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ackerfics · 10 months

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FAMILY LINE — a house of the dragon fanfiction | aegon ii targaryen x oc

act one, chapter two: the red-bricked road (wc: 6.6k) | masterlist

Maester Orwyle is the kindest Maester she has ever known.

The Maesters in Dragonstone are all knobbly knees and wrinkly skin. Aesira once thought they posed as wizards until they outright told her that magic wasn’t part of their profession. She wanted to argue that they looked like one of the magic-wielders in the picture books she adored reading again and again but they shut her down and proceeded to explain the most basic parts of Westeros history to a child of four name days. Everything about them was boring — none of the whimsical touch she wanted to see. It nearly drove her mother insane how she would prefer to make the Maesters’ lives a lot worse by never listening to their teachings and by always hopping from one chair to another. Her father, though, laughed at every misguided action Aesira made, claiming that she was becoming his little dragon. Still, she wanted them to be more engaging; they were droning like insects during the summer and it wasn’t a nice sound to listen to every day.

But Maester Orwyle is patient enough to face Aesira’s never-ending questions.

How do you become a Maester? Can you do magic? But Mother said you can heal any wound, so why can’t you do magic? Where do you come from? Does the King pick you? When can I see my dragon? Do you know anything about dragons?

She learns that to assume as a Maester, one must study and dedicate their life to being a scholar in a place called the Citadel. Maester Orwyle doesn’t go into full detail but he reveals that it is guarded by the Hightowers, which is the House the Queen belongs to. No, they can’t do magic, an answer she heard from across the seas and they can’t fully heal a wound, unfortunately. Maester Orwyle doesn’t entertain the questions about seeing her dragon but he offers a wide variety of history lessons about them when he has more time for tutoring. He tells her she is a breath of fresh air after witnessing her fiery enthusiasm about learning, adding that Prince Aegon and Princess Helaena both have their little things to worry about other than learning about how the realm came to be. Aegon, she can understand, but Helaena? The girl looks smart enough with how composed she appears. But Aesira doesn’t have the right to judge someone’s character — she was taught by her mother to be better than that.

After her hundredth question, Maester Orwyle places a bound journal on the table.

“What do I do with it, Maester Orwyle?” She asks, eyeing the brown book with slight intrigue.

The man chuckles, waving a hand to dismiss whatever suspicion she has of this blank book. “It’s blank, my Lady, not at all associated with our studies. We’ve already established that you have the most outstanding proficiency in reading the common language at a young age.” He gestures to the tomes carefully placed around the edges of the long table. “I suspect that you also know how to write the basic letters?”

Aesira nods, feeling her cheeks burn at the compliment. “Mother made me learn. Aether would rather follow Father around Dragonstone.”

“A very wise decision made by the late Lady Aellara.” The light on Aesira’s face dims. Maester Orwyle quickly lowers his head in shame. The wound from Lady Targaryen’s death is still fresh for him to verbally make a reminder of it, so he hastily adds, “My deepest apologies, young Lady. I seemed to have let my mouth wander before my mind.” Maester Orwyle receives a tiny nod from the little girl. To uplift her spirits again, he presents an idea that will surely entice the little lady. “This blank journal will be your most trusted friend during your stay here.” He then places a writing utensil with a lead tip right beside the journal. “If something of interest catches your eye, you can write it here, my Lady. If you bear questions for our next tutoring sessions, you can write them down so you will never forget them.”

“Can I write anything here?”

At her question, he lets out a light laugh. Her age seeps through her words. “Yes, anything you want, my Lady.”

Aesira takes the journal in her hands. “How do I start?”

Maester Orwyle looks her in the eye. “You know your numbers, yes?” She nods, an answer that satisfies the learned man. “How about taking down the number of windows around the Keep? Or perhaps your thoughts regarding the paintings and pieces of art on the walls and in the atelier? I’m sure that by the end of the week, you will have more things to write about than when you started.”

She heeds his advice. On her journey back to the nursery, she stops in the middle of the hallway, the guards stationed at every chamber all watching her with curious eyes. Aesira, with the journal and writing utensil in hand, whirls around in a flurry of skirts and makes little stomps away from the nursery, the chuckles of the guards following her ear. Her styled hair bounces with each step she takes. Today, her handmaid decided on simple braids running down from either side of her head, never forgetting the powder blue ribbons preventing the braids from unravelling to match her day gown, which is a blue that is an homage to her mother’s House. It is a statement that has any gossipping Lady look her way, eyes flashing and lips showing fox grins, eager for the fabricated news to reach the Queen’s ears. Aesira doesn’t care; she simply wants to follow kind Maester Orwyle’s suggestion to keep herself from getting bored.

Opening the journal to its second page (she wrote her name on the first one), Aesira begins counting the different kinds of windows she passes by.

There aren’t that many tall windows that span from the ceiling to the floor but there are many small ones so high for her to reach that she even loses count. (Aesira only learned up till twenty, so anything beyond that, she is purely making everything up. She hopes Maester Orwyle won’t be that disappointed at her counting.)

The paintings on the hallways, however, are not pleasing to look at.

It comes to a point where Aesira has to stop at one and try to make out why there are so many people connected to each other in one setting.

“A pretty, little Lady is not supposed to look at revolting things such as these.”

The Realm’s Delight.

Aesira received remarks from her Uncle Viserys (the old man insisted she calls him by a title that’s suited for a familial gathering of sorts, coupled with hearty laughs when she attempted to do it with flaming cheeks) about how his Heir would love to make the time of the day to meet her.

From her title alone, Princess Rhaenyra is truly a delight to look at. Pin-straight silver hair, not a strand out of place; clear yet amused lavender eyes; lips quirked to one side; and hands nonchalantly positioned behind her back as if she has all the time on her shoulders to stroll around the Keep. Aesira has to crane her neck to look the Heir in the eye because she’s tall like any of the adults here, not noticing that she is slowly losing her balance from doing so. A momentary flash of confusion takes place on Aesira’s face when Rhaenyra loses that casual, attention-grabbing posture of hers and instead gains a frantic one, the older girl reaching out an arm to wrap around Aesira’s little body. The princess catches her in time before she hits the ground.

“Careful, Lady Aesira,” Rhaenyra murmurs, the words still clear. The Kingsguard who was ordered to follow Rhaenyra moves a step, which causes her to glance at him while Aesira keeps on staring at the princess’s face. “It’s alright, Ser Criston, I managed to catch the little Lady in time.” The Heir takes one look at Aesira, never helping the laugh that bubbles in her throat. “Hello,” her voice is gentle, carefully pulling the young Lady back on her two feet.

Aesira blinks, wide eyes taking in the image of the King’s beloved daughter. Rhaenyra looks a lot like her own mother. Suddenly, a bout of uncharacteristic shyness covers Aesira’s body. “Hi,” she answers a little too meekly.

Rhaenyra goes back to being the princess everyone adores, posture and standing and all. In an unconscious thought, she slightly lifts her chin in the air, the amused smile on her face returning. “What has brought you to examine the paintings, my Lady?”

“I wanted to write something in my journal.”

“Your journal?”

She nods, pressing the bound book on her chest as she does with Daemian. “Maester Orwyle gave me a blank journal to write in.” On that thought, she hasn’t held baby Daemian for the day. She wants to inhale that sweet babe scent that clings to his skin, letting the warmth of her baby brother preserve the memory of her mother. However, the very image of Rhaenyra with the halo of the Sun behind her back proves to be the closer memory of her mother to her little mind, the only difference is the smile they carry. Daemian may be Aellara’s last piece before she breathes her last breath but Rhaenyra is likened to the image of the Siren of the Vale. Aesira never meets Rhaenyra’s eyes while saying, “He told me to write anything I find interesting.”

Rhaenyra hums. “Have you ever stepped inside the castle’s atelier?”

“What?”

The smile on the older princess’s face is patient. It reminds Aesira of Maester Orwyle’s when he answers her questions. “It’s a place where they keep the most valued paintings in the Keep. I’m sure the masterpieces there are … more refined than the ones displayed on the walls. Do you want me to accompany you there? I have nothing else to occupy myself with nowadays.”

Shame burns Aesira’s little body when a guttural sound erupts from her stomach.

Even the Heir’s laughs are a delight to hear. “Never mind the atelier then.”

“I’m sorry, Princess,” she sheepishly says.

“Ser Criston?” Rhaenyra calls without looking away from Aesira. “Can I request a plate of—what would you like, Lady Aesira?”

“C-Can I please have honey cake?”

“An outstanding choice, my Lady,” Rhaenyra praises with a large smile. “Just a plate of the Keep’s finest honey cakes, Ser Criston. Have it delivered in the gardens, too?”

Ser Criston is taller than the princess ever is. Aesira has a hard time even leaning back to measure his height with her eyes. His white cloak is the most striking piece of clothing he wears, not the blinding glint of his armour or the large sword carefully strapped on his belt. Every movement he makes is guaranteed to have a noise. The blinding armour he has makes the slightest bit of sound when he looks down at Aesira, unsure whether he should follow the princess’s command despite the role he should be portraying — a gallant knight and not an errand boy. Ser Criston looks like her father’s knights, the difference lies in the colour of their cloaks; whilst Ser Criston has a pristine white, her father’s knights carry golden ones. (And they don’t look unapproachable like Ser Criston.) His hardened gaze quickly softens at Aesira’s wide eyes and like any other who dares breathe the same space as the Rogue’s daughter, Ser Criston melts.

“Of course, Princess, I’ll have a servant fetch you one immediately,” Ser Criston speaks with a timbre deeper than Aesira’s father.

“Have you ever been to the gardens, Lady Aesira?”

“When I accompany Princess Helaena, yes.”

At the mention of the younger princess, Rhaenyra’s expression changes.

Aesira continues, “But we only spend the time looking for bugs there.”

Rhaenyra begins walking to the gardens and Aesira has no choice but to follow in her little footsteps. “An interesting hobby, I suppose.”

“With my journal, I can write about them.”

“Good for you, my Lady.”

Aesira knows when someone is bothered by a subject. She’s seen it on her father’s face. She doesn’t like it at all because he looks scary and is ready to explode at any minute; then, Mother would cry and tell him to forget about hearing it and that she was content with whatever life they created in Dragonstone. Mother never forgot about telling Aesira about the lushness and vibrancy of the Vale, telling the tales of her days growing up in a way that made a younger Aesira long for a visit to her mother’s family and childhood home. Whenever that subject was brought up, it always ended with Father being angry and Mother apologising for planting the idea in the children’s minds. Aether would hug her to sleep as they pretended another argument was not sprouting from the next room, a verbal fight of knives that had every servant avoiding their quarters for the next nights to come. Aesira would ask her mother if Father permitted them to visit the Vale and all she got was a clipped smile and the words, “We won’t be visiting my home anytime soon, sweetling. Dragonstone is enough for us for the time being.”

She can see Rhaenyra possessing the same ticks Father has when he doesn’t like to talk about certain things. They become closed-off and stony—dismissive.

Aesira has no choice but to keep quiet and wordlessly follow Rhaenyra until they reach the beautiful gardens of the Keep, a piece of land in the Keep that appears to stretch on for miles in a large body of green foliage. The both of them choose a stone bench to settle on, not too far from the entrance, with Rhaenyra having to aid Aesira in fully sitting on the high chair. The silence is quite heavy, with the chirping birds and buzzing summer insects filling in what should have been a conversation between the cousins. The discomfiture stretches, so much so that Aesira opens the journal and starts drawing whatever she finds pretty. For a child of five name days, the drawings she makes are not for the faint of heart. All of them are poorly-made shapes that don’t resemble the blue roses around the gardens or the red exotic flowers a few feet away.

“There was a time I was curious about my cousins in Dragonstone,” Rhaenyra breaks the silence with a casual tone, both of her hands perching on her lap and body directed to face Aesira. “And about my aunt while I was growing up.

“Mother would tell me how great of a delight her little sister was, that despite her grace, she carried the fire brought by their mother. While Mother was serene, her little sister was a challenge to anyone who met her.” Rhaenyra smiles at her finally sharing her thoughts with the family of her late mother, a member so cherished that when Queen Aemma was on her deathbed, she was screaming for her younger sister (or so Rhaenyra was told). “I can count on my hand the number of times I met her but Aunt Aellara was—is still—the most beautiful woman in my memory, sharing the same title as my mother.” The two blondes with dragonrider blood in their veins look at each other. “Everybody always dimmed when my eyes fell on her. She was truly a sight blessed by the gods, both Old and New.

“And when she talked to me last year under the lone weirwood,” Rhaenyra shakes her head, “I find myself wishing I knew her way before the moments I can only remember. Uncle is lucky to have her by his side.”

Aesira watches as Rhaenyra covers her tiny hand with her larger palm.

“I’m truly sorry for what happened, my Lady.” The princess struggles to express her thoughts. “These words come from deep in me and I am ashamed that I never said it during the funeral.” Rhaenyra notices her pout, prompting her to place both of her hands around her little cousin’s.

“Mother told me about Aunt Aemma, too, and,” Aesira gulps, “little Baelon.” She welcomes the reassuring grip Rhaenyra made around her unsure hand.

“In these trying times, we come to connect with the people who share the same pain loss gave us.” A forced smile comes to pull on the Heir’s lips. The older girl leans forward as if to whisper a secret only for Aesira to hear. “Did you know, Baelon’s legacy lives on in you twins?”

“In Aether and I, Princess?”

“My name or cousin, if you please.”

Aesira makes a timid nod. “Cousin.”

“That’s better,” Rhaenyra proudly states. “And yes.” The intrigue in her little cousin’s eyes is present enough for the day and she finds herself excited for once in so many moons. “Uncle, your father, wanted to honour his unborn heir by following the Targaryen tradition of putting dragon eggs in one’s cradle.” She chooses to omit the part that Daemon committed such an act as a way to capture the attention of Viserys, with the prince reasoning that he needed the egg for his lady wife’s pregnancy, something that didn’t happen until moons later. That excitement in her eyes shouldn’t be extinguished; it was too precious. “I gave my permission to give this dragon egg to his unborn child and when news went around that there were two of you, another egg was procured and given to him. Father even forgave him for a moment; pregnancy is something to be celebrated in our family after all.”

“I never knew that,” Aesira says in awe.

Rhaenyra lightly laughs, leaning a little. “Now you do.” She pauses. “I picked the dragon egg that went to Uncle’s possession thinking of a sister named Visenya; a second coming of Vhagar, I envisioned.”

“The largest dragon in the world.”

The Princess nods, never losing that proud grin. “Indeed. When I saw Aether’s dragon, I instantly knew Baelon’s legacy will live through you two. A dragon fit for an heir. If you don’t mind me asking, can you tell me about your dragon, cousin?”

Aesira now fully sits on the stone bench. Her eyes carry the stars that she ate and were now resting inside her chest while her mother birthed her to the world. She doesn’t notice Rhaenyra momentarily halts her breathing at the sight of her lilac eyes showing a glimpse of the entire night sky. Aesira Starborn is most excited for once in two moons. “Starfell is her name.” The journal is long forgotten on her lap. “She never stopped clinging to me when she hatched and it made Father happy. She grew bigger in five years as Father also said. Oh, cousin, she has the prettiest colour!” She then places both of her hands on her mouth, as if she said something remotely warranting a severed tongue. “Not that Syrax doesn’t have a pretty colour — I quite like gold.”

Rhaenyra can’t help but laugh. “I am not offended at all, cousin. I am a witness to how pretty Starfell is. She was there, yes?” At the funeral.

The little Lady hums her agreement.

“Truly a dragon worthy of songs, I must say. It was like looking at a streak of a burning comet in the night sky. Maybe you can introduce her to me next time. I’ll make sure to ask Father for his permission to bring you to the dragonpit.”

“I’d like that, cousin.”

And when the long-awaited honey cakes arrive, Aesira can’t help but think that maybe Syrax will grow to like her Starfell as well.

“You have a shadow, my Lady,” a handmaid notes while following Aesira’s footsteps in the castle’s hallways. The woman slightly laughs at the doe-eyed confusion plastered on the young Lady’s face as she stops in her tracks before nodding at something behind them. “It’s been happening for a while now, probably days.”

“Is it Prince Aegon?”

The eldest son of King Viserys is sometimes endearing and most of the time annoying.

If not for Aether pulling him away, he would most likely stick himself to Aesira’s side. He’s long overcome his moments of shyness. Gone is that Aegon who always turned away when she’s inside the nursery at the same time as him, needing Queen Alicent to push him out of his shell to communicate with his female cousin. How she misses that Aegon. He lasted for about three days. The entire week, Aegon gained the confidence that had him pulling out every chair during afternoon tea time (the children never drank tea, instead they are given freshly-squeezed fruit juice), tugging on her hand to invite her outside to watch the pretty flowers, picking out the most extravagant blossoms without regards to how his mother would feel and tucking them behind her ear, and always following her around the Keep. She’s kissed Aegon on the cheek way too many times and the boy never stops asking more from her, claiming her to be the most beautiful in the realm, making sure to scream it loudly every time Princess Rhaenyra makes her appearance around their vicinity. His own Realm’s Delight, he says.

(Rhaenyra stares at him as if he has lost his mind to the Stranger.)

It’s deemed adorable by her Uncle Viserys, laughing at how adamant Aegon is at showing his affections; but to her, it’s more reason to stop joining his games with Aether.

“I think it’s a rather surprising change, my Lady. You might want to see it for yourself.”

Aesira tilts her head to see around her handmaid's skirts, her styled hair flowing with the movement and creating a curtain that nearly touches the floor. One of the tapestries on the wall is protruding instead of falling straight to the ground. The lump is suspiciously squirming and there’s no mistaking the tiny feet visible in the small space at the end of the tapestry. Aesira instantly knows who it is.

“Prince Aemond?”

The lump on the tapestry jolts and Aesira can’t help but giggle.

This is truly a fresh breeze compared to the tempests Aegon brings.

Earlier, moments after waking up, Aether is already pulling Aegon to play and run around the Keep, leaving behind Aemond to stare at the older boys with Vhagar in between his hands. Being two name days old, Aegon and Aether both think it’s no fun to bring around the Queen’s favourite toddler; the babe will only prevent them from being too rowdy with their games. A silent agreement passes between the older boys that they will never include Aemond as much as he wants to be to avoid the wrath of the Queen. This leaves the little prince looking for another fixation to follow and that comes in the form of the princess-looking girl in the nursery aside from his sister. As usual, the prince would sit beside Helaena while she’s in search of her new insect friend; but once Aesira presents an opportunity of being another important figure in his life, Aemond instantly takes it.

Aemond peeks from his hiding spot, his cherubic cheeks dusted with a sweet touch of embarrassed rouge. Aegon’s toy Vhagar is absent from his hands. Rather, they find comfort in the hem of his vest. His fidgeting mirrors his older brother during their first meeting, down to the way that he doesn’t make eye contact. If given the chance, Aemond probably would have vanished with the tapestry’s depiction of a war between men and dragons.

Aesira straightens herself, running her hands over the length of her skirts. She glances at her handmaid, a silent question of permission to stray from their destination. The young woman shrugs with a smile, putting the decision on the little lady. Gathering the material of her dress in her hands, Aesira makes her way to the tapestry, where Aemond hides again with a squeak akin to a tiny mouse.

“Hello, my Prince,” Aesira greets with a smile reaching her eyes.

The darkness behind the tapestry doesn’t dull the indigo hues belonging to the prince. They only widen at her reaching out a bigger hand than his, the glow on his cheeks also brightening until he sheepishly looks away from her.

“Would you like to be my companion for the day, my Prince?”

Aemond nods, taking slow steps to place his hand in Aesira’s. Her smile rivals that of the sun as she gently pulls Aemond from the tapestry and into the hallways bathed in natural light. The change in scenery makes Aemond squint his eyes, very much like how Daemian did when he wakes up in the morning. The similarity warms Aesira’s heart, poking her brain to do something about her urges. So, following the instincts she gained from attending to her baby brother, she pats the top of Aemond’s hair, ruffling his blond hair (it’s soft to the touch!) before putting her hand on her skirts. The warmth spread through her entire body at the sight of Aemond pouting and mimicking her actions himself, patting himself on the head. Aesira won’t complain about having more little siblings to take care of — Aemond looks adorable enough to be considered as such. She knows Daemian won’t mind having another big sibling either.

“You can tell me all your favourite places, my Prince,” she says. “We never talked that much, you see.”

“Aemond,” the prince voices out, patting his chest with a determined look on his chubby face. “Me Aemond!”

“You want me to call you by your name?”

Aemond nods.

Aesira grins. “Alright! Lead the way, Aemond.”

It’s no surprise that Aemond brings her back to the nursery, wordlessly telling her that this is his favourite place in King’s Landing, most likely the only place he’s ever been to that he remembers. Still, Aesira smiles and follows him inside.

They make sure that they are near Daemian’s crib, the babe cooing at them every so often. The both of them are in their world at the moment, their well-protected bubble that nobody can cut through, not even with the swords the Kingsguard carry; Aether and Aegon are traipsing and wreaking havoc in the Keep while Helaena is discovering the small ecosystem the garden offers. Aesira never leaves her eyes on Aemond, the younger boy explaining the sentiments held by every single one of his toys. His most favourite, he relays, is the wooden dragon Aegon claims Aemond stole from him. He tells Aesira it’s his most prized possession because it came from his big brother, a fact that nobody knows except Aesira and tiny Daemian. He babbles made-up words yet Aesira listens, even indulging him in providing more narrative to the stories he reenacts with his toys. Aemond is a sweet boy, untouched by the vipers of the Keep and the whispers of the walls. Aesira vows to herself that since nobody is watching this boy flip over pebbles and rocks, she’s going to claim that position herself.

As she adjusts her voice to play as a soldier in battle, Aesira remembers being two name days old.

Dragonstone is a sad thing to remember.

However, its walls and everything around it holds her most precious memories to date.

Her oldest memory involves being strapped against her father’s chest, with Aether safely tucked on his back; the shaking she felt indicated that he was chuckling at the worried expression made by her mother. They would be safe with me, he said but not before running the back of his fingers on her mother’s cheek.

Aesira and Aether were two name days old when Daemon Targaryen took them on a ride on Caraxes.

She remembers how it felt — the clouds right at her small hands, the delightful laughs released by her father, the confusion and wonder on her face that she was not on the ground but flying to the edge of the world. She remembers looking up at him while the light touches his short hair and she remembers him placing a tender kiss on the crown of her head. Of course, Aether was never forgotten because Daemon shifted his head so that the tip of his nose touched the boy’s ruffled hair. What she truly feels to this day was her mother’s embrace the moment Caraxes landed and she was off her father’s chest, every part of her face was touched by her mother’s lips.

“I told you they'll be back on the ground, darling wife,” her father said.

Her mother kept kissing her face, her laughs even making her mother’s handmaids smile. “You never fail to give me a fright, husband.”

“Sira?”

Aesira looks up to meet Aemond’s chubby face. “Yes, Aemond?”

“Don’t cry.”

“Huh?”

Aemond lifts an arm, an action that requires all of his physicality, being a tiny human being. He places the entirety of his palm on the apple of her cheek. He looks near in tears. “Sira sad?” comes his wobbly voice.

At the question, Aesira hiccups a little sob.

Aemond instantly forgets his toys, waddling over to his companion’s side and enveloping her in the tightest hug she received in her lifetime. They are standing at the same height — Aesira still sitting with her skirt surrounding her legs and Aemond maintaining his balance in front of her.

“I don’t want Sira sad,” Aemond says, squeezing his eyelids shut.

She wraps her arms around him. “I’m not sad, Aemond.”

“Sira crying.”

“That doesn’t mean I’m sad.”

Aemond makes a sound of disagreement, burying himself more into her.

“Then why?”

“I just remembered something.”

The door to the nursery opens with a flourish.

“Aemond, she’s my princess! Get away from her!”

“We’re back, Sira!”

Aesira then feels another hug coming from behind her. She detects the faint smell of the sun and grass on the person’s clothes. On her other shoulder is Aegon closing his eyes as tightly as Aemond, his hug never including Aemond and is solely around her torso and only her. She doesn’t even know why Aegon starts claiming her as his princess when his sister is one. (Maybe it was because she agreed to play as the maiden when he and Aether took the roles of knights on a journey to find the most beautiful princess hidden among the bushes of the garden.) Growing up as the second prince’s daughter, she’s subjected to the title of a lady, never a princess despite her father being a prince. Her mother explained that it was because of a thing called succession, a word she never understood. But even as the people around her affectionately added her name with the title of Lady, her father never did; he always called her his little princess.

“Prince Aegon, I’m not a princess.”

Aegon looks offended as a child his age can be. “You are.”

“Your sister is the princess.” She nods at a standing Helaena carrying something in her palms. The girl is awfully still, her eyes wide and her lips mouthing words nobody can hear. Aesira came to find out that Helaena is a speaker of riddles, which ached her brain trying to comprehend. The younger girl’s words left her scratching her head in an attempt to decipher what the different colours of the loom meant. She will have to write everything Helaena says in her new journal. “I’m a lady, my Prince.”

“Well, you’re prettier.”

She frowns. “That’s rude, Prince Aegon. Princess Helaena is pretty.”

“Whatever you say,” Aegon harrumphs. “Call me Aegon.”

“But that—”

“Aegon.”

“Alright.”

“Say it.”

“Aeg—”

Aether makes himself known. “You’re both going to hurt her,” he says, referring to the princes. Ever the dutiful big brother of two, he pulls Aemond with all his might, the toddler complaining with flailing arms as he’s dragged on the floor. Aether doesn’t pay attention to the squawks of a scandalised surprise coming from the wetnurses stationed inside the nursery. They are most likely looking over their shoulder, mindful of the passersby that can whisper to the ears of the Queen about how his sons are being roughly handled by the new wards. Even after successfully taking Aemond and promising him another round of dragons and knights (which calms him down a little and doesn’t erase the pout on his lips), Aether turns around and sighs. Aegon still doesn’t let Aesira go, the former swaying the latter in an imaginary tune only he hears, his smile showcasing how happy he is after days of her avoiding him and begging for her attention. “Aegon.”

“No.”

“I don’t want my sister hurt.”

“I’m not hurting her.”

Aether stomps one of his feet. “Yes, you are!”

Aegon doesn’t respond and instead, pulls Aesira more to him.

“You’re acting like a clingy creature from Essos! And you know what they look like?”

“What?”

“Ugly.”

“Aesira, your brother is being mean!”

Aether rolls his eyes. “Let. Her. Go.”

“Never. Aesira likes it when I hug her.”

The younger blond boy glances at her for confirmation. Aesira’s face says it all. So, Aether firmly plants his feet on the floor and places both of his fists on his hips.

The girl in Aegon’s embrace remembers her father doing it whenever he catches Aether rolling on the dirt as a way of shirking his sessions with the Maesters or when she stays up late pretending to read one of the tomes underneath her bed covers like one of those studious scholars (the glow of the lantern gave her away). She drops her gaze to the rugs protecting the children from injuries. The image of her father on her older brother sets a gnawing feeling that is more discomforting than Aegon’s endless hug. “It’s alright, Aether. Aegon is harmless.” Her shoulders loosen when Aether stops looking like their disappointed father. To further placate her brother, Aesira covers Aegon’s arms with hers, hugging him in this position. “He’s warm.”

“See, Aether! She likes me!” Elated at the thought, Aegon presses a large kiss on Aesira’s cherubic cheek. “I like you, too, Sira.”

Aether pouts. “That’s not what she said, Aegon.” He stops glaring at Aegon when Helaena moves from her spot (she’s still standing while everything falls into chaos) to sit beside Aesira, her skirt forming a pitched tent before deflating around her. “Princess?”

The younger girl ignores the boys and instead directly looks at Aesira alone. “I found this, Sira. I think you’ll like it.”

Helaena finally presents what she has been hiding in her hands.

Aether laughs as Aegon flings himself away from the two girls with a squeal.

“You did it, Princess!”

Cradled in Helaena’s hand are three tiny red bugs with black dots. They can be pinched with the tiniest of forces but with the way Helaena lets them roam on her skin, Aesira can tell they are safe to explore on this new terrain. Aesira has never seen such creatures even in Dragonstone, having chosen to spend most of her days inside the nursery and trying to make sense of the Maester’s words.

Aesira gasps, leaning close to the princess. “What are they?”

“I don’t know. I’m asking the Maesters.”

She tilts her head. “They’re adorable.”

Helaena nods, her attention never leaving the bugs crawling on her palm. “One for each of you, Aether, and Daemian.” The two girls watch the three insects interact with one another. Conversations pass between their small heads, their bodies huddling close together in a semblance of comfort. Seconds pass in the nursery’s timepiece and one of the red insects spreads its shell-like body — its fluttering wings leading it away from Helaena’s palms and into the air. The two children don’t have the time to express their sadness over the departing bug since a second followed the first. And then there was one. Helaena slowly raises her hands to closer inspect the lone bug with teary eyes. “No, she’s all alone now.”

The princess never fails to make Aesira wonder. Helaena is the prettiest girl Aesira has never seen. There are countless pretty girls in Dragonstone, her mother’s handmaidens all belong to that category. (Her mother is beautiful according to the songs; pretty is not the perfect word for the Siren of the Vale — the woman who brought men to her knees and who softened the Rogue Prince until she was killed by his love.) But the Queen’s only daughter holds a certain light to her. It’s subdued, not blinding like Aegon’s or everlasting like her mother’s, which calls for Aesira’s attention. If she’s not attending to Daemian or studying with the Maesters, Aesira is found with Helaena. It’s perfect because she wants a little sister to coddle and dote on. Helaena is a precious thing, so Aesira doesn’t understand why Aegon complains about her being creepy. There’s nothing creepy with the princess’s riddles or her blooming love for nature — the girl is even crying over how the red bug is going to be lonely now.

Letting Aether’s teasing and Aegon’s teary rebuttals fly over her head, Aesira raises a hand and carefully pats Helaena’s head.

The younger girl jumps at the contact but she doesn’t flinch away. Aesira smiles, “There, there. The red bug will join her friends later. Don’t be sad, Princess.”

Helaena leans her head to capture more of her hand’s warmth. The action reminds Aesira of the puppies running around one of the villages in Dragonstone. She begged her father to carry one back but she was declined by him with the words that the beasts were not worthy of a god carrying dragonrider blood in her veins, that if she wanted to treat something as a companion, it would be her newly-hatched dragon. The puppy she found had an almost-white shade in its gold fur. With Helaena’s hair, it’s not hard to imagine an adorable puppy on her trying to ask for more pats on the head. Aesira giggles and gives the princess much-needed pats.

“She won’t join them,” Helaena replies, now looking down at the roaming red insect.

“Oh?”

“Isolation welcomes another soul; a union bathed in gold just as the stars foretold.”

Another one of Helaena’s riddles.

Aesira’s mouth opens to address it but her voice never comes out as Aegon regains his bearings after a disgusted and terrified spiral of seeing the bugs. “You’re doing it again, Hel!” Now, as the eldest brother of three, he stomps in between Aesira and Helaena, but he isn’t as dutiful as Aether. Rather than give his sister space to breathe, he closes in like a hawk watching its prey, beak ready to hurl insults that will make his little sister cower. “You have to stop it. It’s weird and it’s creeping people out!”

A quick glance is exchanged between the twins.

“Aegon, I quite like it when the princess says her riddles,” Aesira supplies, resting a hand around his wrist.

Aegon looks back at her, conflict clear on his face. He flickers his contemptuous gaze on an unfazed Helaena and his resolve cracks. If his sister doesn’t appear to listen to a word he says, it won’t be worth it. He scoffs at Aether who flashes a contented gesture of a thumb in the air, a sign of a job well-done. The hand enclosing his wrist tugs on his hand, fingers entwined and magnetic as he follows Aesira pulling him to sit on the floor, shoulders shy of touching one another.

Cornflowers and lilacs are beautiful once woven together.

Staring deeply at the pair of joined hands, Helaena echoes, “Isolation welcomes another soul; a union bathed in gold just as the stars foretold.”

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hollowwrites · 1 year

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Blindsided

Part 3

Ominis x MC

Summary - Before the year kicks off Lucan gathers all available students for Crossed Wands. Not wanting his duelling club to fall by the wayside, he calls upon outside members of the club to make things…interesting.

I loved crossed wands!! Wish more of the students participated. Maybe I’ll write something for how I think each would duel?

Again feel free to swap Evelyn with MC or Y/N

Also I’m completely aware that Snape created the Muffliato charm but I thought about it and I had to do it!!

Warnings - Violence? Just a bit of duelling, just a continuation of before

Word Count - 3150

The next few days were rocky but things were finally looking up. Sebastian had in fact been selected for the Tri Wizard Tournament and after the initial horror, Sebastian was correct. Everyone had rallied around him to lend their aid. Poppy had suggested they tend to some of the nearby nesting Dragons due to the popularity of the Dragon Egg challenge. Garreth had promised to brew any potion that he needed with the inclusion that he would follow the instructions exactly. Despite what happened, frequently, in potions class, Garreth was a skilled Potioneer he just had a tendency to make it up as he went along.

They had the luxury of a few more weeks of prep before the games began so, for the meantime, classes continued as usual. Sebastian suspected that they put off the announcement ceremony until Evelyn had gotten back from her travels with the hopes she would put her name forward. She hadn’t, much to the chagrin of the Headmaster and many of her fellow seventh years, so the name calling ceremony took place.

Lucan Brattleby had scrambled together as many of the seventh years for the their last Crossed Wands tournament.

“I will not be upstaged by some centuries old cup” Lucan protested “Please we have to shake it up this year. Evelyn. I’m on my knees.” His hands clasped together begging for her participation

“Okay okay I’ll compete” she laughed “Honestly I think you can count on Seb too he’s not going to pass up on the opportunity to take my title AND become Tri Wizard Champion”

“Excellent, I’ve talked Imelda and Poppy into it this year, and I’ve changed the rules too. Anything goes, Imelda said she’d only do it if she could cast from her broom and so long as she stays in the Bell Tower, I’m game” Lucan practically shook from excitement “I was hoping you could try and convince Ominis to duel, you’ve seen him fight right?” He continued in hushed tones looking over at the gaggle of Slytherins collected by the practise dummies.

“Yes. He’s quite formidable, very restrained, and poised too. I’ll see what I can do”

“Ah I could kiss you!! Thank you so much. Rounds start in 10 let me know”

Evelyn began her approach but noticed Ominis walking towards her. He put a hand flat out to stop her, shaking his head.

“Before you say anything, it’s a no” he said smirking

“Oh come on Ominis, don’t you want to take Sebastian down a few pegs.”

“As I told you, multiple times in fifth year, Sebastian never backs down from a fight. I don’t fancy facing that” his eyebrows furrowed as though remembering something “…again”

“But it’s getting so boring facing Sebastian at the top, I could really use some variety” she poked at his chest exaggerating her words “Aaaaand wouldn’t you like to show Sebastian just how much he’s annoyed you these past few years. It’s a great stress relief pummelling him into the ground. Please?”

He could never say no to her.

“Okay fine…” she began clapping excitedly. “If you help me out with something afterwards”

“Of course. I’d’ve helped you anyway. Win Win for me” she bounced up to kiss him on the cheek “Can’t wait to throughly destroy you, Gaunt”

Once the sound of Evelyns footsteps disappeared into the congregation of Crossed Wands fans, Ominis turned back to his other friends, touching his cheek.

“What was that about?” Sebastian said smugly

“Could something actually happen between you two this year? I’m growing bored watching you dance around each other” he heard a soft thwack of fabric eliciting a reaction from Imelda “What? I know you think the same”

“Don’t you think I’ve had this conversation with him before. He says the same thing every single time” Sebastian said

“Can someone enlighten me as to what is going on?” Ominis asked getting more and more aggravated each passing moment

“She kissed you, you fool. I know you’re blind but you’re not stupid” Imelda said equally annoyed

“She…she does it all the time, it means nothing” he lied, that was the first time she had kissed him. It was a friendly kiss though. Nothing more. Right?

“See? Told you. Same response every time” Sebastian said exasperated. “Next he’ll say that they’re just friends and he values her friendship”

“Enough of this! This is getting childish. I’m ending this conversation before one of us says something they’ll regret” he looked in Sebastian’s general direction. He had enough on him that any number of things could spill from his mouth.

As the evening dragged on more and more people filtered in to watch the spectacle. When the duels took place a huge crowd gathered by the portcullis to peer in, some sat on brooms hovering above everyone else to get a better view. As it got closer and closer to the semi finals, the overhead walkways of the Bell Tower began filling with people too, many belonging to Durmstrang and Beauxbatons to see what Hogwarts really had to offer.

The final four ended up being a Slytherin sweep. Sebastian and Evelyn were a given, what with them being the best dualists in the school but Ominis and Imelda had surprised everyone. Ominis ended rounds quickly and decisively with little to no room for error. If you made a mistake, you lost. Imelda had also been found to be quite difficult to hit on her broom, whereas she had no trouble casting from it at all.

Imelda and Evelyn went first. Imelda stood no chance against the reigning Hogwart’s Crossed Wands Champion and every time she mounted her broom or got just barely off the ground, Evelyn slammed her back down, all while protecting her broom. She knew Imelda loved that thing and they had become quite close. A quick Accio caused it to float delicately toward Evelyn’s hands. And with that, Imelda forfeit. Surprising to everyone present, she wasn’t bitter, she jumped up, giving Evelyn’s a quick hug before taking up her broom again for the final few fights.

Next up was Sebastian and Ominis. Sebastian’s tactic was to try and overwhelm Ominis immediately and hope that, that was enough. He cast out a volley of several offensive spells to which Ominis deflected them all. He stood twirling his wand around waiting for the next volley when Sebastian apparated closer to him.

“Come on Ominis, fight back!” He growled through gritted teeth

“Ah but it’s so much more fun listening to you struggle to land a hit”

With another gruff sigh, Sebastian threw out more spells, all ended up deflected or bouncing off a well timed Protego. Ominis laughed, throwing out the first spell and landing it directly at Sebastian’s chest. The Depulso threw him back against the pile of practise dummies and with a final Descendo, the dummies crumpled against the ground, collapsing under the pressure as Sebastian looked to be struggling with gravity itself.

“I yield!!” Sebastian barked “Merlin, I never knew you had that in you” he said as Ominis offered him a hand.

“Yes you did” Ominis squeezed his hand knowingly as Sebastian took it.

“That means it’s Ominis and Evelyn in the final round Witches and Wizards. The Heir of Salazar Slytherin vs The Hero of Hogwarts” Lucan bellowed casting a general Repairo on the stage. The practise dummies ballooned back out and returned to their original position whilst the crack in the stone from Ominis’ unrelenting Descendo sealed itself over.

Whilst Imelda and Sebastian took up their positions, Ominis and Evelyn secured themselves at the front of the crowd. They had they’re heads buried together talking and Evelyn waved a hand through the portcullis to get they’re attention.

“Don’t take this too seriously you two, remember you’re fighting for third” Evelyn flashed them a grin. Ominis let out a singular laugh as she linked her arm with his. They watched the fireworks display of spells volley past them with vague interest.

“Congratulations on that win” she said squeezing his bicep “I’ve never seen someone cast Descendo continuously like that. That crack in the stone? There must have been a terrible amount of pressure on Sebastian. No wonder he conceded”

“You can see for yourself if you like. But I had something much more interesting in line for you” he cocked his head down to her ear so she could hear him over the crowd. His breathe swayed the hairs falling on the side of her face and she felt herself turning red.

Do not let a silly school girl crush destroy your winning streak.

She locked her jaw and pursed her lips. Not that he could see her sudden shift in her face, but it helped her feel more confident in her words

“Don’t let it get to your head though, you’ve just secured second best duellist in the school” her tone was mocking but he could hear the glee in her voice. He laughed breathily down her ear, sending tingles down her spine.

“Shall we see?” He ushered her forward ahead of him to the stage.

She had missed Sebastian and Imelda’s duel completely, but from their faces she gathered that Sebastian had won. He was riling up the crowd for the final duel, pacing in the front row, two fingers sticking forward from his face like a snakes tongue, hissing. Soon, the whole crowd was a sea of serpents, with the Slytherin students getting particularly into the impromptu chant.

“Ready?” Ominis mouthed from the opposite side of the room. Something about the curve of his mouth and his whole demeanour, frightened her. No it wasn’t fear. Her chest felt tight and her skin was ablaze but she wasn’t scared, more…vulnerable?

“Anything goes…right Brattleby? He asked raising his head high and rolling his sleeves. Had he always been so…arrogant? And why was she okay with it? This sort of behaviour would usually immediately turn her off, she’d seen it with Leander multiple times. But this was different. Regal. Domineering. Attractive?

With the agreement made from Lucan, he cast off the starting flare, hitting the Bell Towers pendulum and the slow chug of the portcullis lowering began. The metallic rattle shook the arena and silenced the crowd immediately.

She turned her head, assessing her surroundings and she noticed, Ominis mirrored her, exactly.

How?

She shifted her feet pacing in the opposite direction and, again, he copied her exact moves.

“Is there something a matter?” He called to her and her eyebrows furrowed.

“Enough of this” she spat, casting out a flurry of spells. As he had with Sebastian he blocked them all but he hadn’t counted on her continuing. Though she’d cast it wordlessly, he knew it was Confringo based on the light aroma of burning wood and the blast that he took to his chest. He coughed out his next breathe, patted down his tie and loosening it as he did.

“Serpensortia…” he sneered and a bright white snake fell from the tip of his wand “Engorgio” it’s tiny lithe body bubbled grotesquely until a huge snake wrapped itself around half of the court. Screams came from onlookers but Evelyn, simply giggled. So he was going to use Parseltongue. Interesting. She heard Sebastian hollering from crowd, the only other person, she suspected, who knew what he was doing.

The snakes body coiled around Ominis’ feet as it’s head hovered close to his shoulder. His fingers skimmed under the snakes jaw as he whispered in its ear, no doubt trying to hide his gift. Was she jealous of a snake right now?

Following up on its masters wishes the snakes jaw unhinged and hissed violently towards Evelyn. It shot out toward her and she laughed maniacally. She was sure the other schools would think she was mad but, snakes were always, such beautiful creatures. And under Ominis’ control she knew she didn’t have to fear it.

“I’m so sorry, Ominis, I’m going to have to kill your little pet here” she wound her wand around her fingers gathering all the ancient magic she could. As she had done many times with spiders, she pulled the beast towards her shrinking it as it flew through the air. The, now tiny, beasts body hit her hand and it flaked to blue ash, dissipating in the cool spring breeze. She looked back at Ominis, a second too late to see the purple light of Accio flying toward her. G

She felt the tug of her collar lift her slightly from the ground, the tips of her shoes dragging across the stone as Ominis yanked her towards him. His fingertips grazed the skin of her chest as he grabbed at her clothing. The telltale sting of his touch seared across her collarbone.

“You really should keep your eyes on me” he chuckled softly “Do you concede?” He asked whipping his wand to press delicately against her temple and bringing her towards him. She writhed against his grasp as she pondered her next move. There was something but it was awful to do…especially to him. Placing her free hand against his chest to stabilise herself, she flicked her wand to his ear.

“Muffliato” she spat and he immediately let go. His hands flew to his ears trying to block out the many voices he was now hearing. He smirked, eyes darting around to try and hone in on her.

“Very clever” he shot back through gritted teeth.

Though on paper it may have seemed pleasant, having his mind filled with her voice, but it was anything but. Whispers and screams all overlapped fighting for attention at the forefront of his mind, each saying a different spell or incantation. Occasionally, her voice would ring forward with his name and he would turn in its direction. An instinct he now wished hadn’t become embedded in his very core.

Evelyn snapped her fingers a few times in front of Ominis to verify if her charm had worked. No reaction. She puffed her cheeks out in a sigh of relief, but she couldn’t help but feel a little bad. She watched his eyes dart around, and his erratic movements trying to seek her out, without his most dominant sense.

“Expelliar-“ she began before being cut short.

His hand flew to around her wrist, pulling her arm up and closer to him. She stood stretched upwards in front of him as she had to his Accio, only now, he dropped his face to hers. He was mere inches away.

“I’ll ask again” he whispered “Do you concede?”

“I still have my wand…Depulso” she barked causing enough of a blast between them both that they each went flying. They both landed and took up their wands.

“Confringo!” They cast simultaneously. The spell colliding mid field and as they both maintained the cast, the flaming lashes continued between the two of them. The roaring core of their spells bled out onto the stone, blackening where it touched. They stayed locked in their tug of war for a few moments before Lucan intervened.

“Enough!” He bellowed full of joy. His voice startling them both, interrupting the spell casting. “I think we have a first here at Crossed Wands today. A DRAW. We can’t stand here all night watching you two trade blows. Congratulations to our reigning and new Crossed Wands Champions!”

The crowd sang out with uproarious applause. Evelyn smiled widely, clapping for her competitors as Ominis walked over to her. He grinned back at her and bowed deeply, before taking her hand. They raised they’re hands high and both bowed to the crowd.

The crowd at the Bell Tower courtyard dispersed quickly. It was late and the Great Halls feast was only moments away. Ominis, Imelda, Evelyn and Sebastian walked together for dinner, occasionally being stopped by another student to congratulate them all on how well they did.

“I’m just saying, if those two are joint first, then I’m technically, technically, still second best in the school” Sebastian argued

“I don’t think that’s how it works. Does that make me third best?” Imelda asked

“Not with that shoddy display in there, Darling” he said mockingly. Imelda scoffed and pushed him through the doors to the Great Hall.

“We’ll collect some food and we can get out of here” Ominis said, squeezing Evelyn’s shoulder indicating he was talking to her. He felt her stiffen up and then immediately relax, her hand lightly brushing across his knuckles.

“Oh I had forgotten about that. It’s late are you sure you want to do it tonight? I don’t mind helping you over the weekend? I’m free Sund-”

“Oh no no you’re not getting out of this that easily. I seem to remember you saying you would ‘thoroughly destroy me’ How did that work out for you?” he teased collecting a few pastries “I’d say you owe me double no-“ he turned and bumped into a figure stood entirely too close to him. “Watch where you’re standing” he snapped

“Oh my you are blind. Mmm well that makes your victory at your little duelling club all the more impressive” a lithe French voice rang out from below him. He furrowed his brows in confusion.

“I didn’t win” he stated matter of factly “My friend here is a formidable opponent. I share my ‘Victory’ with her” his hand gestured to where he knew Evelyn was stood. He felt a silent rage wash over him with the heat emanating from her direction.

Imelda was clutching Sebastian’s arm willing him to listen to this display. He sat mouth agape eyes darting between Ominis, Evelyn and the Beauxbatons student. Imelda grinned evilly watching Evelyn, indulging in the drama of it all.

“You are too kind, too…humble.” The beauxbaton student placed the palm of her hand against his chest, leaning further into him. His neck craned backwards as she spoke up into his face “An excellent display, one I would have obviously expected from the Noble House of Gaunt” she kissed his cheek before leaving, the click of her heels against stone conveying her giddy gait.

A sickening silence fell over the four as they awkwardly gathered food. Ominis was the first to break it.

“What in Merlin’s name was that about?”

“Seems you have an admirer” Imelda’s voice was smug as she looked at Evelyn

Don’t. Start. Evelyn mouthed. Imelda shrugged and took a swig of her pumpkin juice, wiggling her eyebrows as she did.

You okay? Sebastian asked silently, before Evelyn could answer Ominis interrupted

“I can hear you mouthing to one and other! You know I hate that” he sighed “I think I’ve had enough socialising for one day” and he turned to walk away. When he didn’t hear Evelyn’s footsteps behind him, he stopped, turned and extended his hand towards her “Still not getting out of this Eve.” His fingers twitched slightly beckoning her forward “Come”

Masterlist

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adastra121 · 5 months

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Jin the Abandoned Alchemist

Redesigned. I changed my Alchemist!MC Jin's design to have more wizard vibes and I think I gave him the standard Disney villain colour scheme. Welp.

Pronouns: He/Him Birthday: September 13 Height: 5’7 / 171 cm Personality: Gentle, awkward nerd trying his best Likes: Books, libraries, gardening, tea, sewing, learning new things (especially of the magic variety), cuddles Dislikes: Hurting people, cruelty, spicy food, heights, the cold, liars, public speaking Fatal flaw: Often lets his past and self-doubt consume him. Other: Carries around a small rabbit plush named Aster that he made when he was younger. He’ll eventually give her to his love interest as a good luck charm (enchanted with a small protection spell, too — yes, this boy would give a protective charm to an eldritch horror because he genuinely worries for their safety) if they’re close enough Yes, this was 100% inspired by Hades Quote: “I don’t think this was covered in my studies… Oh well! Trial and error is a perfectly valid method of learning.”

More about him below:

Jin is kind, gentle, inquisitive, curious and a bit naive from his sheltered upbringing. He’s always yearned for adventure, but never believed it was possible with his curse. Now, he finally gets his wish, though he had little choice in the matter.

Very socially awkward and easily flustered due to his lack of experience interacting with other people. And now, with his mentor’s betrayal, he’s a bit more reserved, unsure of who to trust.

Non-confrontational but quietly sassy. Ais might bring that side out of him more.

Jin calls him “Ais-hole” in his head. He’s aware that it’s not a particularly witty or even good insult, but it makes him feel better when the latter annoys him.

Book smart and street dumb

Jin tends to see the best in people, even to his own detriment.

Has avoided touch like the plague. He’s always careful not to get too physically close to someone, and because of this, he’s usually very observant and aware of his space. Not that he doesn’t crave physical affection. He definitely burst into tears when touching Leander for the first time.

This poor boy is touchstarved (ha) but he’ll never ask for physical affection, for fear of either, at worst, hurting someone or at best, being a nuisance.

He also struggles with a lot of guilt for craving touch since he knows it’s dangerous to other people and it’s selfish to yearn for things that put other people in danger, right?

I'm not sure whether this is canon or not, but I wrote his curse as gradually growing, both in surface area and in power. When he was an infant, the curse was only in his fingertips and it didn't make anyone lose their minds. One touch would bring horrible, unmentionable thoughts but those thoughts would pass.

As he grew older, the curse spread from his fingers to his palms to his hands, up his forearms and his elbows. Its effects also grew in intensity. What was a horrible, but instantaneous thought became one minute of terror, then two, then an hour, and so on, and the nature of them grew worse. Currently, it dooms anyone it touches.

And the curse is spreading still. Jin views his curse as a ticking time bomb, so he is desperate to find a cure as soon as possible. He doesn't know what will happen when it consumes him entirely. He is terrified of becoming a monster.

He used to have dark brown eyes, but the curse made his eyes gold. His left sclera has taken on the dark grey and the gold veins of the curse. I imagine that when — if — he is cured, they'll turn back to their original brown.

Adores plants and plushies — soft things that he’s able to touch without hurting. He has a small stuffed rabbit named Aster that he made when he was younger, one of the first things he’s sewn. She has a hidden pocket to carry herbs or small potion bottles. He places lavender and chamomile in Aster when he has trouble sleeping.

He's a bit embarrassed about his love for plushes. His old magic mentor found his fixation undignified. And really, he shouldn't be needing or craving such creature comforts, as if he was still a child.

He has his plants, though. That's something useful and conducive to his studies.

He talks to his plants sometimes when gardening. “You wouldn’t go mad on me, would you, matricaria chamomilla? … Although, since I’m currently talking to a plant, you’re probably not the one I have to worry about going mad.”

Before coming to Eridia, he used to grow and make his own tea blends. If he wasn’t an alchemist, he wouldn’t mind opening a tea shop.

His spellbook was given to him by his old mentor. It acts as a notebook for magic studies and research, but he also uses it as a diary, somewhere to doodle and write down his thoughts.

He has some trauma surrounding magic, considering that it was a big part of his relationship with his mentor, but he genuinely loves learning and mastering it. He’s always believed himself to be a burden, but magic is something that he can use to actually help others instead of harm them. Despite everything that’s happened, he can’t help believing he owes that gift to his old mentor.

The Senobium always sounded like a dream to him, so hearing that there is darkness beneath the promises of knowledge and wisdom and history is extremely disappointing, to say the least. He’d had hopes of eventually becoming a student.

Aside from matters of his curse, he tries to be as honest and sincere as he can be. Eridia is a city that runs on information, but he chooses to freely give what information he can. He doesn’t believe in withholding answers that could help someone in need. And that is part of how he loses faith in the Senobium after discovering that they’ve closed their gates. All the knowledge of the world, locked away as people suffer, and for what?

This is also probably influenced by his mentor’s betrayal, having been lied to his entire life inclines him to prefer the truth, whatever the cost.

Sometimes, he regrets running away. Was he too hasty? Was he selfish? He was hurt when he learned her true plans for him, but maybe he owed it to her. A small thing to repay the mage who had taken him in. If all he brought was pain and terror, what was a bit of suffering on his part for answers?

And then, he also honestly misses her. He can't say the mage was a bad person, she gave him a home. She practically raised him. She taught him magic. And she made him feel not alone. She cared for him, and he doesn’t believe it was an act — at least, not all of it.

His zodiac sign is Virgo

MBTI is INFJ

Enneagram is 9w1

Here's his full outfit and pose below (plus nervous Jin with his cursed eye, laughing Jin and panicking Jin):

It's funny that he has the Disney villain colour scheme because when I imagine him, he moves like a Disney princess. I gave him an eyepatch because I feel like he would be insecure about his eye where the curse had spread. He has gloves for the extra coverage but he doesn't wear them all the time.

I also made a character playlist for him. Some songs are just there for the vibes. The sounds I associate with him are autumnal and folk-y:

"Wanderer's Lullaby" by Adriana Figueroa I imagine his magic mentor Minerva used to sing this to him.

“Out There” by Tom Hulce & Tony Jay

“The Loneliest Girl” by Celeina Ann & Nai Br.XX

“Ruin” by The Amazing Devil

“Waiting in the Wings (Reprise)” by Eden Espinosa & Hudson D’Andrea

"How to Be Invisible" by Kate Bush

“Monster” by Caissie Levy

“Irrelevant” by Lauren Aquilina

“I Was Human” English Cover by rachie

“The Horror and the Wild” by The Amazing Devil

“happiness” by Taylor Swift

“Message in the Wind” by Celeina Ann & Nai Br.XX

“I Am Not Nothing” by Beth Crowley This is how I imagine his good ending, if I manage to get him one. Haha, I am so scared about the game. In a good way! There’s also this male nightcore version.

“King” by Lauren Aquilina

#touchstarved #touchstarved oc #touchstarved game #red spring studio #jin the alchemist #my oc #original character #my original character #my drawings #traditional art #my art #he did just write down ‘cuddles’ and then frantically scribble it out like ‘no you don’t GET to you piece of shit what is wrong with you’

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ego-osbourne · 6 months

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The Flight of Velehk Sain

Written as if it was an in-game book to be found in any of the TES games, here’s my jab at presenting Velehk Sain’s backstory (as seen in TDI/SITw) as if viewed by other Coldharbour kyn. The complete accuracy of this book is debatable, but it was eventually caught by dremora from other realms and mortals alike, and the prideful dialogue about the well-known pirate captain became a laughing stock to throw back at Bal dremora.

The legend has been rewritten with more and more inaccuracies, like naming Velehk Sain as a power kyn, or conflating the details of the death of the summoner; or has been parodied to expound on the pride of the author. However, the truest stories are only held by those who experienced them, and Velehk Sain isn’t keen to speak about his past.

This is the first document regarding Velehk’s name (not including criminal charges due to his pirating). Enjoy :]

//also I wrote this forever back and just have forgotten to post it since, my bad

Word Count: 700

Status: Complete Mock-Book

CW: Fantasy Slavery, Implied Sex (specific to Molag Bal), Molag Bal in general

Summary: The account of Velehk Sain as written by a power dremora.

Dated: 20th of Last Seed, 2E 631

Authored: Pehricach the Blood-Scribe

In the glorious plane of Coldharbour, kyn reign with authority over all other lesser daedra, coming only after the Prince of Domination himself. However, even a great people must have its squalor. The greatest of us are named power kyn, who serve loyally, faithfully, and without mercy under the name of Molag Bal. For our glory we are given many gifts from our Generous Master, one of the first being a personal servant. These serving kyn are created specifically for the purpose of use — they are given great beauty, no intellectual talents, no physical skills, and no names. The best will perform their duties to their superiors faithfully, while those who rebel deserve a punishment no less than erasure from our Great Prince.

This punishment was escaped by a traitorous serving kyn who ran from his master. The master, Kyrahk the Dominator, treated his server with no more cruelty than deserved, and yet the runaway insisted on rebelling throughout his existence. Despite this, Kyrahk showed mercy to the server and did not wish for his termination. This kindness, which was a pleasantry of the rarest variety, was wasted.

Dating 2E 582, Kyrahk left Coldharbour for battle, leaving his server without a watchman. That day, a mortal wizard entered Coldharbour. He longed for a serving kyn to call his own, but since servers have no names, none could be summoned. The arrogant mortal planned to approach our Lord of Schemes to trade for a server to take back to Nirn with him, but he was intercepted before he could bask within the Prince’s presence. The traitorous server presented himself to the wizard and asked to be summoned, and the wizard was keen for a moment, telling the server that he could not be summoned because he had no name. The server, ever-devious, lied to the mortal, naming himself Velehk Sain — he justified this in saying that very few serving kyn have names, but those that do are highly coveted and are cherished by Molag Bal himself. The server instructed the mortal to summon him a week from then, and the foolish wizard happily turned back to Nirn and prepared himself for the summon.

The detestable server then traveled through Coldharbour until he reached the throne of our Great Prince, asking for a trade. In exchange for his services, the kyn asked to be named by Molag Bal. Unaware of his devious nature, our Powerful Lord agreed and asked the kyn what he should be called. The server replied, “Velehk Sain,” and the Prince of Schemes made it true, assuming no harm could come from such a small-minded gesture. However, now that the server had a name given by the Lord of Domination himself, he had more power than ever deserved, and his plan was falling into action.

The serving kyn exchanged pleasantries with Molag Bal for five days and five nights, undeserving of our Prince’s warmth. On the sixth day, the server was returned to Kyrahk the Dominator, who rightfully punished the rebellious kyn for leaving his care by cutting his face, thus damaging the beauty that servers are blessed with. However, Kyrahk was unaware of the server’s plan, and was left painfully alone when the seventh day arrived.

By the week’s end, the damnable mortal summoned the server to his home on Nirn. He asked the mortal to assist in freeing him of his chains that bound him to Coldharbour and promised to reward the wizard in his efforts. A mortal fool, though, is but an insect to even the most useless of kyn, and after the chains were broken, he was killed by that who he called Velehk Sain. The server then fled to the sea, pursuing a life of material thievery that should be detested by all faithful power kyn. This account is written after his false name has made great strides on the disgusting mortal realm. Should he ever be seen on Mundus, let him be cut down swiftly so that he may return to Coldharbour and be punished for his atrocities.

#velehk sain #dremora #tes #tesblr #Coldharbour #Molag bal #kyrahk #pehricach #sitw #salt in the wound #ozzy writes

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sageofthestrange · 5 months

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PLOTTED STARTER CALL FOR @sanguisarcana

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"Trading blood as if it were gold. Literally. Yet people still have the gall to ask me why I harbour cynicism? Usstan'sargh wael, Valeryana! Thinking you were somehow exempt from an encroachment of the past! Oloth enlighten me, am I not only a physical invalid but have I finally retrogressed down to a LOBOTOMITE?!"

"ARAJ" — The word in Valeryana mother's tongue for 'VENGEANCE'. Whatever cursed Matron birthed her was certainly on the mark in naming their daughter. Pah. Not like the wizard herself wasn't one to talk. Under agitated breaths and murmurings to herself, she found herself in a cycle in the outskirts of their 'palatial' stay in the great wilderness of the Shadow-Cursed Lands. Pacing, coughing, pacing, coughing—she eventually grew tired of it and even began to consider a vice she rarely indulged in, peeking and gleaming as if to mock her for the menagerie of troubles that wicked dilettante of the sanguine arts brings up for her.

No one knows. NO ONE CAN KNOW—

Another hacking fit of writhing coughing spells fill up in her lungs, covering her mouth with yet another washed hankerchief set to be soiled by this illness. Sickly lungs give way to increasingly acute coughing fits under stress. Relief graced her only for a little while—they haven't been like this, not for a long time, not enough to spill a palpable amount of blood into her hands. Enough to pool in trained, delicate palms. Trained, but weak. Studied, but infirm.

Living, yet dying.

The now-bloodied hankerchief is tossed to her side, into another pile of blood-soaked towels and a variety of medicinal paraphernalia she uses to treat herself, too bereft of energy to properly clean up. She found herself slumped against the padded seat of her cramped living space. It was further away from all the others, enough for her to usually suffer in silence, and privately. The way she preferred it.

Thing is, she isn't able to spend all her time pitying her own ills now, is she? She had others to worry about, and she liked worrying about them. Blood and its meaning. To share it with another—a myriad of ways to interpret that phrase. Heaving breaths slowly quell as Valerya takes hold of her staff and inch-by-inch, gaining her strength step-by-step, she musters enough energy and determination to grab two glasses and the illusively uncorked bottle of wine. Last time she partook was during the party after the defeat of the Goblin Camp, and remained sober still by that night's end. She went to bed alone that evening, in spite of some… budding developments she could've sprang upon. No one had to deal with the wretched form that was her body and so she saved herself the embarrassment and so, the invitations were left behind with only clever euphemisms and yearning gazes to lust after.

The least she could do was offer him a drink of some kind, if nothing else, even with his palette being disagreeable to the drink. Another reason to hate the dreadful visitation they came upon—Astarion was unnerved, and greatly so. She only felt it was right to stand up for him, realizing in the back of her head that he would've done it if she coaxed him, too. That even the way he must endure and feed himself in his undead existence—to not even be in control of when and how he feeds? She's seen abuse. Hells, her bloodline has actively perpetuated such possessive, monstrous cycles. But she refuses to, and did so with Astarion when confronting Araj. "He said NO." and that, as the Bards say, was that. Jackass or no (they all were jackasses in their own ways... save for Karlach, maybe), she couldn't help it. She was worried for him, regardless of all his attempts to push her away and close himself off from others (she herself has the same habits, make no mistakes).

Composing herself as best she can, the drow adjusts her staff as she treks down the path and towards Astarion's tent, blissfully located a little closer to the edge of camp and thusly tucked away. Shadows be damned or not, approaching the vicinity of Astarion's tent did not slither a sense of untold dread up her spine. Rather, Valerya found that it augured for... a moment of peace, between two who have now adventured together for quite some time.

She, as the "fierce leader" of this pack, steeled her own expression as she quietly approached behind him, sure enough that he could scent either the blood or the herbal decadence (floral lavender, sweet succulents and an airy note lilacs this time) her alchemical work is kind enough to provide her sometimes, masking the more physical troubles for her. The single prayer goes to him hopefully not mentioning or preferably, having not heard any at all of her hour or so of terrible flare-ups.

"Before you make some scandalized face," comes her typically weary but sharp tone of voice with a lilt of friendly amusement shadowing it, "I am as much of a nun as you are humble, so spare me the wide-eyed shock," the jab was her show of endearment, a commonality between... all of them, honestly, but Astarion provided quite the repertoire in their time together.

Sylphidine fingers curl around a wine glass, offering it quietly as her staff is set against one of the structure supports of his tent for her to subsequently lean on. An attempt to downplay the effects of the painful episode that occurred only moments before. Whatever struggles she was (and still is) having this evening, were being pushed aside. Why wouldn't she? Full lips quirk up, the lines of her face perking around them as she gives him a mixed expression. A smile laced with concern, her next words said quietly and furtively enough to ensure any eavesdroppers wouldn't be privy to their dialogue.

"Only if you want any, obviously. Drinking alone is sad, so I had to at the very least ask before I became the sad clown for the evening," another attempt at some levity to settle them in before slowly lowering the glass slightly, as the concern brings itself face forward, looking up towards him from her smaller frame.

"How are you doing, since our unfortunate run-in? I… have my own irritations with her, but the way she treated you in front of our faces?" Valeryana speaks her next words as if acrid poison got on her tongue, grimacing, having half the mind to spit at the ground in disgust if she had lesser manners. "No. Asking me to have you deign yourself for some fetishistic attempt at haemomancy? Please." a ragged sigh escapes from her as she shakes her head and focuses her pale blue-red gaze directly into his nocturnal, crimson stare, "I'm sorry, that you were targeted like that, is what I'm trying to say. My defense for you and your right to autonomy was genuine—never think otherwise."

"I'm sorry. I'm sorry she did that to you and brought upon you that same look of horror you make when talking about Cazador," echo privately in the crevices of her mind, pushing forward that stone-cold resilience she'll die with before ever losing it when it comes to those deserving of it.

#sanguisarcana #IN CHARACTER.#ACT 2 - MAIN VERSE.#(this one got LONG i'm sorry but i hope you like it!!)#(cold grouchy wizard... trying to be nice to the brooding vampy rogue boy)#(I'M EXCITED TO SEE HOW THIS GOES FOR THEM >:])#(Usstan'sargh wael - you arrogant fool!)#illness cw #(Oloth - darkness; like an epithet/prayer/saying like minthara going “Oloth help me”)#blood cw #ask for tags /#(one of the first times she's gotten this mad in a while too btw 👀)

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i-am-a-scholar-of-magic · 1 year

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Extras Profile: Morton

One of the grand positives of “The Owl House” is that it devotes exceptional care to what I call the Big Three story elements: setting, characters, and - even more in the second season - plot. One facet of the characters is the truly incredible variety and creativity of the character design, stretching even to the background extras that keep popping up. Several of the characters, mostly at Hexside, have even been given semi-official names by the crew.

One of the early extras named in-series that has drawn my interest is Eda’s elixir dealer, Morton.

First appearing in “Hooty’s Moving Hassle,” Morton presents himself as an awkward and dorky alchemist/potionist who may not have a bunch of common sense given he spent all night poison tasting and wonders why he feels sick. However, at least to me, his earnestness is immediately appealing, as is his honest desire to help Eda, even if he doesn’t profit from it. This shows an unusual bit of integrity from one of the populace of the Boiling Isles. The fact that Eda calls him by name - and that he calls ner by a nickname, “E” - also implies that they’ve known each other for a while and that he owns the business Mr. Elixir - further evidenced by Morton’s cry for Eda’s release with “She helped me stay in business!”

Morton would continue to appear in the background of some episodes until “Keeping Up A-fear-ances,” where he refuses service to Luz without monetary payment - this and his desolation at a slow evening implying that Eda and Lilith are his main source of income. He next appears in “Elsewhere & Elsewhen,” where he appears as a guest at Hooty’s party thrown for Lilith to celebrate her new job. This implies that not only has he begun supplying Lilith with elixir for her curse, but he and Lilith have become acquainted enough for Hooty to consider them friends. Then again, he also invites Tinella Nosa, whom Lilith doesn’t seem to know, so he may have been stretching (Ha!) to fill the guest list. As of this post, this is his last major appearance.

Now for extrapolation and guesswork!

Morton’s job makes it almost certain that he’s a member of the Potions Coven. Simple and easy to figure. Though he aids and does business with wild witches, which is a real mark in his favor.

Given Eda’s proclamation as the “Most Powerful Witch on the Boiling Isles” and the fact that she was in the Potions track at Hexside, the fact that she doesn’t brew her own elixir stands out as strange. This is also noting that she, too, runs a small business selling potion - though this fact seems to have been forgotten after “Witches Before Wizards.” Eda even mentions to her mother knowing what goes into the elixirs. This implies early on that Morton actually brews the elixirs himself, which would further imply that he is remarkably talented in his field. Eda’s playful comment in “For the Future” about Lilith’s own elixir “putting Morton out of business” only adds credence to that idea.

Finally, an interesting note about his attire. Morton is always seen wearing a large funnel on his head like a hat. At first this seems like a quirky reference to his profession, but it may have a deeper meaning. In the time of Hieronymus Bosch - a Dutch painter whose surrealist works were a large influence on the look of the Isles and who has lent his name to two characters of the show - an upside-down funnel was a symbol of madness. Bosch himself used this imagery a few times in his works. Taken in context, one might think Morton is crazy - you know, for daring to do business with the Owl Lady despite her criminal background!

It really is a delight to find little tidbits about these background students that the crew has clearly put some thought into and stitch together a narrative. Had there been more time, I would have been happy to see more of Morton.

Thanks for reading! More to come …!

#the owl house #worldbuilding #character analysis #urban fantasy #theorizing

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ice-cap-k · 6 months

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Monster Charm

Cross-posted to AO3 here: Monster Charm

_____________________________________________

“Step right up! Feast your eyes on my fantastic magical crystals.”

Mumbo Jumbo came to a halt in the middle of the road. “What on Earth-” There was a merchant crying their wares at the corner. It was a simple booth set up on the curb. A few people were crowded around the tabletop, picking over finely polished stones in a variety of lovely colors.

The shopkeeper was animatedly waving in people off the street. He was dressed in a long purple cloak. The hood was pulled down over his eyes, but he didn’t seem to be struggling to see. Fine gemstones glittered in his hands as he tried to show off his wares. “We’ve got crystals for all your needs,” he was saying in a honey-sweet voice. “Feel like you’re lacking courage? We’ve got a crystal for that! How about love? Still looking for that special someone? Well, the Love Crystal can help with that! Are crops struggling in these dry summer days? You’re in luck, because yes, there’s even a crystal for that. You’re sure to find the one that’s right for you at the Wizard’s Hut!”

It was quite the pitch, Mumbo had to admit. It had him curious enough to take a look himself. Just a peak wouldn’t hurt. So he adjusted the straps of his pack over his shoulder and wandered a little closer.

As he approached, he noticed rows of crystals laid out on the tabletop or hanging from a thin wire stretched taut above the rest of the display. Tags hung from each one. There were listings for things like ‘Hydration Crystal’ and ‘Silvertongue Crystal.’ The names must have had something to do with the charms each crystal was meant to carry. He found his eyes drawn to one in particular. It was clear and green, like a large emerald. It was a rough elongated hexagonal cut, small enough to hold in the palm of his hand.

“I see you’re a man of fine taste.”

Mumbo gasped, surprised to hear the shopkeeper’s voice in his ear. His hand went to his heart as if that would help with the shock. When he whirled around, the other man’s yellow-brown eyes glittered out from under the cover of the hood.

“That would be the ‘Courage of the Lion’ crystal.” He reached out and plucked the green crystal off the tablecloth. “With it, you’ll be able to meet the most deadly, terrifying tasks ahead without a shred of fear.”

It was quite lovely, but there really was no need for such trinkets. He waved off the other man with a good-natured smile. “Thanks, but I’m not really interested-”

“Excuse me,” one of the other customers huddled near the storefront cut him off.

The shopkeep nodded at Mumbo, seeming to understand, before turning to address the one who had spoken up. “Yes? How can I help you?”

“I was wondering if you had anything with an anti-monster charm?”

An anti-monster charm? That caught Mumbo’s attention. Now that would be something useful. As a lone traveler, he often had nasty run-ins with monsters. It was a dangerous world out there, and if he was being honest with himself, he wasn’t all that strong. There had already been several close calls on the way to this town. He wasn’t exactly excited about the idea of possible confrontations on his way to the next.

The shopkeeper’s face lit up into a wide smile. “Why, you’re in luck! We happen to have a Monster Protection crystal right here.” He leaned over and plucked a purple gem with an emerald cut off the wire. “As long as you carry this charm with you, no harm shall fall on you from a monster’s teeth and claws.”

That sounded pretty darn good to Mumbo.

“How much does it cost?”

“Ten gold,” the salesman said. “And what a steal that is. You can only get such quality goods at such fair prices right here.”

The other customer didn’t seem pleased. They snorted, turning away from the stand. “Pfft. What a rip-off.”

Mumbo, however, was too busy pulling out his coin pouch. The money spilled into his hands, and he promptly slammed it onto the table. “I’ll take it!”

What was visible of the shopkeeper’s eyes grew impressively wide as Mumbo’s hand left the money on the table. He waited for a moment as if expecting Mumbo to change his mind and take it back before snatching it up. “A wise decision!” Now the merchant’s smile had spread to his voice. The tone went up in pitch as if he was excited about the sale. “Here is your crystal.”

Mumbo held his hand open to take his new charm. The merchant dropped it in the center of his palm. It felt cold to the touch. Before he could put it away, the merchant reached out and placed his hand over Mumbo’s, wrapping his fingers around his hand and crystal. The smooth edges jabbed into the creases of his palm. “Now be warned. This crystal is very powerful. Remember that. As long as you believe in that power, it will serve you in ways you could never imagine.”

The grip was oddly harsh for such a simple reassurance. The intensity of it made him a bit uncomfortable. “Uh… thanks for the tip…”

“You’re welcome.” He pulls away, and Mumbo is surprised to see there are now two stones in his hand. One purple, one green.

“Oh, sir! You accidentally gave me an extra!”

He only waved Mumbo off. “Not accidentally. Consider it a bonus crystal for being my first customer of the day.” It looked like he gave Mumbo a wink under that hood, but it was difficult to make out. And before Mumbo could say anything else, the shopkeeper had already moved off to the next set of customers approaching the table.

What an interesting chap.

__________________________________

The road between towns was pretty overgrown if Mumbo was being honest. It wasn’t even much of a road. More of a dirt path cutting through the trees, and not a very good one at that. There were gnarled tree roots poking up out of the ground every few steps. The weeds had also grown something awful. Clumps of dandelion and fern found root in the little crevices left by the roots and potholes. Their overgrown leaves brushed against his shins as he walked.

He would do something about it if he had time. Make a sled that could clear this dodgy path with ease, or a machine capable of picking its way over the obstacles. But alas, time was something he did not have on his side. His friends were waiting for him miles away. Hopefully, they hadn’t left without him. He was already late, and he still had plenty of distance to cover. So he was left to trudge this unpleasant terrain in the middle of the woods.

The clock in his coat pocket indicated it was midday. If he was lucky, he would make it there by dark.

His hand found its way up to the two crystals hanging from a leather cord around his neck. One green, one purple. He thought they suited him. It made for a nice bit of jewelry if nothing else. But he had high hopes for that anti-monster crystal. Especially if he was going to be out past dark.

Already he had spotted a zombie shambling aimlessly under the cover of some oak trees in the distance. He had panicked, but the thing hadn’t spotted him. It had been too far away to tell if the little crystal had worked its magic.

As he walked, he whiled away the hours whistling. It was quiet in the forest. Forests were normally pretty quiet, but this one seemed especially so. Mumbo hadn’t heard a bird singing since he had first set out. Normally there would be a bit of rustling as breezes passed through the branches. Branches would snap as old, dead wood gaves out. And any number of odd noises occurred with cute woodland critters frolicking through the foliage, but there wasn’t even a squirrel chittering in the trees. It made him feel a little uneasy, honestly.

After his fifth time finishing up a familiar tune, there was finally another noise to break the silence.

“Where are you…?”

Mambo froze. That was a voice. There was a voice out here in the middle of nowhere. He looked around but didn’t see anyone. Not even a zombie. Had he imagined it? Was the silence starting to get to him? “Hello,” he called out.

“Where are you?”

There it was again. He hadn’t been imagining it. There was a voice! It was a little high-pitched and distant, but it was real. It’s owner must be nearby and he just hadn’t spotted them yet. “I’m on the road, chap,” he cupped his hands around his mouth and called out, not entirely sure which way he should be looking. “I can’t see you yet. Where are you? Maybe I can help you find whomever you’re looking for?”

“Where are you… and I’m so sorry…”

“Sorry,” Mumbo nearly snorted. He turned back up the road, peering around the nearest tree. The voice sounded closer. “What on Earth for?”

“Where are you…” The voice repeated, taking on an almost singsong quality. It sounded so close. They had to be nearby, but he wasn’t seeing them. The voice was downright cheery as it rose and fell in his ears. “And I’m SO SORRY…!”

Mumbo nearly threw his hands over his ears. It was so loud. They had to be right next to him. But where? He circled around on his heel twice. The empty woods all around left him at a loss. “How-”

Snap!

Mumbo stiffened. His eyes went to the trunk of a tree leaning over the edge of the dirt road. He followed the pattern of the rough bark up, up, up to the spindly branches reaching over his head.

Two big black eyes stared down at him from the canopy. They glittered in the little sunlight that managed to break through the trees. Whatever it could be was looking right at him. Two endless voids of unfathomable depth stared deep into his very soul.

Mumbo gasped but clamped his mouth shut when the thing above him blinked. He had never seen anything like it and he wished he never had. It was utterly terrifying.

The eyes twisted in place, like whatever was watching him was tilting its head to get a better look at him. Something warbled. And then a space below the eyes widened as a large mouth hinged open. “Hello…”

Nope. That’s it. He’s out.

The supposed power of the crystals still hanging around his neck was promptly forgotten in favor of turning tail and booking it down the path. There was a muted squawk somewhere above him followed by more snapping branches. It was on the move as well. The branches clattered as the creature made some sort of move to follow him. Mumbo silently prayed he was faster than it.

He could only run so fast on this terrible road, though. More than once he had to catch himself mid-stumble after his toes caught a clump of crabgrass or overgrown root in his path. And what’s more, the rustling overhead wasn’t getting any further away. When he looked up, he could make out a black shape silhouetted against the sky.

“Oh-oh! Oh NO!” Mumbo wasn’t thinking straight anymore. The thing was there. It was there and above him. It was there and above him moving and watching with those big black eyes. He threw rational thought to the wind and broke away from the road. It wasn’t like the undergrowth would be much worse to crash through. He flung himself through berry bushes and dead underbrush. Low-hanging branches were shoved out of the way to give him a straight path away from whatever the thing was.

He had lost sight of the road by the time he realized that there was no rattling above him. When he looked up, he didn’t see the strange black eyes or the dark shape through the treetops anymore. So he took a moment to catch his breath. That jaunt through the trees had left his throat and lungs burning. It had been a while since he had to run like that. He’d rather not do so again right away, but he couldn’t help but stay on the tips of his toes.

Fwoosh! Fwoosh! Fwoosh!

Something was still out there making noise. It sounded like wings beating the air. Almost like when a songbird leaps from its perch. “Where are you…” the sing-song voice filtered through the trees. It didn’t sound as close as it had before, but it was still too clear for Mumbo’s comfort. He shoved himself under the nearest spruce tree. The needles scratched at his arms and snagged at his clothes. It was extremely uncomfortable, but it gave him cover from above. Still, he had the uncanny feeling that he was being watched.

His heart sank when one of the tree limbs bobbed overhead. Pine needles rained down from above and stuck in his hair. A now familiar voice chimed over the crackling of twigs. “Find whomever you’re looking for… find whomever you’re looking for… find whomever you’re looking for…” It repeated the phrase over and over like a broken record. With every reiteration, it got closer and closer.

The situation was absolute pants.

Mumbo’s knees knocked together. His breathing sounded too loud in his ears. It would give his position away if he didn’t get that under control. The thing would hear it. He was so scared that he could feel himself sweating through his clothes. Every creak marked another step closer. Down, down, down. It was picking its way closer to him. “Find whomever you’re looking for… Find whomever you’re looking for…”

It stopped less than a meter above his head. Mambo only dared to move his eyeballs, risking a glance. The big black eyes were slim slivers through the screen of needles and pine cones. They weren’t looking directly at him. They stared off into the distance. But he couldn’t see anything else beyond the eyes. There was no fur or scales, or any sort of face they were connected to. Just the tree bark of the trunk was visible beyond them. It was almost as if they were floating in space. They closed after a moment of searching, and it was like they had simply vanished in the mottled browns of the tree.

Were they gone? Were they actually gone, or was it a trick of the eye? If only he could get a closer look.

Or, well, he could try to get a closer look, couldn’t he? Slowly, he inched his way out from cover. Each step was agonizingly slow as he picked his way over the leaf litter and sticks littering the forest floor. He practically held his breath with each footfall. The entire time he moved, he kept his eyes trained on the last spot he had seen the eyes. There wasn’t anything there to see, though. Even as he moved further and further away, the side of the trunk remained empty. The eyes didn’t reappear.

He’s actually managed to put a few meters between himself and the tree this way. It was slow going, but he started to figure that maybe this was a good way to cover some distance. Eventually, he would have to make it back to the road, right?

Right?

That sense of being watched hadn’t gone away yet.

There’s something calling from the tree. It sounds like an animal. A sad bird call of some sort. A low, mournful “bwah… bwuh… buh.”

It was still there. It had to be. He couldn’t see it, but Mumbo knew. He knew it was there regardless of what his eyes told him.

If anything, that feeling of being watched somehow grew more acute. It felt like there were thousands of eyes looking at him from all sides. They were boring into him. The feeling was too intense and it was only getting stronger. His best hope now was to keep up this pace and put as much distance between himself and the creature as possible. He had to get out of there. Try to run for it again. He has to-

Snap!

A twig breaks under his foot.

The big black eyes open wide. Shapes move in the mottled brown of the tree as the dark orbs turn on him.

It had found him.

Fwoom!

“AAAAAAaaah!! I knew it,” he practically screams as something large plummets through the trees. Big brown speckled wings unfolded, pulling the creature out of a plummeting nosedive and instead angling to swoop directly at Mumbo. There’s no time to dodge. He screams again as the great flying thing impacts his side.

It’s lighter than Mumbo expected, but it hits him with such speed that it still manages to bowl him over. He finds himself spinning head over tail, rolling across the grass until he eventually loses momentum and tumbles to a spot with an “Ooomph!”

The thing on top of him made a low noise. The exact same as the call he had heard. “Bwah… bwah…” It sounds so sad, but when he struggles to get a better look at his attacker, there’s a devilish grin stretched across a startlingly wide mouth. “And I’m so SORRY…!”

It was a monster. One that wasn’t bothered by daylight. There was no other thing it could be. It sort of had a torso and build of a rather small man, but its body was covered in tawny feathers. Two great wings tented behind its back. No wonder he hadn’t been able to see it. The feathers blended in perfectly with the bark.

The creature was admittedly a bit small. It didn’t even stand at a full meter. Mumbo would liken it to the size of a very large owl or eagle. Its wingspan, however, was easily as long as Mumbo was tall.

Its face, though, was its most striking feature. The smile faltered as he looked at it, only to widen again when it placed a hook-clawed foot against his shoulder and repositioned itself to sit comfortably on his stomach. Giant black eyes, each the size of a chicken’s egg, watched him intently.

Mumbo gulped. This was it. The monster had him. This was the end. His friends wouldn’t even know where to look for him once he was gone. Goodbye cruel world.

He closed his eyes, and tensed for another sort of attack, but one never came. When he dared peak one eye open, he was startled to see the monster’s face uncomfortably close to his. It was still watching him with those big black eyes. Its head quirked in amusement as he flinched away from the unnerving glare with a shout.

The monster sat on his stomach for a second before cracking open its mouth. “Oho… Uwaaah…” it shouted, sounding pleased with itself and the imitation of Mumbo’s cries. It hadn’t matched his voice, but in its own high-pitched tone, he supposed the monster was spot on. It brought one hand to its mouth, giggling at its own attempt at an impersonation.

“What the-” Mumbo didn’t even know what to ask. He wasn’t even sure if the monster knew how to answer.

At the very least, it didn’t seem in any hurry to eat him. Or kill him. Or horribly, horribly injure him. Eventually, Mumbo finally asked, “What do you want?”

It didn’t answer, as he expected, but there was something about the way it looked at him that made him think it was by choice rather than a lack in ability. There was an intelligence in those strange eyes. They looked at him with such a curiosity that, for some reason, he found some of the fear melting away. It almost looked endearing.

The big eyes flicked away from his face for a moment, distracted by something on Mumbo’s chest. “What the…” it repeated as one of its feathered hands reached toward his neck.

Looking down, he saw the monster was reaching for the cord where the purple and green crystals were still hanging. A kernel of light was glowing dimly in their centers, leaving purple and green reflections dancing in the monster’s eyes.

Did that mean they were supposed to be working? It sure didn’t feel like they were working. They were supposed to make him brave and keep monsters away. Especially the monster one. That was the entire reason he had paid the man in the first place. The shopkeeper had said it would keep him safe.

The monster seemed very interested in the glowing rocks, though. It reached out and poked the green crystal with a clawed finger. The two stones clacked harmlessly against each other. “Green, huh,” Mumbo mused out loud. “I would have thought you more of a purple gentleman. Or maybe red.”

“Gree-an…” It said back with a blink, putting extra emphasis on one of the first E.

“Ah, close enough.”

The creature seemed to take this as praise because it absolutely beamed at him.

It made Mumbo chuckle a little. This was good. He was making progress. He wasn’t sure what kind of progress that was, but hopefully it was the kind that got this monster off of him. He reached up to pick up the green crystal, holding it out for the creature to see. “Do you… do you want that?”

It seemed pleased with this. The big eyes narrowed gleefully as it warbled back, “Do you want that…” in its own voice.

“Are you mimicking me?”

“Are you mimicking me…” it shot back without missing a beat.

“Well, that seems rather silly. “

“Well, that seems rather silly… “

“Please stop.”

“Please stop…”

Mumbo sighed, thumping the back of his head against the ground with a bit of annoyance and a smidge of frustration. “You’re a real handful, you know that?”

It snickered. “Are you mimicking me…” It repeated. “Are you mimicking me?”

“Heh. Cheeky chap aren’t you,” Mumbo said. It seemed in pretty good spirits, so he dared a request. “Could you maybe let me get back up?”

The feathers on its brow furrowed as if in disappointment. “Is there something you want…” it asks, pulling its wings in against its back.

“Yes, I want you to get off,” Mumbo said again a little more forcefully.

The wide mouth twisted into a frown, but the monster rolled off of his stomach and landed on the soil with its own clawed feet. “I’m so SORRY…”

Finally. The monster wasn’t heavy, but Mumbo could breathe much easier now that it wasn’t sitting on his stomach. He pushed himself back up to his feet and brushed off the grass and dirt that clung to his clothes. The monster took a step back from him as if giving him space. Now he dwarfed it, but it didn’t seem very put off by the height difference between the two of them.

“Alright then. Thank you.” What was Mumbo to do now? It didn’t seem hostile. Was it letting him go? “I guess, uh, I guess I shall get going then. Nice meeting you.”

One step. Two steps. The monster only blinked at him. It stared up intently with those big eyes of its, watching as he shuffled a step away. Three steps. Four steps. It leaned forward, head bobbing as it watched him go. Five steps. Still nothing, so Mumbo turned around.

“Maybe I can help…” The sound of fluttering feathers came from behind him, but when he turned, the monster nearly slapped the side of his face with a wing. His cheek stung as it settled on his shoulder with hooked claws that didn’t feel pleasant, but moved carefully to avoid digging into him. “I want… want that.”

“Come now. Get off,” Mumbo huffed. He waved his hand at the monster, but that didn’t seem to deter it. “You can’t stay on my arm. I’m not a free ride, mate.”

“Can…” it huffed, sitting in place.

“You can’t get everything you want by sitting on it.”

The creature’s smile only got wider. “Can…”

Mumbo rolled his eyes. It was getting late, and he was losing daylight. If it wasn’t going to hurt him, then he didn’t have time for this monster to make a nuisance of itself. “Fine. You’ll just have to ride along. I have to get back to that road. Don’t blame me if you end up lost.”

The notion didn’t seem to bother it too much. “Ride along…” it giggled, readjusting its wings. It nestled in against his shoulder, getting comfortable as Mumbo started to trace the track in the fallen leaves he had left during his panicked run. No wonder the creature had found him, considering how easy he had made it.

“I’m going, you know,” Mumbo warned. “I’m going all the way to town. Are you sure you want to still keep riding?”

“Sure…” It repeated as its black eyes went back to the glowing crystals hanging from Mumbo’s neck. It reached out with one of its hands to poke at it. Whatever this thing was, it seemed to like those things an awful lot.

Mumbo reached up and unhooked one of the crystals from the leather cord. “Here,” he said, handing it out to the monster on his shoulder. It paused for a moment. Big eyes narrowed as if debating whether or not he was being sincere before snatching it away. The sight of it twirling the gem in the light giddily like a child with a new toy brought a smile to his face. “I suppose I should call you something if you’re not going to leave. Do you have a name?”

The creature held the crystal up to its eye. It stared at him through its translucent surface.

“Gree-an…”

#whumptober 2023 #prompt no. 16 #Hunt #hermitcraft #creative writing #being followed #being watched #mumbo jumbo #grian #goodtimeswithscar #alternate universe - monsters and creatures #grian and Scar go unnamed in this but trust me it's them #hear me out #Great Potoo Grian #crystals #magic #monsters

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talesofarcadiaforever · 1 year

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I'm updating DR!Merlin's design!

(And hopefully this will be the last time.)

I’m not going to delete the original post I made ages ago because it details the saga of how I got the idea to redesign him (and then eventually make him my own version), it has a writing blurb that I still like there, and I got of a couple of really nice compliments!

I made several collages to show how he looks more instead of just describing it, and I’ll explain the reasons behind picking the images in them!

General Looks:

I made his bust in Artbreeder!

After @rule-number-3 drew him with a widow’s peak, I wanted to incorporate that into his design.

Second up is his hairstyle! I’ve wanted him to have a ponytail for so dang long, even before I started coming with ideas for a redesign! I’d always wanted it to be mid-high usually, with it tied up into a bun when he’s in his armor; and either loosened or completely down for sleep. The picture got his hair length right too! When it’s fully down, it’s halfway down his back. It’s also very thick, and he’s 6'7", so that’s a lot of hair!

His hair and eyebrow color is definitely the easiest part of his redesign, because it’s just having them match now. It was a little harder to find the photo I wanted at first. I had to keep weeding out options 😂.

I’d finally gotten down to two choices for his new eye color. I had the option I have in the collage, and a more natural looking eye. I didn’t know which one to choose, so I asked @donkeyklone for his opinion; and after what I explained what it was for, he said to go for that option! He said it looks more magical, which fits his status as a wizard and cambion. :D

He’s very sleep deprived from insomnia, nightmares, etc., so I googled eyebags and chose the worst looking ones I could find lol.

His skin color was actually taken straight from his face! I just made a little square in IbisPaintX and colored it in!

One design element that I wanted to keep from Canon!Merlin was his hands. They’re wide with short fingernails and no visible veins, but that could just be the art style. The hand I found matched what I was looking for perfectly!

And last off for this collage, I decided that his body type would be realistically muscular, give all the fighting he’s done, but it took me a little bit to find the right amount of muscle I wanted. I didn’t want him to look like a bodybuilder, but I also didn’t want him to be too lean.

TW/CW for scars! Some are these are pretty graphic!

Scars:

Some of these are more to show the texture of the scars than location. I also haven’t figured out the whole backstory behind them yet, so these are more of summarizations.

The knife scar on his neck was from a murder attempt after his magic was discovered by people who hated magic.

The claw marks on his chest are from a beast attack; not sure what yet.

His burn marks are from when he was burned with holy fire. (Burns from holy water go away; burns from holy fire don’t.)

The knife scar on his arm is actually from his wrist to his elbow, and it was specifically torture.

The whip marks on his back are from another time he was tortured.

The claw marks on his back are from other beasts.

His stretch marks are from puberty! Since he’s half-demon, he probably grew really fast during that time, and I think that he’d probably have stretch marks from it. Also yes I’m projecting.

The knife scar on his left leg is from when he stabbed during a fight.

The bite scar on his right leg is from another beast.

Cambion form:

I’m so excited to talk about this because I haven’t really done that yet, but DR!Merlin is a cambion! :D Here’s some backstory about his birth. He also has a name for his other true form:“Blood Moon!Merlin.” @donkeyklone was the source for it, as he was thinking I could call it that since his whole “shtick is the moon” according to him 😂. I imagine someone described him as looking like a blood moon after seeing him, since cambions have a wide variety of colors.

For his horns, I went through several options, but the one in the collage was my favorite photo by far. I love how big they are!

His hair color is still the same despite all the changes between forms.

His facial markings are inspired by concept art that features him with some! I tried to get the swirl-like markings as close as possible at first, but then I just chose my favorite picture.

They even show up in his human form; mainly when he’s having visions or entering his avatar state™️. I don’t know what else to call it.

And pointy ears, also featured in the above photo, are always cool!

His eye color is to match with the rest of his form, and red is pretty default for a demon anyway. 😂 Slitted eyes are always awesome too!

For his fangs, I chose a photo that had both top and bottom fangs.

I chose the photo that best matched the idea of what I wanted for his claws.

For his wings, I just googled red wings png. It was one of the first results!

His skin color was picked from another photo of red eyes, and @donkeyklone sent me the tail!

Armor:

I love his armor so much, even if it has been through a few revamps.

I made his outer helmet, faceplate, and breastplate in Artbreeder!

I found his gauntlets after googling black gauntlets.

His cape pattern is the ocean because the moon controls the tides, and I wanted him to have more general night motifs besides just stars!

I think I’ve said this before, but his armor is BIG. It’s not formfitting like Jim’s and Morgana’s, and that idea was inspired by these concept arts. I was also able to find a photo that illustrated it more clearly on Artstation!

Unfortunately Jim isn’t as realistic proportions wise, but this is the size difference between their armor!

His cape color is picked from this photo of the ocean! Besides it matching the black of his armor, it also opposes Morgana’s sky blue cape. 😉

Weapons:

These are just a few of the weapons Merlin uses throughout the DR-verse!

I made his staff, sword, and shield in Artbreeder! I wanted to keep his staff mostly the same, except making it slightly more fantasy like, because DR!Merlin is more straight up magical fantasy than magi-tech.

His sword is covered in stars with a silver handle to match his night motifs better. Besides that, a master wizard having a normal sword is so silly to me.

I gave him a shield because they’re awesome, and yes, I want to see him smash the crap out of a villain while they’re trying to talk.

I chose a bow as another weapon for him because his staff does turn into a bow in some concept art!

Sometimes he wields an axe in more close combat situations, same with the dagger.

His shield’s shape is long and angular, and it goes down to his feet when he holds it in front him.

The sword whip is for more of a long range combat situation, and his magic allows to extend as far as he needs it to.

Camelot outfit:

In Emerald Embers, he doesn’t wear his armor 24/7, so here’s his Camelot outfit design!

His earrings are full moons because of his night motif, like his armor! Since the night means safety to many magical creatures, him always wearing some version of night themed accessories is a secret way of signaling he’s safe to approach. He also finds them pretty.

I found his cape clasps by just searching for cape clasp designs on Pinterest, and they’re perfect because they remind him of Charlie. (At the start of Emerald Embers, he’s been gone for over a thousand years.) I need to make a post about his redesign too. And why they separated.

His necklace is the one he made for his sister, Ganieda, as her wedding gift. It’s very, very special to him, as it’s one of the few things he has left of her.

I was trying to make his outfit historically accurate, and I found out that bliauts were popular back then!

His pants were ones that I’d chosen for a reference when I first came up with a possible design for his outfit! That was a long time ago, but it’s still on my tablet. It’s currently broken. 💀

Him having a cape was inspired by @tenyai’s storyboards of him having one! It’s one element of his outfit that I’ve always kept, even if I did change the rest.

For his belt, I just looked up medieval belts and chose my favorite.

His boots took a little while to choose. I wanted him to have heeled boots, shamelessly inspired by Dracula in Netflix’s adaptation of Castlevania, but finding one that I could choose was another story. But I eventually did!

His ring is actually his staff in disguise! He wears it on his right middle finger.

Last off, his bracelet is more of a pretty accessory that doesn’t really have special meaning to him.

And that’s all for now! Of course, he’s going to have more outfits eventually lol.

#mine #talesofarcadiaforever rambles #talesofarcadiaforever makes things #tales of arcadia #trollhunters #wizards #toa redesigns #toa fanfiction #Daylight’s Redemption #Emerald Embers #Journey by Daylight #Merlin Ambrosius #DR!Merlin

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