#welcome to ashe's shipping hour

[incandescentlysomething]

Lady of the Ashes: Chapter 1

House of the Dragon Season 1

Aemond x TargaryenOC

Chapter Word Count: 7390

She was his everything... For her...he would do anything.

From the moment of her birth, Aemond Targaryen swore himself to the protection of his niece Aelinor Velaryon. As the two grew up inseparable, they find themselves entangled in the Dance of Dragons, battling to stay together even as their families try to pull them apart.

A/N: Canon compliant but things change around. Currently cross-posting on A03. Will be approximately 12 chapters aligning with season 1.

Let me know what you think!

Masterlist A03

115 AC

On the second day of August, in the year 115 AC, the worst storm in a hundred years swept through King’s Landing. Ships smashed against each other in the harbor, livelihoods and people being whisked away by the tossing waves. The maesters — or the bolder ones anyway — whispered that the gods were unhappy with the Westeros, or specifically, with the ruling family. But those whispers were silenced almost immediately, for this was King’s Landing after all, the very seat of Targaryen power.

Rhaenyra Targaryen watched the storm from her window, one hand braced against each wall, her face being bathed by the pounding rain. Her maids had begged to close the shutters to conserve some of the warmth in her room, but she would not have. Her labors had been ongoing for nearly a full day, and only the sound of the wind and the cool spray of the rain could calm her as she breathed through the pain. From her spot high above the city, she could see clay tiles being ripped from their roofs, and in some places entire buildings were collapsing. It shouldn’t have been calming, but it was a welcome distraction and a stark reminder of her place in this world.

“Please, Princess,” her midwife pleased with her. “You must keep warm.”

“I am plenty warm!” Rhaenyra snapped, “and I will stay where I damn please.” As if summoned by her anger, another painful contraction rippled through her abdomen. 

She could hear the midwife turn to one of her maids, beseeching the woman to find her husband. Rhaenyra let out a scoff. Since they had returned from their yearlong sojourn to Dragonstone, during which time she had entertained her uncle Daemon and his wife, Laenor had taken to spending time with one of the knights of the house. He was no uncaring nor unfeeling, but she doubted he felt any guilt about sheltering elsewhere in the city while his wife labored.

A door opened behind her. “The Queen wishes for news of the Princess.”

Rhaenyra groaned loudly, feeling the child move lower. She could hear her maid speaking in hushed tones to the intruder, assuring her of the steady progress of the birth. It didn’t feel steady. In fact, it felt rather like being torn in two. 

A heavy gust of wind pelted her face, and she found she could breathe easier under the onslaught. It was a necessary distraction from the conversation happening behind her, which was in itself an echo of the same conversation that had been happening every hour on the hour for the past day. She should have expected it. Alicent had been even more of a presence when Rhaenyra had labored with Jace, insisting that her own maids be present to ‘assist the Princess’. It had been for that very reason that, following the birth of her son, Rhaenyra had withdrawn her family to Dragonstone. But there would be no escaping Alicent this time.

Something smashed against the stone walls, and Rhaenyra screamed as another contraction hit her. She was not made for this. What did it say about her, that she was bringing her child into the world on such a day?

Queen Alicent Hightower paced in her chambers, bundled in a fur as the fire roared to keep the chill of the wind out of her room. The windows in her rooms had been boarded up immediately after the King’s, and she had ordered her children be brought to her. They played on the floor now, Aegon with a small collection of wooden knights, and Aemond and Helaena looking over a book of insects.

The Hand of the King, Lord Otto Hightower, sat at her desk, putting pen to a stack of letters that had amassed in the past week. They both turned when the doors opened and Alicent’s maid, Talya, stepped inside.

“The Princess’ labors are nearly finished,” Talya announced. “The midwife expects the babe within the hour.”

Alicent picked at her fingernail. “Have it brought to me and the King as soon as possible,” she ordered, “so that we might offer our congratulations.”

Talya curtsied and left the room.

Congratulations were far from Alicent’s mind, thought she knew her husband, who was sequestered in his own rooms to work on his model, would be anxious to see his grandchild. Alicent, too, was not without sympathy for the Princess, who had returned from her months away heavily pregnant and now labored alone in her chambers. But the birth of Rhaenyra’s first son had all but confirmed rumors of adultery, and Alicent was anxious to see if the second would lend further proof to the theory.

“I wish she had summoned a maester,” she said, half to herself. “So we might trust she is in good hands.”

“Her first son arrived without issue,” Otto said, seeming bored with his daughter’s worry. “Put it from your mind.”

But how could she? Rhaenyra’s child it might be, and Jacaerys too, but Alicent could not, by the light of the Seven or her own love for her own children, see a bastard seated on the throne. But that did not mean she wished for Rhaenyra to suffer in childbirth.

“Will the dragons be alright in the storm, mother?” It took her a moment to realize who had spoken. Aemond, her third child, looked up from his book, eyes shining in concern for the creatures he loved more than anything. Aemond was…a soft child, though she knew it delighted her husband to see him so enamored with the dragons and his Targaryen heritage. Alicent struggled to imagine a place for Aemond if Rhaenyra’s children were to succeed the throne, soft and sensitive as he was.

“They have survived far more difficult storms than this,” she assured him. “They will be fine.”

Aemond gave her a relieved smile, flipping the page for Helaena.

“What do you care?” Aegon sneered. “You don’t even have one.”

“I have an egg!” Aemond protested.

“It’ll never hatch,” Aegon laughed.

Aemind stood and ran from the room, tears already brimming in his eyes. Alicent sighed, moving to go after him. Some version of this argument was a near weekly occurrence between her two sons, and she struggled to decide if it was childish rivalry or if it represented something deeper.

“Let him be, Daughter,” Otto cautioned. “Boys must work through these things on their own.”

The urge to comfort her son already fading, Alicent resumed her pacing. She needed to be ready when news of the birth came. Through the cracks in her boarded up window, she could see rolling gray clouds in the distance.

Prince Aemond had managed to stop crying by the time he emerged from the tunnels and into the Princess’ Tower. He knew there were many passageways in the castle, but he was only aware of the ones that led from his room, as they afforded him the opportunity to seek out his freedom, and to hide his tears. He was embarrassed to admit, event at the tender age of five, how often he wept behind these cold stone walls.

It wasn’t fair how Aegon treated him, and it wasn’t fair that he had a dragon. Aegon might love Sunfyre, but he didn’t love dragons the way that Aemond did. He didn’t pour over stories of Old Valyria, trying to learn things that seemed impossible for a boy of his age. He deserved a dragon. He was ready for it.

Even Helaena, who did not have a dragon, had her love of science and bugs and all crawling things. It wasn’t proper, or terribly interesting to Aemond, but at least she had something. The only thing he had ever really loved or wanted, continued to be out of his reach.

He hadn’t meant to come to the Princess’ Tower, but it seemed to be the one place in the Red Keep with any type of activity. His mother usually forbade the children from playing here, wanting to keep them far away from his elder half-sister for some reason he didn’t quite understand. And if he wasn’t going to be allowed to go outside and see the dragons, which his mother had strictly forbidden, then he must find entertainment elsewhere.

Two maids scurried past his hiding place. “The babe is here, but the Princess has asked us to delay so that she might compose herself.”

This interested Aemond. He knew that his mother had ordered the babe to be brought to her immediately, though he didn’t understand why. Surely a babe was still a babe an hour after its birth as much as a few minutes? But the babe was here, and he was here, which meant he might get a chance to see his new niece or nephew before his mother and Aegon did.

His mind made up, he ducked out from behind the tapestry and marched up the stairs to his half-sister’s chambers, knocking sharply on the door. The chatter inside fell to silence, and he listened as a pair of footsteps moved toward the door.

A maid answered. “Prince Aemond?” She curtsied through her confusion. “Whatever are you doing here?”

“I wish to see the babe,” he declared, trying not to look like a little boy who had been crying not too long ago.

“My Prince, this is a birthing chamber, and it is not—”

“He may enter,” his half-sister’s voice carried, and it was all the invitation he needed to push around the maid (rather rudely, as his septa would tell him) and into the room.

Rhaenyra’s chambers were confusing to him. The window was wide open, and the sounds of the storm and a wicket chill swept into the room. Someone had stacked blankets at the base of the window to soak up all the rain coming through. Despite this, the fire was roaring in its hearth, nearly suffocating in its heat. Two women he had never seen before were rolling blankets stained with crimson into a bundle, while another was dumping red-tinged water from a metal tub out of the window. He blinked in confusion. That was more blood than he had ever seen in his life, even more than when Aegon had broken his nose with a practice sword. 

His half-sister was reclined on her bed, propped up by pillows, a bundle of blankets in her arms.

“Are you injured, sister?” He asked, creeping forward and trying not to think of the blood. He might not be overly close with his half-sister, as she was much older and not liked by his mother, but he did not like to see anyone hurt.

“No more than is expected, Aemond,” she said, not exactly warmly, but with a fresh dose of kindness that made his press a bit closer. He thought she looked exhausted, and her hair hung in sweaty mats about his face. Perhaps it was very difficult to have a baby, if it made such a mess. “Would you like to meet your niece?”

“A niece?” he moved forward, drawn by his curiosity. “It’s not a boy then.” A shame, for he would rather have liked a new playmate.

“No,” Rhaenyra laughed. “But rather a beautiful little girl. And you may be the first to meet her.”

Aemond wrinkled his nose. “Is she like Helaena? I like her well enough, but she talks often of bugs.”

She laughed again, a bit more brightly. “She is too little to have interests yet, Aemond. She does not even have a name.”

A person with no name? Somehow, that was utterly fascinating to Aemond, and he boldly leaned over the bed, trying to peek at the bundle in Rhaenyra’s arms. He could not imagine a world in which he was not Aemond, and this little baby did not even have a name of her own.

“Here she is,” Rhaenyra smiled down at the bundle, before lifting it to where Aemond could see.

His mouth dropped open as he beheld the tiny babe. He had expected an ugly, messy thing, and while she might be a bit wrinkly, and slightly blue, she was absolutely perfect. Small enough that he could have easily lifted her, with slick silver hair plastered to her head, and a tiny white hand curled into a little fist. He was reminded of depictions of the Mother in the Sept, who was often shown cradling a small, impossibly beautiful baby. 

“She’s pretty,” he said finally, though even he knew the word did not nearly suffice. “She doesn’t look like Jace.”

“No, she doesn’t,” Rhaenyra sounded a bit sad. “But I love her nonetheless.”

The baby cooed, and her tiny eyes blinked open, revealing a stunning shade of lavender more beautiful than anything Aemond had ever seen. She shuddered and stretched, her tiny, bird-like limbs shaking with the effort. Instantly, Aemond was flooded with worry for this little creature. How frightening it must be, to come into the world and meet so many strangers, all while a dreadful storm wailed outside. He wanted to keep her far from the world, to demand that his half-sister bar the windows and keep her locked away, warm and safe. 

But that wouldn’t be fair to the babe. Aemond knew all too well what it felt like to be suffocated within stone walls, and this little one deserved to see everything. When she was bigger, he could take her to the dragon pit, where she might watch the dragons train with him. Perhaps she would enjoy hearing stories of Old Valyria, and he worried that he may not know them well enough to do them justice. But those thoughts were overcrowded by fear. They were plans for tomorrow, when this little bird did not, to him, look strong enough to last the day.

“She’s too little,” he protested. “Will she be alright?”

“She’ll be alright,” Rhaenyra promised. “But she might need to be protected and helped while she is still small. Could you…help me do that, Aemond?”

Aemond studied the babe for a long moment. “Mother said it is a bad omen for her to be born during a storm.”

Rhaenyra frowned. The babe kicked her legs, and Aemond boldly reached forward to tuck the blanket back around her.

“But I don’t think she’s right,” he admitted. “She’s like a little sunbeam on a cloudy day.”

Perhaps the little boy did not mean to be so poetic, but his words filled Rhaenyra’s heart with a little bit of hope. It was true that the babe did not look like Jace, for they did not share a father, but she was the picture of a Targaryen beauty. No one could deny that she was Rhaenyra’s, or that she was perfect. She was a worthy reward for such a difficult labor. Not even Aemond, it seemed.

“You know Aemond,” she began cautiously. “She does not yet have a name. Might you have a suggestion?”

“Me?” He was shocked. “What about Ser Laenor?”

“He isn’t here,” Rhaenyra’s voice was harsh. “Come, we mustn’t let this little one linger without a name of her own for much longer.”

That did seem to be a terrible injustice, in Aemond’s opinion. He struggled to think of a name as perfect as the little creature in front of him. It would have to be a Valyrian name, he decided, for she deserved one, and it would have to be beautiful and unique, only to her. He was struck by the realization that this was the most important thing he had ever done.

“What about Aelinor?” He suggested shyly.

Rhaenyra smiled, looking down on her baby. “I think that is perfect. Will you help my little Aelinor, Aemond? When the world is harsh and cruel, might she have you to lean on?”

Aemond could not imagine the world ever being cruel to little Aelinor — his Aelinor, he decided — but he made the promise anyway. 

“I swear,” he said earnestly, vowing not only to himself, not to his half-sister, but to the precious thing in her arms. He lifted his hand and gently stroked one finger along her tiny arm, the skin impossibly soft and delicate beneath his touch. “I’ll become the strongest dragon rider in the world, so that I can protect you. I swear it.”

And for those few minutes, before news reached the Queen, Rhaenyra felt that the world might not have been as harsh as she knew it to be. Her daughter was healthy and beautiful, and already she was winning hearts. Little Aelinor was exactly what Aemond had said, a spot of sun on a dark day, and she was loved.

No one could ever have imagined that in the years and wars to come, it was tiny Aelinor, and her sworn protector, who would shape the future of House Targaryen. 

119 AC

At the age of four, Princess Aelinor Velaryon ruled over the Red Keep like a little queen. Though not one for barking orders — she was both too meek and too shy for that — she found the castle filled with those resolved to fulfill her every whim. Never in her short life had she known a moment’s hardship, for such inconveniences were kept fiercely away by those who loved her.

Her mother, the Princess Rhaenyra Targaryen, doted on her only daughter, even as she brought a second son into the world. Her daughter was the perfect image of her mother, in looks if not in temperament, and Rhaenyra was determined to keep her under her wing for as long as possible. The motives could not be entirely unselfish, for Aelinor alone of Rhaenyra’s children bore the look of a true Targaryen, and contributed heavily to the preservation of Rhaenyra’s reputation. 

The Lord Laenor Velaryen, the girl’s father, found himself rather at odds with what to do with the girl. Though she did not resemble him in the slightest, he found her sweet, and reminded him of a calmer, meeker Laena. The reminder of his sister was enough to generate some fondness in his heart for the child, if it could not be called a true fatherly love. He did not spend much time with the girl (or indeed any of his children), but he made sure to always bring the child a bauble from his travels, and offer her a story should she ask.

King Viserys, her grandfather, doted on the child, whom he found to be the perfect image of his late wife, Aemma, and even Her Majesty the Queen could not find it in herself to hate the child. Not when little Aelinor so often looked up to Queen Alicent and declared her ‘beautiful like a faerie’.

The only true hardship in Princess Aelinor’s life came from her brothers, the Princes Jacaerys and Lucerys Velaryon. Luc was young, and so it was most often Jace who took to bullying the young girl. It was difficult to say why, and perhaps that was why their mother did so little to stop it. It might simply have been the way of things with siblings, for Rhaenyra had none of her own. But many in the curt whispered that the boys had far darker motivations for taunting and teasing the little girl, even if the children themselves were unaware.

When Jacaerys pushed Aelinor from her chair so that he might sit next to the King, the court whispered ‘it is because she has the look of a Targaryen, and the boy does not’. And when Luc pulled her hair, they suggested that his jealously moved him to hurt the girl.

Aelinor loved her brothers though, and were she a little stronger or a little bigger, she would have teased them right back. She knew her brothers would never hurt her, not truly, and so she did not let herself be too bothered by their harassment. 

Aelinor remained a happy child, through and through, in large part due to her best friend, for there was no one in the court, nor in her family, as devoted to her happiness as her beloved Aemond. On any given day, one could expect to see the young prince following behind the little princess like an ever-faithful shadow, quick to pick her up should she fall, to wipe away her tears, and fight her battles for her. For all the rumors of rifts between the factions of House Targaryen, their loyalty to each other seemed to bridge the gap of familial animosity.

“Aemond,” Aelinor said eagerly. “Can you tell me what you see?”

They were hiding in the rafters, in a space normally reserved for servants lighting chandeliers, spying on the feast and dancing taking place in the great hall below. It was Prince Aegon’s eleventh name day, and the dancing was expected to last right into the night. Aemond had been forced to attend for the first few hours, but had managed to sneak away and find Aelinor, who had been too young to be invited. Now they were hidden behind a wall on the upper level, Aemond tall enough to peer over and Aelinor trying to stand on her toes.

Aemond considered his answer. “What would you like to hear about? The dancing or the food?”

“The dancing!” She exclaimed. “Is it like in the stories?”

He knew which stories she was referring to. Aemond spent much of his time regaling Aelinor with the stories of Old Valyria, and while she loved tales of dragons and spells as much as he did (though he did tend to leave out some of the gorier details of blood magic), it was the great romances that really captured her young mind.

“The ladies are all spinning around, and their dresses are very fine,” he said. “And I can see that all of the lords are very much in love with them.”

Truthfully, he could only really see his mother, who danced with her uncle in the middle of the nearly-empty dancefloor. The hired musicians now played over the sound of drunken revelries, most of the guests draped over taples with tankards of ale in their hands. All of the other children had left by now, including Aegon, who had arrogantly boasted that he would stay up all night for his party. He also couldn’t see Princess Rhaenyra  But Aelinor didn’t need to know any of that. 

“I wish I could be down there,” the girl sighed, spinning around so that the edges of her bedrobe twirled outward. “I could meet a handsome prince.”

Aemond turned from watching the party, smiling down at her as she spun about. “Am I not handsome enough for you, Lina?”

Aelinor stopped then, looking very serious. “You’re the most handsome, even more handsome than your brothers or mine, or any of the princes in the stories.”

Aemond grinned. That was what he loved best about Aelinor. Even at the age of four, he knew without a doubt that she meant everything she said with every fibre of her being. As far as he knew, she had never even told a lie to anyone. She just loved and loved with her entire heart, and he felt grateful that she shared even a small piece of it with him.

“Come then, if you wish it, we shall dance,” he held out a hand, leading her through a clumsy imitation of one of the dances he had seen earlier. Aelinor held her skirt up with one hand and he whirled her around, careful not to let her trip over her dress.

“What’s your favorite part of the stories, Aemond?” She asked him, swaying from side to side.

He answered honestly. “I like the dragons. I like hearing about the bond between dragons and their riders, and how they became heroes and legends.” He was filled with a great sadness then, for her did not have a dragon of his own. Aelinor did, her little egg had hatched shortly after her birth, though she was too young to have done more than pet the hatchling. 

“You’ll be the best dragon rider ever,” Aelinor promised. “I just know it.”

He didn’t doubt that she believed it.

“Do you want to know my favorite part, Aemond?” She asked, giggling as he swayed her from side to side.

“Of course, Lina.”

She sighed dramatically. “I like the happy endings, when the heroes bring their princesses a troven.”

“It’s a token, Lina,” he smiled. “And yes, I know you love the happy endings.” He was prone to adding happy endings to all his stories, knowing how much she loved them. 

“Come now, it is time to get you to bed.” It was well past her bedtime, and Aelinor did not protest as he took her hand and returned her to her family.

Early the next morning, Alicent walked into her sitting room to find Aemond digging through one of her jewelry boxes.

“Aemond, whatever are you doing?” She glanced briefly at the breakfast table, where Aegon was slathering a fruit spread on a piece of bread, but chose to take nothing for herself.

Aemond didn’t reply, setting a gold chain to the side and continuing to dig. “Just looking for something.”

“Hm,” Alicent hummed. “Did you have fun with Aelinor last night?”

“Yes, we watched some of the dancing.” 

His brother laughed, but Aemond chose to ignore it. He now had a selection of jewels set next to him on the table, and was continuing his hunt.

“Why are you laughing, Aegon?” Alicent asked.

Aegon snorted. “I just think it’s funny that Aemond hangs out with babies rather than acting like a man.”

This was rather funny, especially coming from a boy as flippant and juvenile as Aegon, but Alicent couldn’t deny that the thought had occured to her as well. Aemond was nearly nine, and his closest companion was a little girl of four. Aemond was already an odd child, and it didn’t bode well for him to be so distanced from his peers.

“Aelinor isn’t a baby, she’s special,” Aemond declared, spinning to face his mother, holding his palm outstretched. “Mother, may I have this.”

Balanced on his palm was a large sapphire, too large for him to close his fist around. It was roughly cut, and had been given to the Queen for her to choose its cut and setting herself, but she had never gotten around to it, preferring emerald tones over sapphire.

“For what?” She asked.

A red flush stained Aemond’s cheeks, and Alicent did not even need to hear his reply. “Are you sure, Aemond? That is a very large gem, and she’s very little.”

Aemond held it tightly in his fingers. “Please. She loves treasure.”

That was a gross underestimation of Aemond’s motivations. Yes, Aelinor did love treasure as much as any little princess, but the truth was, her sleepy mumblings about heroes and tokens had rattled around his brain all night. She had called him a handsome prince, and he felt he needed to do something to earn it.

“Please?” He repeated.

Alicent considered her next words carefully. On one hand, she did not want the court to hear of her passing a gift of such value to the Princess Rhaenyra’s family. Or rather, she did not want her father to hear of it. But she had no real attachment to the stone, having already forgotten which visiting lord or lady had gifted it to her, and it might serve to address what she saw as the larger concern.

“Very well,” Aemond’s face erupted in glee, “but you must make me a promise.”

“Anything!” He exclaimed.

“From now on, you will join Aegon for his morning lessons. That means with the maesters some days, and in the training yard on others.”

“What?” 

“Why?” Aegon demanded.

Alicent held up a hand to silence both of her sons. “You’re not as little as you were, Aemond. This is important.”

“But Aelinor —”

“Aelinor must also study with her Septas,” Alicent said. “Do I have your agreement?”

Aemond looked a bit dejected, but nodded slowly. “I promise.”

“Well, I don’t even want him to train with me!”

The next day Aelinor had to hunt for Aemond throughout the castle. He wasn’t waiting outside her door when she awoke, nor was he in the library, picking out a new story for her. It took her nearly an hour to find him in the most unlikely of places.

He was testing out the different practice swords, trying to see which felt the least foreign in his hand, when Aelinor emerged on the walkway above the training yard. Ser Harwin Strong lifted her easily, carrying her down the steps and setting her down on a flat stone. His efforts were futile, for she immediately leapt off and splashed through the mud to reach Aemond.

“Are you going to learn to fight, Aemond?” She asked, excited. “Can I learn too?

The thought was ridiculous, but Aemond didn’t laugh. “When you are bigger, Lina, I promise.” He couldn’t bear the thought of her being injured, so this was one of the few instances in which he had no choice but to refuse her.

“Alright,” she sighed. “Can I stay and watch?”

Aemond was suddenly embarrassed at the thought of her watching him train. He would not be very good, and he couldn’t bear for Aelinor to think any less of him. The sapphire hung heavy in his pocket, and he was thankful for the distraction.

“Not today, Lina. But I have a gift for you.”

“A gift?” She bounced on her toes. The hem of her lilac dress was already stained with mud, but her silver hair was tied back neatly back with a ribbon. Her whole frame shook as she bounced in anticipation. “What is it?”

Aemond pulled the sapphire out of his pocket, unwrapping the silk handkerchief he had used to cover it. “This is for you. Just like from the stories.”

Aelinor’s gasp was almost comical as she took in the stone. “For me?”

“Yes,” Aemond said, letting her take it in her small hands. She had to grip it with both hands to hold it, the gem ridiculously large for her. “But you must be very careful with it, alright?”

Aelinor stared at it for a moment longer. In the morning light the gem reflected a ripple of cerulean blue across her palms, and she felt she could have wasted away the day studying it. Suddenly she leapt forward to wrap Aemond in a hug. “Thank you, thank you!” She cried. “It is the best thing in the world.”

Aemond squeezed her back. “I am glad you like it. “Now go, we both have lessons.”

Aelinor gave him one last squeeze, before turning to stomp back to her waiting Kingsguard. Aemond just smiled, pleased with himself.

That evening, Aelinor sat in front of the hearth in her mother’s chambers, half-listening as her brothers recounted their day, but mostly studying the sapphire in her hands. Her mother had been astonished to see the magnitude of the gift she had received, but she had not taken it away.

“Boys, stay here with Aelinor. I have something to discuss with your father.” Rhaenyra disappeared into the next room.

Jace squatted down next to his sister, pointing at the stone. “What’s that?”

“It’s my token!” Aelinor exclaimed.

“It’s pretty,” Luc was on her other side.

“I know!” Aelinor beamed. “Aemond gave it to me. It’s just like the treasures from the stories and I—”

Jace interrupted her. “Aemond? You let him give you a gift?” Unlike his younger siblings, Jace wasn’t entirely unaware of the whispers that followed him at court. And he was more than aware that while he dealt with sideways glances and whispers, he knew that Aelinor was largely immune to those comments. That spark of jealousy colored his relationship with his sister, sometimes overclouding his love for her with envy.

Aelinor was confused by his question. Why shouldn’t Aemond give her a gift? He was her Aemond after all. But Jace’s question made her worry. Perhaps she needed to give him a gift in return. But what did she have that was as wonderful as this?

“Aemond isn’t our friend, Aelinor,” Jace cautioned. “You can’t trust him.”

“Aemond is my friend,” Aelinor countered, her faith in him steadfast. “He just doesn’t like you.”

All of a sudden, Luc snatched the gem out of her hand, holding it away from her reach. “It’s so blue!”

“Let me see it, Luc,” Jace took it, holding it near the fire to see it better.

“Give it back!” Aelinor sprung to her feet. “It isn’t yours! It’s mine!”

“Why should you get a gift like this, and from Aemond of all people?” Jace, who thought himself much older and wiser, tried to reason with his sister. “You cannot keep it.”

“I can! He gave it to me!” Aelinor jumped to reach it, nearly tripping over her skirts.

“I’m sorry, sister. But this is for the best. “And Jace, with the type of carelessness that only a boy can muster, tossed the sapphire into the fire.

Aelinor wailed. “You stupid, stupid boy! Aemond gave that to me!” She beat at his side with her little fists.

Jace pushed her off, sending her stumbling to the floor. “It’s just a trinket, Aelinor. We can find you another one. A better one.”

But Aelinor already knew in her heart that there would never be a better gift than the one Aemond had given her. She pushed onto her knees and crawled closer to the fire, sniffling as she watched the flames lick at the blue gem. Already black was creeping up the edges, marring its beautiful surface. Aemond had given her that gift because he loved, she knew it. And she wasn’t going to let her brother’s jealousy take it away.

New determination flowing through her veins, Aelinor reached forward into the fire, and grasped the gem firmly in her hand.

Her screams echoed through the hall of the keep. 

Aemond was reading by candlelight, just beginning to nod off when a pounding began at his door. A thousand things occurred to him as he scrambled from his bed. It could be his mother, angry that he was still awake, or it could be something more serious, such as a fire or an attack of some kind.

He had scarcely set his feet on the floor when the door burst open, and he was surprised to see not only his mother there, looking very perturbed in her nightgown and robe, but also Ser Harwin Strong, the Kingsguard to the Princess Rhaenyra.

“Aemond,” his mother sighed. “I’m sorry, but there was no helping it.”

“No helping what, mother?” Aemond was concerned. Was that sweat on Ser Harwin’s brow? “Is there a fire?”

“No, child. There has been an…unfortunate accident.”

“What do you—”

Ser Harwin interrupted. “The Princess Aelinor has been grievously injured, and she calls for you. Her mother hoped you might calm her, so that she might let the maesters—”

Aemond was already pushing past them, running down the stairs as fast as his bare feet could carry him. Aelinor, injured? He could not imagine what might have happened, his thoughts already filled with the most horrible images. He should have been there, should have protected her. And where were her parents, her brothers, her guards? What were they doing that allowed her to be hurt?

He could hear Ser Harwin rushing behind him, but he did not stop to look. He just ran down the familiar corridors and began climbing the steps to the chambers the Princess Rhaenyra occupied with her family. No sooner had his foot landed on the bottom step of the tower that the most horrible wailing reached his ears.

“Aelinor!” She shouted, rushing up the steps and bursting into the room. He shoved past a crowd of maesters and Aelinor’s own parents and brothers, ignoring the rudeness of his arrival. Rhaenyra looked close to tears, her sons just as distraught, but Aemond only had eyes for Aelinor.

She sat on a divan, wilted against one side, her hand cradled in her lap. She was still wearing her beautiful, mud-covered dress from that morning, though the dirt had now dried into dust that flaked onto the velvet furniture. She was sobbing: great, heaving sobs that shook her entire body with the effort, letting out alternatively loud wails or soft moans of pain.

“Lina!” he exclaimed, dropping to his knees next to her. “What’s happened?”

She wailed louder, and he saw that she was gripping something in her little hand. The skin that he could see, mainly the sides and back of her hand, was a frightening shade of bright red, as though she’d left it out in the sun for too long.

“She wasn’t supposed to go after it,” Jace said. “She just reached right in!”

“What did she reach for, Jace?” Rhaenyra demanded. “You were supposed to watch her!”

Aemond ignored them, carefully lifting a hand to brush away the flood of tears. A maester knelt on her other side. “Young Prince, we need to let us see her hand. We fear she had been grievously burned.”

Burned? His Aelinor?

He spun his gaze around, zeroing on Jace. Little Luc clung to his brother’s shirt, tears running down his face. The nerve of him to cry, when his sister was suffering so.

“What have you done?” He demanded. “Why did you hurt her?”

“She was the one stupid enough to reach into a fireplace for a dumb jewel!” Jace spat back.

“Jewel? What jewel?” Ser Laenor asked, and his wife began to explain.

Aemond felt a feeling of dread come over him as he realized what Aelinor was holding so tightly in her hand. What she had hurt herself for. He leaned close, wrapping one arm around her shoulders. “I’m so sorry, Lina. Does it hurt terribly?”

She gave a pathetic nod, and he resisted the urge to cry. This was his fault, after all. He had given her the sapphire, and she had scarred herself just to save it from the fire. 

“Lina,” he whispered. “Please, you must let them help.”

Her lip quivered. “Make it stop hurting, Aemond.”

He hated himself for being unable to grant her wish. It made him want to turn around and punch Jace, and even little Luc, for putting her through this. It was their teasing and tormenting of her that had led to this, he was sure of it.

“Open your hand, Lina,” he coaxed. “And once they’ve taken care of you, I’ll tell you a new story, alright?”

That seemed motivation enough, and he moved to sit beside her, taking her uninjured hand in his as the maesters worked quickly to uncurl her burned fingers. Aelinor whimpered as the sapphire dropped to the floor, and Aemond felt like vomiting when he saw the mess left behind. A melted mass of burned skin and liquid flesh, her fingers curling in as if to protect the wound from the air. As soon as it was exposed, Aelinor began to cry anew, and Aemond drew her face into his shoulders.

“It will be alright, Lina,” he promised, even though he didn’t think it would be. “I’ll take care of you.”

Aelinor didn’t respond. She just clung to Aemond’s side and sobbed as they applied a salve and a bandage to her ruined hand. Both her mother and father came forward to try and comfort her, but any attempt to pry her away from Aemond only led to more tears.

Aelinor whispered something, and Aemond leaned down to hear it.

“Am I going to be ugly now, Aemond?” She said quietly.

“Never,” he swore. “You are as beautiful as ever, and no one could ever do anything to change that.” That, at least, he was sure of.

She seemed to take a little comfort in that, and Aemond worked with the maesters to convince her to drink some milk of the poppy. She fell asleep, slumped against Aemond’s side, her hand an unidentifiable mass of bandages. 

“Thank you, Prince Aemond,” Ser Laenor said, gently placing a hand on the boy’s shoulder. “I will take her to bed now.”

Aemond wanted to protest, but while he might be strong enough to carry Aelinor playful around the castle, he could not move her without jostling her. Instead, he carefully passed her to her father, and stood from the sofa as she was carried away. He wanted to insist that someone stay with her through the night, but movement at the side of the room drew his attention away.

Rhaenyra had collapsed into a chair at the table, Jace and Luc sitting beside her. In Luc’s hand was the blackened sapphire they had pried from Aelinor’s grasp.

“You…you bastards!” Aemond shouted, walking up and snatching the jewel from him. “I gave this to Aelinor, not to you!”

“Boys, there is no need for—” Rhaenyra started.

“Who are you to give our sister gifts? You’re just trying to…trying to..” Jace struggled for words. “To turn her against us!”

“I’m not! I—” Aemond caught himself before he said I love her. “It doesn’t matter. You stole from her, and you hurt her, and I won’t ever forgive you for it.”

“Enough!” Rhaenyra stood. “Jace, take Luc and go to your room. I’ll be in to speak with you in a minute.”

Aemond watched as they walked away, scowling all the while. Only once the door had closed behind them did Rhaenyra turn to him.

“Thank you, Aemond,” she said sincerely. “I did not say it earlier, but you were a great comfort to Aelinor, and a great help to us all tonight.”

He did not think that his mother would enjoy hearing that he had been a ‘great help’ to his half-sister, nor was he particularly endeared to her at the moment. It was on her watch that Lina had been injured, after all. “I did it for Lina.” And not for you.

“I know you did, but I am grateful all the same.” Rhaenyra sighed. “She will be very unwell in the coming days. Can I trust that you will be there to help?”

It was a silly question. When, in all the days since Aelinor had been born, had Aemond not been there? Short of prying him from her side and locking him up, there would be nothing anyone could do to keep him away from his little princess.

Aemond looked down at the jewel in his palm, rubbing some of the soot away with his finger. “Can she have her jewel back? I picked it just for her. I didn’t mean for her to be hurt.” It wasn’t quite an admission of guilt, and indeed, no one could accuse him of being at fault save himself, but Rhaenyra could see that it already weighed heavy on the boy.

Rhaenyra held out her hand, and he obediently placed the sapphire in her palm. “Not only may she keep it, but I shall have it placed in a setting, so that she might carry it easier.”

That sounded perfectly agreeable to Aemond, and he nodded. “Very well. Then I shall look after Aelinor.” He did not say because you cannot, but the thought was in his mind. He had trusted Aelinor to the care of her mother and brothers, and now she was hurt. It would never have happened on his watch. He wouldn’t have allowed it.

“May I ask one more favor of you, Ameond?” 

He gave a slight nod.

Rhaenyra took a deep breath, as if debating whether or not to speak. “Please don’t call my boys bastards. It cuts deeper than you know.”

Aemond did not agree, or disagree, he simply cast one last longing glance at Aelinor’s door,and then left the room, determined to return in the morning with an armful of sweets for his princess.

Years later, Rhaenyra would wonder if that was the first day the lines were drawn between their families. When she inadvertently handed Aemond Targaryen the words with which to wound her own children. But at the time, she knew only that he cared deeply for her daughter, and she hoped and prayed that it would be enough to preserve this tender peace.

#house of the dragon #hotd #houseofthedragon #aemond targaryen #aemond fanfiction #aemond x oc #game of thrones #fanfiction #multi-chapter #fanfic

[plushii-gutz]

Part 18 >:] @bear-cubs-art-things I know you'll read this either way but

Just making sure

❄️❄️❄️❄️❄️❄️❄️❄️❄️❄️❄️❄️❄️

On Amber Island, there was fear. It spread rapidly through the town, the Celestials breaking apart in search of their lost friends. Keeping themselves hidden was no longer an option. Schmoochle flew over the boat, Yool looking through every room. Blabbit had already started with the theories, being scolded by Hoola. Clavavera wished for their safety, knowing well it was all she could do.

For too long, there were no answers. Cecilia and Enya had gone out to speak to Furnoss himself, both to welcome him and to assist in his search. A years worth of explanations were thrown about in a matter or minutes. The Candelavra ordered for any and all flying monsters to begin their own search, to go as far as they believed they needed. Those unable to go far simply kept an eye out.

"Uh - Cecilia?" The kayna tugged on her arm nervously, "I think -"

"Not now, Enya."

"Cecilia!"

Enya seemed to freeze, their eyes lighting with a vibrant orange flame. For a moment, she was silent. The next, they spoke.

"A burned castle. The island it's on was small. There's something coming that way."

"Our island," Scaratar hopped to Furnoss's side, "She saw our island! Attmoz.. why would he go back?"

"I know the directions," Furnoss motioned Punkleton over. "Get Hoola, and tell her to bring the map."

Wind chilled Galvana to their core. Attmoz had taken them back onto the Seasonals ship to grap their toy, only for them to be ripped from the island and into the sky. Attmoz had the young monster in a tight grasp, bolting through the sky with two cloud wings formed onto his back as it grew darker and darker with vicious stom clouds. He can't wait any longer. He had the confirmation he needed.

Galvana cried out, overwhelmed and scared of the ocean below. They no longer trusted for Attmoz not to drop them. Their little hands dug into his fur, his skin. But he didn't acknowledge it. So long as he had the supernatural orb and its powers, he didn't care. Galvana came with him because they were the only one who knew where their power remained.

Attmoz hardly knew which way to go. The wind rattled in his ears and caused his eye to water, proving difficulties of his journey. It just didn't matter. Hours of flying would be worth everything in the end.

He soon found he wasn't alone. Behind him soared a monster half his height, firey feathered wings flapping against the current of harsh gusts.

"That's enough, kid!" They called out, "Turn around! There's nothing out here for you!"

The air Celestial shifted himself back, a strong fog rising from the waters below up to him. Hidden, he began to form intricate twists and turns, easily losing the monster chasing him. They fell from the sky, plummeting into the ocean. Staying afloat, the glowl yelled once more. Only now, they called for reinforcement.

Another flying beast made their way through the maze of fog, four eyes, four arms, and purple wings. They had a proboscis, which erupted with a harsh, rippling noise in an attempt to get Attmoz's attention. It had worked, though likely not what the rare Floogull had hoped for. With the mixture of Attmoz's powers and the fear-driven electricity of Galvana, lighting struck the rare from the sky. Charred wings don't carry far. Soon, they joined their fallen friend.

The sight just barely knocked a bit of sense into the air monster. But he was determined. Nothing would set him off track.

What could've been hours of flying and crying was finally coming to an end. It wasn't until he landed that Attmoz realized the small cuts all over his and Galvana's skin. He wondered how they had gotten there..

The castle had fallen apart further since their departure. Attmoz left Galvana on the stone ground, tearing up the sheets of molded wood and decaying debris from the burial sight. It fell apart like ash in his hands, staining his fur and leaving splinters in his fingers.

There he lied, rested among the wreckage. Glaishurs body remained as it had been when they left. It hadn't rotted nor changed, almost as if it had been frozen in time. Attmoz could see the burnt flesh, the missing patches of fur and skin. The left side of Glaishur's skull was still visible. A horrible sight.

He grabbed onto Galvana's orb, now smeared with rot. His hands tingled with its element like needles poking him. Galvana was in no way able to do this themselves. Attmoz needed that power, the energy, but he couldn't get to it. It was caged away, kept from him. He looked over every bit of it, trying to find something of it. Soon, he found a crack in the glass.

The edges of his mouth curled into a smile. Glaishur was coming back. Everything would be normal again. Everything would be ok.

Attmoz lifted the ball into the air and then smashed it on the ground. He raised it high, then down. Over and over, he beat the orb til the broken pattern grew larger. One more time, he lifted it up.

"Attmoz!" Galvana cried.

It took the final blow. It shattered in his hands, ripping apart his exposed flesh. However, he felt no pain from it. Attmoz felt waves upon waves of pure electricity course through his body, burning his veins and tearing him apart limb by limb. He felt as if his body were being shredded. Mutilated. Destroyed. And yet his smile remained. Through the agony, he felt accomplished. Everything was ok now.

☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️

Beeps echoed in Attmoz's head. Vision blurred, he was unable to recognize or make sense of his location. One thing was for sure: it wasn't his home. It smelled of a chemical he wasn't familiar with, cold as ever. Something felt tight around his arm, something else over his chest. It was painful to move.

"He's waking up," someone whispered.

The celestial blinked a few more times. Finally, his sight was restored. The room was primarily white, a few splotches of beige here and there. A single window to his left was covered with a curtain, small rays of moonlight shining through.

"I'd asked how you feel," a different voice spoke, "but I'd assume your answer is 'shit'."

"Viola, be nice! He's been through a lot," another scolded.

"Fine. Anyway, I'm Viola. Possibly the only bowgart here who knows what they're doing."

Attmoz wasn't sure what a Bowgart was, but Viola seemed reliable enough. She had four arms, two of which held a clipboard and pen, and a light purple pelt that was covered by a white coat. Round glasses stood on the edge of their face, occasionally being pushed back up as she spoke of his condition. Next to them stood a small pink Furcorn who seemed oddly familiar. It didn't make any sense to him. Where was he? How had he gotten here?

"I'm going to go out on a limb and say you have no memory, no?"

"N- wha - no?"

"As expected," She flipped a page up. "You're lucky your anatomy is relatively simple compared to the other monsters that get put in here. Sustained a lot of injuries, still better than the guy next to you. After being resuscitated, you were flown out here from many islands away, and now we get to deal with it. Considering you haven't killed me yet, I can also assume your celestial abilities are very minor."

"Ok, glasses, I get it.. where's Glaishur?"

"Behind that curtain. He must love the sound of ringing, considering he flatlined multiple times."

Attmoz immediately jerked himself to get up, only for his body to be restricted to the bed. Under the blanket, he was held to the mattress.

"Oh, and that? Furnoss warned us ahead of time you weren't exactly stable."

Attmoz ripped his way through it easily.

"Oh, well, fuck me I guess."

Viola helped the injured monster walk, the little Furcorn pushing the IV pole. Behind the curtain, Glaishur rested in his bed. He was visibly scuffed up and beaten, but far better than before. Most of the fur on his body had to be shaved in order to perform proper inspections and sutures, as well as a bit on the size of his face, but the bandages covered most of it. He had his little toy, Boo, tucked into the blankets next to him. He played with Plixie and Hornacle, both being very careful as they stuck stickers onto one another.

"Thank the Celestials - er, you - for pain medications. Probably the only thing keeping both of you sane."

"You aren't a very good doctor," Flower the Furcorn complained.

"I'm a bad monster, not a bad doctor."

"How 'bout you both shut up, eh?"

Flower and Viola agreed. Glaishur looked up from the two kids to Attmoz. For a while, neither knew what to say. Glaishur motioned for Attmoz to come closer. Once he did, the cold monster stuck a shimmering smiley-face sticker on his cheek. He didn't have any words to give, but maybe this was enough.

"Heh. Missed you too, bud."

Furnoss spoke with the doctors on and off, having to learn about medicines and routines in order for Glaishur and Attmoz to remain healthy once they're well enough to leave.

"Oh, and the last guy seemingly had no complications. It's already up and walking."

"Last guy?" Furnoss questioned.

The door opened. Attmoz grew tense immediately at the sight of who stood there.

"Loodvigg," Furnoss gave a horrid look. The shadow monster lowered his eyes.

"Well?" Syncopite moved to Furnoss's side, "What do you have to say for yourself?"

"I.. I'm sorry." Loodvigg drew in a long breath. "While I was.. away.. I spoke with an Interdimensional monster."

A feline-ish monster leaned into the frame of the door, slightly transparent with thin purple fur covering them. They waved.

"I believe.. it would be best if I left. There is.. much to work on. For myself and for you."

Furnoss looked to Attmoz, Glaishur, Syncopite. They seemed to believe Loodvigg, just this once.

"Very well then," Furnoss kept his arms crossed. "Once we find a home, maybe I'll ponder the idea of you being allowed within it."

"There is no need, Furnoss. You've given me far too much grace. This very well may be goodbye."

Loodvigg felt a slight tug of his arm. Galvana stood there, pulling it down and smacking at its face. They didn't seem all too annoyed, maybe even a bit entertained.

"Alright, alright. You've made your point, Galvana, I understand-"

They then put a bandage over the spot where they had hit so often. Loodvigg's eyes grew glossy with ink black tears. How could he have ever hurt such a forgiving monster? Did they understand what they had done?

"Thank you, Galvana. I must be on my way. Furnoss? Thank you. If I could ever show my gratitude, I would."

The ghazt hovered into the room, soaring around Loodvigg and leaving.

"I best be going.. goodbye, everyone. Hopefully, if we meet again, it will be different."

Did he really forgive Loodvigg after everything? After all the shit it had put then through? Maybe he did.

"What now?" Attmoz asked Furnoss.

"We go home," he answered simply. "We were offered a spot to stay at near the hospital while you and Glaishur heal up a bit more. I plan to look around the area for a while, meet a few monsters. Plant Island is huge. There's definitely somewhere we can stay."

Plixie pulled a blanket up and over Glaishur, demanding for him to sleep and get better. It didn't seem too bad of an idea to him. He pulled Boo closer to himself, settling under the covers. It wasn't the best bed, but he had never felt more comfortable in his life. He was out cold in seconds.

Viola offered a tour of the hospital to Attmoz as the rest of the group left. He declined, saving it for another time while he also rested up more. Besides, he'd rather be with his bud more than anything.

Tomorrow is another day.

#fallen stars msm #fanfiction #fallen stars #fallen stars au #i brought Glaishur back now give me money

[straightbaittournament]

only the option with the lowest percentage will be eliminated! propaganda under the cut (and more is always welcome!):

tim drake and stephanie brown:

Tim and Steph are a thing for most of their history. Then stuff happens and they break up and soon after that Tim is confirmed to be bi and starts dating Bernard (former random side character who nobody thought would ever be relevant again)

lisa cuddy and gregory house:

The show spends 7 seasons hinting that House is going to end up with Cuddy, and then writes her out in season 7. In the finale, he has a flashback of people who impacted his life and she doesn’t even show If House and Wilson can’t be together, then House and Cuddy should

nell serrano and edward:

Not Dead Yet? More like Not Together Yet

ash ketchum and misty:

They’re basically set up as a kind of enemies to friends story and they make recurring jokes about how she clearly has a big crush on him, but nothing ever happens My childhood, i shipped them when I was 10

matthew and mary crawley:

They spend multiple seasons full of tension to get their happy ever after. There are so many tropes used between these two. They finally get their shit together and get married, and then have a beautiful child together. Matthew is so happy about his child being born that he doesn't pay attention to the road and fucking DIES IN A CAR CRASH. And that's how their story ends. It makes me so livid every time I think about it lol they really killed him off like that right after and I mean RIGHT AFTER his child is born. It's so foul and every man that they set Mary up with after that doesn't feel nearly the same

maka albarn and soul evans:

Throughout the series, they have a deep friendship with each other which is consistently extremely important to the story's narrative. In order for them to be able to fight, they must get along and resonate with each other, and due to the mechanics of their world, fighting independently of each other is extremely difficult. In multiple instances, they are shown to be willing to put themselves in harm's way to extreme degrees to keep each other safe. They are even shown to live together. They are The Singular Straight Ship I have ever shipped and I love them. Also they are really cool and Soul can turn into an awesome scythe weapon that like only Maka can wield. And they fight really awesomely together.

grace blackthorn and christopher lightwood:

Okay so basically in Shadowhunters there was this family tree, and on it it stated that Christopher and Grace got married and had a kid. And in the book series they were just good friends. Cassandra Clare (the author) has said it’s inaccurate. But like cmon you said they were going to get married 😭😭

kipo oak and benson mekler:

It only lasts a few episodes, but this is a very clear INTENTIONAL straight bait from the writers, as it's a female main character with a male major supporting character, and Benson even takes Kipo to a carnival, which Kipo interprets as a date, until she confesses attraction to him, where he tells her he's gay and just wants to be friends.

cali and flynn:

It starts off as a one-sided crush on Flynn’s side, and later becomes mutual when Cali develops feelings for him in the Skylanders IDW spin-off comics, their romantic tension lasts for most of the franchise (five games, a chapter of a spin-off comic, and a few bits and pieces in the spin-off books and mobile games), so far they’ve never gotten together as the franchise is currently still in hiatus mode (says this while on extreme copium) I think we need to appreciate the tropes in Calynn: Opposites Attract, Tough Girl x Himbo, Smart x Dumb, “You’re stupid, I like that in a man” vibes all over this ship! Seven year old me didn’t see Cali calling Flynn her guy in the sky whilst Flynn looked at her with heart eyes to lose to some other pairing!

good luck everyone! now go vote!

#the shadowhunter chronicles #the last hours #skylanders #soul eater #kipo and the age of wonderbeasts #downton abbey #pokemon #not dead yet #house md #dc comics #singles tournament round 1

[romeoandjulietyouwish]

anyway I adore Kingsley so have a character study I guess <3

Kingsley bounds to the front of the ship, looking out at the water with childlike glee. Childlike is right, he’s technically not even three months old. Sometimes he feels older, sometimes he really does feel like the child the others seem to think he is.

Everything is still so fascinating and new but also familiar. The ship isn’t familiar, neither is the water, but the people are. Jester and Fjord. It feels as though he should know them but he doesn’t.

Every so often he gets a flash of a memory, Jester smiling up at him, whispering to him in Infernal. Or Fjord bisecting some kind of creature with a sword.

He doesn’t tell them as much, doesn’t want them to get their hopes up that whoever inhabited this body before him is returning. He’s not that person anymore, either of them, and it’s taking them all some adjusting.

Kingsley takes a big breath of salty air as the wind blows his coat back, certain with every bone in his body, that he's never done this before.

They tell him he used to read fortunes. And apparently they’re right. His hands know the worn deck of tarot cards Jester hands him. He knows how to get the card he wants to the top and how to trick his customer into thinking he’s genuine. Kingsley hates it. It’s not him. It’s something else, someone else in his head bleeding through.

So he gives the tarot cards back to Jester. The next time they make port he purchases a worn book on palm reading. He reads through it in one night, burning a candle down to the stand. And the next day he spends hours just staring at his palm. 

His life line is frayed, splitting off into three lines. He traces a nail through them, wondering which one is his. Wondering if it even matters.

His heartline is the deepest one. It means you love deeply and completely, the book had said. And that’s the one he’s become fixated on. How can his hand know more about him than he does? It doesn’t make any sense and yet at the same time it makes the most sense of it all. This hasn’t always been his body. Maybe the line was meant for someone else. Lucien? Mollymauk? 

Sometimes when he lies in his hammock below decks, he’ll trace that line over and over again, hoping beyond anything that it belongs to him.

The nightmares are the worst part. More often than not in the early months, he wakes up screaming names he barely knows, looking at faces he doesn’t remember. He dreams of a city made of roiling flesh. He dreams of a snowy road and a sharp blade. He dreams of a figure in red staring down at him. He dreams of dirt and ash and books and eyes. So many eyes. 

Nothing but fucking eyes.

Jester is always there to comfort him. She’s good at that. She’ll hold him in her arms, let him cry and babble on and on about his dreams, switching mindlessly between Common and Infernal. She doesn’t judge. She doesn’t tell anyone.

She’ll braid his hair and sing a song her mother wrote her. Kingsley doesn’t know his mother. He doubts he ever will. And it eats at him far more than he would ever let on. Jester never sees his thumb digging into his life line almost hard enough to cut the skin.

Unlike the others, Caduceus has no expectations of him. He is a welcome friend, despite their many differences. It's Caduceus that Kingsley talks to when he can no longer stand the thought of staring at his palm, wondering what it all means.

Caduceus takes his hand, gentle as ever, and turns his hand over so Kingsley can no longer see the lines. He taps his thumb against the scar on the back of Kingsley's hand, asks him how he got it.

Kingsley is prepared to say he doesn't know, that it's a relic from Molly or Lucien. But then he takes a better look at it and smiles, telling Caduceus that it's from when Fjord tried to teach him to cook and a huge wave rocked the ship making him cut himself.

And in that instant, Kingsley understands the point Caduceus is trying to make. It doesn't matter who came before him, it doesn't matter which lines are his, because at the end of the day it's his body now. Every day he's figuring out who he is, he's adopting mannerisms, he's learning. And he's growing.

And that has to be enough.

#my fic #mighty nein #cr spoilers #critical role #kingsley tealeaf

[thatsadroleplayer]

Roleplay information

About me!

Kia Ora! My name is Roman. I am genderfluid and use any pronouns. I enjoy roleplaying, of course, writing, art, reading and a whole bunch of other new stuff. I am open to friends outside of roleplaying, if that is something you'd want. I am from New Zealand! This is just a post about information when it comes to roleplaying that I find important!

Fandoms

(This will go in order of current hyperfixations, etc, although that is subject to change and will be edited when necessary)

The last of us (will base it more around the show but I've also seen playthroughs of both games)

9-1-1

Criminal minds

Sanders sides

Stranger things

Marvel

DC

Buddy daddies

Banana fish

Sk8

Characters

(This will go in order of favourites to least favourites to play as, if the character isn't listed but is a main character in the show it means I likely won't play them)

The last of us

Ellie Williams

Joel Miller

9-1-1

Eddie Diaz

Evan Buckley

Bobby Nash-Grant

Maddie Buckley

Christopher Diaz

Athena Grant-Nash

Hen Wilson

May Grant

Chim Han

Criminal minds

Spencer Reid

Emily Prentiss

Penelope Garcia

Jennifer Jareau

Derek Morgan

Tara Lewis

David Rossi

Aaron Hotchner

Sanders sides

Roman

Patton

Virgil

Janus

Logan

Remus

Stranger things

Steve Harrington

Eddie Munson

Robin Buckley

Max Mayfield

Eleven/El/Jane

Will Byers

Lucas Sinclair

Marvel

Peter Parker

Yelena Belova

Clint Barton

Kate Bishop

Natasha Romanoff

America Chavez

Bucky Barnes

Bruce Banner

Tony Stark

Wade Wilson

Steve Rogers

DC

Jason Todd

Dick Grayson

Tim Drake

Damian Wayne

Wally West

Roy Harper

Donna Troy

Garth

Kon Kent

Jon Kent

Bruce Wayne

Clark Kent

Diana Prince

Buddy Daddies

Kazuki Kurusu

Rei Suwa

Miri Unasaka

Kyutaro Kugi

Banana fish

Yut Lung Lee

Ash Lynx

Shorter Wong

Sing Soo-Ling

Eiji Okumura

Blanca

Sk8

Tadashi Kikuchi

Kaoru Sakurayashiki (Cherry)

Kojiro Nanjo (Joe)

Reki Kyan

Langa Hasegawa

Miya Chinen

Rules

Do not spam me, I have to sleep, go to school, spend time with friends, etc. If I do not respond within twelve hours, then you are welcome to begin to send me reminders.

I will only rp NSFW if it is something the roleplay is leading up to, I will not do a lot of it and it cannot be the main point of the roleplay.

Do not take control of my characters, if you want something to happen then you can speak tome about it and we can figure it out together.

Respect my boundaries, if I tell you something makes me uncomfortable or I don't want to do it do not push me.

My dms are open! If you have ideas and want to do them with me feel free to reach out! I am open to trying other fandoms other than what I have listed, so feel free to suggest things. If I don't know the fandom/haven't finished whatever it is then I will let you know. If is your decision from there whether you wish to continue or find someone better suited.

Communicate with me! I will not know what is going on if you don't communicate. If there's a scene you want to do, if you have to be offline for a while, etc don't be afraid to talk to me! I will do the same.

I welcome any and all identity headcanons except if you make gay characters straight. I often headcanon characters as trans myself.

I am open to ship suggestions, I will tell you if it makes me uncomfortable but if you suggest an obviously problematic ship I will simply block you.

I prefer long responses, but I will try my best to match whatever length you use.

I will not play abusive characters if they are a main character. If they're a side character that is fine, but if they are a main character I won't do it.

I do not have triggers but if you're going to include something that could be triggering please warn me first, it makes me uncomfortable when those kinds of things are suddenly sprung on me.

If you do not follow these rules you will be given a max of three warnings before I will just block you and/or stop replying.

If you think any of this fits you feel free to reach out! Whether you have an idea already or would like to come up with one together!

#911 fox #evan buckley #eddie diaz #hen wilson #chim han #bobby nash #athena grant #firefam #911 roleplay #911 rp #christopher diaz #may grant #marvel #iron man #peter parker #spider man #tony stark #yelena belova #clint barton #kate bishop #natasha romanoff #buck barnes #bruce banner #america chavez #wade wilson #steve rogers #captain america #black widow #hawkeye #stranger things

[findyourrp]

welcome, to my begging hour, apologies for this being a little long <3

🪐

Anyways, hiiiiii! I'm Chainsaw/Fami, 20. she/her, EST. My semester starts in like a few weeks so activity may fluctuate. I (try to) write a minimum of 500+ words which is split into like three paragraphs. Openers/beginning posts can stretch to 600-1000+ words and 5-10 paragraphs. I like to write, sue me. Reply times vary greatly, sometimes I can do once a day or once a week. I prefer a partner that isn't a stickler for reply time in general, I'm happy to wait (I've waited a month for a reply before) and I hope that extends to me. Please do not bump/nudge/poke me for a response, I will leave instantly. Bad experiences has lead to a zero tolerance thing with that.

Very open to ooc! I love chatting about headcanons, making fanart, playlists, etc, etc. I do not like shutting up! Let me babble about our ocs and ships! Age requirements for potential partners is 18+ for my own comfort.

I have writing samples on standby if needed, and I prefer if you could send some in your first message! Okay now onto the nitty gritty!! As the title says I'm looking for something Spiderverse or Overwatch, for canon/oc (I do doubling more on that below!). ATSV is now on streaming sites, makes my brain rot way worse! I just fucking love Spiderman, Miles is my fav. AND pve is out for ow, I'm eating!! I'm eating!!

Spiderverse

Characters I'm seeking: Miguel O'hara, Peter B Parker

Characters I can write: Gwen Stacy (very selective with my Gwen muse for reasons), Miles Morales, Hobie Brown, Spot (Jonathan Ohnn), Pavitr Prabhakar, Lyla, Peter B Parker, probably others if you ask nicely

Interested in writing Hobie, Lyla and Pav ngl but I'm happy to write anyone in general! I just wanna practice my muses since I write little short stories all the time.

Overwatch

Characters I'm seeking: Cole Cassidy (PLEASE), Genji Shimada, possibly looking for an Ashe or Mercy too,,,need to finish the girlies I want to pair with them tho Characters I can write: A lot, I used to write Overwatch a lot in the ow1 days. Some muses are rusty, some muses I hate writing in general! But just ask and I'll let you know <3

Open to AUs, canon divergence, etc. I prefer if we use the latter for our storylines, mostly because I think trying to make a plot around ATSV is tough. Same with Overwatch. Canon divergence is fun anyway, yeehaw. Hope to hear from you!!

.

#rp finder #18+ rp #fandom rp #fandom roleplay #mcu rp #spiderverse rp #overwatch rp #oc x cc rp

[disturbnot]

— ALL IS VIOLENT, ALL IS BRIGHT.

TIMESKIP ASH KETCHUM ( evolution tantamount to an original character ) mutuals only. 18+. originally est. july 2013 — re-est. sept 2023 — fka ferociter. low activity / minimal formatting. crossover friendly / verses available. reflecting all the stark contrasts between the coexisting horror and splendour of the pokémon world — broken realities, cosmic horror unyielding, a jagged deconstruction of protagonist syndrome, the power of connection, an absurdist's rebellion against the madness of immortality, and the indomitable living spirit.

written and drawn ad infinitum by shan. ( 30+ / any pronouns / GMT )

  CARRD. COMMON KNOWLEDGE. MUN / PERSONAL.

BASICS — hi there! my name is shan. i'm a 30 year old brit and i go by any pronouns. a small few of you might remember me as ferociter. and this here is ash! a passion project of mine for thirteen years and counting. thank you so much for dropping by to spend some time with us! please bear in mind that this blog is for adults only, any minors will be softblocked.

CREDITS — as mentioned, all art and graphics here are made by me. please do not take my art or other works/lore and reappropriate them any way. it won't be fun for either of us (trust me, it's happened before).

CONTENT — i won't beat around the bush, ash is a rich and multifaceted character, and while he has plenty of good in him, his development also includes touching on some darker topics. these include death, grief, trauma, cosmic horror, substance misuse (alcohol and weed), mental health issues, mentions of suicide. any potentially triggering stuff will be tagged in simple terms, e.g., 'alcohol cw /' and so on. while i appreciate these topics aren't for everyone, i would be grateful for good faith interactions. ash is not for everyone, and that's okay, but he might be for you!

ACTIVITY — i will always try to be somewhat active here, even if it's just in the form of OOC posts (which i do a lot of, i can be chatty). i work 40+ hours a week, have my own place, a partner and a family i spend a lot of time with. i am also neurodivergent. the autistic/unmedicated adhd sort. this will also affect my activity and responsiveness in places, so please bear with me! i don't mind the occasional message nudging about replies, but please don't nag me. if it happens, it happens.

COMMUNICATION — as said above, i am neurodivergent, and this can affect the way i communicate and come across to people. i welcome being nudged when i've come across badly or rubbed someone the wrong way. i am always trying to be better than i was yesterday and be as kind as i can, but i am also very candid! which means that if i have any issue with you, i will respectfully just try to talk to you about things directly the way i would expect someone to talk to me. this isn't intended to be confrontational! i am just a direct person and i value candour/frank communication in my friendships. my DMs and discord are always available to mutuals and i am almost always happy to chat about anything!

SHIPPING / NSFW — now for the controversial bit. shipping isn't the focus of this blog, but i do enjoy shipping and am indeed open for it. please bear in mind, though, that ash is a gay man and will not enter any relationships with women/women-aligned folks (exes on the other hand ... ) there must be some sort of chemistry as well. in terms of nsfw, sexual content will be scant on this blog, but it may very well crop up occasionally (clearly tagged and under a read more). if this is something you are uncomfortable with, i understand! but please don't come bugging me about it. i've developed ash for a long time and i consider him his own independent iteration (the way you would consider RBY!red and USUM!red different). he is a grown man with his own unique design and personality development, not to mention he's nearly 40 now. i feel i'd be remiss to talk about every single other dark corner of his life but his sexuality, y'know?

all guidelines subject to change and addition!

#pls no reblog. it's just me refreshed pin / #hi how you doing

[satansapostle6]

love and blood | killian jones

The course of history is changed forever when a ruggedly charming pirate’s fate is intertwined with that of a dark sorceress more powerful than any he had ever encountered.

Warnings: Violence. Mature themes/language. Sexual content.

I. The Encounter

Killian Jones, the handsome pirate captain known by the crude moniker ‘Hook’ for his missing left hand, had never passed through any territory so treacherous as that of the Land of Blood. What else he was expecting, he had no idea. But the long treks through the territory had him perpetually on edge, even with his entire crew behind him. The Land of Blood was like nowhere the captain had ever ventured before, even in his years as a seafarer.

Hook had heard many things said about the realm that had only been referred to as the ‘Land of Blood’, many a gruesome and depraved tale, but only now did he begin to heed the warnings, the hushed whispers he remembered being spoken in dimly lit taverns. Hook was an adventurer; he never backed down from a challenge of any sort, and he certainly never abandoned a rewarding quest. But even he was off-put by the dark, foggy forests and the occasional, intermittent screams that would cut through the silence every now and then.

Captain Hook truly had no idea what those strangely paced screams could have been, or even which direction they were coming from. But he knew one thing; the less time spent in this godforsaken land, the better. Soon enough, a small but grating voice cut into Hook’s contemplation.

“Captain, pardon me, but shouldn’t we take a rest?”

Hook’s first mate, William Smee, had broken the men’s long silent streak. It had been almost an entire day since they had docked their ship.

“We’ve been over this, Mr. Smee,” Killian Jones said curtly. “These are not woods to lollygag in.”

Killian had mixed feelings about his own use of the word ‘lollygag’, but he committed anyway and doubled down on his display of authority.

“But we’re all so tired, Captain,” Smee complained still, stopping to scream and squat as a giant raven swooped over his head. “I-I asked the men. They’re not too afraid of the wolves.”

It had been hours since Killian had last eaten, and his first mate had just disrespected his authority for the last time.

“Listen to me, you insubordinate fuck,” Hook spat, turning around sharply.

Mr. Smee gulped frantically as the sharp metal hook that replaced his captain’s left hand was held under his chin, the point barely piercing his throat.

“I am your captain. I am your judge, jury, and executioner, for a reason; because you’re all a bunch of idiots. None of you could survive another second in this forest without me. But you’re welcome to try, if you want that rest so badly. The fact that wolves are what you lot think we have to be afraid of in these woods shows how little imagination you have,” Hook reminded the group.

The men all seemed to look at each other in fear as they suddenly remembered the magic that existed in the world.

“Now. Anyone feeling brave?” Hook questioned rhetorically, throwing his hands up in the air. “Anyone feeling like taking a rest?”

The silence and stillness of all the men answered his question for him.

“Alright. Now shut up, and keep behind me.”

The journey deeper into the realm continued in complete silence. No one felt like provoking their ornery captain any further. It seemed Hook was the only one who truly kept their goal in mind; they had journeyed to the Land of Blood solely for the purpose of finding a mysterious individual by the name of Col, in the City of Ash, who was said to possess something essential by the vague name of the ‘Blue Scroll’.

Hook had no idea what this scroll was, or even who this ‘Col’ person was. He knew nothing other than that basic information, even in regards to who had sent him and his men on this strange quest. He knew almost nothing of his client, a bizarre and secretive sorcerer who had promised an obscene quantity of diamonds to the men. Hook knew nothing of the cloaked sorcerer he had struck a deal with; he was only mostly certain that it was even a man.

But asking questions was never something Hook concerned himself with, thinking himself an ‘opportunistic’ individual. Hook would’ve retrieved that damned scroll for a dog, had it paid him enough. Hook wasn’t stupid; he knew that the journey through the Land of Blood alone would be more treacherous than anywhere he had ever traveled before.

He knew that the journey there would be difficult and treacherous with stormy weather and magical obstacles, which it was, and he knew that the Land of Blood itself was full of magical lawlessness he did not wish to stay long enough to understand. He had made sure that his and the crew’s compensation would be more than enough to justify the harrowing task ahead.

Hook knew nothing of Col, or of the inner workings of the infamous Land of Blood. Although he had heard rumors. He’d heard many rumors, mostly pertaining to the dark magic that resided within the land. Some rumors suggested that it was ruled by dark sorcerers who lured children and criminals such as Hook and his men to their deaths.

Many rumors also seemed to reflect that some believed that the land was ruled by vicious cannibals. Some rumors even claimed that the criminals and monsters themselves had since pillaged the land, and taken control, still to this day continued on murdering and raping as they pleased. Most of the rumors about the Land of Blood believed all of these things to be true.

Hook’s greatest fear in his travels was that he’d find out. It was only hours before he and the men, on pained and tired feet, reached civilization. If it could even be called that. Hook ascertained that this realm’s idea of civilization was not like most of the places one might travel to. Everything was just everywhere. There was no sense of structure, no order.

Killian could not tell the residences apart from the establishments, and neither seemed to be well-run. Every single one of the structures the men encountered were crudely built and prioritized functionality above all else, as if built from scraps in a hurry. They saw no people; they only heard them, in the alarming forms of scuffling feet, or loud bangs, or even piercing screams.

Killian had no idea what was actually going on in this strange, disenfranchised village, but he kept to himself, fiercely ordering all of the men to keep their heads down and their mouths shut so as to avoid trouble. They had only just arrived, but Killian was quickly gathering that this was the kind of place to be avoided even in broad daylight.

*****

It took another day or so, but eventually, Captain Hook and his men found their way into parts that more so resembled civilization. There were, at the very least, actual roads, and buildings, and the people could actually be seen and seemed relatively safe to talk to. The men had asked around for directions and found suitable inns and taverns to acquaint themselves with, preparing for the rest of their journey.

It was another three days before the men of he Jolly Roger arrived in a town near the City of Ash. Even in the safer heart of the Land of Blood, their travels were still embedded with danger. It was like nothing Killian Jones had ever seen; even those who could be considered well-off in comparison with the other denizens of this cursed land seemed to have this glimmer of spiteful desperation in their eyes.

Even when they spoke to Killian and his men in a civilized manner, giving directions, or offering hospitality, it seemed as if they were still itching and would’ve slit all their throats without hesitation if given a reason. Given those odd experiences, Hook told his men never to interact with anyone unless absolutely necessary.

All of the people that they encountered were, at best, strange and off-putting, and at worst, violent and sadistic. Many of these strangers seemed to notice Hook and his men automatically, but luckily, none of them acted upon it.

Although they had all kept to themselves, the men had witnessed countless stabbings, magical duels, and other unusual acts of violence in the Land of Blood. Hook dreaded their arrival in the City of Ash, because he knew it meant they’d have to start asking questions once again. Luckily, their interactions were ideal, as far as the Land of Blood; just strange and unpleasant.

A man in a cloak had pointed them east toward the larger city, and Hook had thanked him promptly before they headed in that direction. He had been questioning the decision to take directions from all the seemingly untrustworthy locals ever since they had arrived, but nothing had happened so far. One thing that he was noticing was that almost everyone they had met was wearing a long, dark cloak, as if concealing themselves from the word.

None of his men had cloaks, himself included, and Hook was beginning to feel very uneasy as they reached the city. Once they had found themselves in the City of Ash, where it seemed to be lightly snowing for some reason, Hook took upon himself to ask a question of the nearby local he found to be the least threatening.

The longer they stayed, the more Killian became assured of the truth behind the cannibal rumors; everyone looked at them hatefully and hungrily as they passed through, from the beggars on the ground to the shop owners who Killian frankly had no idea what they actually sold, given the state of things.

There was a man in a burgundy cloak standing in the middle of what sort of resembled a town square, almost as if waiting to provide assistance, so Hook figured that this man had to be some sort of public servant or something.

“Excuse me sir,” he said. “Can I ask a question of you?”

The man looked at him with an almost scholarly curiosity. “Depends on the question.”

Hook’s crew all looked at one another, not surprised by the eccentric response.

“I’m looking for someone. A sorcerer,” Hook stated promptly.

“Do you have a name?”

The man’s voice had an odd, rather theatrical lilt to it, as if every sentence he spoke was its own soliloquy.

“Col,” Hook responded. “Just Col.”

“Mmm!” the stranger said with intrigue.

Hook tried to contain his confusing mixture of simultaneous fear and annoyance.

“No one’s come looking for Col in ages!”

The man thought for a moment.

“I believe you’ll find him skulking about the Forbidden Palace.”

“Great. And how do we get there?” Hook asked, only to be met with a loud, derisive giggle.

“Pardon me!” the man cackled humorously. “But one simply does not ignore the name of the palace! It’s called ‘forbidden’ for a reason!”

“What’s the reason?” Hook demanded impatience.

“Why, look at the people around you now!” the stranger reasoned. “Murderers, rapists, cannibals, lowlifes! Imagine the evil that towers over us!”

“We can handle it,” Killian assured him.

“No,” the man laughed still, “You can’t!”

“Just tell me how to get there!” Hook yelled, instantly regretting losing his temper.

“Fine, fine, fine!” the man complained melodramatically, “You go north up to the Haunted Forest, and you stop at the giant fucking palace that lords over everything like a giant bird in the sky! Satisfied now?!” he screeched at him.

Hook fought the urge to roll his eyes, concluding the conversation as calmly as he could. He was never this polite, but given these people and the strange magic many of them seemed to possess, he was in no mood to trifle with them.

“Thank you. We’ll be on our way now.”

The man watched with great interest as the group of men walked past him, heading off into the woods.

“You’re going to your death!” the stranger yelled at them rather cheerfully.

*****

The Forbidden Palace was just as eerie and sinister as Killian could’ve imagined. It looked like an evil place, made from stone that looked almost black. All of the men were starting to panic as they mindfully crossed the bridge together, watching fearfully as the gate began to slowly rise.

“Does someone know we’re here?!” Mr. Smee whispered.

“Shut up!” the captain hissed, drawing his sword.

The men readied themselves and waited, only for nothing to happen.

“Follow me,” Hook murmured, treading carefully. “It looks like a trap.”

They all proceeded as instructed, slowly inching their way toward the gate until they found themselves right at the front doors, alarmed by how easy it all was. Hook was startled as the heavy doors suddenly swung open on their own, revealing nothing but darkness inside. This, Hook knew, was magic, only he still had no idea as to who had conjured it.

“Captain?” Smee whispered as they stood at the open doors, sounding like a scared child. “What do we do?”

“Follow me,” Hook repeated through gritted teeth, his eyes dark as he prepared himself for danger, “And don’t make a sound.”

Hook and his men stepped over the threshold, all of them entering the palace just as he whipped around in an instant to find that all of his men were individually disappearing in puffs of thick black smoke. Killian began to panic as he realized he had no idea what was happening, nor did he have any idea what would stop it. He only searched the room frantically for the source of the enchantments.

He saw no one in the darkness, but once the doors magically shut behind him and his eyes adjusted to the absence of light, they settled on a tiny silhouette at the very top of the stairs that seemed a mile away from him. A small voice, even from that distance, managed to fill his ears like a yell. It was magic he was entirely unfamiliar with.

“Well. Who might you be?”

A woman’s voice, sultry and calculated, haunted and tormented his mind in a single moment.

-

II. The Witch

#killian jones #once upon a time #captain hook #ouat #ouat rumple #colin o'donoghue #captain hook ouat #captain hook x reader #hook x reader #killian jones x reader

[cattyscriptor]

⤷ dividers/headers: @/cafekitsune ( 1 | 2 )

A million eyes are on you now.

➩ asks (mod) | asks (critters ; Survivors) ➩ art | storyline

Welcome all to the official Empathy & Vacation blog! Unfamiliar with the AU ? Go to the main @lavendersartistry (specifically here) for intel!

So what is Empathy & Vacation you may ask? This particular AU is the alternate reality of Matron in the Playhouse storyline (a technical “rescue” AU). This AU delves into the rescue of the Bigger Bodies Initiative toys after the Hour of Joy and game events. This AU is set to be more lighthearted.

Disclaimer: This AU has a focus on all possible toy experiment survivors, including defects/scrapped toys!

Known defects in the AU have alterations: They do not include humans for creation! They are mainly going to be QPR-shipped, not the OG BBI experiments!

Synopsis on the AU:

It's been 20 years, now nothing but peace after the escape of the wretched Playtime Co. factory. August and Stella Greybur, siblings in arms, never felt so much happier to burn the heartache and pain of what the Initiative had done, much to Poppy's joy of freedom. No one, not one survivor, dared to look back, leaving all they known to be nothing but ash. They were free, they were going to a new home. The Greybur siblings formed a adoption organization: Toy Adoption Society. The organization gave all survivors a new home, to people who understood their desires to live like humans once again. Although some stayed with August or Stella, others went to a new life to experience what they once lost.

Keep it wholesome! Lore-induced asks will be kept in inbox until specific lore is released! Please keep all asks SFW! Do not send in NSFW/suggestive asks, it will be deleted! Ships in this AU are QPRs for the sentient defects only! Do not expect romantic shipping! Keep all asks just civil! If you make any fanart or fanfics, please don’t hesitate to tag me! If I miss it, don’t hesitate to tag me in the comments or in a reblog!

Post-HOJ

Nothing for now!

#poppy playtime #poppy playtime au #empathy & vacation #empathy & vacation au

[swordshq]

a new player in the game of thrones has arrived ... we welcome the arrival of vhaegor targaryen, uthor hightower, aella arryn and luceon swann to king's landing ! your presence is expected within twenty four hours and your guide can be found here. ewan mitchell, daniel henney, aurora ruffino and ryan corr are now unavailable.

(  EWAN MITCHELL,  CIS MALE,  HE / HIM.  )  could  that  really  be  VHAEGOR  TARGARYEN,  the  PRINCE  of  HOUSE  TARGARYEN  entering  the  keep  ?  king’s  landing  is  sure  to  benefit  from  the  TWENTY  NINE  year  old’s  ability  to  be  both  MANQUE  and  DAUNTLESS,  but  beware,  whispers  also  say  they  have  been  known  to  be  SANGUINARY  and  VULTURINE.  their  loyalty  belongs  to  HOUSE  TARGARYEN/THEMSELVES  and  they ARE  INDIFFERENT  TO  the  notion  of  peace  throughout  westeros.  /  AURORA,  THEY/THEM,  21,  GMT + 3.

(  DANIEL HENNEY,  CIS MAN,  HE/HIM.  )  could  that  really  be  UTHOR HIGHTOWER,  the  MASTER OF SHIPS, RULING LORD  of  OLD TOWN  entering  the  keep  ?  king’s  landing  is  sure  to  benefit  from  the  FOURTY-FOUR  year  old’s  ability  to  be  both  SEDULOUS  and  INTREPID,  but  beware,  whispers  also  say  they  have  been  known  to  be  FORMIDABLE  and  VULPINE.  their  loyalty  belongs  to  HOUSE  HIGHTOWER, THE REALM & THEMSELVES  and  they  SUPPORT  the  notion  of  peace  throughout  westeros.  / eden.

(  AURORA RUFFINO,  CIS WOMAN,  SHE/HER.  )  could  that  really  be  AELLA ARRYN,  the  LADY  of  THE VALE  entering  the  keep  ?  king’s  landing  is  sure  to  benefit  from  the  THIRTY  year  old’s  ability  to  be  both  DEBONAIR  and  STEADFAST,  but  beware,  whispers  also  say  they  have  been  known  to  be  BLUNT and  DECEITFUL.  their  loyalty  belongs  to  HOUSE  ARRYN  and  they  SUPPORT  the  notion  of  peace  throughout  westeros.  /  WISPY,  SHE/HER,  22,  GMT.

(  RYAN CORR,  CISMALE,  HE/HIM.  )  could  that  really  be  LUCEON SWANN,  the  KINGSGUARD MEMBER  of  STONEHELM  entering  the  keep  ?  king’s  landing  is  sure  to  benefit  from  the  THIRTY  year  old’s  ability  to  be  both  DUTIFUL  and  GALLANT,  but  beware,  whispers  also  say  they  have  been  known  to  be  COMBATIVE  and  SECRETIVE.  their  loyalty  belongs  to  HOUSE  BARATHEON  and  they  SUPPORT  the  notion  of  peace  throughout  westeros.  /  ASH

#appless rp #new rp #oc rp #got rp #asoiaf rp #accepted. #oh we are getting fed today folks

[mishapen-dear]

im thinking about the wooden bases.

im thinking about how warm they are. how cozy this season feels. Happy. not everyone is happy, but they aren't full of dread. last life was everyone for themselves. 3rd life was against all odds. double life is work together to survive.

there's a hole in a hill, and a mid-modern house, and it cannot be burned. the people who live there are happy together, and they pick at the other pairs like birds. the seeds they plant are rotten, and their smiles are warm and welcoming.

there is a wooden egg in the sky. its floating away, attached to the ground only by more wood. like the wick to a candle, and she's asking for someone to help her float away.

the heart was wooden, but now its red, and it can never be burned.

there are two houses on two different hills. they are made from wood and stone. when they're set alight they will crumble, but the scaffolding will remain. there will always be something to rebuild. they are apart, but they are so close together. there is an invader in scott's home and cleo is the one to block her away. There is a bridge between the hills, and it is made of stone.

box is a base is a person is a home. made of cobble, broken parts built back together. simple. layered, very ugly. loved. decorated with wood but still strong without it. defensible. thoughtful and protected and cohesive. a woman made a visit and they died, but they did so together, and their home is made of cobble.

the relation-ship is wood and wool. etho and joel, wood and wool. they sit at the edge of disaster. etho risked their lives while joel built their home. hours of building, and they are so very flammable.

a fortress of wood. no pandas allowed inside. no pandas allowed inside, and they almost lost their most valuable asset. scar sits in freezing snow for fun. grian is always strategic but now he builds their home from wood and asks for another. they are both so fond of flint and steel.

jimmy and tango are phoenixes. the first to ash and the first to reform. softest, weakest links. they blow their horns and love sounds like a single answer. perfect, we say. they're perfect. their home is already burned. (but they are phoenixes, and they will be reborn.)

#double life smp #dlsmp #i cannot describe my feelings about the flammability of bases so instead i must be dramatic about it on tumblr instead #theyve done this all before and theyre all building to burn anyway #jimmy and tango as phoenixes is my favourite headcanon but i cant DO anything about it rn i dont have the time but oooouhgh #grian built their base out of wood he made scar gather and they are both /so/ fond of flint and steel #something about everyone feeling safe enough in this beginning that they dont even think about later defenses the way they should #theyve all done this before. theyre just preparing to burn #mishapen words

[indigowallbreaker]

rarepair (trio?) prompt: caspashardt "unconsciously searching out each other’s hand while sleeping"

I've actually done this exact prompt for this exact trio, so I hope you don't mind that I did a Modern AU!

(Currently accepting rare ships! Click here for the info post!)

--

It was a quarter to midnight when Linhardt felt Caspar shift beside him. Linhardt lowered his tablet, watching as Caspar rolled over in bed to face him instead. They had both agreed to stay up waiting for Ashe to come home from work, but, when Caspar had fallen asleep, Linhardt hadn’t bothered to wake him. It meant more peaceful reading time anyway.

Caspar’s eyes were barely open when he croaked out, “Lin?”

“Here.” Linhardt brushed some blue hair from Caspar’s face. It had only been two hours at most since he had drifted off, but Caspar already had some serious bed head going on. Linhardt found it strangely endearing. He always did.

“Had a dream I was a girl,” Caspar said half into his pillow. 

Linhardt hummed, placing his tablet on the nightstand and making a mental note to plug it in to charge later. The covers moved slightly as Caspar lifted a hand to take Linhardt’s.

“It was nice,” Caspar went on. 

“I’m happy for you. 

“Lin, can I be a girl?”

Caspar yawned in a way that deterred Linhardt from asking any follow up questions. Instead he laced their fingers together. “Sure,” Linhardt said simply.

With a smile, Caspar’s eyes closed again, and she heaved a sigh. “Thanks.”

Once her breathing evened out, Linhardt-- without letting go of Caspar’s hand-- picked up his tablet again. The book was a history text their neighbor Mr. Hanneman had recommended. Though an interesting read, Linhardt’s gaze occasionally flickered to Caspar. Had that one dream really affected her so much? Or had Caspar been keeping prior thoughts from Linhardt and Ashe? And if so, what had he or Ashe done to signal to Caspar that they would not be accepting of said thoughts?

These thoughts plagued Linhardt until he finally turned off his tablet, picked up his phone, and began typing out his questions.

He was still typing when he heard Ashe enter the apartment. A few moments later, Ashe appeared in their bedroom doorway, still wearing his apron from work. “Welcome home,” Linhardt greeted with a smile.

Ashe smiled back, but it fell slightly when he saw Caspar, who was still curled on her side and clutching Linhardt’s hand. “Did something happen?” Ashe asked as he untied his apron. “You two didn’t have the kitten fight again, did you?”

“Nothing like that. She’s fine.”

Ashe froze in the act of pulling off his shirt. “She who?”

“She Caspar.” Linhardt put his phone on the nightstand on top of his tablet. Now was not the time to explain his musings to Ashe. Linhardt felt he had been awake long enough, thank you very much.

Apparently Ashe was also too tired to talk more on the subject. With a shrug, he finished changing into his pajamas and climbed into bed beside Caspar. Ashe pressed a kiss to Caspar’s brow. “Good night,” he murmured.

Linhardt leaned over to receive his good night kiss as well. Caspar didn’t move throughout the exchange, though she did mumble when Ashe gathered the blankets around them. 

Ashe buried his nose in the back of her neck, Caspar gave Linhardt’s hand a weak squeeze, and Linhardt turned out the light-- plunging the three of them into comfortable darkness. 

#fire emblem three houses #caspashardt #caspar von bergliez #linhardt von hevring #ashe ubert #trans fe #rare pair run

[straightbaittournament]

only the option with the least votes will be eliminated! everyone else goes on to round 3. propaganda under the cut (and more always welcome!):

tim drake and stephanie brown:

Tim and Steph are a thing for most of their history. Then stuff happens and they break up and soon after that Tim is confirmed to be bi and starts dating Bernard (former random side character who nobody thought would ever be relevant again)

lisa cuddy and gregory house:

The show spends 7 seasons hinting that House is going to end up with Cuddy, and then writes her out in season 7. In the finale, he has a flashback of people who impacted his life and she doesn’t even show If House and Wilson can’t be together, then House and Cuddy should

ash ketchum and misty:

They’re basically set up as a kind of enemies to friends story and they make recurring jokes about how she clearly has a big crush on him, but nothing ever happens My childhood, i shipped them when I was 10

matthew and mary crawley:

They spend multiple seasons full of tension to get their happy ever after. There are so many tropes used between these two. They finally get their shit together and get married, and then have a beautiful child together. Matthew is so happy about his child being born that he doesn't pay attention to the road and fucking DIES IN A CAR CRASH. And that's how their story ends. It makes me so livid every time I think about it lol they really killed him off like that right after and I mean RIGHT AFTER his child is born. It's so foul and every man that they set Mary up with after that doesn't feel nearly the same

maka albarn and soul evans:

Throughout the series, they have a deep friendship with each other which is consistently extremely important to the story's narrative. In order for them to be able to fight, they must get along and resonate with each other, and due to the mechanics of their world, fighting independently of each other is extremely difficult. In multiple instances, they are shown to be willing to put themselves in harm's way to extreme degrees to keep each other safe. They are even shown to live together. They are The Singular Straight Ship I have ever shipped and I love them. Also they are really cool and Soul can turn into an awesome scythe weapon that like only Maka can wield. And they fight really awesomely together.

grace blackthorn and christopher lightwood:

Okay so basically in Shadowhunters there was this family tree, and on it it stated that Christopher and Grace got married and had a kid. And in the book series they were just good friends. Cassandra Clare (the author) has said it’s inaccurate. But like cmon you said they were going to get married 😭😭

kipo oak and benson mekler:

It only lasts a few episodes, but this is a very clear INTENTIONAL straight bait from the writers, as it's a female main character with a male major supporting character, and Benson even takes Kipo to a carnival, which Kipo interprets as a date, until she confesses attraction to him, where he tells her he's gay and just wants to be friends.

cali and flynn:

It starts off as a one-sided crush on Flynn’s side, and later becomes mutual when Cali develops feelings for him in the Skylanders IDW spin-off comics, their romantic tension lasts for most of the franchise (five games, a chapter of a spin-off comic, and a few bits and pieces in the spin-off books and mobile games), so far they’ve never gotten together as the franchise is currently still in hiatus mode (says this while on extreme copium) I think we need to appreciate the tropes in Calynn: Opposites Attract, Tough Girl x Himbo, Smart x Dumb, “You’re stupid, I like that in a man” vibes all over this ship! Seven year old me didn’t see Cali calling Flynn her guy in the sky whilst Flynn looked at her with heart eyes to lose to some other pairing!

good luck everyone! now go vote!

#singles tournament round 2 #the shadowhunter chronicles #the last hours #skylanders #skylanders games #tlos #soul eater #kipo and the age of wonderbeasts #kataow #kipo #downton abbey #pokemon #house md #dc comics #dceu #poll #poll tournament

[whiskeysmulti]

Rules

1. Mun is 30+ so some mature themes may happen on this blog. 

2. No godmodding/metagaming, be respectful, etc. I am not afraid to instantly block anyone who can’t show some basic respect. 

3. I am highly selective and mutually exclusive, if we are not following each other, I will not interact. So please let me know if you’re following for a sideblog so I know we are mutuals then. 

4. Please notify me of your triggers and blocked tags so I can tag appropriately. That said my own triggers are incest, rape, pedophilia, and sexual abuse in general. I will amend this list as other triggers come to light. That said, I do have muses who have SA and CSA as triggers in their info, it is only past mentions of it happening though, my own trigger with SA comes in with images and explicitly detailed writing. Interact with Ash Lynx and Shorter Wong with caution if CSA is a trigger, I write them both as survivors of it. I also black list the tag #one piece, please tag your content be it rp or art, I want nothing to do with this fandom and don't want it on my dash. While I have it in my DNI I understand some fandomless OCs and multi blogs rp in it still, I need you guys to tag your verses and content for it please.

5. I am a multi muse, please specify the muse you want to answer said ask when sending one, the only exception to this is OOC/Mun games, I will answer those as myself. Also if you’re a multi or sideblog please let me know the url/muse the ask is from when sending. I am also multiverse, multi ship, as well as duplicate friendly. Each ship is in it’s own verse, I do have mains and exclusives though. I am okay with some pre-established stuff as far as platonic goes, friends and familial bonds. All I ask is you just run it by me first to make sure it works with my headcanons, romantic ships though, I prefer chemistry.

6. You are always welcome to turn answered asks into a thread, all I ask is that if you move it to a new post, please @ me because I use thread tracker, I also track my replies by the number of drafts I have. That way by @'ing me, I can throw it into my drafts as soon as I see it and then work on the reply when I have time. I use the thread tracker to keep track of my RPs and x-kit to trim them. Thread tracker tracks the thread by the post number from my own blog. Do not move the post every reply. If from an ask, I will allow you to move it once to a clean post and then I will reblog and track from there.

7. I am not an aesthetics source or RP resource and memes blog, please reblog from the source when possible.

8. Do not reblog in character threads you are not involved in. They are not fanfics, they are for my RP partner/s only. Personals please do not interact on them. Anything tagged #ic is off limits.

9. While I do not fully diverge, my portrayals are headcanon heavy. Keep this in mind when interacting with my muses. As some things may be applicable to them that are not discussed in the canon verses.

10. I will not interact if I find your blog to be utilizing A.I. or reposting stolen/uncredited art.

11. DNI: One Piece, Fullmetal Alchemist/Brotherhood blogs. 12. My timezone is US EST/GMT-5 (New York Time), so if you can't reach me at a certain hour, I am probably asleep or having connection issues with net and data.

This list will be amended as I see fit and is subject to change the longer I write on here.  

Muse List:

Banana Fish:

Griffin Callenrese

Ash Lynx

Shorter Wong

Bleach:

Neliel Tu Odelshwank

Tier Harribel

Lilynette Gingerbuck

Nanao Ise

Karin Kurosaki

Yuzu Kurosaki

Naruto:

Shikamaru Nara

Minato Naimkaze

Temari

Hinata Hyuuga

Sakura Haruno

Itachi Uchiha

Konan

Katekyo Hitman Reborn:

Hayato Gokudera

Shoichi Irie

Mukuro Rokudo

Dino Cavallone

Cozarto Simon

Enma Cozzato

G. Uri (humanized version of the Storm Box Animal) Nightmare Before Christmas: Jack Skellington Sally Skellington Child's Play Universe: Charles Lee Ray (Chucky) Saw Universe: John Kramer (Jigsaw) Amnesia: Shin

Trigger warnings associated with each muse can be found here. Character list with info links to wiki pages on each is found here.

Hidden/request only muse list can be found here. Mains and exclusives list can be found here.

Please read these links before interacting!

#whiskey speaks; ooc #rules

[nerbs-the-word]

OC Intro - Eights + Briggs

Hey y'all, haven't written anything in a few days (Been enjoying my long weekend), but glad to see I've been kinda growing. Likes and follows make the Nerb brain chug like the machine I am.

So anyway, new OCs, new short story. Once again, asks are open for questions/comments or constructive criticism if you have any. Just one last FYI, their full names are Sgt. Ashley "Eights" Pierce and Col. Sandra Briggs. Eights is they/them, and Briggs is she/her. Sorry for any confusion!

This story does take place in my worldbuilding project! Pixies be upon thee!

This does feature military themes, guns, blades, violence, gore, drug use and some 'colorful' language, so if any of those things upset you, please don't continue reading for your own mental health. And if you're not sure, please feel free to stop reading at any time if you feel uncomfortable.

STRIKE AT ZERO HOUR

WITH OVERWHEALMING FIREPOWER

THEY'RE FUELED BY THE FEAR

IN THEIR ENEMIES' EYES

ITS A SHOCK TROOP INFILTRATION

A FAST AND VIOLENT ESCALATION

OUT OF THE TRENCHES...

"The stormtroopers rise." the voice finishes as the intense metal music in the background blares, bass thumping in their ears. Emitting a muffled grunt under the several pounds of metal atop their head, the hefty marine slams their breaching axe down, sending a spray of blood the color of moldy bread across their Mythbreaker armour.

Eights slams their boot into the chest of the Other, and using their mechanically augmented hands, pulls free their axe. Their metallic hands, themselves the size of dinner plates, make the bladed weapon in their hands look tiny; even if it is a bulky tool for the average foot soldier. An average man would require two hands to deal any damage with it; Eights can use it in one, and a shotgun in the other.

"Welcome to the 25th century, dumbass" They sarcastically mutter under their breath with a seething rage in their voice. A quick slam of their metal boot and a crunch of bone confirms that the alien isn't getting back up off the floor.

Hunting remnants of these stupid extraterrestrials has been getting old to the young marine. It's been five months since the end of the war, and here they were, being dragged around Known Space to every hulk, ship or station suspected to have an Other aboard. But yet again, after Operation Ragnarök, they didn't have much else to do other than tune the suit's motors and clean their guns. These battles weren't even exciting anyway, the Others always fell back on melee weapons; meaning they were perfect fuel for-

"Sergeant!" Exclaims a familiar authoritative voice from the doorway behind them.

As if by muscle memory, Eights turns to face the figure, their hand pressed against their forehead in a neat and orderly salute. Their posture was as perfect as a marine could get in the bulky armour they wore.

"Yes, ma'am!" They aggressively yell back, every fiber of their voice screaming respect and a sense of duty.

The colonel looks across the room, their diminutive frame being held in the hand of some poor private. While she had a stoic look on her face, the private's face went pale.

The room was stained in blood. Every wall was covered in some sort of bodily fluid in some unnatural, inhuman color. Extraterrestrial corpses littered the room, many with massive tears across their bodies, others riddled with bullet holes. Some still flickered with fire, smoldering silently in the room. It reeked of death, blood, ash, and gunpowder.

"At ease, sergeant." Briggs responds, and as if by command, the hulking, ten foot tall figure before her relaxed their stiffened frame, using the opportunity to pick up a large rotary cannon on the floor. The chest cavity of one of the targets gives resistance, but with a whir of the trigger, the barrel cluster is able to mutilate the innards enough to rip it out with a disgusting squelch.

"Ship's clear." The marine responds as they affix the cannon to their back.

"I noticed. Private, pass me off to the sergeant, please. Then report to your lieutenant."

The still-shaken private nods swiftly, quickly passing the tiny colonel into the metallic gauntlet of the heavily-armed stormtrooper, like a bug into the mouth of a waiting lion. And while pulling their hand back towards their chest, they swiftly leave the room, as silently as they walked in.

It did dawn previously on the colonel that Eights could easily turn her to mincemeat like they do so easily and so willingly to anything the Republic deems dangerous. Pirates, terrorists, Blue Angel cultists, and now the Others. The difference is that Eights respects authority.

"Ma'am, 34 dead, 5 captured. The survivors have locked themselves in what I assume to be the armoury." The sergeant replies, lifting the tiny colonel to be at eye level. Their helmet was menacing; more machine than person. Covered in valves, with a hose running from the mouthpiece to the chest, every breath was accompanied by a whir, and every word echoed inside the hermetically sealed suit.

"Good." The colonel responds with a nod.

"And I'm ready to-" The sergeant begins, before being cut off.

"No. You're dismissed. Rest up, and meet me in my office tomorrow morning at 0600. We need to talk.

_

"Pierce, I'm worried for your health." The colonel continues, pacing back and forth behind her desk. With the sergeant looming over her, it looked like she wasn't in command here. But she, and Eights, both knew the truth. She outranked them.

Eights crossed their pale arms across their chest. They felt naked, missing the second skin the mechanized armour served as.

"So what?" They exclaim dismissively, their emerald green eyes staring downwards at their commanding officer.

"So what?!" Briggs yells back, the sudden aggressiveness catching the battle-hardened and grizzled marine off guard. "That shit, that fucking concoction, that *Flux*-"

Flux. She spat the word like it was a curse. Some combat drug brewed up by the battalion stranded on Taurus-4 during their deployment. Before Eights was placed under her command.

"You're smart enough to know what it'll do to you." She finishes with a disappointed sigh.

"What I put in my body is my business. It helps me get work done, ma'am." They finally reply after a moment of silence.

A moment of silence that returned to the air, deafening, blinding, choking. Horribe in every regard.

But finally, with a deep breath, Briggs spoke again, her commanding voice easily heard despite her small size.

"I didn't want to, Pierce. But I'm ordering you. You will report to the ship's medical team, and you will seek treatment for your addiction. Understood?"

"Yes ma'am..."

_

#g/t #giant/tiny #Nerb OCs #Nerb OCs - Eights #Nerb OCs - Briggs

[makoxmind]

@whiitemateria; continued from here.   The coolness of the night time was always a blessing. Sector 5 was… quieter than Sector 7 by quite a margin. Could he dare to call it peaceful? Something about the presence of the blooms poking through the cracked concrete made the atmosphere sleepy, the hazy summer darkness peppered with the fluttering of insects who shone like stars in the sky. When fingers were tentatively outstretched to try and entice one to land they scattered, waltzed and rose; and for that brief moment Cloud was entranced in a childish manner, daring even to smile at the sight of their dance…

… Fuck, he was tired.

He didn’t know how long it had been since he had left Aerith, but long enough for him to absolutely fed-up of the slums and its complex network of rat-runs from one area to another. If it wasn’t the presence of patrolling guards it was the lack of sign-posting, Cloud had navigated a junkyard akin to the one the pair had grappled with earlier and had briefly thought the end of that adventure was nigh when he saw the stretching of a wall overhead… Sector 4 was painted upon its flank. Entirely the wrong direction. The grinding of the mans teeth had almost been audible as he turned around and began, once again, through the junk-yard occasionally getting attacked and consistently having to crawl, jump, or squeeze through dirty spaces violent in their rusty color. So it was the other direction he needed to walk in. Fantastic.

And so, Cloud was becoming cranky. Walking through Sector 5 with the setting sun coloring the sky a deep orange that faded into a blackish-blue, the man forced himself to ignore the gnawing of his stomach on itself and the fact his mouth tasted like ashes in order to seek shelter-- if it was difficult navigating in the day then the lack of artificial light that summoned forth the typical gloom of the undercity would see him even further from his destination than before. This was fine. He didn’t need an inn-room, he was an ex-SOLDIER, all the fluffy headed idiot needed was two hours of rest in a spot that would be easy to defend incase intruders decided to take issue with his need of personal space.

It wasn’t uncommon to see people asleep in the street… the drunks, the druggies and the unfortunate poor would use barrels, planks of wood and the corners of shipping containers to try and forge some sort of refuge for themselves. Cloud chose the open. In the silence of the square, where only a few souls were wandering quietly back to whatever construct they called home, he slid to a sit against the wall directly facing where citizens gathered often to peer at the flickering TV’s and leant his sword facing moonwards. The veil of darkness it brought upon his head by its shadow… was most welcome indeed. If anyone dared to touch either him or the weapon, retaliation would be quick and easy. The blade was facing outwards; it was a guillotine trap to those who did not know better.

It didn’t take long for sleep to claim him; it hit the man like a runaway chocobo carriage crashing against him. Even, slow breaths and the leaning of his skull deeply against the erect sword standing in silent vigil were markers that Cloud was not pretending-- there, covered in dirt and dust, Shinra’s weapon and answer to warfare was snoozing… and dreaming about the taste of lemons.

#whiitemateria #ic #ooc;; lemons