#tiny maw walker

[late-to-the-fandom]

Day 6: Unnatural

This is an entirely G-Rated 603 word drabble for the @daily-writing-challenge November words! Takes place in the universe of my current series and features Prince Renathal's escalation of the Ember Court prank war. Trigger warning for spider death.

Read them all here on Ao3

To Renathal, it was simply another humourous prank. Hardly even an escalation. The Maw Walker had put slime in his drink one Ember Court; he had hidden some in her tea sandwich at another. She had overinflated the cushion on his chair so it made a most indecorous sound when he seated himself ... he felt something on an equal level of embarrassment was not uncalled for.

So the Dark Prince had slipped the little eight-legged creature into the pocket of the Maw Walker’s gown while she held Theotar’s tea tray for him. He glided a short distance away, and waited eagerly for her little yelp of surprise.

He was not expecting her blood curdling shriek or the enormous crash that followed. Renathal whipped around, eyes widening at the scene: porcelain flying, Theotar wailing, and the Maw Walker spinning wildly in place, beating frantically at her own legs.

The spider landed a foot away and scuttled across the stone. It didn’t get far. The Maw Walker lifted both hands and blasted the tiny creature with a shower of purple sparks. She continued her arcane barrage long after the poor beast had disintegrated. Then she stood in the wreckage, panting loudly, her pale eyes wide and manic.

“Was this you?”

The Maw walker’s voice could cut glass. Renathal contorted his face fiercely to betray no hint of amusement.

“It was only … an amusing joke,” he tried, but something in the twist of his lips gave him away.

“Does this look amusing to you?” she shrieked, gesticulating wildly at the surrounding carnage. “What part of putting a SPIDER in someone’s pocket could possibly be considered amusing?”

“The slimes never bothered you,” said Renathal, attempting to reassert calm. But his soothing tone only inflamed the Maw Walker further.

“Slimes don’t have eight legs and ... hairy bodies and - and - and the unnatural way they move!”

The Shadowlands Champion shivered uncontrollably. She rubbed at her own arms as if fearing what other invisible horrors might be crawling there.

Renathal frowned. She was taking this a little far.

“You have fought spiders often in the Banewood,” he chided. "And those are considerably larger and more deadly.”

“I am aware,” snarled the Maw Walker. “And I don’t like them either but at least they’re big enough to see and are never just ... just hiding in my pocket when I least expect it!”

Her words ended in a quaver that threatened murder or tears.

Guests were openly staring now, whispering to each other behind their hands. Curious onlookers from other parts of the courtyard were wandering this way. Renathal spared them neither thought nor glance as he rushed toward his distraught Maw Walker.

“I am sorry,” he said and this time his face was entirely free of mirth. “It never occurred to me this would be going too far. I would never have intentionally cause you this sort of … distress”

He briefly considered the usefulness of a rational explanation into how such a small creature could do the Maw Walker no harm. Then decided against it, in favour of gathering her into his arms.

“You will forgive me, won’t you?”

The Maw Walker looked up at him, eyes still guarded. 

“Can I forgive you and still be upset with you and not be ready to laugh about this for a few days?”

“Certainly,” said Renathal solemnly, and pressed his lips to her forehead.

The whispers crescendoed, a rustling sea of excited murmurs to which Renathal paid absolutely no mind. Truly, one of the best parts of defeating Denathrius was that he didn’t have to anymore.

Read next drabble | Visit the Masterpost

#renathal #renathal x maw walker #fanfiction #prince renathal #renathal fanfiction #renathal/oc #renathal x oc #ember court #revendreth #Sinfall #the maw walker #the reservoir #light & shadows #daily writing challenge

[toastvogel]

Just now noticed of absolutely OFF that Picture is.

Just look at how ridiculously TINY Adrestes is here! He is BARELY taller than the Maw Walker who themself are just a few inches taller than a Steward.

As the Polemarch and the therefor the third highest Rank in Bastion, he should at least be as tall as Uther but no, our guy was so worried about fitting his new role that he just shrank a few feet ...

#why he so tiny? #kyrian #adrestes #shadowlands was weird from time to time #guess Blizz was so preoccupied to not forget Kyras Wound that they forgot how tall Adrestes needs to be

[fluffleforce-mysdrym]

The Venthyr Don’t Ride Gargon

If you look around Revendreth, the venthyr ride sin runners. 

The only venthyr with a gargon mount nearby that I’ve seen is the Fearstalker when you first meet her (she has Vanatora), but when we see her ride anything, it’s a sin runner.

Gargon are just pets to them.

Then they see these tiny ass mortals and how we will ride literally anything, and the Curator slaps a saddle on one of her crypt gargons and gives it to us, and we don’t question it at all.

The venthyr are watching us ride around on gargon the way we might watch a toddler ride a Saint Bernard. 

Prince Renathal gave us Vrednic to ride because he couldn’t convince Draven to wear a saddle just to see if the Maw Walker would really ride anything.

#world of warcraft #revendreth #gargon #venthyr

[citiesalight-writes]

Fandom: Danny Phantom

Characters: Vlad Masters

Rating: T

Relationships: Just a hint of one sided family breakfast

Tags & Warnings: Hurt

Summary: What will come, he doesn't know, but hope is in his veins Bathed in green and all alone, he seeks to end his pain

Written for Going Angst Week 2021 Day 1: Birth/Creation

-

Vlad stood before the gaping maw of his creation, satisfaction thrumming through his chest at having completed his pet project years in the making. Dozens upon dozens of hours spent pouring over the designs, millions of dollars invested in the building of every individual piece needed to finish their his lifelong dream.

A portal, larger than the one he and Maddie and Jack had worked on during his college years and—if his calculations were corrected—fully functional. It had been his goal for so long—the only thing keeping him going some days, as he stole and manipulated his way to this moment, gathering the funds and resources he needed to make their his dream a reality and silencing anyone who threatened to get in his way. It had been a grueling task maintaining the calm and poised facade he had developed to dissuade suspicion of his intentions. Every word carefully crafted, every movement planned, every contract scrutinized for even the slightest possibility of a loophole.

Every nosy reporter who dug too deep “persuaded” to investigate his competition, revealing scandals orchestrated by Vlad’s own hand.

And after the days filled with navigating high society were the sleepless nights spent going over their his notes and trying to make sense of the loopy cursive and the chicken scratch; the tiny diagrams and drawings in the margins; the calculations and jumps to conclusions that seemed to have no connections to each other.

His degree had been neither in engineering nor physics that was them, always them, it’s why they worked so well together and had gotten so close but there was nothing money couldn’t buy. Reading and rereading thick tomes passing as the latest textbooks, he paved a solid foundation of knowledge that only grew over time until he could connect the dots and reason his way through leaps in logic that had puzzled him previously.

But that wasn’t the hardest part, the hardest part was seeing the coffee stains and little doodles and Jack’s tangents and Maddie’s corrections and the blood blood blood.

Soon, he would be the first to find definitive proof that ghosts exist, gather readings from the other side, and get an answer to the age-old question of if there’s life after death.

And maybe, just maybe, he’d find someone to help him learn more about the ghostly abilities he struggled to get under control in the years since the accident betrayal incident. Possibly find beings like himself that straddled life and death. The thought alone made him giddy with excitement.

Maybe there was a cure, something to turn him fully human again so he could finally face them and the guilt he saw in their eyes.

Finger stilled on the button to start the machine, he took a grounding breath he didn’t need. This was it, the moment of truth. Anticipation brimming, he pressed it and watched as a swirling green filled the once empty center. It flickered and fizzed before holding steady, a hum emitting from the machine or the portal itself, Vlad didn’t know.

He did it, it worked. It worked!

Euphoria rushed through him and the unnatural hum in his chest intensified, smile pulling at his lips as he ran a hand through greasy white hair, the dark bags under his eyes standing out against his pale skin—for once not hidden under makeup. A laugh bubbled up in his throat, tears building in his eyes as the relief that it worked hit him. He did it, they did it, they really did it!

Vlad spun around, their names on his tongue, before the realization hit and the joy seeped from his bones.

He was alone, had been alone for years now. Left behind as they moved on with their lives he heard they had a daughter now with a son on the way, tossing him aside the second he was out of sight. Abandoned. Unwanted. Unloved.

Deflating, he rubbed at his face, trying to ignore the anger that was beginning to boil beneath his skin. Anger at them for leaving. Anger at Jack for the incident. Anger at himself for believing, even if only for a moment, that they were still within his reach. Angry that he might have—that he was—that he lo—

He ground his palms into his eyes, pushing aside that line of thinking. The few tears that escaped burned trails down his cheeks, too hot to be natural. Too hot to be human.

Grinding his teeth, he pulled on the heat in the center of his chest and felt it wash over him, skin burning reminiscent of the incident all those years ago. He’d grown used to the temporary pain that came with shifting forms, senses dulled to the heat after all this time.

Hovering before the portal, bathing in its green glow, Vlad steeled himself. He would find answers to his questions. Would show the world that had mocked him, mocked them, that they were right. That Jack Fenton, Madeline Walker, and Vladimir Masters were right.

He didn’t waste another second before flying into the swirling green.

But he wouldn’t find his answers—not all of them. Not the important ones. No mentor, no cure. Just mocking whispers that demanded more proof of his findings and laughed at him behind his back.

So much for dreams.

#Going Angst Week 2021 #Danny Phantom #Vlad Masters #Phanfic #My writing

[badlydrawn-denathrius]

Made you a new stone born guard, courtesy of the tiny maw walker.

They like to host The Best Tea Parties™.

I ADORE THEM...... DO THEY HAVE A NAME???  And tea parties you say? TREMBLE THEOTAR, WE HAVE THE HIGH GROUND.

#Badly Drawn Denathrius #thank you for the submission mortal #feat. guest artist #stoneborn #they are so cute I can barely handle it #what a sweetheart #the stonewright would be so proud!

[walker-journal]

Blood on the Beach (Adam+ Dave)

Characters: David Herring (Selkie- Immo),  Adam Walker (Hunter - Tapir)

Summary: Adam encounters a hongrey seal. Dave is fighting for keeps but Adam disobeys protocol. 

Content Warning: Head Trauma, Vomit

The spellcaster’s blood was still thick and heavy in his mouth, but no matter how rich a delicacy it was, there was an even better prize on the table. Where before Dave had barely had the tiniest threads of self control, strained to the edge after so many days of resisting a hunger he still refused to seek help for, with the smell of selkie in the air, all bets were off. His focus was pinpoint thin, as he cut through the water, following the scent without realising it was so close to the docks he’d been trying to avoid for the past several days. Reaching shore, Dave strode out in soaking wet clothes that were stained in varying ages in blood.

A man in his early thirties was chilling on the shore, in shorts despite the chilly wind whipping around them as he read a well worn. Ollie George was skinny and sinewy, inclined to spending his time on the beach regardless of which skin he was wearing. As Dave approached, he sat up, squinted at Dave through the bright sunlight and smiled toothily as he waved. “Hey Dave! You look rough, have you- woah!” He yelped as Dave grabbed him to the throat, and dragged him backward. Scratching at Dave’s bloody arms, Ollie managed to get onto his feet, only to have the air knocked out of him as Dave slammed him against the seawall. Dave panted heavily, his teeth bared. But a tiny voice kept him from lunging just yet.

“Yo Dave I talked to Sebastian and…”

Adam strode down the ramp at the far edge of a nearby pier, jogging into the low tide zone toward where he’d caught sight of his noodling partner. The crunch of Adam’s shoes on the sand and shells paused as the Hunter took in Dave pressing another guy up against the cement sea wall. From the way the lean dude was struggling and Dave’s teeth were barred, Adam doubted he’d walked in on a mlm remake of the Shape of Water.

Hesitation costs lives. Adam sprinted across the remaining stretch of beach to barrel into Dave with a footballer’s full-bodied tackle.

Dave was aware of Adam in the way a horse might be aware of a gnat, some hind brain motor processing that he could smell the hunter nearby and opting not to care. A vein bulged in his forehead, pressing his forearm against Ollie’s throat as he opened his maw ever wider. Inch by treacherous inch. A lifetime of protecting selkies was slowly overridden with a hunger Dave did not know how to explain.

The hair was knocked out of him as Adam sent them both careening into the sand and rocky dirt. Ollie slumped against the seawall, clutching at his chest as he gasped for air. Dave swung his head round to look at him as Ollie began staggering towards the water and his escape. Normally, Dave would have kept his eye on Adam, the skilled youthful hunter who appeared the obvious threat. Dave barely even acknowledged him other than to slam a fistful of rocks and sand into his face. He rolled onto his knees and sprinted after Ollie, towards the waterfront.

Adam drew both legs anterior to his chest and kicked himself back to his feet and with an economy of motion born from a lifetime of drills. The Hunter had already drawn two tactical knives from their sheathes before he was even fully standing.

The next step was simple, practiced countless times, and Adam was already using the momentum from the kick-up to bring his arm forward and pitch a knife straight into Dave’s back. The impalement  would stagger the Selkie for a moment, and that’d be all the Hunter would need to end this.

Yet, the knife never left Adam’s hand. A flicker of indecision turned lethal grace into a baseball newbie’s first stumping on the pitcher’s mound, blinking sand from his eyes.

Could he really do this all over again? …What about this other guy running from Dave? Was it right to jeopardize his life for the sake of sentiment? ...Dave would never do this in his right mind...But Adam had already needed to put down plenty of people who couldn’t control themselves to save other lives...He no more right to spare Dave’s life then he had the right to take it.

Adam’s head was filled with contradictions, but silver and iron blades dropped to the sand as he sprinted headlong after Dave.

Sprinting under the pier, Ollie vaulted abandoned netting rigs, ripped up tarps, and something that might later be identified as a mummified hand, yelling as he tried to gain distance from Dave through the obstacles, but Dave ran with the same precision that he swam with, a predator nearly in his element even with saliva slobbering down his mouth. Making a last ditch effort, Ollie veered right toward the see, but the tide barely lapped at the soles of his feet before Dave tackled him, slamming both bodies into the floor. Veins bulging, Dave pinned Ollie’s arms under him, grappling with himself too, and the hunger that felt as wrong as it felt demanding.

Ollie bared his own seal teeth, eyes filled with terror as he tried to snap at Dave’s face, but he was pinned down by Dave’s forearm. He begged, voice creeping up in pitch with every frantic word.

“Dave, Dave, stop stop stop! Is this about the lobsters? Because I swear I didn’t know they were Karkinoids, I would never- please, Dave c’mon it was only one finger it was a- hey help! HELP!”

Dave’s head whipped to where Ollie was looking, and he growled deep in the back of his throat. “Stay back, hunter.”

“No, Dave man this isn’t you,” insisted Adam.

Looking at Dave now, teeth barred and feral in the eyes, Adam experienced an unwelcome memory of himself at the Hunter’s Moon. A twinge of self-loathing nausea came with recollections of the intoxicating power that’d bled into him from the red moonlight. Had he seemed just like this to poor Rio and Nell, hopped up to the crazy eyeballs on some paranormal bullshit till one barely resembled the original person?

A small pain in the Hunter wondered whether the true Adam underneath was really so different the then moon-drugged killer his friends had confronted on the glass lake, but Adam pushed such thoughts aside.

All that mattered was that whatever had gotten into Dave, literally, he shouldn’t have to wake with a stomach full of fellow selkie.

“Sorry dude, gonna have to eat me to get rid me. Noodler-bro  unity.”

Adam sprinted  towards where the two paranormals were grappling and shifted his center of gravity and thrust forward his right leg while keeping the left leg slightly behind it. The Hunter hit the last stretch of sand into a rough slide tackle that’d have earned an immediate red card on any soccer field. Adam’s low hooking kick slammed into Ollie as if he were the soccer ball, directly hitting him a combination with mutant strength and accelerated leverage, wrenching him from the other Selkie’s grasp by blunt impact. The rest of Adam’s momentum carried him bodily into Dave in a unguarded full-on collision, a price to pay for getting the hostage outta there.

Dave lunged for Ollie as he was knocked out of Dave’s grip, but Ollie grunted, rolling out of Dave’s reach, clutching his side. He didn’t even get to his feet, scrabbling into the water without a second glance at his assailant or his rescuer. He slipped into the waves as easily as if it was his second skin, gone, while Adam slammed into Dave. With a growl of bared teeth, Dave salivated over the fresh meat trapped underneath him, even though he was furious at the loss of the tastier prize. “No.”

When it came to killing hunters, the easiest thing was to ambush them, pull them out of their element and into the water.  Even the weakest of them was stronger than he was on any day of the week, with the training and energy to go along with it. Take out the limbs, get the throat, don’t let them find their balance. Kill before they could land a single blow, because if a hunter wanted you dead, that was all the hope chance you had. Dave couldn’t separate his training from Adam any more than he could separate the hunger from his rationality. He took as little note of his own desire not to kill and eat Adam as he did Adam’s desire not to kill him.

With a quick shift of his weight, he trapped on of Adam’s arms under his body weight, and opened his mouth wide, but it wasn’t Adam’s throat or head that he aimed for, but the meat of Adam’s shoulder on his other side.

For a moment Adam’s whole world was just flares of veined red in a black tunnel as pain lanced though his shoulder into the bone. His body begged to pass out. Adam’s back arched as he spasmed with in agony. Dave’s teeth closed like an aspiration straight into the marrow. Warm blood broke like a wave down over Adam’s back to stain the sunbright sand. Shock threatened at the threshold of his guts like an approaching wave of cold.

The Hunter willed himself to stop spasming as training ran his mind through the next steps of getting out of this hold. If Dave wrestled him to the water and got his neck exposed, Adam’d be arguing about today’s Black Bears game with Dad in under a minute.

But although his reflexes were primed to end this now, Adam fought back against that  lifetime of muscle memory as a higher purpose than just survival gave his mind clarity through pain.

Adam let out a ragged rap of pain as he twisted in Dave’s grasp, tearing his own flesh further with the movement. He swung up his free arm toward the side of Dave’s head. While survival instincts screamed to cave Dave’s head in, enough of Adam’s reason remained to hold back.

Instead Adam used the flat of his palm to try to daze the Selkie enough to break his hold, even though ever bit of training dictated that a puncturing blow to the jugular with mutated strength would be the “correct” move.

There was a moment when Dave’s teeth met the resistance of bone, that only lasted the length of two heartbeats, where he could have bitten right through the socket and leave Adam without an arm he could ever use again. Or he could twist his head and tear away the flesh already between his teeth, so that Adam’s blood would spurt over the sand rather than in his mouth while Dave could finally, finally eat.

He did neither, frozen in an internal battle as ferocious as the external, slowly increasing the pressure on the bones between his teeth as muscle and sinew popped to get the bone out of his way. Coppery blood coated his tongue, lips and chin, tantalisingly close to what he wanted and so far from what he wanted it might have been on another planet.

Stars exploded from Dave’s temple, the force of Adam’s blow knocking his jaw loose and body off balance, giving Adam all the time to get out from under him, leaving a bloody mess in the sand and granite. It wasn’t the first time Adam had bled on a beach in front of Dave, leaving a mess in his wake as he’d bargained with a monster for his and Dave’s life. Dave blinked away the stars and sentimentality as he bounced to his feet.

Like the bloody mess of his arms and the deep gash in his face, Dave shook his head to shake off the growing headache, bared his bloodied teeth, and slammed Adam into one of the pier’s wooden pillars.

Everything flared white. The high pitched ringing in Adam’s ears made the foamy surf sound like it was screaming onto the beach.

Adam had never been trained to merely subdue or fend someone in a fight. Adam wasn’t a police officer, bouncer, or street tough who roughed up squishy humans to assert authority. Adam had been conditioned as a soldier to fight ravenous immortals, giant beasts, and eldritch things from beyond this universe. These adversaries were so preternaturally lethal anything less then the most brutally efficient kill meant you were dead a second later. Even a lowly Spawn could tear a human in half. The common forest Carach could wade straight through small arms fire and pop open your ribcage like a candy orange. The mission had always been simple: kill this thing before it kills you and everyone else.

Except today apparently, where  Adam’s mission was to put a cease and desist on roid-rage Captain Ahab here.

Shit shit shit

Pain splintered into Adam’s back as the pier barnacles sliced his back open. Dark red stained the white clusters clinging to the pier as their razor edges tore into Adam’s flesh. The Hunter felt the bitter salt sting of the barnacle cysts grinding deep into the wound as Dave slammed  him against the sodden wood pillar, probably looking for an opening to sink those teeth into Adam’s throat.

The muscle memory of training immediately pulled Adam towards the lethal solution. A glance at Dave told the mutant where he could aim blows that’d punch through ribs with enough momentum to rupture organs.

Adam let out a shuddering breath, gagging on the bloody bile and trying to fight past the concussed fog in his brain. With another rasping exhale, Adam pushed away the deadly conditioning that’d served him so well for so long. That wasn’t why he was here.

Adam reached his arms up and behind his head to grab the opposite side of the pier pillar. The tired muscles of the Hunter’s biceps knotted as Adam hoisted himself into a dead hang up through leverage and brought his knees up to slam a quick two-legged kick into Dave’s gut. Adam pulled his weight off from the kick a bit just before impact, not wanting to break anything internal.

----

Crashing backwards into the sand, Dave grimaced as his distended, overful stomach pushed acid up his throat. Days and days of overeating while still famished were taking a toll, but he couldn’t afford to let the pain breath. Dave pushed himself back onto his feet, eyes fixed on the bloodied mess of Adam’s shoulder.

He should have torn that arm right out of its socket. The thought turned his stomach too. There were a couple dozen humans in the surrounding hundred feet. All Dave would have to do would be climb on the docks. No one up there would fight back, not enough to be a problem. A stranger wouldn’t create such a strong internal struggle. Dave glanced up at the pier, then back down at Adam, hands curled into fists so tight the skin of his knuckles might split.

“Get out of here.” Dave warned through grit teeth. Or begged.

Adam’s eyes followed Dave’s gaze up past the rock seawall towards where passerby in the harbor were blissfully going about their business. Understanding passed from killer to killer.

Adam shook his head. “Don’t do it.”

The effort of the deadlift moments before has taken its toll. One arm hung limp at Adam’s side as the exacerbated injury in his shoulder sent ripples of cold numbness that made it hard to even his finger. Adam’s clothes were a mess, torn by lacerations, barnacles, and sodden with spreading scarlet from one shoulder, all across his shredded back and the blunt-impact head wound now bleeding down his neck.

But Adam lifted his remaining functional arm in a boxing guard. He squared up to face Dave, feet angled parallel with the right slightly ahead of the left, chin up, eyes forward.  

Dave blurred in out of focus in Adam’s vision, seeming to merely be a distortion of light from the crystalline blue surf and pale sand. The athlete knew more than enough about bloodloss and concussions to realize the danger he was in, but running was a non-option.

“I’m not gunna kill you man,” Adam assured, moving slowly to the side and around as he looked for an opening in Dave’s guard. “Come back with me, we’ll find an antidote. I’ll keep you from hurting anybody while we figure out to get this out of you.”

Adam’s words only barely made it through Dave’s skull as he stared at Adam, mouth open and closing like it was longing for something to chew. An antidote? Dave didn’t need one of those. The only fix to starvation was consumption. But he’d known something had been wrong for a while, since that day on the beach with Griffin, since before.

Dave forced himself to look at Adam as more than meal and enemy. His eyes didn’t quite focus on Dave’s, his guard was one handed, and his expression resolute. His stance was as sturdy as could be, but on shifting sands that were quickly getting wet with his blood, Dave didn’t see much strength in him.

Maybe the hunter would be an easy meal after all. If Adam took half a step forward, he’d step on a seaweed coated net, that if Dave pulled on just right could knock the boy off his feet, maybe even hauled into the water. It was tempting. One more bite and even a hunter’s healing likely wouldn’t be enough to pull Adam back from the brink. Or, the steps up onto the pier weren’t that far either, a dozen satiating meals chatting idly about the May sun, just waiting for his bite.

“No.” Dave trembled, taking a slow, uncertain step back.

The hunger inside him wasn’t just poisonous, but monstrous too. The kind people like Adam were needed for. Dave swallowed, Adam’s blood still mixed in with the saliva dripping out of the corner of his mouth. This sliver of control, paid for in Adam’s injuries, wasn’t going to last. The hunger was clawing its way up his throat, down his gullet, like it might consume him from the inside out.

“No.”

Like if he didn’t eat someone else, his hunger might eat him. Dave took another step back, grimacing at the ache of a bruise forming under his ribs. A wave rushed water up to his ankles. The only advantage of Adam bleeding so profusely is that Dave could no longer smell the enticing scent of selkie. He opened his mouth to speak again, but couldn’t find any words.

Dave plunged into the waves, speeding away from shore, putting as much distance between him and Adam as he could before his hunger eclipsed his conscience once more.

Adam tried to sprint at the departing Selkie but his steps became sluggish in the sand. Dave was a black spot vanishing into foam as refractions from the surf were burning lances across his vision. Everything spun, the sky and sea switched places in a rush of blue. Light went out.

#head trauma tw #vomit tw #Adam #dave #Hongrey Seal Omens #chatzy #seizethecarpe #walkerjournal

[nelllraiser]

into the fold, two: surrender | adam & nell

PREVIOUSLY: into the fold: part one TIMING: the ma’al cult investigation. PARTIES: @walker-journal​ and @nelllraiser​. SUMMARY: nell and adam dive deeper into the cult. CONTENT: sibling death mention, torture (implied), gaslighting (demon telepathy)

The intrusion of the eldritch on Neveah Alcott’s palatial home had initially been a subtle thing. Corruption came in degrees, and just as Neveahs parties were initially just high society networking that occasionally dabbled into idle metaphysical conversation, so too were the tiny within changes Alcott’s manner easy to dismiss as tricks of mood lighting or fanciful imagination until it was far too late. 

Those ‘idle conversations’ became more pointed speculation and the reading of certain disturbing texts readings as shadows darkened with the discrete crevices of the Neo-Gregorian architecture. The nooks behind statues, pillars, and within arches grew deeper until those shadows became actual holes into nothingness rather than the mere absence of light. Those avant garde readings proved to be strangely magnetic, even to those with no previous intellectual interest. As dalliance turned to obsession, angles within the Alcott residence started to be ...not quite right...not lining up correctly even when one squinted. 

More people were invited to these readings as doors in manor started opening to rooms that weren’t on the building's floorplan, only to lead elsewhere when opened again later. After Helena’s first ‘demonstration’ of bloodshed and symbology could attract the attention of beings beyond the confines of four dimensional space, guests started to report seeing the horrific landscapes of alien worlds beyond the house's windows. As high society parties devolved into debauched experiments to ‘expand consciousness’ through dangerous excesses of sensation, the manors’ light bulbs started to shine with colors that didn’t exist in the electromagnetic spectrum. 

It had been around the time Helena performed the first ‘miracle’ by being briefly possessed by her otherworldly patron, that the walls began to bleed. 

Now Adam sat in a dark room where the floor breathed, fleshy surface moistly yielding beneath him. The walls and ceiling stretched inward as the faces of hellish things strained against the fabric of reality. Maws, mandibles, and not quite human vissages pressed in a menagerie of faces from every angle as creatures from beyond the veil struggled to rip their way into this world. 

“Nell…,” Adam managed to gasp past the broken spasming of his ribs, “you there?” 

It hadn’t taken all that long for Nell to begin dreading the trips to the mansion. It wasn’t so much the bleeding of the walls, or even the screams that seemed to shatter silence out of nowhere that turned her stomach. No— she liked to think she was fairly ironclad when it came to things such as those at this point in her life. Instead it was the slow and steady transformation of the people, Neveah Alcott’s loyal followers, that made her insides squirm. Many of them hadn’t the faintest idea of what they were being readied for, harvested for as they pledged undying dedication to the woman whose ‘miracles’ left them wide-eyed and breathless despite the brutality of it all. 

It had taken most of what Nell had to make sure she didn’t succumb to the trials and tests of the demon, and the witch had been sparing her magic and strength specifically for nights such as these when she wasn’t sure whether the shifting of the floor beneath her was due to the emerging hellscape or loss of blood. It would have been easier if she could use her usual protections against the less savory side of demons and their effects, but such a thing wasn’t thinkable when she was meant to be embracing the demon that lay in wait, getting closer to phasing through the thinning veil every day. No doubt any resistance would be perceived as opposition, and that wasn’t the behavior of a willing and wanting devotee. 

Nell’s eyes were closed when Adam’s voice found her, cutting through the fog of her mind like the beam of a lighthouse on land’s shore. In a moment they were opening to the twisted visages of the creatures waiting to emerge into this world, but she quickly searched for Adam’s face amongst them until she found it next to her, reaching a hand toward him instinctively as he looked for her. “I’m here,” she answered, the tail end of a cough finishing the words for her as she covered her mouth, pulling her sleeve away to find fresh blood amongst the dried bits of it. Her first thought was to check his injuries as she usually did during a quiet spell of their demonic endeavors. “Everything in one piece?” she asked, already trying to scoot closer so she might try and take a look. 

Adam stirred again at Nell’s voice. Bloodshot eyes opened. Adam’s gaze was unfocused at first, as if he were looking at some other world entirely. But his broken fingers found Nell’s outstretched hand and that physical presence seemed to anchor him. The red-rimmed brown of his eyes eventually found Nell’s face. 

“Uh more or less,” he rasped, a weak attempt at a smile stark against a livid canvas of bruises and lacerations down his face and neck. 

Adam had been conditioned to quietly endure suffering and even agony if it was necessary to preserve humanity’s destiny. But spiritual wounds that’d sapped his Hunter powers have become all the more serious  in the sadism and darkness of this place. Day after day the cult’s rites wore Adam down physically as the tendrils of their master’s psychic  influence drilled down into the bedrock of Adam’s selfhood. Little by little, Adam felt himself giving ground inside. 

Adam struggled to sit up, but broken ribs protested so much that he abandoned the attempt. He himself fall back against the fleshy softness of the not-quite-stone floor. 

Adam adjusted his head as the now literally blue-veined marble throbbed with cardiac warmth against his temple.

“How’re you holding up?”

Nell cradled Adam’s broken fingers gingerly, thankful for the grounding effect his touch had, but reminding herself not to squeeze his hand in reassurance for fear of making things worse. A pinpoint of frustration surfaced in her stomach, wishing for what wasn’t the first time that she could mend bones as well as she closed up flesh wounds. “I guess I can’t ask for more,” she managed to say while matching his half-hearted attempt at levity. “Actually that’s a lie. I can and will ask for more, but I know it’s not gonna do anything.” As she spoke she reached her free hand towards the gashes she could see making a jagged and broken path across his neck, beginning the work of magically willing them shut, scabs beginning to form where open wounds had been before. It wasn’t anything as useful as healing fingers or ribs, but it at least made her feel like she could provide some relief, no matter how small. 

“I’m not super sure if I’m just lucky enough to see two of you- or if there’s actually some doppelganger who’s decided to give up the long con and just lay right next to you.” Who said you couldn’t mix potential impending doom with a bit of flirtation? Despite everything, she was determined to keep things light for a moment longer, hoping it might somehow hide the truth of their shared misery. When she’d finished with the gashes on his neck, Nell tried to lower herself closer to the ground to begin work elsewhere, but it seemed her noodle-like ams had other plans when they gave out halfway through her descent. She landed roughly next to Adam, and a grunt of pain paired with a gasped curse of “Fuck,” worked its way through her lips. 

Sometimes Nell thought about what it might be like to give in. To fully immerse herself in the whisperings of the walls inside this mansion, and let herself be truly taken into the fold. It would stop then, wouldn’t it? The pain she watched Adam go through far too often. Her own injuries, and the constant ache in her body she couldn’t seem to shake since joining up. Fighting had always been second nature to her, as if she’d been born with a stubbornness that made it impossible for her to give up no matter how far ahead or behind she might be. There’d never been any exception to that rule, and yet here she was— doing her best to keep herself semi-vertical and thinking about how the easy way out was looking more and more appealing every day. If she were being honest it wasn’t just about making sure she and Adam were safe. There was a space for here whether she wanted to face that truth or not, a place where her talents would be embraced rather than shunned or cast out. This was a coven that wanted her, not one that had turned their backs to the witch. “You know...do you think he’d settle for just...one of us?” she asked quietly as she lay next to Adam, her voice barely above a whisper as if she were worried that Ma’al might be listening at this very moment. “Like if I just hung out here with the cult and really gave it my all- maybe you could go keep working on getting your strength back and stuff. It might not even be so terrible.”

“Shouldn’t use up your power like that Nell…” Adam rasped even as pain became more manageable and the clammy numbness of blood loss stopped crawling up his body. Adam may not understand magic, but he intuited that everything Nell spent on him was strength she didn’t have to save herself later. This forces in this place were looking for any chink in their armor and Adam swallowed down guilt that Nell was leaving herself vulnerable to keep him from sinking. 

Adam’s gaze was drawn to the walls and ceiling as alien forms protrude into this reality. Spined proboscises stabbed blindly. Mouths with multiple interior rings of saw-blade teeth punctured outward like bladed xylophones before folding back in on themselves. Tendrils slick with acid fumbled around for organic matter to dissolve and absorb. Flowery blooms opened to lash out with hungry stigma while even stranger orifices extended luminous filaments or branching nerve clusters in search of fresh lifeforce to drink. Some of the faces pressing in through the walls were even vaguely humanoid, just with eye-sockets and too many mouths in all the wrong places. The stone and wood of the mansions structure buckled, like a dam about to give way before the tide. There was a taut tension in the air, as if reality itself was straining under some vast weight. 

Adam looked into that wall of horrors for longer than was safe, and found his mind wandering dangerously as something weaved insidious thoughts in Adam’s own inner voice. 

Why did Adam fight his true nature? He’d had always been addicted to the wrong things, craved the fucking, fighting, and killing like a drug instead of being pure and purposeful. Sure, he’d shackled himself with a code, hoping pious bullshit some dead martyrs had come up centuries ago could make him something more than just an adrenaline junkie that got his rocks off from killing. Adam had been a good little soldier, dutifully risking his life to save people who never even know he existed. 

But look at you now, Adam had told Adam. Broken, repressed, and bleeding out while those normie motherfuckers just keep slaughtering each other in rich mens’ wars. Admit it, your mission is pointless. You were made into a weapon for a cause that is already lost.

Adam looked at the woman who’ve risked everything to follow him in here. 

Shouldn’t he just be free? Free to fuck, fight, and kill without guilt. Why not take his strength back, and use it how he liked? It was his life wasn’t it? What claim did others have on it? Why was he afraid of what he wanted? 

‘Didn’t Nell deserve to be loved by a real man, not someone’s else’s wind-up soldier?’ asked a quiet voice that knew all Adam’s deepest insecurities. 

Adam put a small and feeble pressure on Nell’s hand, bloodshot eyes alive with forbidden thoughts as they looked at her with the wrong kind of hope. “I dunno but…” 

“I’m an oathbreaker and you're an exile,” the fallen Hunter pointed out softly. “Maybe like, this place we could just…,” Adam didn’t finish the question, but raised torn eyebrows to Nell as if trusting she understood what he was asking. 

“I want to,” Nell insisted stubbornly, not pausing in her work of closing up every wound she managed to find on Adam. By the time she reached the end of her efforts the black spots in her vision had widened, and a part of her was thankful for the way they blocked out the terrors of the surrounding walls. It was easier not to get caught up in the unsettling yet mesmerizing shifts that the twisted images went through when you couldn’t see half of them. She tried to wait until the world had stopped swimming to begin on the cuts decorating her skin that were bleeding a little too much for comfort, not all that keen on passing out here and now. It was taking the majority of her strength to make sure she didn’t slip into something of a forced sleep, her body practically begging for rest and a chance to recuperate the magic she’d spent while she swayed where she sat, forcing herself to sit upright, and hoping that would be enough to ensure she stayed conscious. 

Despite Nell’s best efforts, her head swam with the visions on the walls, and for a moment she could have sworn she saw her own face among them. The bones of her cheeks looked sharper, harder than the reflection she saw in the mirror, but there was a confidence that couldn’t help but be alluring, a promise of power and the ability to ensure that no one would ever make a victim of her again. She could make them afraid if she really wanted to. Most normies were already there when it came to witches. Surely it wouldn’t take all that much to rake others into a similar boat? And if they were afraid, there’d be no one to lop off the heads of sisters in clearings in the forest like a knife through butter, or trap Nell beneath a Ring while brain biters stole bits of her she never thought possible to lose. What was stopping her? The judgment of others? The fragile and paper-thin concept of right and wrong? Was it wrong to want to protect herself? Wasn’t releasing the demons within the walls of the mansion the perfect way to achieve such a thing? No doubt a town that was razed would be one that wouldn’t lift a finger against her or the ones she cared about.

It was the press of Adam’s hand in her’s that made her realize she’d lost track of time somewhere in the middle of her wanderings, and her fingers pressed lightly against his own while she blinked herself back to this plane of existence. A mirthless chuckle fell from her, because she knew he was right. An oathbreaker and an exile. The world didn't want them, so why should they want the world in return? But as her vision cleared and her black eyes searched Adam’s, there was the smallest reminder somewhere in the back of her head. They’d come here for a reason, right? She hadn’t wanted Adam to fall. But was it really falling? Focusing on the man in front of her, her brows furrowed, a frown claiming her lips while she spoke. “We...that’s not why we came here...was it?” What if they’d both secretly hoped to be taken into the cult? Perhaps Ma’al had simply awakened a part of them that was already present. No- there was a promise she was meant to be keeping. A promise to the hunter that she wouldn’t let him go under, because that wasn’t something he’d wanted. “That’s not why we came here,” she said with more certainty this time around even as another voice within her tried to poke holes in the words. “You...want that? To stay here?”

Adam knew Nell was right, that wasn’t what they’d come here. Something was leading them astray.

But the walls breathed, bulging and distorting inward as multitudinous alien things strained against the skin of the world. The bleeding painting on the walls asked Adam if that was true. 

Hadn’t he already been astray? Was really it so bad to realize you were lost?

“Only if you’ll stay with me,” he murmured.  

Let me set you free. It was the slithering voice of Kevin, and the words the dream-being had uttered within the caves of the catacombs that echoed through Nell’s mind as Adam made his admission. Even then Nell had nearly given in to the promise of peace and the sheer relief of simply letting go and giving up. She’d barely managed to shake free of the tempting offer when it was a stranger making it, but now that it was the familiar and comforting features of Adam that was making the proposal she found the words all the more intoxicating— certain that warmth and safety would be found on the other side of them. “I want to stay with you,” she said while reaching out her free hand to place it along the side of Adam’s face, thumb resting upon his cheek as she weighed the gravity of her words. This was one of the only things she was certain of these days- that Adam was one of the more stable pieces of her life, and she was more than willing to follow where he went. So many people had left in the last few months, other magnets that had kept her carefully balanced between one another. Winston, Bea, Blanche, and now Jared. They’d gone the ways they’d needed to one by one, and though Nell didn’t resent them in the least it was undeniable that their departure had left her adrift. So if Adam wanted to find the peace they deserved here amongst the cult, and so did she...what was there to stop them? “I’ll stay with you, and we can just be here together.” Away from the world that was determined to throw whatever pain it could their way.

Hey Ma’al,

It's me, Adam. 

Guess it's about that time?

If I do this, let you in...there’s one condition 

Soft spring sun refracted through townhouse windows, golden rays playing across the kitchen. 

“So anyway,” Adam said, trying not to get dish-soap on his jersey as he put plates in the washer. “Dad said Winn and Mr. Woods might be coming over later to help fix the roof...”

Sunflowers swayed in the warm wind outside the window, the nostalgic golden haze of the afternoon casting golden petals stark against their black centers. Light glinted off the harbor bay and the commercial bustle of the Sink District as tourists poured in from ferries to peruse shops and Spring Festival stalls. 

Adam turned to look across the rooms with gentle brown eyes that’d never beheld violence beyond a locker room scuffle. He ran an unscarred hand through his hair and gave Nell a lopsided grin. “Hey...Nell? What’re you thinking about?”

Nell had been watching the gentle arc of the sunflowers as the breeze played with them, more than pleased that they’d grown so beautifully in the past year and already thinking about what she might plant next. “Hmm?” came her questioning hum, head turning towards Adam with a look of chagrin at being caught staring into space. The light of golden hour played over her unmarred skin, the only lasting signs of imperfection being the dirt under her nails from the garden, and the roughness of her finger pads. “Well I was definitely listening religiously,” came her knee-jerk reaction of a tease. But as she took in the perfectness of Adam’s grin and the sun lighting his hair her own smile claimed her lips, softening in the slightest. “Nothing. Nothing, really.” Her mind was at peace, finally serene with a lack of problems to solve and shadows of witch-killers to fear in the night. “Just thinking about how I’m...happy.” She took a few steps towards him, beginning to close the space that had found its way between them. “Happy here with you.”

#// it's casual #soft and fine #sibling death tw #torture tw #wickedswriting #gaslighting tw #ch:Adam #into the fold two: surrender #chatzy

[zoo650]

Made a pfp for my new side, @tiny-maw-walker

It was a bit half assed and messy at the end, but that's fine. Maybe one day I'll go back and fix it up.

Anyhoo, that's all. Farewell!

#druid #feral druid #wow #world of warcraft #feral druid form #a lot of druid tags lmao #tiger #tiger form #idk #i haven't unlocked this skin yet #no clue what its called #I just love the appearance #art #digital #digital art #lineless #zoo65

[ghostofgnasha]

↕ - a memory that may or may not have happened

A wise Opradush never kept all their Nyarlagroth eggs in one nest thus it was no surprise that the Gumm-Gumm army were frequently spread over vast distances with Generals entrusted with the upkeep and to carry out given orders. This continent of land they called home was a vast one and while the churning seas were impossible to tread by any of their numbers, their race had more than enough patience to march the long way to find all the nooks and crannies fellow trolls tried to hide in when they attempted to refused to pay tribute or make themselves useful in serving their Warlord who protected all of their kind. Warriors could be lost during travel, battle or even sickness which made keeping their numbers healthy important and Gnasha was the type that should respect be served and the signs true, chances would always be offered. Why waste the energy razing to make a point unless it was absolutely necessary? Sometimes a bit of careful nudging would be all that was needed to bring them into line or even provide unexpected boons.

Any stupid enough to claim any of this was done out of softness would be relieved of their heads before their words were finished.

With the latest rise of Klokaron’s might the ruz begin to rise grumpily from their slumber having not particularly enjoyed this particular General’s keenness to abuse every drop of light while it was in their favour. While they were ready to depart immediately, as long as their dawdling did not interfere with their duties they could allow it as it would be ignorant to assume all were carved from the same stone after all just meant some were a poor fit to be under their leadership…. Though if they burned much more Kloka it would be a very different story, there had already been one accident occur almost a season ago and a second was not impossible. Still if they were starting to get restless perhaps an alternative for them to sink teeth into may be wiser and could there any greater joy in hunting for fresher meat after a diet consisting largely of deer and bear for the past fortnight? Stragglers found on the roads were rare and through their status they took priority on the prime food source, this was likely an overdue turn.

Thumping their tail to gain attention with the minimal of noise they watch over the party of seven who swiftly scrabble to attention saluting with the hand not holding a weapon.

“Tell the walkers to gather our supplies, we move out to follow a trail that has presented it’s self upon the bramla. If they are slow do not harry them, they have not been trained in the ways we have and should not be treated as such,” they say with a snort, gold eyeing one in particular who had touched the line though had yet to cross it. Lucky for them.

“They are with us until I choose otherwise but I do not expect any further dawdling than you have already cost us. Dismissed.”

The lot of them scatter like rabbits eager to get moving as much as not wanting to cause any further annoyance proving exactly why none of these will ever stretch beyond their station here, it was simply beyond their ability. At least they are not left waiting long and the march can begin with Gnasha at their head choosing a route that coasts the treeline to give their tag-alongs cover should it be required and would help break up the silhouettes if any if the watch’s the fleshbags sometimes employed carried torches of flame or mystery lights. There would often be an issue with the creatures called dogs being a noisy nuisance though they are wrapped in a reasonably edible form and ill suited with dealing with the issue of roaming trolls.

When checked again the scent whispered that they were not far and behind them they can hear how the nearest were already itching for the tantalising glimpses that lay ahead in in little shelters made of wood and stone where they were perfectly exposed to all and sundry.

What a pity

Knowing the temptation to break rank risked getting the better of the ruz if they wait much longer they order them to attention immediately then send the walkers into the trees where they are to stand by until given the signal to join them for fleshbag or not until they were certain of the safety of the area lest an ambush be waiting. Despite the grumbling from the weaker members of their party a glare quickly sets them right with the reminder that insubordination would be acceptable by no one. Quickly they take their things and melt back into the shadows where it would be impossible for those without the gift to see them. With another thump of their tail, they descend onto fours to help mask their much larger build and launch straight into a charge as eager as the rest for the soon to be carnage and oh what one it would be!

Foolish things that they were no alarm could be sounded for their watch had retired to bed early much like the rest had expecting a quieter night and by the time the dogs started to raise the alarm the village was already filled with hungry trolls with even more coming when the bellow is sounded. The death trap is further emphasised by the screaming of those snatched from their beds or farm tools wielded in a poor attempt to drive them back shattering upon stone and the sobbing tears. With such easy pickings it is rather tame prey for their liking but it would at least keep the lot of them sated for a good while and not a trace would be le-

The General lifts their head with a maw well-stained catching a fleeting glimpse of one of the small ones bolting beyond the walls likely hoping to be spared. Flashing a grin they tilt their head left, right, left again as though counting before perusing this little thing with such an incredibly indulgent gait that it gives it more than an ample opportunity to escape for it’s daring. By intention or not they only becoming more delighted each time it looks back in terror until it finally is able to dive into the now unguarded woods and the visual is lost. With a long hummed sound as they approach their movements become more akin to a languid cat in how they sniff the air curiously pretending to truly have no idea where it had fled. The mystery of whether it would chose to run or to hide intrigues so they decide to play with it a little more by aimlessly wandering or deliberately rustling branches above as if to shake them of their spot. The act is kept up perhaps too long but they felt in too good a mood not to.

“Such a clever little rodent,” they say with an almost sing-song tone while slinking it’s direction.

Finally they zero in on it’s hiding place and press their armoured snout against the trunk that hid the child given away easily by how with each draw of breath spoke so or the noisy whimpering. How easy it would be to simply rip the trunk aside and pluck them from the splintered remains like that of fleshy fruit that had turned just ripe but they decide they shall not do so, instead they give it a chance to choose a fate it felt most fitting to have... With a little incentive of course. A pair of claws begin to scrape erratically down the bark far higher up while wondering if it would decide to leap straight into their jaws or would it manage to hold it’s nerve as the sound grows ever closer and closer to the tiny hole that must have been used to squeeze inside?

 Click

 Crack

 Click

 Crack

 Hm.

The boy is left alone.

#xdeusxmachinax #Tidbits - Memes

[vnights]

//more crossovers! More, I say!

//HERE IT GOES HELL YEA-

//Six and Miles inside the wretched Mount Massive !! Being playful, he asks the child to hold his notebook, to which she discovers all his terrible, awful writings. It’s a battle to keep her from repeating some of those words, and an even bigger struggle to make her stop laughing. It’s not so hard when the patients arrive, though..... Fast forward to the Twins chase. That laundry shoot, or whatever it is, seems just barely big enough for Miles to fit into, and not wanting to leave this tiny yet capable child alone, asks her to run and pick a locker to hide in, and he’ll come find her. This is Six we’re talking about, we KNOW she won’t stay there for long 😤 She comes to find this dude, strapped down in a wheelchair, now missing fingers. Awesome !!! (Lets also not pretend that Six wouldn’t be a GREAT alert to things like Chris Walker, or others on the prowl ✨)

//ONCE AGAIN, LET’S SKIP MAIN MUSES FOR A MOMENT. Michael and Mew??? Lil’ Mew-Mew finds a poor dude, wants to play to lighten those spirits?? Decides that hey, this man’s now a friend, he must be remembered and visited often. They pop into his work, they pop into his house, they pop onto his couch to wake him up at 4PM, they basically become his unofficial pet, and there’s NOTHING he can do about it.

//AND, FINALLY, Aya within the Maw !!! You’d be amazed what a sweet little doll could do with a chainsaw !! Aya carries Snowball with her while encountering the Janitor, the Chefs, the Lady, and very importantly, the Nomes !! If Six likes to hug sometimes, whooo boy, are they in for a Big Surprise upon meeting Aya :)

#ixi-mun #ooc #muse #muse hcs #muse hc #Mad Father #FNAF #Outlast #little nightmares #Pokemon #//SWEET BABIES

[dahlrenn]

Visiting the Weald, Part 2

Sailing. Swimming. Drowning. Darkness.

You cannot run forever, mortal. Even in the Shadowlands we can see you. We see all.

Dahl’renn was jolted awake to the sound of nearby cheering. Whipping his head around to get his bearings, it suddenly all came flooding back to him; his trip to Ardenweald, walking with Dewblossom… Speaking of, where was the faerie? Dahl took a few more moments to look around. He was still in Tirna Vaal, next to the pool. His eyes went wide as his hand went for the top of his head; the hat was gone. “Damn faeries,” Dahl grumbled. It didn’t take long for the sailor to locate the source of the cheering, nor his stolen hat. Gathered around the entrance to Tirna Vaal was a group of nightfae, among which Dahl spotted a familiar faerie wearing an even more familiar red cap. Dahl’renn rose from his spot, stretched a bit, and made his way towards the group.

Dewblossom spotted Dahl, waving as he approached. “Oh! Finally awake sleepyhead! Did you have a good rest? Pleasant dreams?” “I suppose so,” sighed Dahl. “Weird dream though. Don’t know what to make of it.” That faceless voice sounded so familiar, and yet he couldn’t place it. “That’s normal here in Ardenweald. You’ll get used to it! But come, come! There’s something happening that you need to see!” Dahl shrugged, eyes fixated on Dewblossom’s head. “Sure, but could I have my hat back please?” “Right, yes! I was … just keeping it warm for you. Of course!” Dewblossom grinned guiltily, handing the hat back to Dahl, who placed it firmly on his head.

Giving a satisfied nod, Dahl looked past Dewblossom at the crowd. “So what’s all this about then? Something happen? I don’t see anyone running and screaming, which is usually a good sign.”

“Very good news! A maw walker has just returned from Torghast bearing many souls of Night Elves from Azeroth. Ardenweald has become the eternal resting place for many of their kind. They will feel right at home here!” Dewblossom spun round and round with joy. 

Dahl’renn considered Dewblossom’s words for a few moments. “So they just stay here? Forever?”

“That’s right! Some souls will choose to simply rest while others will adopt animal forms and help tend to the wildseeds, lending their anima to the groves.” Dewblossom lets out a sigh of contentment. “It warms my heart to see the cycle being restored.”

Dahl looked at Dewblossom, then the crowd, then the sky, before posing a question. “If every soul is sent to the Shadowlands…” He bites his lip in thought. “Does that mean lost loved ones are here? Friends? Family?”

Dewblossom studied Dahl’s eyes as if to divine the intent of his question. In a somber tone, the faerie replied: “Mister Dahl’renn. We’ve all lost people close to us, even the Night Fae. With so many mortals entering the Shadowlands, we knew that many would want to try and find those who have left them. It is not impossible but…” Dewblossoms turns away from Dahl. “It is very unlikely to meet a soul in the Shadowlands that you knew life. Few souls are elevated to high stations. And mortals are only able to access the four primary realms of the Shadowlands, when a countless number exist.” “But the chance still exists, aye? There could be some way to locate them? Surely, someone most know or there must be some manner to- ” Dahl’s voice cracked as his tone turned to uncharacteristic pleading. “Anything is possible. Recent events have proven that. But it would be a fool’s errand.” Dewblossom extends a tiny hand to pat Dahl’s cheek. “Time flows differently here. It’s possible that the soul would no longer recognize you. Some souls take different forms and themselves would be unrecognizable, as I’ve said. Others, like the aspirants of Bastion, forego their memories entirely. I truly am sorry, but try to put this thought from your mind, young one.”

Dahl nodded at Dewblossom’s explanation. “Right… You’re probably right.” He forces a laugh. “After all, you know more about this than any of us from Azeroth. We are but visitors here. Thank you, Dewblossom. I think I’m ready to continue the tour if that’s alright?”

Dewblossom nodded excitedly. “Yes! Let’s continue on! There’s much you still haven’t see, far too much!” The faerie tugged at Dahl’s hand, leading him down a wooden path.

Over the next few hours, Dewblossom took Dahl’renn through a nearby grove, explaining the cycle of rebirth in Ardenweald and the functions that anima served, pausing every now and then to answer questions posed by the Sailor.

“Can any soul be reborn in Ardenweald? Or just, y’know, important ones?” Dahl tossed a couple of berries into his mouth that Dewblossom had assured were not poisonous.

The faerie considered his question for a few moments. “Well… only those you know of as the Wild Gods or the Loa, spirits of nature, have been known to go through the cycle of rebirth. Though I guess technically it’s possible for any soul. Though to my knowledge, such a thing has never happened in Ardenweald.” Dewblossom gave Dahl a look of suspicion. “So don’t be getting any funny ideas! Even if you -did- die, no souls are coming to Ardenweald, save for those rescued by the maw walkers. You would be headed straight for the Maw.”

Dahl lifted his hands in protest. “Don’t worry, Dewblossom. I have no intention of dying anytime soon. It would be bad for business,” he says with a chuckle.  “But I do believe I have seen enough of Ardenweald for one visit. How do I return to Oribos?”

“Oh, I would be happy to escort you to where we keep our ardenmoths. They can fly you back to Oribos!” Dewblossom fluttered behind Dahl and began pushing him in a new direction. “I do hope you’ll come back and visit us again soon!”

“‘Course I will. Thank you again, Dewblossom. You really didn’t have to spend all this time showing me around.

“Nonsense,” said the faerie with a chortle. “I hope you found the tour enlightening. Now off you go! You’ll find the ardenmoth keeper a few minutes in that direction. Safe travels, Mister Dahl’renn. And remember! You will always be welcome in the Weald.”

Dahl smiled, nodding in thanks, and continued on. Before too long he arrived at the ardenmoth keeper and requested transportation back to Oribos. Climbing up the side of the giant purple moth and into its saddle, he took one last look at Ardenweald, the stars in the twilight sky twinkling in his eyes. He gives the ardenmoth a solid pat, signaling it to take flight.

“Right. Back to Oribos.”

#wyrmrest accord #wra #rp #oc #story #wow #world of warcraft #dahl'renn starseeker #dahl'renn #dahlrenn #my writing

[late-to-the-fandom]

🌻 🥀 💫 for Renathal, 🌸 🌾 for Elisewin?

This took me four hours😳 My brain today…

🌻 What little things do they notice about people or the world around them that make them happy? What tiny little treasures do they find in the normal every day that makes the world seem a little brighter for them?

Renathal is all about the details, in all universes. He knows the importance of romanticizing the domestic details of one’s own existence, and it’s part of the reason he takes such precise care in all aspects of his life. In the AU this manifests as the intricate strictures of his routine, the creature comforts of his flat, the care and attention he gives the notes he leaves on student papers, and in Revendreth its just Venthyr versions of the same. Seeing, appreciating, and tenderly cultivating the details of life is one of his most adorable traits. 

🥀 How would your OC decorate a notebook or journal? What kind of things are written in there? Could you give an example of a nice entry?

Renathal absolutely keeps a diary. It’s not particularly creative in its  decoration, but it is expensive, tasteful, and religiously maintained. Entries will begin as a recitation of events of the day and then diverge into his thoughts, opinions, musings, etc which are generally lurid, prosy, and a bit pretentious (he fancies himself a writer, can you imagine). An example of the latter can be found below. 

💫What is your favourite fact about this character and why?

Gosh, just so many, but I think it will always be his tendency to fall back on dark humor that shows up in every universe and at the oddest of times.

🌸 What are some of their favourite things and why? List as many as you can think of! A few of the Maw Walker’s favorite things:

-The smell of the ocean

-Sex (with Renathal)

-Sunsets and colorful twilights

-Exploring exotic locales (with Renathal)

-Being awake when everyone else is sleeping

-Witty, fast-paced banter that takes all one’s thought process to keep up with (with Renathal)

-Flavourful, heady wines

-Listening to new and interesting stories (as told by Renathal)

-Jumping from great heights for absolutely no reason other than to fall gracefully through the air

-And a new one: lazy mornings in bed doing absolutely nothing but enjoying existing (with… you guessed it)

🌾 Describe your OC through the eyes of someone absolutely head-over-heels in love with them

An excerpt from Prince Renathal’s stolen journal as found in the wilds of Revendreth by an adventurer and turned into Mistress Mihaela who ordered a copy created and now sells reproductions, the proceeds from which go to the restoration of Darkhaven. It should be noted that the Dark Prince is aware of this and does not mind in the slightest. The Maw Walker has refused to issue a public comment on its contents.

The Maw Walker is a hedge maze, a mysterious labyrinth, the paths through which one can spend a thousand years mapping only to find it has reformed itself around one, but within whose depths it is always exhilarating and wholly safe to lose oneself. An exquisitely twined collection of delicate buds which combined create a most solid, immovable, breathtaking whole, the beauty of which is almost an after thought in comparison to its thoughtful grace and grandeur. But it is at one’s own peril to mistake it for a domesticated foliage. It is deadly to underestimate, dangerous to cross. It cannot be controlled, but it may be cultivated by those willing and able to dedicate themselves entirely to its growth.

#ask games #renathal x maw walker #head canons #Renathal’s journal entry

[toastvogel]

Stubborn birds can be a pain - One shot

Finished this little one shot that crossed my mind after the last chapter of the campaign and that I started writing at the dentist yesterday. Again featuring my Huntress Telane and Arios as well as introducing one of my other Characters: Aryian.

The new Arbiter was in place and the Shadowlands could start to heal. While that in itself was worth a celebration it was also absolutely devastating. It was a sign that her time in this realm is coming to an end and with it she'll loose everything she had ever hoped for.

“I'd give you some little cheer-up phrase but I'm afraid you'll throw me of the ledge.”Telane just gave the Priest beside her a short glance before starring back at the whirling anima outside of Oribos, clutching her tiny stuffed chicken closer to her. Aryian let out a sigh and set beside her, putting an arm around her and pulling her close.

“Gosh the mood here is horrible. If it would just be you than I could deal with it but have you looked around? Bolvars knights are even sour looking than usual and even some of our fellow mortals are looking bright as the Maw. My own WIFE has basically hexed herself at Theotar to spend as much time with him as possible because and I quote 'I have your ugly ass for the rest of my mortal life Go suck off Vole'.” The sin'dorai looked at her to see if his little antic brought up any reaction but was only met with silence. The elf and her emotional support plush still starring off into the distance. Aryian scratched his goatee in annoyance.

“Look, babyquail, sitting here and being all gloom-and-shroom won't dispel the inevitable. Especially not alone. I know from Theotar that he'll miss Saydia terrible and it is even worse for him since he know that it will take centuries for HIM to see her again while it will only be a few hundred years for her.” Now she was finally looking at him. “I can't tell for sure for your Rooster back in Bastion but I KNOW that what you two have is stronger than what Theotar and Sadyia have so I bet my dick that he'll most likely prefer having you with him for that last days, weeks or however long it will be until we get the order to return.” “But ..” “Don't you 'but' me, chicky! If your Archon would have ANY thoughts about you causing any kind of delay in what so ever, you'd be crying your eyes out on Azeroth and not here!” The two elves locked eyes and suddenly Telane threw her arms around the man. “Thanks,Aryian. Really.” She playfully nudged his side, “ and here I thought you only became Priest because of the benefits but you DO know how to help people.” He pressed his hand on her mouth and hushed her harshly while looking around. “ Damn woman will you be quiet! You are ruining my reputation!” He let go, winked and ruffled her hair. “Now move that Butt of yours! Your man might have already caused his boss to loose his feathers because of how he is overworking himself.” Once again she hugged him and than called her Heartbound Lupine over to bring her to the flightmaster asap.

The moment their Maw Walker mounted that Protobeast, Alonis took flight. He had come to the Oribos looking for her because – like so many others – he couldn't bear the sight of Arios working without a break for his heart might break when he stopped keeping his mind busy. Like her, he knew that their time was running out and like her he couldn't bear it but instead of spending their time together and make the most out of it, they suffered alone. Originally Kleia wanted to look for her but just like Pelagos and Nikolon, she had too much to do at Loyalty and Thanikos was worked by Xandria. So Alonis offered to look for her since as a high ranked Disciple of Wisdom, he alos wouldn't need clearance to see Arios afterwards. He descended onto the Platform Arios was working on. He saluted and cleared his throat to get the Hands attention. To say his superior looked horrible would have been a charmed way to put it, so it was Alonis big pleasure to announce with a genuine smile: ” With all due respect, sir but you might want to fresh up your feathers. Your Lady just left Oribos and will be with you shortly.”

#world of wacraft #one shot #kyrian #arios x telane #arios x original character #aryian sunglider #yes lany has an emotional support plush chicken #her having fowl related nicks is due to her extensive love of them

[fluffleforce-mysdrym]

Word Find Tag

Thank you to the fantastic @emelkae who tagged me!

Rules: Find the words you’re given and post the snippet from your writing that includes them.

My words are:  dead, walk, feeling, and light

I’m going to search for them in the current chapter I’m working on for Of a Feather 

Dead

Instantly, all eyes snap to where Mitchell stands, having just been dropped off by a disciple who is hovering a few feet behind him, looking most concerned. A large splinter from the javelin juts out of Mitchell’s chest, and a dark ichor slowly stains his robes. He is most irate, and his mood only worsens as a dozen voices call out apologies for murdering him.

As he jerks out the splinter, those dozen voices conjure healing spells, and he cringes against the assault of the Light on his undead body.

“Knock it off!” He hisses, waving his arms like that will somehow interrupt the spells. “At this rate you’ll get my heart beating again!”

Walk 

Taking in a slow breath, Liila clicks her jaw once. “What are the rules for the duel?”

Thanikos quirks a brow. However, even as she thinks he will ask if she’s joking or tease her that she just doesn’t want to fight, he says. “No killing blows, obviously.”

“So low blows are allowed?”

“Let’s be honest, Maw Walker,” he grins. “You’re tiny. All your blows will be low.”

Feeling

“Forgive me,” Kosmas says softly, and she looks up, surprised, wondering what he could have possibly done that would warrant forgiveness. His eyes shine as he meets her gaze. “You didn’t come here to compare weapons.”

“Ah, no.” Kleia says, feeling a bit of a flush rise to her cheeks. “I was…well, I was wondering if Purity might have any spare vespers. Maybe ones that are being replaced, but still work well enough?”

Light

With a laugh, Zen’taki offers her a salute. “Yes, ma’am. I’ve got no intention of doin’ that anyway, so no worries there.”

His entire demeanor has shifted. There’s a brilliance to his smile, an ease to his shoulders. He looks around again, this time far more relaxed. “I’ve never been much for purifications or I’d consider stayin’. I’ve always been more of a warrior type. Bash with the shield and call the Light down as a hammer.”

“A respectable method.” 

I’m tagging @ellenembee, @momopichu, @myinventoryisfull, @wikdsushi-v2, and @braxiatel 

Your words are: night, peer, read, and fight

#tag and ask game #thank you for the tag!

[scoundrels-in-love]

The Devil, for Jaime and Brienne please :)

Thank you for prompting! Send me Major Arcana themed prompt?

___

The Devil: addiction, detachment, materialism, monsters

Fortunes from past, present and the future. (All at once, sometimes.)

Addiction

Jaime has never found heady ease in a cup of wine or other liquors that his siblings seem to hold in such high regard. For him, it’s action that gives him a rush of pleasure, sometimes quite literal when he submerges himself in Cersei’s touch, each time intoxicating and going without her, all golden silk and wrath, is acute pain in his body, soul.

But then, during his captivity, he misses sword-fighting just as much, to point he feverishly dreams of it more than he dreams of her. And the sheer pleasure of fighting again (with wench, no less) eclipses anything else he can remember.

When he loses his hand, watching someone fight is like sitting in basement with the best Westeros vintage and knowing he will never drink a drop of it. That feeling never goes quite away, not even when sword has become a familiar weight in his left hand, but he feels like he can satisfy his need the best when he’s sparring with Brienne.

But maybe that’s just her, because when he tastes her lips, her skin, it’s everything and never quite enough all at once and he knows he will always need the next sip, next wave of her to wash over him. The thrill and the craving has never felt so safe as it does in her arms.

Detachment

Most of the time, Jaime Lannister doesn’t do things halfway. The one thing he never quite manages to be is indifferent, though. He tries, even feigns being such, when there is a Queen he cannot protect from her own husband, when his sister weds Robert, when Kingslayer is said so often it becomes part of the very air and sinks into him, like a brand only he can trace on his skin.

Sometimes, a shroud of nothingness takes over his mind, whisks him away from wherever he is and eventually leaves him stranded in some place he cannot truly recall going to. But even that doesn’t feel like detachment, merely oblivion, and all the love, all the hate is merely waiting for him to emerge, its maw gaping and ready to drag him into new whirlpools.

Materialism

Brienne has always prided herself in being practical, but perhaps spending so much time with Lannisters (one in particular) has eroded some of her pragmatism. She finds herself appreciating gold more and more, not necessarily for the comforts it buys, but for the many ways it gleams; in the harsh sunlight of King’s Landing, in what could be the last sunset and then the dawn after Long Night, in low light of her (their) chamber. The way it feels cool, yet quickly warming, and trustworthy under her calloused palm, the lion pommel as familiar to her now as her own digits. Yes, she thinks, there is merit and beauty to gold, after all.

And if she scoffs but accepts locket with a golden lock - token of affection, dear Ser, lest you forget who awaits you home when you ride off to save the world once more -, she thinks there are worse things to be than a little materialistic.

Monsters

To be a knight is to slay monsters. But the kind of beasts that plague unfortunate towns and innocent folks - giants and dragons and White Walkers - are gone, dead by time and knights that came before her. (Until they aren’t, until there may not be enough knights, people, in the entire world to stop them.)

So, she had resigned herself to never living that part of knighthood, along with most others. But there comes a day when she meets a man who is far worse a beast than the sort she encounters daily: creatures with barbed whips for tongues, forming swarming mass she is used walking through with her visor down. She’s grown adept at pretending their hooked claws don’t find every unlikely gap in her armor just to sink the very tips in her flesh, leaving countless tiny, bleeding wounds that she can’t even complain about because it’s nothing earned in an honest fight, nothing serious. (Nothing a knight would speak of.) But they sting and sometimes she wonders if half her freckles aren’t remnants from these cuts, darkened remnants of where she picked at scabs.

On the day she encounters it, her blade sinks in his gut easily and his foul breath must have been a lot like dragon’s breath on the face of tavern girl he had decided to bed, without giving her a choice. And Brienne of Tarth, who cried when she had to butcher a pig, decides that perhaps there are monsters to be slayed still and that doing so comes to her naturally, after all.

#Brienne of Tarth #Jaime Lannister #Braime #Braime fanfiction #Braime ff #rainy writes stuff #my fic #sort of #You're first person to prompt me Braime stuff outside of direct messages #so I got super super excited and I feel like I probably didn't fill it as you expected #BUT IDK I hope you like #you prompting me made me really really happy!! thank you so much!! #also I am very exhausted and this is not proofread and it shows #aviss #sent on a cloud #It's obvious my characterization is off point but like w/e #More bookverse than showverse?? gasp

[greetthedawn]

AN: After this week’s episode of Game of Thrones I just... had to write a thing. So I sat down and churned this out in about two hours at work. Might do more with it, might not...

Title is a nod to the song by Florence + the Machine!

Here, have a Read More break for your spoiler-free lives:

A firm weight struck Gendry in the calf. It loosened his grip on the fistful of arrows in his hand, and they clattered to the ground. The chiming of obsidian hitting stone rang out a deadly harmony with the pealing laughter of children.

"Bloody hell, Gretchyn," he shouted, wrenching the boisterous, giggling girl off his leg and into the air with one arm. She draped over his sturdy forearm like a sack of horse feed. All four of her tiny child's limbs dangled limply beneath her so they swung freely as he moved her to the door, loose as willow branches in the wind. He dropped her next to her brother, two years above her in age but just as small and half as confident. The boy stood just outside the door, peering into the workshop timidly and regarding the blacksmith with the wide-eyed reverence due a highborn lord. Gendry had always heard that his own lord father had been the very image of a king in his youth; tall and strong and proud. Of late, he had tried to emulate these attributes. He was built in the style of a Baratheon, and while the house of Storm's End had died out without a trueborn heir he meant to carry their honor forward on his two shoulders as the last of their living blood. Fortunately for his hide, the gold cloaks had never bothered to pay much mind to the baseborn, working folk as to notice the last crowned stag hiding beneath their boots, warhammer and all. Only orphaned urchins seemed to take note.

Kneeling to the level of the children, he tousled the boy's hair reassuringly but did his best to remain stern. "I told you two, the smithy is a dangerous place, and we have important work to do here. You can't come 'round while I have the fires lit or you won't even survive long enough for the wights to get you."

"But I'm not scared!" Gretchyn protested, her yellow curls bouncing as she shook her head with indignation. "I wanted to show Dalon that he can be not scared, too."

"I'm already not scared!" Dalon injected, though he continued to eye the furnaces with suspicion, like it was one of the queen's dragons disguised with the aim to lure him into its maw, and it might reveal itself at any moment. "I came for your stories, really. You have such good ones. I want to hear more about your days on the Kingsroad."

Gendry shook his head with a warm smile. "I already told you, the Kingsroad was too dangerous to stay on long. The smaller roads were much more interesting anyway." He relented and waved them into the warmth of his workshop. These two were refugees from a northern village by the sea and had tacked onto the royal caravan along with the rest of the country folk on their path inland. They'd quickly latched on to Gendry during the journey, possibly recognizing the orphan in him, too, and he'd taken a liking to them as well. Inside, he sat them well away from the flames and hammers and passed them each a crust of bread from his earlier untouched rations. "Now, which story did you come to hear?"

"I want to heard a new one!" Dalon asserted around a mouthful of rye. "Surely you haven't told them all yet."

"Make it a frightening one!" Gretchyn chimed in. "Tell us about the bloodiest battle you've been in. Or the deadliest man you ever met."

He did have a story to go along with her second request, though it was one he kept close to his heart. He thought Gretchyn in particular might enjoy it, however, so he inhaled deeply and conceded, seating himself on a bench across from them. Men continued to bustle around them, but he still hadn't touched his evening stew - now cold - so they could do without him for a bit. He picked up the bowl and started, "Aye, I've met some deadly men in my travels. I could tell you about them… but I could also tell you about the time I met Death herself." He raised his spoon to his lips and took a long, innocent sip.

The children's eyes grew wide. "Death is a her?" the girl blurted out. Her tone was mystified and gleeful.

"A she-wolf." Gendry corrected. "The Goddess of Death is a direwolf, just like the Stark sigil. She's a small one, to be sure, the smallest of her pack, but she's killed dozens more than the rest of them combined. Her jaws are inescapable and her teeth are all needles." He exaggerated his tone and motioned with his hands to give drama, but his words were all true in a sense. "She's as fast and nimble as a river. I've heard she can wear any face, but when I met her she was disguised as a young boy no older than you, Dalon. Only those she counts as friends know her true form… Her friends, and the wretches who anger her. Those poor sods know her face and name just in the final moments before she claims their souls… and their faces."

Gretchyn's eyes never left his lips, drinking in every word like it was part of a prayer she had to know for her own. Dalon had brought his knees up to his face and pretended to lean on them, though it was clear he was trying to hide himself, to become as small a target as possible.

Their reactions made Gendry smile just a bit. He'd heard many stories about the she-wolf in his days since arriving in Winterfell, but he hadn't been able to pick her out of the shadows yet. No matter, he had plenty of stories about her of his own. "At night, when I traveled with her, she would sing a song of death. It changed over time. The men she sang about would die and then she'd pick a new name to curse. I couldn't image what the song sounds like now, but you can bet your rations for a month that she still recites it to the moon every time it rises. No one is safe from the list if you dare cross her. It doesn't matter what gods you worship, the old or the new, at a tree or in a sept. Death transcends them all, and no faith or creed will save you from her wrath."

Dalon lifted his head and in a curious tone asked, "How did you survive her then?"

Genry laughed. "Don't get me wrong, I sure as shit angered her from time to time. But even she knows love, knows it well, and if you know love you can know forgiveness. I certainly needed forgiving once or twice, but so did she." He gave a deep sigh and cast a glance at the floor. A sadness and great longing welled within him. "Death was the closest thing I've known to family. Death… and a boy named Pie. A stupid name for a stupid boy." The children giggled wildly at this. "Oy, you shouldn't laugh. He could cook a squirrel fit for a king's banquet table."

"I want a Pie squirrel!" Dalon exclaimed.

"I would love a Pie squirrel!" Gretchyn one-upped her brother. "Especially if it's good enough for Death."

"Aye, it was good enough for us both. And if you survive the coming battle you can have one, yourself. Last I heard he was still at the inn where we left him, cooking for travelers and lifting their spirits."

The youngest gave a determined nod. "One day, when I'm a soldier, I'll go visit Pie."

"Girls can't be soldiers!" Dalon objected.

"If Death can be a girl then so can soldiers," Gretchyn fired back.

"But Father always said!"

"Your father was wrong," Gendry snorted. "Lady Brienne of Tarth is leading our left flank against the white walkers when they arrive. Our queen is riding into battle of the back of a dragon. If your sister is set on becoming a soldier then I'd dare you or anyone else to try and stop her once all this is over. The world is changing, and you wouldn't want to anger Death by clinging to such old ways of thinking."

Dalon's open mouth snapped shut. Turning to his sister, he squeaked out, "I'm ready to go to bed now."

Gretchyn began to protest, but the blacksmith shook his head. "Your brother is right. You've had your story and I have to get back to work. Go on now. You can come break your fast with me at first daylight."

The little girl ran up and gave him a quick hug before allowing her brother to drag her back to their quarters. Gendry quickly scarfed down the rest of his stew and got back to work. There was much to do, and they didn't yet have word on how far south the army of the dead had made it. They could besiege Winterfell in a week or a month, and each seemed just as likely as the other. Every arrow and sword he made meant one more soldier who could fell a white walker, one more soldier who had a shot at seeing summer. It had been a long journey to the seat of House Stark, longer than he or Arya had dared imagine for the sake of their hopeful spirits when they'd started their journey north all those years back. The circumstances weren't what he'd hoped for, but at least he knew he belonged there, that he had a purpose there beyond anything he'd known before. All those years hiding in Flea Bottom, he knew he was waiting for something that would give him meaning.

A part of him had always hoped that meaning would lead him back to Winterfell, ever since he'd been sold off to the Red Woman and taken away from Arya. All his life others had used him as a pawn in their games. It was his curse, he knew now, as a bastard of the highest seat in Westeros. Children of powerful houses were little more than pawns to their elders, as he had come to learn. Arya, however, had introduced him to a world where he might control his own fate. It was only when he was separated from her that he realized how much their trials and travels had changed him. Meeting her had given him a purpose all his own, and he would chase that feeling to the edge of the known world.

Arya. His thoughts circled her often but she had become such an elusive figure in his mind. It had been four or more years since he'd last seen her. She would be a woman grown by then, and a fearsome one at that if the stories held true. House Frey, the rat Littlefinger, it was said that she'd been their end. Her list must be getting very short, indeed. In a way, he was in awe of her reputation. She hadn't been much of a killer when he'd known her, just a young girl fleeing the War of the Five Kings, four of whom had wanted her dead. They had been thick as thieves during that time, though, and it didn't surprise him one bit what she'd become.

He knew her family better now than he'd likely know her, should their paths come to cross in the bustling stronghold of her ancestral home. Jon was everything she'd said he'd be, though Sansa was none of what he'd been told. He wondered if the discrepancy between the entitled dreamer of Arya's stories and the confident, cunning Lady of Winterfell was due to a childhood rivalry or half a lifetime of trauma. His knowledge of the Stark history and Arya herself told him it was some of both. He knew a bit about the character-building effects of trauma, himself. He had been 16 when he left for the Night's Watch, much like Jon had been, and all that had happened since had turned him nearly unrecognizable. He liked Jon. They were of an age and had some shared experiences, a bastard brotherhood in a way. He knew how Arya adored him, too, and had to wonder if some of those similarities had caused her to view him as in the light of an elder brother. His feelings for her had been ones of great protectiveness and affection, but he couldn't say he'd ever seen her as a little sister.

AN: Please let me know what you thought of this! I've never written for this fandom before!

#game of thrones #gendrya #gendry #arya