dragmirc

[dragmirc]

The pitter-patter of little feet echo through the corridors hidden deeper in the Imperial Palace, giggling accompaniment to betray their little girls. Old enough to shuffle hurriedly to make sure Mama is also ready for the day in the Nine, still too young to navigate gracefully in the customary drapes.

It's evident as Pamina trips over the center carpet tagging behind her older sister. A simple noise of frustration is given as she picks herself up and follows again closely after Rakkon as the elder bursts into the room.

"Mamaan!"

It's a cry mirrored as the girls rush into the room to bounce around their mother in vies for attention. They know this is the day to honor their mother in the set, but they are young yet and do not understand full customs.

Frankly, neither does their father, appearing in the door behind them and attempting to not look winded. Whoever thought that Ganondorf was unshakable enough to keep pressing onward has clearly never dealt with his children.

A hand through his hair to smooth it back into place, trying to hide the fact he has been frazzled and undone by trying to wrangle his unruly daughters into what he has been assured is proper for this day in the set. A thinning of the lips is given as his uncertainty in hoping it's right rises, though he's positive any misplaced threads or hairs will be swiftly dealt with with a more experienced hand than his own.

Drabblus Unpromptus || Always Accepting

Fariah can hear them coming a mile away. At this age, they are excitable and clumsy, pups still figuring out their proportions and far too curious to try to control themselves. She knows that soon, they will have to start learning how to be proper young ladies fit for any throne. But for now, she seeks to enjoy them in their youth a little while longer. Much more lenient than her youthful days had been, but a little affection goes long ways in the end.

Her ears tick on reflex with hearing the giggling and thundering footsteps down the hall, receiving a small scoff from the attendant trying to adorn her earlobe in the elegant pendant drop, the drapes and droops of pearl strings. All she can offer the woman is a small smile of apology. She is not trying to make her job harder, simply pinpoint her rambunctious children. She knows already their father is overwhelmed with their energy. Someone has to bear them mind.

The whole routine is upended by the princesses bursting into the room to find their mother, attendants moving to scatter out of their way like startled sparrows. Once more, the woman manning her Empress' ear adornings scoffs harder as the woman moves completely out of her range to bend with arms open, ready to receive the pair.

The smile and the laugh as she is greeted and practically bowled over by her pups is genuine. Musical, like wind chimes twinkling in the wind, rain bells in a small storm.

"Ah, my little lovelies. I see we are wearing green today." she says, bright and with the promise of stories. Just as she remembers her own mother would have done for her.

As is customary on this, the Fourth Day, they honor Kushi, the Mother of All. Green and yellow are their colors, and in the light dresses and drapes, depictions of the tigers and the stars and pretty flowers and trees are stitched and gilded over hems and in panels. Part of the customs of being the Imperial family, the drapes on her and both her children show the symbols that is their name; Fariah carries her shooting stars, Rakkon has the string of eight-point stars, and Pamina shows the silhouetted outline of a falcon. Emerald greens and shining golds.

Fariah keeps the pups in one spot, holding one or the other long enough to adjust a fold or take proffered hair pieces and place them. She recognizes Ganondorf's hand in this, amused internally that he has been better adept at taking off such garments and not so much putting them back on. All in all, she's sure even before he arrives in the doorway to the huffs and snarks of the attendants that their daughters have overwhelmed him. For what it is, it has been done ... adequately.

Still, she shares the flashing glance of gratitude for his attempt at it, noticing his anxious scowl for what it is. An assurance he is doing well with a culture not entirely his own, not fully understanding that folds and fabric and colors are all very important.

She holds attentions even though Rakkon wanders back and forth when not held still to poke at things curiously and Pamina tries to grasp at the cowrie laced in her mother's hair when left free, with the stories they have heard every year for this time. Why it is important, not just on a social aspect but also a religious one. Why Kushi is honored for sparking the universe to life in her laughter. Why such celebrations continue on into the Fifth Day to honor Skandi as she defends her pups. Why mothers are all different and loved for different things, but still considered mothers.

Stories she heard time and again from her mother, since repetition anchors it in. Stories she tells in memory of her mother, and in memory of knowing her next generation will carry them with them. What makes Sidhe different, what makes them Sidhe.

A small 'ha!' of triumph is given from the young woman who has been trying to place earrings and pearls for the last minutes, successful in her task and given a new one to adorn Pamina. It proves to be a test of the woman's skill, as Pamina is just as unruly and mischievous as her mother would have been at her age.

With the two Princesses controlled to a fault, Fariah cannot help but give the quirk of mischief to her lips as she regards her Emperor standing there. It is a celebration for the entire family, after all.

"Make sure your Emperor is properly clad for the Fourth Day."

It is a command to those attendants with nothing left to do, a terrible thing for a group of Sidhe. With a flutter and wave of laughter, they descend on their new target to do as commanded.

@dragmirc

[dragmirc]

The Eve of the War of the Eyeliner is upon us.

[dragmirc]

Today On:

Gan's about to commit crimes across two dimensions and possibly three timelines.

[dragmirc]

:: Home :: Ask :: Info ::

Ten Leagues beyond the Wide World's End

Methinks it is no Journey

::An OC Roleplay Blog for The Legend of Zelda franchise:: ::Featuring Custom Lore and Magical Mechanics:: ::Independent and Non-Selective:: ::OC/AU/Crossover/Multimuse-friendly:: ::Currently Follows back from @schwarzwaldcr ::

[dragmirc]

Something I think I've forgotten the most in that first post, is that he is forced to only see the bad parts, since the Twinrova is trying to condition him into the vessel of anger Demise demanded of them. They're trying to force him to be angry, so if he only sees the suffering, he will be angry. Then they can continue to stoke that fire into something they can use.

Some Gan-based things I consistently forget to mention. I might elaborate on some of it, we'll see.

also some ship things because yeah i love these two your honor, and all their insane romantic whirlwind'ing...

...may also touch on this later idunno

[dragmirc]

Spots to Kiss + 20

Lazy morning, perhaps?

A Kiss Before You Go || Always Accepting

20. A kiss where the back of the neck turns to shoulder

It is the smell of dawn that stirs her awake.

A certain cooled clean smell, the beginnings of a new day. It wisps around closed shutters and ruffles the curtains around the bed. Sheer and glistening, colored ghosts in and out of her half-awake gaze caught in the trickle of morning light through slats over the windows. It ticks in her head that the attendants will be here soon. A reflex, a routine unbroken.

One ear flicks in her startup and she shifts just slightly. There is a vague awareness in the glaze of the weight across her hip, the warm wall against her back. Skin on skin, spine to chest. She knows he is awake. It is in the way he breathes against her, the thud of his heart against her shoulder-blade. Not shallow and faint like one who is still at rest. Steady and even as one who is alert, the reverent stare that still bores into the back of her neck.

It is hard to tell how long he has been awake, how long he has remained in that one position to make sure she sleeps. The day before has been fraught with mental obstacles, the night of entangled passions no less tiring, although in a much different way. He feels the need to keep watch to make sure she is properly rested.

The first waking breath fills her lungs, deep to drink in the faint flavorful breeze as it plays through the windows and stirs her further into wakefulness. It's enough to tell him as well that she is awake enough. She feels his arm raise just slightly, dust across hip and waist, displacing the silken sheet that covers it just barely until the pads of his fingers and palm rest against the curve of her body. Her ear ticks again to register he is there, but she relaxes into that warm calloused touch. Familiar, strong. Safe.

The light tickle of his breath against her active ear, causing it to flick again as she feels his lips against the lobe. A whispered, "Good morning" in so low and deep a rumble, felt against her shoulder and into her back as it rattles his throat and chest. Close. Intimate.

"I hope you slept well." he adds, and she practically arches into his touch as it begins to travel up her side ever-so-slowly with a grumbling greeting of her own in response.

He leaves little fires in its wake, tingling across nerves still half awake. The little chuckle in his chest as her back rubs against him with a little noise of acceptance, unable still to properly formulate any true verbal response. It's not rejection, and she breathes a little deeper to show acceptance to his fingers coiling around the edge of her ribs over a breast. An arm raises to gently run her fingers through his tousled mane before she finally finds her words, enjoying his own little pleasant grumble against her jawline.

"Last night and now this morning?" Her voice croaks a little, rougher than normal from a mixture of the prior night's exploits and the disuse that followed. "You truly are insatiable."

It's not scolding. Playful in the way she says it and in his response, fingers over the exposed nipple of the breast he holds momentarily captive. A kiss to her ear, to her jaw.

"You do make it hard to control myself." he replies, the laugh in his voice reverberating against the back of her neck.

His hand has begun its way back toward her waist, swirling little trails once he knows she is sufficiently back in the game. She knows he already wants her. It's hard not to notice, if not for how he has very carefully curled around her so she can feel him, than for how that travelling hand has started to slip over her hips and beneath the sheets to grip a thigh.

The haze of sleep has dissipated from her mind, only the faintest tendrils remain for brief moments. It's not enough to stop the way her breath stutters for him, the way her heart begins to thud from the promise of the morning's exertion. How she rubs against him in return to remind him she wants him back.

"Be gentle." she relents with a playful pout, a shift to allow him better grip as she rolls just slightly. An invitation to engulf. "And quick. The morning crew will be here soon."

The faint creak of the chains that hold the bedframe to the ceiling betray his movement, taking her permission to envelope her almost entirely. The hand at her thigh slipping slowly and patiently up the inside of it to slide between her lower lips, assessing her readiness for himself. She knows in the way she feels that smug smile against the back of her left shoulder that he revels in the gasp she gives him, a nipping kiss given to establish his claim already so early.

Just as he claims she unravels his impulse control, she can say the same in the way he calls her 'his' causes her to redden and heat at his ministrations.

His lips on her ear again as he drips across her, fingers pushing a little deeper in. He is finding it harder to control himself, she can feel his heated heavier breath across her earlobe, wrapped in the laughing taunt she expects from him.

"No promises."

@dragmirc

[dragmirc]

Some Gan-based things I consistently forget to mention. I might elaborate on some of it, we'll see.

also some ship things because yeah i love these two your honor, and all their insane romantic whirlwind'ing...

...may also touch on this later idunno

[dragmirc]

Franz Ferdinand -- Night or Day

[dragmirc]

The Toxic Avenger -- My Only Chance to Make This Right Remix

[dragmirc]

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[dragmirc]

To say Ganondorf was surprised to see the other in the castle halls was an understatement. But not in the twisted sinister sense that was being perceived by the child in front of him. Just little more than curious befuddlement, if one were to really look and be capable of reading the furrowing brow and subtle slope of his half-cocked frown.

A scowl, not a growl or a cackle or a grin.

Part of this was in how the boy was steadying himself. A faint notice of a tense where he could see, where the cloth didn't cover. Defensive, despite the fact that the Gerudo had not shown any aggression. Unless he took the book and small stack of scrolls Ganondorf was carrying on one arm as offense, but he highly doubted that.

No, the confusion was mostly stemmed from the fact that this was the same feral boy that Her Grace's vanguard patrols had picked up some time ago. Or he might have thought so, but given his actions as of late and how he remembered the faerie child acting otherwise, he knew it was likely that one of his rifts may have dragged another one from another time into his.

A small ping! of magical energy hit him then. Something on the child was broadcasting its presence. A boundary. Something he should not cross, it said, although it felt more like a suggestion than full warning. It was certainly not the hostile demand of that enchanted weapon he knew the Empress carried, more a solid promise than a simple warding. He could only guess at the residual tingling of a more familiar magical base through his left arm that this was something Hylian in nature, much like the boy himself. He would have to bear its presence in mind, but until used or powered, it would pose no threat as of yet.

He thought further about the implications this may have. For if the other was indeed from a different timeframe, Ganondorf could only assume that it was only a matter of time until another Zelda appeared. The hand anchoring the book tensed as he diverted the small wave of excitement that coursed his veins at the thought that perhaps she too might carry a copy of the Ocarina. The sensation in his very nerves and reflexes that he may be able to wrap his hands around that scrawny little neck and suffocate the wretch himself, something that had been taken from him.

To take the Ocarina again and finally put an end to this charade...

The chime of a clock nearby snapped him back out of his half-delirious musings with a heavy sigh. First, he would have to deal with this, this obstacle. His eyes narrowed, golden slits laid on the boy before he addressed the problem as he saw fit, with his free arm crossed over his chest and a low authoritative tone issued. More like a disgruntled father than a king of evil.

"Aren't you supposed to be in bed?"

Although he was fairly sure his suspicions of the boy were true, it was always good to test such theories. Especially in his mental dishevelment. A stern reminder of a bedtime was certain to incite some childish riot. Almost as much as a bath would. He would have to prepare himself for the rebuttal.

"I do not think Her Grace would be pleased to find you running around the castle at this hour. Especially with tutoring in the morning..."

Link would never forget that face... no reversal of time could erase Ganon's sinister grin from his memory, so when he found himself looking at him again, the young boy was on edge. His fingers twitched near the hilt of his sword, every muscle tense beneath his tunic. The air felt heavier, like the shadows themselves were watching. Even the Master Sword, usually calm in his grip, seemed to hum with unease, almost as if it, too, recognized the evil standing before them.

Ganon hadn't changed. That same cruel amusement danced in his eyes, like he knew exactly how this would end. Like he'd seen every timeline, every failure. And Link still felt that flicker of fear. The same fear he'd buried long ago in the Temple of Time.

[ @dragmirc ]

[dragmirc]

that was a lot ok digging into the draft folder now that i'm at home again

[dragmirc]

“I’m afraid of dming them” this “I’m socially anxious/awkward” that

REBLOG IF ITS OKAY FOR ME TO SPAWN IN YOUR DMS FOR NO REASON. JUST TO BE SILLY GOOFY!! IM SOCIAL IM A YAPPER I JUST DONT WANT TO SCARE YALL!!

[dragmirc]

Hihello to the new folks flickering in!

I'm on my way to working things today so I'm currently mobile. Something I've learned about Tumblr mobile is It Sucks, especially when dealing with hyperlinks. So a lot of reading rules and stuff happens on my pc when I get home.

Feel free to poke me though, I'll still do my best to say hi :D

[dragmirc]

here is to be found a wolf using someone's throne as a napping spot , so nothing unusual to see here. nothing at all ( and he might be hugging someone's left shoe , oh my ): but who'd wake such a gentle sleeping face?

Partially-Planned Prompt // Accepting with @obraveyouth

It was the smell of rain that had drawn Ganondorf from the library archives.

Water was sacred in Gerudo and for good reason. While Hyrule experienced the temperate shift of four seasons, Gerudo only saw two. The dry season, and the wet season. The latter of which was attributed here to the chilly threshold of spring storms of the purported Golden Land, although when the storms came to Gerudo, they were brief, bursting in spurts. There were clans who waited along the banks of bone-dry riverbeds to watch the rush of the new turbulent rivers born anew every year. To wait until the current settled enough to jump in. To bathe, to clean, to gather and store what they could in such a short time they had.

The wet season of Gerudo was not a long-lived time. Not long enough to try to cultivate the land, to irrigate for crops. To maintain livestock in permanent pens. As a result, the Gerudo were widely nomadic, finding water sources deep underground to set up a small temporary town to weather out the later sandstorms as their world dried again before packing up and moving on.

The only permanent fixture was the eastern fortress, a ruin repurposed now from the time when the war was at its height. When he was not here, Ganondorf was there. Delegating, planning. Keeping Hyrule and its precious Golden Land on its toes. Filling the King's pockets when the coffers began to get low...

There was a time when Ganondorf stayed in that fortress. His presence was unwanted in Hyrule, and most especially in the castle and its surroundings. In trying to bide his time, he stayed as close to the scrublands as he could when he wasn't busy trying to wend his influence around that disgusting little man calling himself 'King'.

Until he wasn't.

It felt a little unnerving sometimes. The Sidhe occupation did not see him as a threat to keep him at arm's reach. Or at least not enough of one to chase him out in his endeavors to find another entrance into the Sacred Realm. Ganondorf was allowed in these walls of his own freedoms. Watched, certainly, but not like he was before. Allowed to traverse the halls, to sit for hours and even days in the library without being disturbed. Given range to work whatever methodology he saw fit, be it physical or magical.

Allowed to sit in the cloisters off the courtyard that had once housed a certain little Princess, reminiscing on all this while watching and smelling and listening to that sacred rain. Arms crossed at his chest, the cool stone at his back. Letting his mind wander through this and that's.

A reprieve, he wasn't even sure when he had begun to doze. To let his mind slowly untangle itself for the further tasks ahead. He knew somewhere in his unwilling subconscious he was safe here for a moment, the paranoias of the conscious mind shutting down for a splintered second. No one around that he could hear or see, or sense through any magically-charged air in his fingertips.

A sigh before he snapped back. Nothing had snapped him to alert, nothing he could actively notice on a first glance, so to speak. It took him a moment before he actually noticed it.

A tingle in his fingertips. Magic was nearby.

Perhaps, he reasoned, one of the occupation was using that endemic magic of theirs. Blood magic was powerful enough in all expressions given its nature, he may be feeling the ambience of someone using it for something mundane. But on letting the energies wind their ways like curious snakes over and between his fingers, he determined this was something else. Something almost familiar in the way it felt to him. Something the witches may have had foundation in...

He was not expecting to see what he found when he rose to follow its trail in his own curiosities.

The throne in the old audience hall was defunct. Her Grace refused to use it, instead choosing to sequester herself into the library or the den or the royal suite. Which made such a fine piece of furniture once coveted and special hardly anything more than a fancy chair. In one fell swoop, the Empress had taken a symbol to people and made it nothing in her regime. Some small part of him could admire her for such a ruthless unassuming strategy of claim and conquer.

But that wasn't why Ganondorf stood in the entrance of the throne room, tall and dark in comparison to the grey light that still streamed through the windows to illuminate the dais. The room reeked of a magic so familiar to him that he almost sought to look for the Twinrova in the corners. But it was coming from a dog settled almost awkwardly over the seat.

A small crooked smirk of almost incredulity carved its way across his face as he sought to study the sleeping animal from his vantage, focusing momentarily on the stolen footwear it had wrapped in its paws. It looked familiar, the smile falling fluidly instead to a crooked exaggerated frown instead. This was the reason Markesh had gone barefoot today, he was willing to bet. A detriment to his sanity, the lack of clicking heels on stone and thin carpet had made the Regent Spymaster dead silent instead.

His hand clenched as he thought on this development, like he sought to strangle those little magical serpents.

"What do you think you are doing?" he asked, low voice reverberating into the acoustic corners of the room to carry itself around.

Anything that smelled so strongly of magic was likely sapient, he reasoned. It would have to be capable of responding somewhat intelligently.