifting off to sleep he vowed that with their next visit to town, with the little coin he had, he would at the very least buy Neria a proper pillow and blanket.

#alistair dragon age #alistair theirin #alistair x surana #alistair x warden #dao #dragon age fanfiction #warden surana #dragon age alistair #dragon age origins #Alistair fanficion

[mynamesaplant]

Gaeric Week: Food

---------------------------------------------------------------------------

Thanks to @gaeric-appreciation for putting this together. Thanks to Mons too for betaing all this work, it is always appreciated. This has been really fun and I've really been looking forward to it! Each ficlet is between 500 and 1,000 words so they're easy reads.

Please note: In solidarity with Palestine and the global strike called by Bisan Owda, I will be pushing the release dates of these ficlets up to avoid conflict with this strike.

---------------------------------------------------------------------------

Wandering through the mountains wasn’t exactly fun, but Gaeric had a certain… craving. Each week he had to travel further and further to find more swordcaps. The fungus didn’t grow with regularity, so now he was trekking up Mount Coronet with Lady Sneasler a few steps behind him, watching over him so the young warden wouldn’t break his neck.

Gaeric would have liked to hope that she would have more faith in him than that. He was actually very good at climbing - it was one of the things he prided himself in the most and practiced by timing his climb up Avalugg’s Legacy every morning. Since he was the only one around to get Lord Avalugg his favorite’s treat, it had become a daily part of his routine along with the rest of his workout.

He had recently been tackling the frozen falls to the south, but those were significantly higher and more treacherous than what he was used to. He had taken up the habit of dragging first Bergmite and then Avalugg around, his boot clad feet biting into the ice encrusted snow with each step. His ward watched him with vague interest as he built his strength, the two Snorunt– well, no longer Snorunt now; the Glalie and Froslass that had been trailing after him for the past five years had recently scampered away and he found them at the arena evolved and cheering him on for each exercise.

However, all these additional workouts had a cost, because now Gaeric was insatiable all the time. He had promised not to let his lifestyle choices affect the clan, but his body simply needed more calories to function at peak physical condition.

That’s how he found out his love for mushrooms. Swordcaps in particular.

He had no idea how delicious they could be when added to, well, just about anything! The problem was, his home territory wasn’t exactly… conducive to the survival of mushrooms, so he made his excursions. Lady Sneasler, he had to assume at someone’s behest, most likely Calaba’s, always accompanied him. Gaeric didn’t just make these trips for his precious mushrooms though, he also collected extra food that he found along the way to return to the clan. This earned him a rather favorable position in the clan, not that he had expected it, but he accepted it with just a tinge of smugness every time Palina scowled at him.

There was a flash of red just ahead, right by the cliff’s edge, Gaeric jogged forward and knelt by the large specimen. The toothy red caps cascaded outward like a delicate bloom, it always looked like the odd plumage seen on Staraptors; in fact, it looked more like a bush than a typical fungus. He plunged his fingers into the loamy soil and excavated carefully, extracting the mushroom without breaking off any of the caps.

He was about to tuck it into his bag when his stomach rumbled. Gaeric looked upward, taking stock of the sun’s location in the sky and glancing at the swordcap in his hands. Gingerly, he snapped off a few caps and popped them into his mouth, the flesh was rather rubbery, but not too dissimilar to how an uncooked plump bean felt in the mouth. The young warden chewed, swallowed, and turned to find more mushrooms when he caught sight of Lady Sneasler, who looked visibly disgusted by what she just saw, before she jerked her arm.

An indication for him to get a move on.  

#pokemon #legends of arceus #pla #pokemon legends arceus #pokemon: legends arceus #pokemon legends: arceus #p:la #pl:a #fan fic #fanfiction #fanfic #fan fiction #gaeric week 2024 #gaeric appreciation week #pkmn #warden gaeric #pla gaeric #had to fix it bc i said snover and not snorunt ;;

[ironcladrhett]

TIMING: Saturday, 8.26 LOCATION: Various PARTIES: Parker (@wonder-in-wings) and Rhett (@ironcladrhett) SUMMARY: Rhett invites Parker to go with him to the Mushroom Circle to pick a fae to interrogate/harvest from. CONTENT WARNINGS: Medical blood

—

He didn’t get nervous, not anymore. Well… that’s what Parker would’ve easily had you believe as he pulled up to the coordinates that Rhett dropped for him. The Warden being completely flat and expressionless on the outside, save for the occasional twitch of his eyebrow or a faint movement of his mouth to better express any pull of emotions on the inside which harbored a sense of anxiety was more accurate. He was anxious. Just a little.

It’d been three years since he moved to Wicked’s Rest and it wasn’t until the past couple of weeks that Parker actually encountered people he didn’t completely hate spending time around in extended capacities. Metzli was similar to him in that they didn’t need to use a plethora of words when just a few would do. They didn’t have the same level of pride and assumption to read between the lines as most people did and he didn’t feel the need to obscure most of what he said behind eloquence and metaphor. There were certain things that got caught in his head, for sure, and he couldn’t either type them out or especially verbalize them but generally, their conversations had been nice and succinct.

Rhett, he felt, was the complete opposite of Parker and yet they were incredibly similar. His time that he’d spent with other Wardens who weren’t directly related to him was very limited - Wardens seemed to either be a dying breed or a rarity even in hunter circles - and even from their couple of interactions, Rhett hadn’t done or said anything to imply that Parker was– ‘Your mind is broken, son.’ He inhaled softly, not realizing that he was getting lost in his thoughts, though he couldn’t be sure why. He didn’t do that, not usually. Things changed ever since he touched that crystal.

He despised change.

The Warden placed his unassuming Audi into park, leaving it running and after some debate, he pried his hands off the steering wheel and his blue-eyed gaze faced the direction of where he anticipated Rhett to come from. Parker was harboring some nervousness, yes. But he didn’t want to think about why right now, not when literally nothing had happened, yet. He took out his phone and wondered if he should call or just text. He wasn’t great on the phone as it was oftentimes difficult to hear but he didn’t want to strain Rhett’s eyes. Or if he called, would Rhett be upset that he didn’t just text him? Rhett said to call. ‘Just do what you were told; stop thinking about it, man.’ He exhaled and pressed the ‘voice message’ option. “I’m here.” He announced. There; a satisfactory middle ground.

He hoped the rest of the night wasn’t as full of arbitrarily difficult decisions, decisions that shouldn’t have been difficult. He hoped he wasn’t going to be like this all night; unbearable, unusually hesitant. 

—

Now that Rhett knew the general location of the aos sí where Mariela was presumably hiding out, he needed to find out more details about it. How many fae lived there, what types, did they have any defense measures besides the faun that he and Owen had killed? Surely they did, but he didn’t want to go in unprepared. Normally he wasn’t the planning type, but this was important. He could not fuck this up. It could be his one chance, and if he blew it, he knew she’d take off again. He couldn’t stand another chase, he was too fucking old for that. She’d disappeared for twenty five years last time, and he didn’t have that kind of time to spare. His clock had run out. Each new day was a gift, a concession given to him by whatever deity took pity. It was now or never. All or nothing. The stakes were unbelievably high, and he was going to take his time with it. 

One thing that needed to be sorted out was her catching wind of his presence before he was ready. His unique appearance, as Parker had helpfully pointed out, might make that challenging. Of course the last time he’d seen Mariela in person, his beard had been much shorter and his long hair had been brown. She’d be expecting him to have aged, if she assumed he still lived, so she’d probably be on the lookout for someone with gray hair like his. If not her, then the fae she lived with. Something would need to be done about that, but for tonight, he tried not to worry about it. 

A voice message. That was a first, but also strangely… appreciated. Rhett smiled to himself as he put the phone back in the pocket of his jeans, grabbing the utility trucker jacket from where it had been tossed over a chair and shrugging it on. His clothing, at least, was very much the same as most of the working class around here, so at least he wouldn’t stand out in that regard. Leaving the bunker and rounding the van that  sat outside, he resisted the urge to check on the mare that was still trapped in there, instead just giving the vehicle a knowing look before turning his attention to his ride that waited at the end of the dead-end road. 

“Kia ora!” The greeting was decidedly enthusiastic as he opened the car door and plopped down into the seat, but not loud—he had a feeling that if Parker was worried about being around a lot of fae at once, overstimulation was a very real hurdle for him even in the non-supernatural capacity. Rhett could appreciate that—understand it, even, to a point. It wasn’t the thing that set him off, but once he was already lost to a dissociative episode, overstimulation became a serious problem. “Ah—here. Found ya the perfect li’l rock for worryin’.” Digging something out of his jacket pocket, he passed a small, smooth stone over to Parker, and then held up another that had a significant dip in the middle. “Had this one fer twenty years, I think. Been worn down, as ya can see. Really does do a lot fer keepin’ me in the moment. Thought ya could try it.”

—

He didn’t move his stare from the path until he saw Rhett’s figure clearly, bathed in the glow of the moon that shone like a floodlight overhead - it was impressively large, keenly bright and he wondered if somehow, it contributed to those moments where he was by himself and he felt a brief, yet intense rush of emotions as though he were thrust back into the earlier parts of the month. Parker didn’t think Rayne could realize how much mileage he’d gotten out of that spinner ring that was tethered to the magical artifact that sat in a special place on his shelf. It might’ve been placebo, of course but the Warden, for all his dull surprise and disdain for magic and magicians, wasn’t a cynic or an arbiter of what constituted as a coping mechanism.

Huh, he didn’t normally introspect like that. In any case, Rhett opened the door, greeted him with a tone that almost made Parker want to smile (and indeed, the ghost of one tugged on the corner of his mouth) and slipped inside. Responding non verbally by giving the pirate his full attention, complete with the same signature stare and neutral expression that held an innate curiosity instead of irritation, he would’ve started to drive them to the fae bar when Rhett said he had something for him - a rock? Then the other Warden procured a stone from his pocket and offered it to Parker. It was ruddy red in color with two or three gold streaks in it and seemed to be an ideal size for his pocket. As he took it and looked it over studiously, as though absorbing every detail that could be gleaned from it, he cast a glance at Rhett’s, which was dark and decidedly shiny and very well-used.

Parker’s blue eyes lifted from the stone to Rhett’s face and as he subconsciously placed a thumb to the stone he was given to get a feel for it, he did smile this time. It was small, only reaching one half of his mouth really but it was missing the threat. It wasn’t fake, not this time. “Thanks, Rhett.” He leaned back in his seat enough to place the rock into his pocket and he adjusted to start driving. Hopefully he wouldn’t need to use the stone but in conjunction with the spinner ring, he was relatively certain that he was now better equipped with the tools he might need to utilize in order to do his job. ‘You embarrass me.’ He could virtually see his father shaking his head in disappointment.

He’d been doing some research, as well; he hadn’t been hunting with another Warden since he spent time with his brother and those trips tended to go well, if exasperatingly for Walker. Not to mention it’d been over eight years since he’d seen the other man. Parker wanted to make up for his deficiencies; he wanted to help Rhett with the latter’s goal. People worked better in pairs and try as he might to accept that he was the exception to the rule - ‘Your brain is broken but that’s okay. Solitary hunters can be apex predators too, son.’ - he really wanted to put the effort into not inconveniencing Rhett, not when he felt like they had the potential to get along and increase their respective levels of success. Well… he couldn’t speak for Rhett but his own success could always be increased, especially nowadays. So, to compensate, he read about dissociation, what caused it, how to help when someone was suffering from it. And it was much easier to do research on than demons, as it turned out.

He wasn’t sure how effective he could be in the ways he could help Rhett with those aspects and he wasn’t going to bring it up at all unless it was absolutely mandatory but he wanted to have the knowledge on hand just in case, just as how Rhett had offered the stone that sat in his pocket - he didn’t know if it would help but it was something to try and Wardens were resourceful and oftentimes problem solvers, he’d gathered as a generalization long ago. “What’s wrong with your van?” Parker found himself asking to create a semblance of small talk as he drove. He recalled the thing, with its light coloring and the big mushrooms on it; it was just as easily-recognizable as Rhett himself was. At least he was consistent in his ability to stand out.

—

Smiling as Parker pocketed the stone, Rhett gave a purposeful nod and then let his attention wander to the front of the vehicle as they started to move. They were quiet for a few minutes as they drove through the dark, away from the beach and through the woods, back in the direction of town. It was a comfortable sort of silence, one that let Rhett ponder their plans for the evening. He’d let Parker pick the target as it didn’t make much difference to him at this point. And it would be easily done with most of the fae in that establishment not using their glamours, feeling they were in a safe space—because what sort of hunter would walk into a whole club full of powerful creatures that would love to see him dead? No, he and Parker would just be normal humans looking for a place to get a drink. They’d think that the unglamoured fae simply wore elaborate costumes, and would comment as much to remove any suspicion regarding their presence. Hell, some fae might even try to feed on them, and they’d have to play along as best they could. That would only buy a short amount of time of course, before the fae realized that they weren’t being satiated, but sometimes a minute or two was all you needed. 

Going into a place like this was dangerous for them, but that’s just the kind of hunter Rhett was.

“Huh? Oh, nothin’s wrong with ‘er,” Rhett explained, grinning. “Just got some precious cargo in the rear that I can’t really afford to take into town. Ya could call it research, if ya like.” And he’d leave it at that, preferring the air of mystery and, eventually, the surprise of whatever conclusion he ended up coming to.

 The rest of the ride into town consisted mostly of Rhett talking about bygone hunts and Parker quietly listening, patient in his way regardless of whether or not he found the stories interesting. Of course, once they found a parking spot near the fae club, that sort of chatter had to be dropped. Going over the plan once more, the pair struck off for the entrance. Everything appeared normal from the outside, and the wardens encountered no problems getting in. They weren’t the only humans to come to this place, after all—for all the fae that made up the clientele, there were still more unaware humans. Or aware ones, though they likely kept that to themselves. 

Once inside, the deep thrum of music met their ears and their eyes had to adjust to the dark—something Rhett had more trouble with, of course, and he made a point to stick close to Parker as they moved through the crowd. The chill that crawled up his spine at the presence of so many fae made him shiver, but that was about the extent of his outward manifestation of the discomfort. 

He looked at Parker, brows raised. “You good?” He offered the other a small smile, following to the bar so they could get their drinks before settling in a dark, quieter corner to better observe the patrons.

—

So Rhett was conducting an experiment. Parker wasn’t about to ask any more questions; he respected the man already, enough that he certainly wasn’t going to ask if the aforementioned ‘precious cargo’ was a person, monster, fae or otherwise. Probably not fae. Maybe a different species? Rhett seemed like the type to not discriminate, similarly to how Parker himself didn’t. Mmmmost of the time.

The car ride was… Parker hesitated to call anything pleasant but it certainly reminded him of when he was younger, going places with Walker, falling into his strange, yet somehow approachable silence as the latter talked about whatever flitted across his mind. It was refreshing; unlike talking with, say, Teddy, Anita or especially Siobhan, he didn’t feel like he was being talked down to or treated like he didn’t know what he was talking about, what he decided to remain quiet for, which was a lot all things considered. Rhett was a familiar breath of fresh air, seeming to do his job even subliminally in easing the other Warden further into what their dynamic was.

Regardless of what that was, though, it was sure to be put to a test Parker certainly didn’t want to take as they got closer to the bar, their conversations coming to a stop. He wasn’t afraid, he told himself as he craned his neck to peer at the neon sign that loomed over the parking lot. He wasn’t afraid, he told himself as the unlikely-looking duo, after going over the plan once more for absolute clarity, got out of his blood-and-ink stained car and approached the door. He wasn’t afraid, he told himself as they bypassed the security with ease and made their way down the hall into the bulk of the bar.

Crossing the threshold into the dark area felt like someone had unceremoniously doused ice-cold water on the Warden. It was warm, dimly lit and pulsing with music and energy, the flow of food and water reliably to a swarm of… wings. Parker’s blue eyes didn’t give themselves the time to adjust to the low lights as they effortlessly and wildly jerked his head back and forth, up and down as they were so indecisive about which set they wanted to obsess over first. Instinctively, he pulled his hands so tightly into a clench that he could feel the bones in his left middle finger crack with the strength of the hunter. The other one subconsciously zipped from his side like a viper and bit into whatever part of Rhett’s outfit was loose enough for him to childishly cling to the other man as though afraid that if that connection were broken, he’d fall into the gaping maw below them, into the pit of madness.

They were everywhere. They were displayed, proud and beautiful and numerous, a dizzying display of colors and shapes, kaleidoscopic in the haze of the lights and sounds and cigarette smoke that lingered around in the air. And this was just a bar, where there were still normal humans; he literally couldn’t imagine what an aos sí must’ve looked and felt like. The overwhelming sensation simultaneously inflaming Parker’s mind and frothing the blood in his veins made him want to sink to the floor on the spot, recalling when he was a child overwhelmed by stimuli. Hands over his ears as though that would fix whatever problem was turning his insides out and pressing on his brain.

He couldn’t do that. He was both too old and too supposedly professional to allow that, if his father's voice acting as an addition to the cacophony in his mind had anything to say about it. Inhaling deeply, trying to keep blood circulating to his brain to keep himself from getting lightheaded, Parker stayed close to Rhett as the two made their way through the bar. The hand that had foolishly clung to Rhett had since let go reluctantly and reached into his pocket to retrieve the stone he’d been given previously. He opted to focus solely on the other Warden now, though he kept his wide blue eyes available enough to find them the easiest paths to walk - he was still effectively Rhett’s eyes, after all, he couldn’t forget even in the storm of sensations pelting him. The pirate was certainly taking this better than Parker himself was and he didn’t address the question that Rhett asked until they got to the bar. Once they were there, Parker forced himself to unclench his left hand where four nail marks welled with blood and his middle finger was swollen with bruising as it started to work on healing the fractures that the Warden had caused. “I’m good.” He replied, knowing he wasn’t fooling anything or anyone in that bar as he lied through his teeth. “You good?” He asked dumbly, unfocused eyes dancing over Rhett’s features, as though searching him to see if he was hiding anything the Warden was suffering withdrawal from on his person.

—

The quick grab for his jacket didn't go unnoticed, and it actually prompted the warden to snake an arm around Parker's shoulders, grasping the one opposite him firmly. He couldn't understand perfectly whatever it was that Parker was enduring in this moment—Rhett’s brand of weird was a little different, after all, but what he did know was that he often felt too light when overstimulated. Like he might float away at any second, or like the world might just fall away beneath his feet. It was unsettling, and in those moments he always wished he had someone who could just... hold him down. Jury was out on whether that would hurt or help Parker, but the fist that clung to him now seemed to indicate that he might be on the right track.

Even as that hand retreated, Rhett kept a hand on the man, still letting him guide them through the crowd since Rhett couldn't see for shit in a place this dark. Not unless something was up close and square in front of his gaze, like Parker was now. Lying to him about being okay.

Rhett chuckled, releasing his fellow warden and giving a shrug. “Okay as I'll ever be, mate, which ain't sayin' much,” he answered in a lighthearted sort of tone. “It's... a lot, I know. S'good therapy, though. Me, I'm gonna have to find my way into a...” he lowered his voice, “... a community of 'em soon, and I can't get all frozen up cuz I feel like shit around 'em. Got work to do, after all.” 

The bartender came to take their orders, giving them a once-over that was followed quickly by a smirk. They were targets, not pinging as fae on this thing's radar, which it most certainly was fae if the tightness in Rhett's chest had anything to say about it. Rhett just had to hope that none of them would attempt to feed on either warden in such a public space, or their cover as normal folks would be blown. “Dark n' stormy fer me,” Rhett said before glancing at his companion, hoping he was able to get himself together enough to think of a drink. If not, it'd be two of the same.

—

Good therapy. Parker knew what therapy was, if only through stories he’d read and annoyances that people liked to talk about but he assumed it was just another one of those things that he wouldn’t benefit from. His deficiencies were his own, and he either needed to rise above his flaws or accept his mediocrity. That being said, as the two sat there in the smoky bar, surrounded by their natural enemy with the creatures being none the wiser, Parker was grateful that he didn’t have to try to navigate through these deficiencies entirely on his own. The supportive hand on him from Rhett, seeming to help establish him and keep him from falling into the abyss, was appreciated though the younger Warden didn’t have the appropriate concentration to say as such, let alone to shift the conversation to it. He definitely would once they were out of the stimulating environment, though. “I’ll take a, uh–” He inhaled sharply as the sentence filler tumbled out of his mouth, almost as though something had struck him though it was unseen, just a memory of something he’d felt before. Parker cleared his throat and continued, giving the fae behind the counter a lopsided look, one eyebrow raised and his head tilted in a way that made it look like half of his face was settled lower than the other. “A whiskey sour. Extra lemon.” He nodded as though affirming that that was what he meant to say, which it was, and that was all the attention he gave to the bartender before he jerked his gaze back to stare once more at his pirate of a hunting partner. There was a pause before he exhaled, much steadier than before as they sat, drawing glances from passersby, no doubt being sized up as though they were livestock to be sold and subsequently butchered. The exposure to everything seemed to be working, though, as Parker still felt his blood swishing and folding over itself in microscopic waves but his eyes were less unfocused, less willing to become enamored with the next set of wings that they saw. It… helped, somehow, to know that Rhett was also affected by their surroundings, he’d just gotten better at hiding it. Parker could do that, too. He liked Rhett and felt a small aspect of his childhood sparking to life from its dormancy whenever they spent time together. He felt… Well, he felt like a younger brother again, in that strange way that he was a younger brother even if he felt like the older sibling sometimes compared to Walker. Most of it didn’t stick but he did imitate the older Wright child on occasion and he felt that way now; if Rhett could keep his cool, Parker would adjust, too. “I remember.” He said, trying to keep his steadying gaze on Rhett though it kept briefly flickering to a particularly-striking fae that lingered in the dim background behind the other Warden: an entomid, based off a Calopteryx virgo. Exceedingly rare given that that species wasn’t found in the States, yet as he turned on the spot dazzlingly, laughing and conversing with his fellow fae, Parker was almost certain that he was their target. “I… want to assist.” He added after another pause, with an earnesty to his tone. “...If you’ll allow me.”

—

Right. He’d mentioned it to Parker already. Couldn’t keep track of things like that much these days. But good. He’d wanted the help, but only if Parker was willing to give it. If he didn’t want to be there, it wouldn’t do either of them any good. 

“‘Course I’ll allow ya, mate,” Rhett chuckled, turning subtly to follow the other warden’s line of sight and pick out the fae he’d been so distracted by. “Happy tah have ya,” he went on calmly, looking back to his friend with a knowing smile on his face. He didn’t need to ask if that was the one—they both knew it. And so they’d both keep an eye on it, as they got their drinks and made inconsequential small talk, just waiting for the entomid to leave the bar. 

Leave he did, of course. And the two wardens left only moments later, watching him head into the restroom in all his buggy glory and return looking positively mundane. As he headed for the exit, Rhett let Parker lead once again, navigating them out of the darkened bar. There was a plan for each outcome: if their target went to get into its car, Rhett would reach in just before the door closed and unlock the back, allowing Parker to get into the backseat and hold an iron blade to the fae’s throat, then force it to drive out somewhere quiet. If it walked to an apartment or home, well, slipping in after it wouldn’t be too challenging. Unlocked windows, catching the door, anything really. They just had to keep close and move quickly once their window of opportunity arose. 

—

Therapy through exposure. It seemed to help settle the blood that frothed in Parker’s veins, the longer they remained inside the uncomfortably warm, dimly-lit and smokey bar. The fae that surrounded them obviously weren’t going anywhere but when presented with the inability, the embarrassing urge to flee the area to preserve himself and he was left with no other option than to adapt… it actually felt like it was working. He was positive that if he had gone there alone, it wouldn’t have worked at all. It certainly helped that Rhett gave him affirmation that the other Warden would’ve let him come along to the aos sí; he supposed he passed the unseen test to see if he could even tolerate being in a place so swelled with fae. ‘It’s because you’re needy,’ his father said as the two of them sat there, with Parker feeling like they were talking but it was a cover and nothing that was being said actually meant anything… not to mention that it was difficult for him to actually hear. And, of course, the actual most difficult part of their sleuthing was his inability to stop staring at the entomid, often forcing himself to turn his head away from it so he could better attempt to hear whatever nothing they were talking about. ‘That’s because you’re obsessive,’ his brother chimed in. An indeterminate amount of time later and the entomid finally made his departure. Like a hound on a leash, it took considerable effort for Parker not to fly out of his seat and descend upon the unsuspecting fae, wanting to ask if he could compensate for the wings before they would inevitably say no and the cycle would repeat itself once more. It was… unusual, though. Lately, he’d been feeling a decreased need or desire to ask. He was usually very formal and professional but ever since the incidents with Felix, with the nix, the thing at the bodega, and by interacting with Rhett more, the question he now asked with increasing frequency was– ‘Why?’ 

It was the question Walker, his father, less immediate family members had asked him so many times before. Even his mother wasn’t exempt from asking this one and not once had Parker been able to come up with a sufficient explanation. Not then, not now as Rhett indicated that it was time for them to start tailing the newly-glamored entomid out of the hazy bar. After all, it wasn’t as though fae ever asked for permission before feeding on their prey; a muse would sooner die than as if it was okay to desire that inspiration from a target. A centuries-old lampade would feel nothing as it drowned a human in darkness. Immortality, a lengthened lifespan created apathy, entitlement, a haughty attitude brought by the lack of care or concern for things that lived at a fraction of their own life. Maybe those were culminating reasons why ever since he moved to town and especially over the past few months, he’d been asking less. The incidents with the balams flashed through his mind as he kept his sharp eyes completely focused on the entomid as the latter staggered half-drunkenly to his car. The nix that talked a big game before crying when she was just as mortal as the rest of them, with her tail now beautifully positioned in a jar appearing as a photograph on his eyelids as he carefully and fluidly slipped into the back seat of the vehicle as Rhett had instructed. “You have beautiful wings.” Parker said quietly, rather dully as he forcibly pressed a strong palm over the fae’s mouth while the other hand held one of Rhett’s daggers dangerously close to the flesh on the fae’s neck, the part where the carotid artery was resting comfortably just inches below. He wasn’t going to ask for permission to take them, not this time. It was then that he glanced to Rhett for further instruction, expectant but patient, like a dog sitting on the edge waiting to be told what to do next. This was unusual for the younger Warden, but he… didn’t find it difficult. 

—

It wasn’t hard to move up behind the fae quickly and quietly, sneaking a hand to the door to unlock the rest of them while the other arm slammed across the nymph’s chest, pinning it to the seat. It balked, but Parker was there in the seat behind it in an instant, holding a knife to its throat and keeping its head pressed to the headrest just like they’d discussed. The younger warden looked to him and Rhett nodded and smiled, shutting the driver’s side door and circling around the front of the car to get in the passenger’s seat. 

“Right, mate, so here’s the deal. We’re reasonable fellas, right? N’ my friend here what’s got ya in a little bind there, he likes yer wings. And I like when he gets nice things, things he wants, and he wants yer wings. So I tell ya what we’re gonna do. We’re gonna tell you where to drive, n’ yer gonna drive there. No questions, no fuss, n’ no need fer you to get hurt. We can all make it outta this in one piece—well…. two pieces fer you, I s’pose—if ya behave. Sound good?” 

The fae was panicking beneath Parker’s hand, eyes wide. “Okay, maybe not good, but does that sound like somethin’ you can handle, mate? Clock’s tickin’, n’ we’d really rather not have to kill ya in front of this bar.” That seemed to do the trick and the nymph nodded, tears glistening in its eyes. 

“There’s a good boy,” Rhett said with a smirk, settling back in his seat and pointing down the street. “Thataway, chum.”

The drive was dark, taking them down backroads out of town. As it became more and more remote, Rhett started scoping out a good place to change the seating arrangement in the car. He spotted an open lot with nothing much else around besides an abandoned warehouse, and pointed to it. “There. Pull into that lot.” The nymph did as it was told but started trying to speak to them, probably begging for its life or some such typical bullshit, but Rhett wasn’t listening. “Stop the car.” They came to a halt, and the warden threw it in park. He reached out, grabbing the nymph by the hair and glancing back at Parker, giving him another nod. “Let our friend here go,” he said softly, and the moment the knife and Parker’s hand were out of the way, Rhett slammed the fae’s head into the steering wheel. Jerking its head back to give it a quick peek, it still seemed conscious. Once more then, for good measure. 

Parker’s bunker was best suited for the task, and that’s where they needed to go. Rhett swapped with his friend, now sitting in the back seat with the unconscious fae so the other could get them to the bunker as quickly as possible. 

—

The younger Warden was entirely silent as Rhett took control of the situation, settling into a rather comfortable role of going where he was told to go and doing what he was instructed to do. It wasn’t that Parker was subservient or lacked independence. It was just that he found the exchange similar to what he used to do with Walker. Walker the talker, the action-taker, the one who actually had the intention of killing the things they hunted. He wondered how much different the evening would’ve been if it had just been Parker; would they still have gone to his Workshop, as they were now? Or would he have simply sedated the fae, performed the impromptu operation in his own vehicle before leaving the unconscious body in an alley and spirited the wings away to arrange and subsequently hang? He supposed it didn’t matter what would’ve happened since what was happening now was, well, happening. Whether he wanted to be or not, the fae was receptive of Rhett’s instructions and soon enough, after spending a few moments in an empty parking long and some shuffling of bodies, they were en route to the forest, out of the lights of the streetlamps, the buildings growing more sparse and being replaced with trees, the road becoming dirt and gravel. 

The drive was expedient, the headlights having been turned to dim as they reached a point of familiarity to Parker, the Warden instinctively turning his head in the direction of the concealed bunker as he pulled the car to a stop. “I can carry it and lead the way.” He suggested, keeping Rhett’s poor vision ever-present in his mind with every decision he made, every suggestion and the few instructions he himself had. 

“When we get there, do you want to interrogate it first or shall I harvest the wings?” He asked, glancing over at the other Warden as he led the way through the dark forest.

—

Nodding complacently, Rhett brought up the rear of the tiny, macabre parade as they got out of the vehicle and got on their way to the bunker. “It’s all you,” he informed the other warden, gesturing lazily at the unconscious fae, wings glittering in the moonlight as they traipsed through the woods. “Don’t think there’s much more I’m gonna get outta the fae ‘round here that I don’t already know. Would have to catch one leavin’ the aos sí. Ain’t worth the trouble for this bloke.” He smiled in spite of the grim topic, taking in the bunker’s interior as they entered, noting that it was considerably nicer than his own. Not in structure, so much, but just general upkeep. Maybe he ought to sweep his own, or something. Bah. 

“Anyway, was most lookin’ forward to watchin’ you work when you got all your tools at yer disposal… if that’s all right.” A rare request for permission, highly uncharacteristic of his typical ‘demand now and maybe apologize later’ attitude. He liked Parker, and he wanted Parker to like him. Trying to mitigate the issues that usually arose and pushed other people away from him seemed smart, in that respect. Not being a dick was a pretty clear-cut answer. “‘N hey, didn’t get to say earlier, but ya did good back there. In the bar, I mean. Handled yerself well, mate.” And everything that came after, but that was less related to the point he was making. “We make a good team, aye?”

What a terrifying, wonderful thought.

—

The instant that the pirate told him that he was able to do what some considered he did best, Parker’s mind started thinking of different arrangements, positions, angles for the beautiful set of wings that now dangled absently, bouncing up and down to the rhythm of their walking. He was so caught up in the immediacy of his imagination that he almost missed Rhett’s… it sounded like a request. It was unusual, someone wanting to make sure it was okay to watch him work; he’d long since grown accustomed to doing what he did regardless but the tentative permission wasn’t unappreciated, even if it was from someone like Rhett, someone he didn’t mind having around anyway. In that sense, he was almost honored that Rhett, the pirate Warden with a bad eye, a gruff demeanor, his strange sense of humor, fierce desire for vengeance and troubled mind, wanted to watch him work.

Parker, expression changing slightly to something considerably softer and more mild (which arguably meant more naturally emotive), turned his head to say that of course it was okay for Rhett to be there, that he didn’t mind anyway but he didn’t get the response out before Rhett followed up with– ‘Awwww he’s praising you!’ His brother chirped in his head. ‘Kinda reminds me of, well, me!’ The younger Warden couldn’t hide the bewildered look that crossed his features for a moment, obviously caught off-guard by being told that what he did, something that his father would’ve said ‘it’s so simple, everyone else can do it so why can’t you?’ about, was something he did well. Rhett said that he did good at… acting human. Like how other people do. 

There was a comfortable silence that fell between them as they walked and Parker thought about what all was said. It wasn’t much, when one thought about it, but something in the words was just enough that that ghost of a smile tugged on the corner of his inexpressive face, twitching as it wondered what it was doing there and if it was allowed to stay. “You don’t… have to ask to watch. You’re… always welcome to.” He said quietly. “And… yes. We do make a good team.” He added; between his shortcomings and deficits and Rhett’s own, they felt like two puzzle pieces that belonged together. Whether or not they belonged to different puzzles had yet to be seen but Parker was so enamored with the details that, as usual, he wasn’t able to see the bigger picture. It was a flaw, he had since learned that, but for that night, as they made their way to a bunker that both Wardens had in different capacities, he was admittedly experiencing some small, foreign emotion inside him, something warm and close, the sensation of those puzzle pieces fitting together. They made a good team. What a terrifying, wonderful thought.

#. thread ; #. with ; parker wright #. a warden's walls ; #medical blood tw

[vonvayna]

Fall of the Nammucard Tribe: Vonvayna (Elder Scrolls Story)

Nammucard.

Their tribe was the Nammucard. ‘Nameless Kin-Wardens of the Undeparted’ for those not fluent in Dunmeri. Ironic that they had a name, but it was meant to signify their distaste with outside interaction. Their leader, Ashkhan Makan-Amat, was a stern Dunmer very focused on tradition. Their top warrior, Champion Tulvain, would soon be named Gulakhan, second-in-command, for the recent destruction of Nord grave-robbers coming to rob the burial sites the clan protected, and celebrations were in order. The Wise Woman of the tribe was going to mark Tulvain with a protective enchantment, and her apprentice, the Farseer, was close to coming up with a real gift for him.

“Farseer.” The Wise Woman began. “Yes?” The Farseer answered. The Wise Woman paced back and forth the mud hut, her blue fingers tapping away at a wooden table carved with indentations to hold alchemical ingredients. “I’ve heard your runic studies are coming along well.” 

This is all the Wise Woman had to say to capture the attention of her youthful apprentice. The young Dunmer whipped around, clapping her hands together, and stepping aside so three runes could be seen at the table reserved for enchanting. “Yes!” The Farseer began, “I’m close to understanding what they mean. I think this last one means ‘Charm’ when combined with these other two-” The Wise Woman put her index finger’s nail to the tip of her thumb, approached the Farseer, and flicked her forehead. 

The Farseer grunted in protest, rubbing the affected area. “Do not get distracted, my apprentice. We need something to bless Tulvain - maybe an enchantment for his sword so it glows with the burning flames trapped within Red Mountain, or a spell of protection blessed by Azura herself. None of your childish… glamours.” The Farseer frowned visibly, but slowly nodded. This was about Tulvain, after all. An Ashlander she looked up to.

---

Tulvain stood proud, his bare blue-ish chest puffed out, the netch leather he wore recently forged to replace his old outfit. A small crowd of the tribe gathered as he rose from his hut, giving his younger sister, Asana, a nod. Asana glowed brightly, clinging to the arm of her good friend, none other than the Farseer. The Farseer smiled gently, looking between the two siblings. A look of joy for Tulvain sparkling in the Farseer’s eyes. And also pride. Because he’d soon receive something the Farseer helped create. 

At the end of the path the male warrior walked down was the Ashkhan and the Wise Woman. The Wise Woman silently handed a glowing, Dunmeri sword to the Ashkhan. Tulvain strided over to the two and knelt on one knee, bowing his head in respect. “Tulvain, you have long been Champion of the Nammucard Tribe. With this enchanted Blade of Storms, you will soon be recognized as Gulakhan. You may be Champion now, but as soon as your blade cuts into a foe of the Nammucard, whether it be beast, n’wah, or traitor, the blood soaked into the ebony will stain the blade, and this will mark your new title.” 

The crowd cheered after such a rousing speech. It made sense - this was a little tradition instilled in the Nammucard Tribe generations ago. Officially, bloodying the blade was to be the Galukhan’s ‘final task as Champion’. Unofficially, it was to prevent the Galukhan from getting too lazy and House Dunmeri-like with their new title. Until that blade tasted blood, Tulvain was Galukhan in everything except title. 

Tulvain still beamed proudly and accepted the enchanted sword, eagerness in his eyes to slay the next foe. He thanked the Wise Woman and the Ashkhan, and the crowd slowly dispersed once the elders began fussing at the crowd to get back to their duties.  ---

The Farseer managed to sneak away, though. Her and Asana giggled lightly as they made it into Asana’s family’s hut, holding onto each other tight. “Did you make that sword? It looked amazing!” Asana complimented. The Farseer waved a hand dismissively, unable to take all the credit. She replied, “The smith did most of the work. I just slapped an enchantment on it-” “‘Slapped an enchantment on it’ she says, as if it’s something everyone can do.” Asana interrupted in a playfully mocking tone. 

“Too bad my brother isn’t Galukhan already, though. Maybe those Nords will have friends that come to avenge them and then Tulvain can beat them back, too!” Asana spoke matter-of-factly, as if it was a simple matter. She plopped down a little too hard on a wooden chair, rubbing her lower back and sucking air through her teeth after doing so. The Farseer rolled her eyes and sat across from her, a small, circular table between them. “I hope not. The Nords your brother fought were just looking for some valuables that our ancestors aren’t even using anymore. They weren’t looking for a fight. Tulvain’s good, but I don’t want him going up against Nords actually prepared for a fight.” The Farseer attempted to be logical and reasonable about it.

Asana folded her arms and argued, “They were graverobbing, oh wise Farseer, and Azura, Boethiah, and Mephala frown on that kind of thing.” A pause was between the two, the Farseer tapping her nails on the wood idly while her other arm hung off the head of the chair, one leg crossed over the other. She smirked slightly and looked up to Asana, then asked sarcastically, “Do they, though?” Asana snapped back, “Well Lord Nerevar certainly wouldn’t be happy about it. You and your family are too… too…” “Smart?” The Farseer interjected. “Jaded.” Asana corrected, “You take Mephala and Boethiah’s teachings too literally. Their teachings are meant to prepare us for harshness and protect us from outlanders and those blasphemous House Dunmer, not to act like them.”

The Farseer slowly nodded, not really in agreement, but understanding she’d never convince Asana otherwise. “It’s a shame those ‘blasphemers’ have corralled us all the way out here, forcing us to fight for our lives every day, where our only solace is little ceremonies like the one today.” The Farseer stated. There was a look of concern on Asana's face. She reached out, placing a hand over the Farseer's on the table. "I understand, but we have to have faith. They will get theirs, in time." She assured. How sweet, the Farseer always appreciated her. There was a pause between the two women. She relished in this small touch. It lingered a little too long. Long enough to interpret it as more. Gently, the Farseer caressed Asana's hand, daring to feel her smooth skin. She had always sensed that there was more there, an attraction between them. “Asana..." She spoke, her voice softening, "You know, Asana, I have always been very fond of you. We've known each other for some time... you may simply call me by my name.” She smiled, her wandering fingers tracing along the woman's wrist. "And if you'd like, you may call me more..." Asana averted her gaze, prying her hand quickly from the touch of the Farseer. As if it had scared her. Ah. “You’re… the apprentice of the Wise Woman. You're not supposed to engage in any intimate-" Asana warned, the Farseer cut her off. “Yes, I am. But when shall I become the next Wise Woman? Two hundred years? Maybe three hundred? Magically inclined Dunmer like her live a long time, and with her attitude, I’m not entirely uncertain her ghost wouldn’t stay around a little before she retired and gave the title to me.” The Farseer joked. This caused Asana to laugh a little, but there was a hesitance. She looked around, as if to make sure no one was looking. “Yes well either way, you're not supposed to. I do not like to go against the tribe. What if someone found out?"

"Ha!" This caused the Farseer to laugh. Earning her a deep frown from Asana. She did not find this as amusing. "Please, it is not like anyone would really know. What are you going to do? Get me pregnant? One day, I shall be the Wise Woman, yes dearest Asana. I do not wish to waste my youth waiting to be an old woman... for now I am simply-..."

“Farseer!”

A masculine voice called out. His voice jarring, angered. Asana leapt to her feet, distancing herself from the Farseer. It was Tulvain, and he sounded livid. "Farseer come out this instant." He demanded in a rage, confronting her as he pried open the entrance of the hut.

Toweing over the Farseer, Tulvain stood with the sword she'd enchanted unsheathed, breathing deeply with anger. She tried her best to remain calm. On the inside, she was quite scared. What could have warrented this ire? "Give them back." "...What?" "They're gone, the relics from our ancestors. You have taken them. You, or your whore sister. Perhaps both! How dare you dishonor our tribe." This confused her greatly. It was quite an accusation, and so ridiculous that she needed a moment. “Wait, wait.” the Farseer began, “The valuables are missing and you think myself, or my sister have done this. On what grounds do you make such a bold accusation?" "Ashkhan Makan-Amat suspects you. You and your blasphemous sister - you’re both so vocal about your criticisms of our traditions. And you're both little thieves, too. We have always known that. But this is truly dishonorable." This was bad. Dishonoring the tribe could mean either exile, or death. The Farseer's heart began to beat wildly. She looked to Asana, hoping that she would defend her. "That cannot be. I was here the entire time with Asana. And my sister, yes she is impish at times, but she is harmless. We both revere our ancestors, we would never do such a thing." "You question too much, and she is defiant. You are both avaricious. It must be one of you." Tulvain spat. "No one else would have dared, and I trust the Ashkhan." "Asana, tell him. This is ridiculous." The Farseer pleaded, met with silence.

Asana averted her gaze, backing up behind her brother. "I wish not to dishonor our tribe..." Asana said, quietly. A betrayal that cut deep.

The Farseer tightened her hand into a fist, took a step forward, then said with as much authority as she could muster, “Look. It couldn’t have been us. When I wasn’t with you or the Wise Woman, then I was with Asana! My sister is usually out, hunting. So unless you both want to implicate yourselves, then allow me to help with the investigation!” 

Tulvain had that same eagerness in his eyes. The Farseer knew that look. It was the look he got before he ignored his parents’ advice and ran after those treasure hunting Nords. The Farseer almost thought for a moment Tulvain would strike her down then and there, but he sheathed his blade, then exhaled loudly with a groan. “Fine. But I’d start with questioning your sister. The Ashkhan has strong reasoning to blame you both.”

The Ashkhan...

The Farseer bolted past Tulvain and Asana. She was finally able to cry, letting silent tears fall as she ran. They were easy to blame, to betray. She and her twin. They were too good for the Nammucard. Too intelligent, too beautiful, too critical. Problematic for the elders who wished to maintain staunch tradition and status quo. Making them easy targets if someone else were to get greedy. Someone respectable.

The Farseer arrived at the Ashkhan's hut, with nothing but a suspicion and the desire to confirm it. “By Azura, this is such a stupid idea.” The Farseer whispered under her breath. She crouched down and slipped in, unnoticed. She began to search his belongings, looking for evidence that he'd commited the crime. His random accusation was strange, and there had to be a true reason. In a basket beneath a few discarded blankets, she found the valuables. Treasures from their ancestors. Amulets, enchanted rings; all the things the Nords had stolen. Right there, in the Ashkhan's hut. “That old fetcher-” She quietly cursed, as she plucked one the amulets to inspect it.

Just as she was saying this, two silhouettes blocked her light. The Farseer gasped, and she turned to see Tulvain and Makan-Amat. No, this looked horrible. She glanced up at Ashkhan Makan-Amat. There was a smug look on his face, as if he'd won.

"I can explain." She said, dropping the amulet and standing. "I found them here. Tulvain... it was the Ashkhan-"

“Very clever! Trying to cover up your crimes by planting the stolen relics here.” Askhan Makan-Amat exclaimed, his finger jutting towards the Farseer. “She stole it all! The filthy miramer, kill her!” He ordered. What was she going to do? Even with her magics, she doubted she could match Tulvain in combat. "Tulvain-" 

Tulvain unsheathed his sword, slicing down at the Farseer. She tried her best to dash out of the way, the sword knicking her shoulder and cutting into her pale blue skin. She scrambled back, against the wall, placing a hand over her wound. She was trapped, she would have to fight him.

The Farseer attempted to use her magic. But when she extended her hands and tried to summon destruction magic, nothing happened. The Enchantment. Her magicka was drained. Tulvain grinned, his eyes filled with hatred, standing there as her blood dripped down his blade, staining the ebony with red. “Good. Finish her… Gulakhan.”

“Back away from my sister.” A new voice warned. It was her sister, Nepitah. All turned to look, and the Farseer was surprised to see her twin with her blade to the Ashkhan's throat. She held it uncomfortably close to his neck, ready to slice into his old, ashen skin. "Leave Mi-Zula alone, or I will kill him." She warned. When all was lost, it was good to know that the Farseer, Mi-Zula, could count on her sister. Tulvain was shocked, trying to assess what to do. Before he could react, Mi-Zula grabbed a nearby jar and smashed it against Tulvain's head, as hard as she could. He fell to the ground unconscious. Her sister nodded, knocking out the Ashkhan with the pommel of her dagger. She did not hesitate, she did not think twice. That was the loyalty she deserved.

The two ran to each other and hugged briefly, then looked to the two bodies. "How did you find me?" Mi-Zula asked. "Asana. She told me what was going on, then she tried to stop me. Can you believe she actually thought she could take me?" Nepitah laughed. “What now?” The Farseer began, “If we kill them, we’re outlaws. If they wake up, we’re outlaws. We- we have to leave. We can hide in one of the cities in the mainland. But the House Dunmer don’t respect us Ashlanders. They wouldn’t help us! What do we do…?” Panic overtook Mi-Zula's voice.

Nepitah looked around the room, her eyes locking onto the Ashkhan's stolen treasures. "I can think of one thing the House mer respect..." Gently, Mi-Zula gasped. Of course, they could run away. Mingle in with the other dunmer, explore Morrowind. They could start over and get lost in a sea of faces. Leave it all behind. She walked over to the amulet she'd dropped, pocketing it on her person.

They needed these things more than their deceased ancestors did. “If they’re going to call us miramer, then I guess we’ll have to be miramer. Take the treasures, then meet me at the Wise Woman's hut." "Why? Splitting up sounds like a bad idea. And shouldn't we just skip the hut and go now?" Her twin asked. "I'll explain there. And we must not be seen together, if we are both captured then we are doomed." "Okay, but I hope your plan is sound." ---

The Farseer said a short prayer to… whatever god was listening at this moment. Preferably of Daedric origin, but still. She hoped the Wise Woman would not be there.

And her prayer was answered. Or perhaps she was simply lucky. The Farseer scrambled, looking for the runes she was studying. She was close to the translations. ‘Charm’... and the first two runes words were on the tip of her tongue. If she could put them into an enchantment, they’d stand a chance sneaking out of Vvardenfell before being gutted by their own warriors. 

It was the fastest the Farseer had ever studied an enchantment. Her twin arrived, surprised to see her hunched over a book. “Sister this is hardly the time for reading-” She said, the Farseer putting up one finger. “Hold on - I got it. Beauty Shadow Charm. The name of the enchantment." "Huh?" Her sister cocked her head, “I like the sound of that but what is it…?” 

"Our way out."

Channeling magic into the runes, and putting the runes on a pair of cloaks, the ancient runic language chanted out loud to the two.

“Von.”

“Vay.”

“Na.”

---

On a ship enroute to Blacklight, the Ashlander twins quietly sat together and watched the horizon as they left the Vvardenfell. Nothing to their name but the humble satchel of stolen treasures from their fallen ancestors. "So here we are. Two exiled Ashlanders without a tribe. We are dishonorable." Mi-Zula sighed, lowering her head. Being exiled was the last thing she'd wanted. Her future was ruined. She could never become a Wise Woman now. She was homeless.

“Zula?” “Yes, Nepitah?” her sister placed a comforting hand on her shoulder. “Listen, they left us with no choice. Shame on them for blaming us. They have dishonored us. Do not think of this as a failure... we're better off without the Namm-" “Don't. I don't want to hear their name anymore.” Mi-Zula groaned. "How about we make our own tribe? A better tribe. Then, we'll never be exiled, and never have to listen to stupid traditions." Nepitah smiled. She knew how much her sister suffered through loneliness, bound to rules. Mi-Zula couldn't help but smile. "Yes, we'll do as we please. We'll stop pretending we don't want refinements." "We'll make sure we never have to struggle... or suffer!" "Or eat disgusting food..." "We can marry rich House mer and become ladies!" Nepitah exclaimed. "We'll do better than them. And I think I know what we will call our tribe..." "What?" "Vonvayna."

#my writing #fanfic #fanfic writer #elder scrolls #fantasy #morrowind #ocs #dunmer #ashlanders #story