#Army of two concept art

[caddydemo]

Army of two concept art

It’s up to Corvus to stop the monsters, as well as reclaim his memory in the process.

The resulting attempt to stop its use resulted in the kingdom being swarmed with monsters. Thymesia tells the story of a kingdom that discovers there’s a price to pay for dabbling in alchemy. “It is important to us as game developers to put out something we’re proud of, and we can’t wait for you to enjoy the experience we’ve created next year when it’s fully ready.” It’s not all bad news, however, as the developer announced via a new trailer that the game will be coming to the PlayStation 5 and Xbox Series consoles, in addition to its original Steam release.Īccording to OverBorder, the reasoning for the delay was to release Thymesia “in the best possible state”, and in order to do that, the team needed more time in order to polish the game. Originally slated for a December 31st launch, developer OverBorder Studio and Team17 have announced that their upcoming action RPG Thymesia has been delayed into 2022. Hopefully Carpenter will approach another studio one day before it’s all said and done with another chance to give fans a proper send-off. It’s an outright shame that we never got to see this game come to fruition, as the admittedly janky aspects of the original game (those scripted transformations were a pain after you wasted a blood sample on your squad members) could have been ironed out. Only once you looked close enough would the jig be up. The concept art also describes how the imitations would mimic members of your squad in operating machinery and using weapons. Ashtiani also describes a new mechanic involving the “Burstouts”, where the imitation would erupt from human foes very similar to what we saw in the 2011 prequel. The concept art doesn’t just consist of more alien designs. Concept artist Ron Ashtiani recently dropped a few sheets from the team’s art guide for the canned sequel on his ArtStation, which are as delightfully horrific as they are unfortunate. Innovative for its time with the AI squad mechanics, we were going to be getting a sequel for the game from developer Computer Artworks before they sadly closed up shop. Since concept artists are the first to set the direction of the project, it’s critical to start collaboration with the animation studio in an open and honest way in order to make sure that the original brief has been fully understood.2002’s The Thing was the glorious video game sequel to John Carpenter’s even-more-glorious film. A detailed explanation of the client’s expectations allows the studio to present a mood board with relevant, matching examples from their portfolio and other animations available online.īy producing a number of diversified sketches and showing alternative visions to choose from, the artist triggers customer's imagination and assists in vocalising their needs.

Successful communication between the client and the animation studio is absolutely crucial for the project to run smoothly. This way, the artist will be able to draw up many layouts without wasting too much time. Since remakes and starting over can be very time-consuming, it’s extremely important to keep the designs uncomplicated and precise. Clients often reject designs for artistic reasons and need to see several versions before they accept one.

[slashrkiss]

Clyde involuntarily thinks about Sophie and boy is he not happy about it

I like everything about this drawing except the damn daisy in his hand, it doesn't look like a daisy because of the way it's facing but it's a daisy, I swear, Sophie keeps daisies in her hair and she left one on his nightstand by accident one night, he still has it

[chrollohearttags]

“silly boy, come find me when you’re older!” • a. artlert

synopsis: two lovers realize their relationship isn’t meant to be but that doesn’t mean they have to part ways forever..

content + themes: fem!reader (black coded), age gap (2-3 years, armin is 19, reader is 21-22) college au-ish (armin is going to nursing school + reader is a business grad), star-crossed lovers trope, angst + comfort, missionary, riding, hand holding, heavy kissing, crying (not dacryphila), accidental creampie, pet names (baby, mama, baby boy, angel), drug mentions, he gets possessive for like .2 seconds.

word count: 3.1K

📝: I have been so in love with fluff and the idea of soft smut lately (maybe it’s the holidays, maybe it’s my hormones..who knows!) but this is a part of a new au I’m starting! A new story that’ll be coming out soon and I can’t wait. For now, enjoy one of several side fics to accompany it! Also, please tell me y’all know this title reference 😭

───✱*.｡:｡✱*.:｡✧*.｡✰───────✱*.｡:｡✱*.:｡✧*.｡✰────

“I really wish you wouldn’t look at me like that…”

the phrase seemed to have alluded him yet again..slipping through one ear and out the next. Almost as if only his body was present and his mind and spirit were elsewhere. It was to be expected though..

“..armie..? Aren’t you going to say something, baby? Anything?..”

you had just confided in him quite possibly the worst thing ever. In truth, his heart was breaking and there wasn’t a single thing that either of you could do to mend it. Although, you felt solely responsible..that the reason for his pain was entirely your fault. But it was a necessary confession nonetheless. One that you truly believed would benefit you both. Distance. Distance between the two of you so that he could properly pursue his education. A long sought after dream of becoming a nurse. Following directly in his mother’s footsteps and making her proud..it was all Armin ever wanted. As it stood, that was a mere concept and it was thanks to the girl lying next to him. His sweet, beloved (y/n). The (y/n) he reunited with at a house party one night and had been wildly entangled with ever since. Hooking up, drinking and smoking…what most peers your age was doing but you also had bigger aspirations for both Armin and yourself. He wanted to become a registered nurse, working with children and you were already two years deep into your collegiate journey as a business major. Laser focused and ambitious..ready to conquer your goals. You couldn’t waste your lives away in the back of his car, hotboxing and having sex. As fun as this little whirlwind romance was, you had to cut things off. At least for the foreseeable future..for both of your sakes. It wasn’t an easy decision in the slightest and you were far more torn up by the situation than what you were letting on but it had to be done. Regardless of your emotions..

“..I just don’t understand..I mean, is there someone else? Why don’t you want me anymore?…”

there it was..underneath all of those newly etched tattoos, shaggy blonde locks and suave charm lied that sweet, gentle boy. The same nerdy kid you’d first encountered whilst attending the same high school. Although two years apart, you found him to be adorable and couldn’t help but to grace the awkward brainiac with a smile every morning on his visits to the library. A beautiful goddess like you even acknowledging him? He was grateful for that alone! But it wasn’t until his senior year did the two of you reconnect. By that time, he had shed his thick, wire framed glasses for icy blue contacts to match his own..grew out his blonde bowl cut to a curly shag and had even acquired a couple of art pieces on his arm. Not to mention, gained some muscle from playing basketball. Some say you were the catalyst for his sudden change. Although this appearance was new, deep down, he was still that wide eyed genius with unbelievable intelligence. And best believe, your kindness wasn’t lost on him. So it came as no surprise, when you happened to cross paths with him at a graduation party that your younger sister, who happened to be in the same class with him, was attending..he found the courage to finally talk to you face to face. All of his newfound confidence flew out of the window when he saw you..that ethereal skin, deity like features and of course, that smile. That smile that made his heart flutter. “You haven’t changed a bit, baby boy…”

certainly his looks had, but you saw through all of that. You saw Armin for who he truly was and for that, he couldn’t allow you to slip away without confessing his true feelings. So that night, with liquor in his veins, he charmed you with sweet words and told you that he’d always had the biggest crush on you. It didn’t take long for you guys to get involved..days after that party, you began seeing one another. Both romantically and intimately. However, your relationship wasn’t exactly conventional or ideal..you were good for each other, perhaps a little too well. Because every moment that presented itself, you’d find yourself in every bed, couch, bathroom or backseat..going at it like rabid animals. The sex was insane and you couldn’t get enough of each other. It was only coupled by the sensation of the drugs coursing your veins..stimulants that sent your mind to places you didn’t need to be. Although there was never a single fight between you two, you knew the relationship wasn’t a healthy one. You encouraged each other’s worst habits. He had gotten a full ride scholarship to his dream school and you had obtained several as well for your ideal program. But you both stood to lose those if you didn’t make some changes. Ditching class to go smoke and then fucking him in every square inch of your off campus apartment. Sending him nudes and salacious messages during class, along with always being underneath each other. He’d never be able to focus and stay on track at this rate! Hence why you had to be the mature one and break things off. Even if it brought you to tears as well. So with a shaky palm, as you lay in bed next to one another, you’d bring a hand to his face and quell his doubts.

“You couldn’t possibly think that..you're the only one I want, Armin. I swear on everything..but..we can’t keep doing this. I love you so much but we’re no good for each other. At least not right now..”

but he’d attest, almost immediately. Insisting that he could buckle down and focus on his goals at hand. However, your mind was made up. That blind obsession and adoration for you would never allow him his room for growth. It wasn’t fair. Here you were only another year shy of receiving your degree and he was barely even started. You had to give him a fair shot, even if it meant removing yourself from the equation. You had even found an internship. He’d try to talk you out of it, convince you that he could juggle both college and you but regardless of how smart he was, nursing school was an entirely different beast in and of itself. It would require his full attention and dedication if he wanted to be an exceptional caregiver. No drugs, no distractions…no you. His studies deserved all of his time.

“So why can’t we make it work then? Isn’t that what couples do or was I nothing more than a joke?”

“Armin…”

in that moment, he’d tug away and roll over onto his side, giving you the proverbial cold shoulder and it stung like hell. The last thing you wanted to do was fight the man you loved. If anything, you wished things could stay like this forever. But you both had growing up to do and until that happened, it was best you parted ways.

“..I have an idea..”

But it wasn’t something that had to be permanent..for now though, there was no need to be upset with one another when you could spend your remaining time enjoying yourselves. Gently pulling him back towards you, you’d maneuver your legs until you were able to crawl on top of him. Those long acrylics scaled his freshly tattooed chest as you gently straddled his waist..at that moment, his little cheeks flushed red and you’d feel his breathing becoming slightly heavier. You’d lean down and begin peppering light kisses to his temple and all around his face..all while slowly rolling your hips against his crotch. With you, he was vulnerable..at his softest and would undoubtedly listen to whatever you said. “I’m all ears..”

that’s when you’d devise a plan that you believed that both of you could agree upon. An agreement of sorts.. “..two years..in two years, we can see each other again, just like this. We’ll work hard and reach our goals. You’ll be in your senior year, doing clinicals and I’ll be at my new job. We can find a place and finally start our lives together. Armin, I love you so much and I don’t want to see you throw your life away. Please..promise me you’ll find your way back to me when you’re ready. When we’re both in a better place..” once he spotted your tearful plea and heard the tone in your voice, he knew what had to be done. Personal feelings aside..you were absolutely right. He knew if he stood any chance of keeping you in his life, he had to blossom into a grown man that you could be proud of. One that was worthy of being called yours. Reaching up, Armin would grasp your hand and bring it to his lips for a gentle kiss, holding it close. He wanted to remember that feeling..savor it and savor you as well. God, he didn’t want you to leave, he wasn’t ready to say goodbye!..but this was the only way. The only way he could ensure that he got to have you in the long run. He wanted you two to grow old together so he’d make this temporary sacrifice to be able to share an eternity with you.

“..you have my word, angel. I promise..I promise I’ll come back to you a better man than what I’ve been..”

“Then take me…right here.”

just then, you’d feel his hand snake up your spine and tug you down towards his chest..not another word was exchanged. Just slow, tender pecks and breathy moans..immersed in the covers and in one another, you’d allow the moment to take you both. Your palms cupping his cheek and his gripping your ass, you’d tousle around underneath the sheets. It didn’t take long for the endearing moment to become rather heated but it was a true testament of the passion between you two. In a moment of haste, his nails would gently dig into the curvature of your back as you leaned up. In a matter of minutes, you’d feel his once flaccid erect growing harder underneath you. The sensation of your dripping heat making direct contact with him..and it was driving him crazy! He needed you so badly right now and you were just the same.

“Armieeee..”

calling out with a high pitched whimper as you ground yourself against him. You couldn’t stop either..almost as if you’d simply combust if you were to be pulled away from him right now. Frail cries would escape his lips as well but he’d find a semblance of control to satisfy your desires, which took precedence over everything else.

“Yes, baby? Tell me what you need..”

cooing to you in that sweet, loving tone that always managed to turn you to meet putty in his hands every time. You were still hopelessly rutting yourself against him; arousal overflowing from between your thighs that quickly. He knew what you wanted but he needed to hear you say the fateful words..give him instruction and guidance the way you had always done. “Hey, look at me, mama..” gently snatching your head forward and forcing eye contact as your chest heaved. “N-need you. Need you so bad, baby..please. Make love to me..” and with that whiny declaration, he’d make haste in fulfilling your wish. With a cocked smile, Armin would reign you in tighter, reaching for you. “Then here..take my hands, angel..” on his command, your hands would join in a gentle clasp, combining as one as you adjusted your lower half to align with his. He’d buck his hips upward and you’d lower yourself down as your bodies became one… meeting in an instant. “Fuck…” the word escaping your mouths simultaneously along with gentle moans. That seemed to be the theme for the night. A stark comparison to the wild nights you shared together previously. Perhaps.. it was the realization that this was really the last time you’d get to do this for a while. That he wouldn’t be able to feel the comfort of your body, to smell your intoxicating scent..to clash with your plump lips..to taste the sticky gloss that coated them. To stare into those gorgeous brown eyes. So as he lie underneath you, being rode to kingdom come as your tightness constricted around him once more, Armin would close his eyes and absorb every memory, every fiber of you..ensuring that he’d never forget his first and true love.

“There you go, baby. Right there..ride me—fuck!”

and he couldn’t possibly forget how you made him feel. How you set him ablaze with your overwhelming passion..still bound hand in hand, heart to heart, you’d keep going. Throwing your head to the wind and calling out your lover’s name, lifting it to the heavens as you bounced up and down. Taking him to your hilt; allowing that swollen tip to prod your most sensitive area. “Armin, baby! Yes..oh my gosh, you feel so good.” For the first time, you didn’t just fuck him. His flesh was more than a mere vessel of pleasure..it was your soul becoming one with his own. You were experiencing true pleasure in its purest form..and neither of you wanted it to end. Finally opening his eyes, he’d be greeted by the ethereal view of your breasts swaying and your beautiful face throwed in ecstasy filled bliss. “Aw, baby..you’re so beautiful. My favorite view in the entire world.” Smiling as tears streamed generously down your cheeks. “Oh my God—I love you, Armin! I love you so much.” Confessing with all that you could muster. And that warm, gushing sensation derived from your sex wasn’t lost on Armin either. He’d find himself in a fit of heaving as your walls closed in around his cock. Squeezing him as if to never let go. “Ahh!-shit..I love you too, baby!—“

in that moment, he could no longer hold back his urges. His need to claim full dominion over you..hastily, he’d bring you to a cease before maneuvering and flipping you over onto your back. It was then that he’d mount you. Diving between your legs as he held each in place. He didn’t even take a moment to adjust. It was mere seconds before you’d find yourself filled with him yet again and he’d begin his descent into your mix. Sloshing and drumming up slick as your thighs collided in a fiery haze. The bed..the one that you’d messed around in so many times before served as the place of consummation for your devotion tonight..ricocheting and colliding with the wall as thunderous slams erupted. Your limbs entangled as your legs found home around his waist and your arms on his back. His entire frame lay bare and pressed to your own as those hips crashed into you. It felt unreal..so unbelievably unreal. But this was the present..your reality for the time being so you’d savor every last moment you got together. Drilling further into your body, his pace sped to a barrage of more steady, consistent strokes. Ones that he would accompany with sloppy tongue kisses. Filling your mouth with them as he pounded you gently. You couldn’t keep your hands off of each other. Regardless of how many times you slept together, something about this moment was starkly different. “Look at me, (y/n)!…” once again, snatching your head forward to meet his gaze. “You’re mine..you’re mine and I don’t give a damn where you go. I belong to you, you hear me? Don’t forget that..” those tears that had been brimming in his eyes finally fell and you’d affirm his sentiment with a fierce nod of your head, assuring him that no amount of distance or time could ever dissipate the love you shared for one another. “Yes baby! And I’m all yours, forever. I won’t ever leave you.” Sealing your promises with one final act..

“Yeah? You mean that?” “Every word, baby. I want you to always be with me..” Vocalizing back and forth as he continually thrashed around inside of your pussy until he sensed the urge that you were close. Upholding one another’s heads in a passionate fury, you’d exchange breathy words amid your love making. Telling him you’re near your peak and him telling you to let go. “Come for me, baby. You can come all over—“ but alas, before he could grant you permission, it would seem that he’d reach his climax first; glaring with a wide eyed expression as his seed filled you to the brim..something he’d never done before! Cursing himself and apologizing as he shook violently, draining every drop of himself into you. Perhaps he took your words a bit too literal but it was far too late to turn back now and shortly after, you’d follow. Showering him with a splatter of sticky rain. Squeezing and dripping all down his shaft. You’d convulse and flail around the mattress until he was able to quell you with gentle kisses. “I’m right here, mama. Let it out, it’s okay..” but once you were back into consciousness, you still wouldn’t let go and you remained entangled like this minutes afterwards. Exchanging “I love you’s” and sweet nothings. Along with tears..shedding them not for what would be lost but the time you had together and the comfort in knowing that you’d reunite soon enough. This time as more than friends with benefits or even mere freshmen sweethearts. But as an entity, an item that could never be separated because your bond was forged on a stronger foundation than one made of pure lust. It was love that would drive you to be better versions of yourselves, to work hard and it was love..that would bring you right back to one another when the time was truly right!

══✿══╡°˖✧✿✧˖°╞══✿════✿══╡°˖✧✿✧˖°

@citysweet @greenieweeniesworld @hoohoohope @c0pkiller @bey0nseh @violetxxvenom @dragonmaiden79 @fuck-your-chickenstrips-hoe @saiki-enthusiast

[prickly-paprikash]

Something cool about Blue Eye Samurai is how sex is juxtaposed with the end-goals.

I really love how our three protagonists are all obsessed. And that obsession defines them, torments them, and are subsequently reborn through their obsessions.

Mizu, of course, is obsessed with the concept of revenge. It's not even about getting even or getting justice as some might use to justify the bloody road taken—it is simply about seeking satisfaction for Mizu. She cuts a bloody swathe across Japan because of what the Four White Devils did to her mother and herself. She does not concern herself with the ramifications of her wrath but merely charges forward, leaving behind a trail of viscera and gore behind her.

Like I said before, her vengeance and obsession with satisfaction is not painted by the show as wrong. It is how she allows it to affect others along the path. It's why the episode with Madame Kaji is so enlightening; Mizu should not tackle this quest as a vengeful revenant; an onryō. She has let the world define her as a monstrosity and so she embraced it, when Swordfather and Madame Kaji knew what the correct path was to satiate her need for vengeance. Treat her sword as the Artisan's tool it truly is. Treat her body the way an Artist would treat their canvas.

Madame Kaji and Swordfather are both outcasts, for being a woman and a blind man. Yet they found strength in their exclusion, becoming single-minded in their fields of art. Because sex is art and swordsmithing is art. It's what makes Mizu's body writing scene so fucking good.

Artistic vision becomes stagnant when one pulls from only one source. They become rigid and unbending when Mizu, like her namesake, must be fluid. She has shown fluidity in her use of her gender and her morals, but cannot apply that same flexibility towards her goal. Throughout season one, she was becoming an uninspired artist, merely painting the world in hues of scarlet. In a world that forces Women to be either Wives or Whores, Mizu chose to be a Warrior—but a warrior fights for a cause, whether it be just or otherwise. A soldier fights in an army. Mizu is neither of these things. She is an Artist first and foremost, and her medium is Death. Sex, something Mizu was at first hesitant before her failed marriage, and something she actively avoided afterwards, is what gives her a new perspective. Like an Illustrator studying life to better draw their intended worlds, taking inspiration from wherever one can find it.

Taigen and Akemi are also equally affected by the artistry of sex, as befitting of Mizu's fellow protagonists.

Akemi is quite obviously Mizu's narrative foil. Mizu chases after revenge like a bloodhound whereas Akemi longs for freedom like a bird in a cage. Both are fierce women who are unsatisfied with their lot in life, with their sex and gender being used against them in their lives. Literally, the episode "The Tale of the Ronin and the Bride" is a fucking triple entendre:

Mizu is the Ronin as well as the Bride.

The play showcases the tale of the Ronin and the Bride.

It is also Mizu as the Ronin and Akemi as the Bride.

And when Mizu finds her center as she melts down her blade and engages in body writing, this scene of enlightenment is juxtaposed with Akemi laying with her new husband Takayoshi. Both, in this moment, are taking control of their lives through sex. They are both taking control of their futures through the ways Madame Kaji taught them. Mizu and Akemi are both rebels against this oppressive society, and are both talented artists with their body. Whether that be sex, politicking, or ass-kicking.

Taigen, like the two women before, finds freedom through it but in a more subtle manner.

Where Mizu and Akemi are narrative foils, both using sex as a form of art and escape, Taigen finds liberation through his awakening.

Like the closeted bisexual man he is, he begins his journey of self-realization when he first encounters Mizu at the Dojo.

Every single battle these two have is purposefully rife with sexual tension. All his life, Taigen has been taught that a man must live with honor. That he must take control of his life and his identity, or he will have failed and that he is better off dead than to live with such shame.

Taigen is just as much a victim of the Patriarchal society around him. Mizu rails against it violently. Akemi seeks to run away from it all. And Taigen, with the privilege given to him by his manhood, chooses to become a perpetrator, enabling the vicious wheel of society to keep moving forward.

His obsession with honor leads him to hunting down and even protecting Mizu. Mizu is no doubt the better warrior, but even she knows she owes so much to Taigen. The blockhead not only did everything to protect her in the valley, but also sealed his lips shut even under the duress of torture. His obsession with honor becomes an obsession with Mizu.

His regrets over tormenting her over her looks and ethnicity as a child. His shame in having lost so decisively in his own dojo. Taigen was a man born with nothing and climbed up to the top with every advantage he could muster, and suddenly it's all ripped away by this one vengeful spirit passing by.

Taigen learns to surrender control around Mizu. He begins to discover his own sexuality and purpose around Mizu, redefining what honor really means to him now that he, as a man, has a budding attraction towards the man who beat him.

Mizu's Vengeance. Akemi's Freedom. Taigen's Honor. In all three, Sex becomes a catalyst in redefining what each of these concepts truly mean to them all. It's not just sex of course, but it is undeniable how the writers keep juxtaposing sexual acts and thoughts with massive character moments.

It changes how Mizu chases after her Vengeance. It recontextualizes how Akemi can be Free. It showcases the absurdity of the Honor forced upon Taigen.

It's so fucking refreshing seeing Sex not used as fanservice or shoe-horned in just to further a stale, poorly written cis-heterosexual romance; but used as a plot point that cannot be ignored. An impetus that fuels the narrative.

Moving forward, I'm curious as to how sex will be used.

The next few ideas aren't as sound or organized because I'm neither Asexual nor Genderfluid, so please if anyone reads this who understands it better, feel free to point it out.

I think it'd be cool if Mizu met the inverse of Madame Kaji. A person who is apathetic to sex. Sure, Swordfather has shades of this, but I'm tired of the person with disabilities also being on the Asexual spectrum. And I'm not saying that Ace or Graysexual people with disabilities don't exist! But they always tend to be written as having some form of disability (Varys from ASOIAF) or a Robot.

Just as artists need a variety of sources to pull inspiration from, I hope in the next seasons we get to see different perspectives on sex and gender. In London, it feels like Mizu finding the other half of herself, and with that having a better way of tackling her own identity. Whether it be gender, sex, combat, etc.

Basically what this inane rambling amounts to is that Blue Eye Samurai tackles sex and violence and revenge and obsession in ways that most media has yet to truly do. So that was pretty cool.

[semisolidmind]

“he won't say it aloud, but...had it been him who'd been found and tended to by reader, azure couldn't be sure he wouldn't have made the same choice as his brothers.”

…Semi, could I persuade you to make a little something (art, fic, headcanons, whatever you wish) for this concept? Please?

If you’d rather not, totally fine. Please feel free to delete this. No worries!

(this got longer than expected:))

he'd try to persuade her, at first.

after she found him in her backyard, in a crater of his own making having fallen from battle, battered and bleeding, after she brought him into her home and cared for him...

...he'd gotten attached.

the two became close, and as azure got stronger he began to realize that he'd have to go home eventually. he and his brotherhood had a job to do, and he couldn't abandon it to play house. but— but he'd become so used to waking up with reader by his side. he'd learned so much about mortal life while living with her, and his sympathies towards humans had grown.

noone had ever treated him as gently as reader had. even knowing what he is, the potential threat he posed to her, she still saved him. he's eternally grateful for her help. azure doesn't want to leave her behind.

the night he decides to leave, he asks her to leave with him, to go with him to his home in camel ridge.

she declines.

she's fine here, she says. it's a very kind offer, but she doesn't mind her work or her employers, and– and what would a handsome demon lord like him want with a human like her, anyway? he should go and be with his brothers, she says (reader internally panics, she'd hoped this wouldn't happen, she'd hoped those stories about demons kidnapping women were fake, she really really hoped she wasn't about to be stolen and potentially eaten—).

azure pauses, standing silent before her. what he wants with her? he can't give a proper answer to that (at least not in polite company), but he wants to show his gratitude. he wants to at least reward reader for her kindness. please, just go with him, he'll give her a good life, he promises.

but reader declines again, stepping back from him. her eyes betray her growing fear.

azure is silent. the gentle, pleading expression has dissapeared from his face, replaced by a cold dissatisfaction.

he didn't want to do it this way.

but he is a demon. and demons are inherently selfish creatures, no matter what noble lies they choose to live by.

azure steps forward. reader steps back.

please don't, she begs, voice wavering. he doesn't respond.

reader doesn't have time to even scream before azure seizes her by the waist, putting her over one broad shoulder. she beats her fists on his back, kicks wildly against the paw holding down her thighs, begs him please, please don't do this. azure solemnly opens a portal gate with his regained powers, stepping through it, carrying reader back to his home.

–––

some time passes.

once reader has better settled into her role as azure lion's..."companion" ("captive" is more fitting, she thinks. or perhaps "pet"), the demon decides to bring her along to a council meeting at the home of the demon army's leader, the monkey king. azure is unsure what his simian comrade will think of reader, but if his closest brothers could come to accept her place at his side, then perhaps wukong could be convinced as well.

the first meeting goes smoothly. perhaps too smoothly, azure thinks with slight bitterness.

he saw the way wukong looked at his human companion throughout the council. he didn't say much beyond asking her name and purpose, but his interest was clear. azure wrote it off as a simple fascination with a mortal companion; it is fairly uncommon for high-ranking demons to keep humans for much beyond servants or food.

azure continued to bring reader along to their council meetings (unable to leave her at home unsupervised), and the monkey king began to speak with her more and more (occasionally running off with her when he wanted to show her some orchard or village on the mountain, to meet his people... the two would be gone for a while). azure didn't think much of it at first beyond a light sense of caution. however, every time reader laughed at wukongs antics, or followed him away from the group...there was a sting in the lion's chest he would hesitate to identify.

he wasn't sure if the king's friendliness was a ploy to harm reader in some way. wukong was known to dislike humans, having dealt with hunters attempting to capture and kill his ilk more than once. so to see him take an avid interest in reader, to seek out her company after the meetings were over and the brotherhood took time for leisure ... azure wasn't sure what to make of it. the infamous monkey king, known for his cruelty, determination, and bloodlust— befriending a human woman.

it sounded ridiculous, even as azure watched it happen before him.

however, when wukong himself approached the lion demon to none-too-subtley ask that he give reader up, the absolute madness of it all struck him.

wukong, in his winding roundabout way, suggests that azure allow reader to stay on flower fruit mountain. see, she and wukong have been talking; she obviously loves it here, she's here all the time during meetings anyways, and she's clearly gotten attached to the monkey citizens... sooooo why not just let her stay? not like there's much for her on camel ridge, he says flippantly.

oh, and not to mention the fact that reader doesn't seem to be all that attached to azure anyway. oh she's his friend, maybe, but that's it. just following him around, speaking when spoken to. she's clearly dissatisfied with her placement. at least wukong plans on wooing her properly; he'll make her his queen, not just a glorified pet.

azure has to restrain the thunderous growl that wants to escape his grit fangs at this absolutely ludicrous suggestion. the jealousy that's been bubbling in his chest begins to seep through to his words. wukong can't just, just—demand reader from him! he hates that he has to word it this way, but he took reader fair and square. finders keepers, by demonic rule. the answer is a resounding no, and a "polite" request that the monkey never bring it up again.

a moment of silence, the two demons staring each other down—before wukong seemingly shrugs it off. oh well, he sighs. so be it.

wukong walks away, calm as can be, not even an aggravated twitch of his tail to indicate his true feelings.

but azure's hackles are raised. he knows wukong well enough to know that he hasn't actually dropped this.

the monkey king is simply biding his time.

---

after azure's vehement refusal, wukong rolls his shoulders and sighs. he tried asking nicely, but if azure won't play fair, then neither will the monkey king.

besides, he's more of a "ask for forgiveness, not permission" kinda guy anyways (and he doesn't expect forgiveness). later on that evening, he signals to macaque (who has also grown quite fond of reader, though more secretively) that it's time to roll out plan b.

because y'know, wukong's been thinkin.' maybe his and azure's interests haven't exactly been lining up lately, and not just in the reader department. the monkey king has noticed that azure and his allies have been changing their minds about this whole conquesting on earth business. they want to pool their forces and take on heaven.

now, wukong knows a thing or two about that, and he knows that even with all the might of the demon armies at their disposal, azure and the gang stand about three quarters of a chance. it doesn't help that the original brotherhood members (namely peng and yellowtusk) have been getting kinda uppity lately.

so, why not hit two birds with one stone? or in this case...one bird, one elephant, and one lion.

wukong has macaque take a lil' trip down to the underworld to steal the scroll of memory, an artifact that allows one to trap anyone in a hell of their own making. the darker-furred demon makes quick work of the assignment.

the monkey king and the six-eared macaque then pay the lords of camel ridge a little visit to announce their...severance from the demon alliance.

---

reader wakes up in an unfamiliar bed.

or rather, an unfamiliar...pile of pillows and blankets? in a pit? in the floor? it's surprisingly comfortable all things considered.

however, a drowsy look around the room tells her this is most definitely not the den of her feline captor, and she certainly isn't in her chambers at the palace in camel ridge; the presence of greenery inside the room clued her in there. her nerves began to rise. where is she?

her question is partially answered by wukong pushing his way inside the room, macaque in tow (both are dressed far more casually than normal, wearing simple pants and robes that she's never seen them in). reader startles, scooting back as they move closer. the boys step into the pit and sit across from her. the two simian demons wish reader good morning and ask how she slept.

reader is too stunned to answer.

macaque laughs at the expression on her face, a fond look overcoming his own as he takes in her sleep-disheveled appearance. you're in the royal chambers in the stone palace, to answer your question, he says. he's sure she wants answers about how she came to be here, and he's about to speak when wukong excitedly talks over him.

something has happened to azure and his brothers, he says. it must have, because the king and the general found reader knocked out in a peach grove not far from the entrance to water curtain cave. they brought her inside, of course, but were unable to wake her. perhaps a sleep spell, macaque suggests.

when the monkeys went to investigate camel ridge, they could find no sign of the brotherhood. the warlords admit they have no idea what could have become of their allies, but insist that reader must stay with them until this mystery is solved. she doesn't mind, right? she'll be well taken care of here, and she's more than welcome to stay in the royal chambers (she'll want the two monkey demons to keep her warm, after all the stone palace can get so cold at night—). the monkey citizens will be excited to see her, they'll be glad to hear she's staying. it'll be great! wukong happily assures.

reader admittedly isn't... unhappy about this arrangement. she doesn't want to be rude, but flower fruit mountain is much more hospitable than the lifeless sandstone of camel ridge. quite frankly she's come to prefer the company of wukong and macaque over her once captor, and the friendly mountain residents over two impassive demon lords.

if reader had to choose into whose hands her chain and collar would be placed—she could think of many worse than these two.

[bones-of-a-rabbit]

king of day Sun and lord of nights Moon, bonding with Cursed-AU Y/N,,,,,, bc they are simps in every au i make sorry i dont make the rules (BONUS: AU LORE/INFO BELOW, ALONG WITH ANOTHER [story-relevant] DOODLE!)

Some lore about the curse au, copy and pasted from the discord bc im lazy and im very very sorrys fjfkhdskjh:

Okay so. Casting magic takes energy, bc this is an angsty au

The bigger-more complex-more powerful the spell is, the more energy it takes. The most powerful spells can take as much energy as in multiple human lives. There’s legends of spells cast during wars or battles that fell entire armies at once purely just by being cast

NORMALLY, when casting a spell, the magic comes from the world/plant life/living things around the caster

A curse is a kind of Forbidden Magic that can span generations. If one casts a curse that the cursed one will never quench their thirst, or they will never have enough sleep (simple curses for example), the curse could be passed down to their children, sometimes for multiple generations

A curse is ALSO a kind of spell that goes out of its way to deliberately alter the future and continues to- it’s basically a spell that’s constantly working when most spells are more like they last for a few seconds or maybe a minute or two then they’re done and the magic is used up and gone

So if you’re cursed to never feel warmth, there’s magic around you or in you that is constantly sapping the warmth from you or putting chills into you. You can’t see it, but it’s always there, even if just in small amounts

So when a curse is cast, it takes a lot of energy. Like, multiple human lives’ worth

There are ways to circumvent the possibility of killing the people around you (or yourself), like having some animals recently sacrificed, which is the most commonly heard of version

But. Sometimes, very rarely. One might cast a curse on a whim, without planning on it or really considering the series of events leading up to it or following

Cursed AU Reader did that once. Cursed someone in a fit of rage or passion

They were standing in a field, ready for a harvest festival, at the time

The fields withered and died and it’ll take years for them to get back to being fit enough to grow anything in

The mark of a cursed witch, which is a sign from Wiccan culture meant for containing(?), basically keeps the Marked Person from taking any magic from the world around them

The only energy they can use is the energy their physical body contains- and if they use too much or too frequently, they’ll kill themselves in the process

Basically it’s a way of making sure the caster can never use enough magic to really do much of anything sjdgdhdhd

and,,,,, the concept art for a moment i might write abt at some point,,

[fancy11schmancy]

Finally, after all this time, 1920’s AU Link’s Main outfit concepts are all done!!! It’s been a challenge traveling for work and having time to work on art, but I am slowly getting better at it! (Sorry this took so long ;;)

AU Main Summary:

Since travel has been restored between the light realm and the twilight realm, a newfound unity flourished between the two societies. New friends, new towns/cities to explore, never-before-seen technologies and fashions at their disposal- all seemed well...until nefarious rumors of a returning great threat started to spread... Brief Lore of Link’s Role In The AU: With the new alluring land of Twilight open for entry and for any and all visitors, Link jumps at the chance to visit the amber-hued and shadow-filled world as Zelda’s accompanying guard for the latest council meeting. What and who lies in wait for Link to meet in this parallel reality? A world far more alien and advanced than his own? Rumors of an ethereal beauty shrouded in shadow? ___________________________________________________________ Link, a kindhearted, brave and daring country boy, is ready to make a name for himself as Hyrule’s greatest explorer! He’s known across the land as the “one-man army” for being extremely adaptable and prepared for any situation at any time with his wide arsenal of tools at his disposal. Some may also call him the “evergreen mountaineer” being as there is no mountain or peak he cannot scale- and by the fact he is always seen donning his famous dark green field coat, cap and his pickax of legend. He always greets friends and acquaintances alike with a warm smile and a firm handshake with a hearty hello (or ‘howdy’) with a slight southern draw. (A trademark from those who hail from “across the field," the Ordon Region.)

With his natural talent for exploring and his insatiable hunger for discovery and adventure, he’s charted vast ancient ruins, several dungeons of lore, and has uncovered a fantastic array of numerous treasures on both land and sea. Because of this, he’s occasionally seen as a young, irresponsible and reckless lad, especially due to the extreme nature of most of his exploration missions and his tendency to throw safety to the wind. He may seem like a “lone wolf” most of the time, but he always manages to bring along his dear friend Princess Zelda (and sometimes Midna) for any excursion he may be heading on…but in secret, of course. If the King of Hyrule were to ever find out about the “dangerous” adventures he’s been dragging Zelda onto, surely it would not go well…. Besides adventuring, Link spends his time helping his adoptive family back in Ordon with their expansive pumpkin farm and raising goats that are for producing the finest of goat cheese known region-wide. Any other spare time he has is at the right-hand side of Zelda, helping her with daily royal errands, solving mysteries, or just going out on the town to a local pub or to a delightful picnic in Hyrule Field. When he is at the pub, he can be seen boisterously playing an array of instruments, ranging from drums, stringed instruments, and most notably, his Ocarina (a very cherished gift from Zelda). While Link may be a bit of a country boy, he is no less capable of assisting Zelda in her pursuits of solving the various mysteries popping up around Castle Town, often providing a unique perspective from being the most skilled survivalist around. Once Midna arrives on the scene, she often enables Link’s craziest ideas- bringing out his secret (or not-so-secret) mischievous side. However, Link absolutely loathes Zant, Midna's towering Valet, due to his arrogant nature and his occasional mocking of Link’s short stature.

[the-cat-and-the-birdie]

Hobie's Boathouse

The S.S Anne Ark

[Headcanon Concept]

Here it is in all it's Grungy Glory. [Mentions of OCs below - Including my girl Disco-Spider Diane]

About Anne Ark:

The S.S Anne Ark is a modified wide-beam canal boat. Completely off-the-grid, and DIY'd by him, it's Hobie's pride and joy. The Anne Ark is three levels tall - a 'ground' floor, and upstairs, and a locked basement below the deck. The Anne Ark has two 'bedrooms' and one 'bathroom'. Hobie's bedroom is what was once the control room, gutted and converted and the second bedroom was once a small equipment space. Hobie has had Anne for four years, and after years of homelessness as a street kid, he happily calls it his forever home.

The Rooms:

The Living Room - [ Read more about Hobie's Living Room HERE ]

Hobie's make-shift art studio/recording booth/library/cat play area, the Living Room is where Hobie spends most of his time. It features his ratty old couch from Tower Hamlets, a ceiling mic for recording, and Hobie's pride and joy - his jukebox.

Hobie's Workshop

To the left of the jukebox is a hallway that leads to Hobie's workshop, and the staircase down to his locked basement.

Hobie's workshop if full of rubbish and metal that he'll tinker away with for hours. In fact, he made every prototype of his watch in that workshop (and there were many prototypes). Despite what one may assume, it's impeccable in there. He also keeps some gear for protests, as well as somethings he's working on for Spider-punk (barbed wire webs anyone?) OCs: Diane hardly goes in there, blessed with organic webs and cursed with technological incompetence. But sometimes he does invite people like Angel and Ale in.

Outdoor Back Deck

The 1st floor Back Deck houses the main parts of the engine. Hobie maintains and upgrades it regularly, trying out things like clean energy, and emission free designs. ________________________________________________

Behind the cat tree in the photo of the living room, there is a staircase that leads up to the second floor. The stairs open to: Hobie's Bedroom

Covered in army green shag carpet and a king size bed, Hobie's bedroom is nowhere near as put together as his workshop. I mean, the guy uses an amp as a nightstand.

There's usually clothes everywhere, thrifted or hand-made, but there's also a set of bean-bag chairs, dozens of posters, and an old busted-up (but working) TV.

His room as a large window facing his bed, what was once the main window of the boat's control room. The second floor stairs open up into his room, with a glass sliding door to the left that leads to the hallway.

Gwen's Bedroom

Gwen's bedroom is barely that - but she still appreciates it more than anything in the world. Hobie understands how important it is to have your own space when housing insecure, so he wanted her to have somewhere cozy, especially know that sometimes Gwen just wants to be alone. Most of Gwen's stuff his here, and she only keeps her clothes at the Society dorms.

The Decks

Front A hot spot Diane is known to throw raging parties after the band plays, and if you're looking for an encore, head down to Floor 1 and look up - Hobie is known to drop the red banner and play a show or two up there. Or night's off, it's a great place to have a smoke. Back The best place to be. During parties, this is dancefloor. Plus, it's a good place for snogging and looking out on the water. When not in party mode, Hobie cooks most of his food on the outdoor stove and grill. Having dinner out while watching the waves. ____________________________________________ The Colors:

Like Hobie, Anne has a whole spectrum of colors - and it's affected by a whole number of things.

Ranging from black and white to full on rainbow (on one rare occasion - now THAT was trippy), Anne Ark changes color the moment Hobie, or someone else, steps on board.

Sometimes, it can even adopt the art style of those inside - running watercolor when Gwen is upset, or going full harsh-shadow when Noir comes aboard.

Every person has a different color, ranging from yellow for people like Percy and Sacha or pink for Angel.

The Cats:

(pictured are Moto (left), and Pierogi (right)) [Read more about The BoatCats HERE] Other cats he has are: Acid & Viper (siblings), Creampuff (named by Diane) _______________________________________________

FAQ:

What's in Hobie's locked basement?

I don't know. He won't tell me. But it's something that means a lot to him. The basement spans the entirety of the lower-level of the boat.

How many cats does Hobie own?

If you ask, he'll say he doesn't own any. They're free to come and go as they please, and none of them have collars. All of his cats are adopted street cats - either too old, or too weak, or those who just wanted to live with him.

But if you ask Diane, she'll say 5. He's been mentioning bringing aboard a 6th.

Does Diane live on the houseboat?

No. Diane has her own Barbie Dreamhouse - a.k.a an all pink apartment back home in 1294's Harlem. She divides most of her time either there, or at the Black Panther Chapter House she was raised in a block or two away. She rarely stays with Hobie (maybe once or twice a month), and since Hobie messes up her throw pillows and always takes something from her closet, he hardly stays with her either.

Does Gwen live on the houseboat?

Mostly, yes. She has a dorm back at Society, and she sleeps there about 3 days a week. But the rest (including all weekends) is at the houseboat. Does Hobie sail/fish?

Yes, he does both.

What are Hobie's favorite colors?

He hates consistency. But Green, Pink, and Orange.

____________________________________

Yeahhhhh so that's the houseboat. Whenever I mention Diane being on the boat, it's this I'm seeing :) And I just added in the favorite colors thing because why not

Welcome to my incredibly detailed mind palace of Hobie's house boat that does even look anything like the actual concept art lol

Stay as long as you like. Take your shoes off, make yourself comfortable. Hobie's grilling out back and Diane's making the Kool-Aid (sweet as hell for no reason smh).

Now per usual, take this photo of Hobie, and if the police ask about a boat or sumn tell em u aint seen shit ok

Bye.

_______________________ OCs mentioned:

Disco-Spider Diane @mothmothmothmothmothmoth 's Sacha

@thewolfsoul 's Percy

@onmyownside1 's Angel

@spidey-bie 's Ansi

@suchholydebauchery 's Asa

anon's Alejandro

(i think that all I mentioned lol)

[moralesmilesanhour]

I saw your requests were open! I've seen in some concept art that Miles is trying out watercolor, can you (when you have the time and if you want to, ofc) please write a reader (Gn or fem) who is really good at watercolor and is a artist and teaches him? Either romantic or platonic work :D thank you, I love your work so much!!!

omg wait I used to do watercolor I still have the paints at home...hold my beer (I went with platonic)

Miles sucked his teeth as the pinks, blues, and green he had just put down ran together and formed a puddle in the middle of the paper.

No matter how many YouTube videos he sped through, he couldn't seem to grasp how the disembodied hand on his screen could lay down all that color (without the paper shriveling up like a raisin) and manage to sculpt it into something...comprehensible.

Just then, he remembered the scanned painting you had sent him the other day. It was a vibrant forest, dotted with bright neon flowers and birds dozing off in high branches. He couldn't for the life of him figure out how you managed to capture beams of sunlight in your heavy sketchbook and needed to learn your secrets, so he'd borrowed some leftover paints.

Miles had already mastered sketching, and knew his way around a box of markers. He could even command a messy can of spray paint. What's a bit of watery paint?

...A lot, it turns out. At any rate, he knew just who to call.

After a few beeps, your face appeared onscreen.

You were still in bed, surrounded by an army of stuffed animals with a sleeping mask pushed up to your forehead. Miles made a 'tsk' sound. It was two o'clock in the afternoon.

"Rise and shine, bestie!" he announced loudly into his phone speaker.

"What do you want?" you grumbled, rubbing your eyes.

"This watercolor shit is blowing my mind right now, and I need your expertise. Look!"

Miles flipped the camera to show you the blob of what was now a bright indigo pooled in the middle of his would-be masterpiece.

You squinted. "Jesus. Is that in your regular sketchbook, where you do the markers and shit?"

"Yup."

"Well, there's your first problem. You're using the wrong kinda paper."

"So that's why no one in those videos fucks it up? Noted,"

He reversed the camera again.

"What about the colors? Mine keep running together when I don't want 'em to."

This made you laugh, imagining Miles slapping a ton of different colors on top of a sketch like a child learning to paint in kindergarten for the first time, thinking that he knew what he was doing. He was never the patient type, preferring fast and loose marks with sharp edges. No piece of his was ever allowed an "ugly stage"; it either worked immediately or it would end up crumpled into a ball in the trash.

Oh boy, was he was gonna learn today.

You could see Miles pouting through the camera.

"What's so funny?"

"Miles," you snorted, "did you let the first layer dry before adding more colors?"

His eyes widened in realization, triggering more peals of laughter.

"I just wet the whole page, then started coloring! How was I supposed to know?"

"It's water, dumbass! It's not like your lil' Copic markers--"

"Prismacolor--"

"Whatever. Anyways, gimme fifteen minutes, I'm coming over to save you before you flood your entire room."

[theartisticpixelbit]

The Queen of the Changeling’s has arrived! Watch your back Starlight Glimmer

════ •✧• ════ MIDDLE NAMES WORK THE SAME AS LAST NAMES IN MY AU, MOST CHILDREN TAKE THE LAST NAME OF WHICHEVER PARENT THEY WANT ════ •✧• ════

~Bio~ Name: Chrysalis Puparia Nicknames: Queen of the Changelings Gender: Female (Pan) Race: Changeling Parents: Unknown Siblings: Unknown Partner: Shining ‘Star’ Armor(One Night Stand) Children: Mi Amore Eros 'Crystal Reflection' (Child), Thorax (Child), All other Changelings Other Relatives: Unknown

~Headcanons~ 💚Chrysalis clearly cares a lot for her subjects, she doesn’t just consider them an army to use for her own means, and it's hard for her to show that she does care. She’s their queen and technically their mother. She’s shown caring for them from birth, and she doesn’t simply “rule by fear” as stated by Starlight. 💚She and her first subjects were born from a carnivorous plant in a magical pond that fed on insects and bones. Some time later, she conquered the cities of Timbucktu and Trot, but she was defeated by Princess Celestia and imprisoned in a volcano. She and the changelings eventually escaped by tricking a dragon into releasing them. 💚 The Changelings never used to be full of holes, while being pony like in apperance, they are still more plant and insect like, the holes are from wear and tear from years of battle. 💚 Changeling society doesn’t really have “gender” as an idea, however some changelings have adopted the idea of gender from other cultures. Not all of them like or understand gender as a concept but are always supportive of any friends or family that decide they do. 💚When Chrysalis posed as Cadence, she and Shining hooked up, unknown to Shining. Which led to the birth of of a nymph, Chrysalis quickly abandoned the nymph when her plan didn't work as thought.

[Image Description: A digital art reference sheet of a redesigned Queen Chrysalis from My Little Pony: Friendship is Magic. She has black chitin coat, sharp fangs and green bug like mandibles, a pair of insectoid wings, holes in her legs her legs are also segmented with spaces of green in between the segments, no visible cutie-mark at all, and her hooves are separated into two segments like short pinchers. She is very tall and also has dark green eyes with vertical slit pupils, a twisted and gnarled unicorn horn, a long and straight jade green mane and a tail, a greenish saddle, and a bluish-green rib plate, the plating also is segmented up her neck. Her eyes have a double pupil: a vertical slit one within a normal round one, her limbs and her torso are extremely skinny. Her horn is also displayed casting a brilliant green colored magic. The image also includes a watermark reading 'TheArtisticPixelBit'. End ID]

[neocelticavalon]

Apritello Fantasy AU doodles

Sharing some scraps, doodles of my fav ship☺💕💜💛💜

Tribunal Donatello fantasy AU concept art (i got inspired mostly from the ninja tribunal 2003) kinda improved the ideas a bit after that long looong sleep lmfao🥲👆👆👆 (yeah I am sooo lazy at drawing him fullbody 🥲)

I forgot to add some details at phase 2 such as growing sharp claws. As he learned having glowing skin at his age, he suddenly grew canine-like teeth, having a tremendous appetite (probably meat), his stamina grew two times stronger, he weight two times bigger and heavier, grew strong sense of smell (?)🤨. After April was done sparring at the castle's field, she sneaks out and brought raw herrings and venison meat for the turtle brothers. Knight April knows that Donnie loves venison meat as he loves her marmalade jam. Everytime knight April pays a visit, Donnie loves seeing her, made him even nervous and it made his skin glows brighter, feeling happy as his heart keep thumping and thumping, made him even more confused. He keep thinking "What's happening to me....?!?!?!" and he still want to figure out whats happening to him. April did noticed his odd changes (glowing skin, canine teeth, grew claws, strong sense of smell, he always churrs beside her, etc). Those odd changes didn't creeped her out btw instead April is aware of his conditions as a turtle & cares for him.

April lived in a different world where they thought dragons, komodo armies, dungeon monsters etc are long gone and wiped out many years ago (lets say bcs of wars & conflict). If you're asking me how come they meet each other, Knight April kinda got separated from the royal troops after a rough fighting with bandits in the forest, April and the royal troops are guarding a wagon full of....let's say treasures from the castle. April's dad was in the wagon with his assistant, the bandits kinda want the treasures and kidnapped April's dad (with a purpose?) hmmm....so April got pretty injured and unconscious after she threw herself to the lake so the bandits won't find her. Mikey saw her falling to the lake and called his brothers to help the poor girl April, she drowned in the lake, I think Donnie jumped into the water to save her. Leo said to the brothers, he saw no sign of her breathing, and Mikey said "I suggests one of us have to do mouth to mouth!" and Leo, Mikey, Raph were staring at Donnie for a long time (ppftt!) Donnie be likee..."Why it has to be me!!??" oh my gosh...that scene always shown in my head ahahahhahah🤣🤣🤣

This scene, April decided to stick around with turtle brothers a bit longer. At nighttime, Donnie saw April at the lush green field, found beautiful fireflies. Donnie keep staring at her bcs he never seen a female human knight before. They're pretty much hanging out like friends, sitting and talking. She's talking how she misses her dad so much, the village, her best friend Irma, the villagers market, the kids at the orphanage, everything.

Sorry about the crappy pic quality 🥲🥲 and please ignore my broken english writing🙏🙏

🛡💜Any support like reblogs, comments and likes are GREATLY APPRECIATED!!! Toodles, loves!💜⚔👑

ASK BOX ALWAYS OPEN!!😉📮

[bitchfitch]

Abandoned bunkers were a common sight. The bombs dropped so long ago that even the most paranoid communities had left them to rejoin the larger population on the surface one or two generations ago.

Abandoned bunkers that hadn't been picked clean by scavengers like Lino were a different story entirely.

He crept through the eerily quiet halls looking for whatever might be worth taking. The lights flickered on as he triggered their proximity sensors. The place was finely decorated to look like the homes of the wealthy who lived before the war. Crown molding covered in cobwebs, statues caked with dust, paintings who's varnish was so yellow you could barely see the image beyond it.

Lino pulled the strap of his cross body bag a little tighter. The off white marble floors were pristine. His own muddy boot prints being the only source of filth. The floor cleaning bot must still be functional.

The doors to this place had been wide open. Maybe it was only recently vacated? The air didn't hurt, the circulation and vent systems were still doing their jobs all these years later. It was pleasantly cool with none of the humidity or mildew smell that came from broken climate controllers. It was still serviceable when so few other bunkers were. He'd need to return with tools to strip the mechanisms for parts.

Those might be the only thing worth the effort. Pre war art had value, but everything was so heavy he'd only be able to carry one delicate piece at a time... The math on that effort to return ratio wasn't favorable. There had to be more. Something of actual value he could pay his dues with today.

He stepped into what was once a massive living room. The ancient, rotting, couches were pushed up against the walls, side tables and other bits of decor piled atop them to make more space in the center for the army of... Mannequins? Dolls? Scarecrows?

They were made from torn down tree branches, dried plant matter, and hope. Haphazard creations meant to display the clothes they wore. Beautiful dresses, finely tailored suits, ensembles that blurred the line. Each one constructed as a masterpiece of form with no eye given to the horribly clashing colors found within their materials.

Lino didn't know who they would fit.

No one looked like That anymore. Two arms, two legs, a single head atop a neck connected to a straight back. He was the most 'classic' looking human he had ever seen, but even he wasn't the right shape for so many of these.

It was a shame really.

It meant their only value was in the fabrics they were made from.

Lino pursed his lips, looking from the one garment that Might fit him to the mirrors hung either side of the faux fireplace. Luxury and fine items that exist just to be beautiful weren't unheard of concepts anymore, they just weren't things he had ever had the money to know. His leader had told him he would have been beautiful if he'd been born into one of the higher families who could have afforded to decorate him and sell him for his 'classic' looks. The leader offered him that wealth once. If Lino would just dye his albino white hair and let the surgeon remove his extra arms, the leader would have gladly decorated him themself.

He wasn't going to dismember himself to be pleasing for another. He was fine. Constantly living on edge, scouring the lands for any tiny scrap of value left over after so many other hungry scavengers had done the same before him. He was fine. He didn't need to be beautiful to survive.

The dress was shiny and silky smooth when he brushed his fingers along the stormy grey fabric. The fabric from all the other garments would pay his way for the month probably... He was the only person who knew this dress existed.

He didn't need to be beautiful to survive.

He undid the fastens around the dress form's neck and lifted the piece off, laying it over the form's shoulder before shucking off his own shirt. The dress was meant for someone taller than him, his muddy boots and damp pant cuffs would ruin it. Those went off next, then his discolored socks that he didn't want to see poking out beneath the hem, all were dropped in a messy pile beside him. He pulled the dress on as he stepped away from the filth of his own garments and towards the mirror.

The dress was backless. The side hems brushed the bases of his extra arms. It was too big. It would buy his dinner for weeks. Lino didn't want to look in the mirror, but when he did his gut twisted.

He looked gorgeous, the contours of the bodice following the lines of a body he often felt too scrawny to be anything other than awkward looking. The collar was pleasantly firm against the front of his throat, not tight, but present enough to make him feel it every time he moved to find a new angle. Even his extra arms were made to look right in it. The back of the collar came down in a slight point that fell perfectly between his misshapen shoulder blades. It was too big, but it was clearly intended for a woman who looked like the models of before. His longer torso and flat but broad chest meant he'd only need to take in a bit around his hips for it to look perfect... Even the skirt being meant for someone a foot taller than him wouldn't be a problem, it just looked like a fine train. He couldn't stop smiling. Guilt ate at him. He didn't need to be beautiful. He was wearing so much money. The panels weren't even pieced, the skirt alone had to have more pristine bolts in its gathers than most saw in their lives.

It was just a dress.

He twirled in front of the mirror to make the too long skirt flare out around him. His bare feet padding on the hard stone, his own reflection distracting him, his guilt making him focus in on the price something so beautiful would go for if he could just make himself destroy it.

Lino didn't hear the breathing until it was already too late.

A scrambling form shot around the corner, its growling tearing through the still air as it launched towards Lino with more speed than something so twisted looked like it should be able to.

Lino was so grateful his fear response had always been flight. He bolted to the side, the badly mutated man careened into the mirror, shattering it across its massive shoulders. Lino didn't look back. He could hear the man panting and snarling like an animal as it gave chase. Its hands pounding on the stone as it dragged itself behind him. He could hear it gaining on him. The door was in sight. Would it follow an intruder out of its home? Lino had to hope not. The threshold was under his foot. A harsh tug at his skirt. He came crashing down, his jaw knocking hard against the concrete porch sent his head spinning with painful disorientation.

"Auth Code 1756" The man spat. Lino had thought him too far gone with his mutation to be person enough to speak. The bunker beeped in response, something mechanical thunked. Gears ground.

Lino kicked, his leg was grabbed. He turned to see the featureless face of his assailant for a split second before it was blocked from view by the closing door.

Lino's vision whites out, he heard screaming. The man was still holding him trapped by the leg when the multi ton hunk of metal shut atop it.

[slashrkiss]

If im goin' through emotional turmoil, so will my kin /j

I changed my eye style (more so went back to my rootz) & decided to test it in the most emotional merc I know

[rise-my-angel]

Heart of the Great Wolf

26 - The Last Dragon

Pairing: Jon Snow x F!Baratheon!Reader, Robb Stark x F!Baratheon!Reader (Past)

Length: 12.3k

Warnings: angst/hurt comfort, violence, warfare, graphic or disturbing imagery, blood, canon divergence

Notes: Dragonstone is based off of the book and book concept art, not the show depiction of the island. Previous Chapter Here, Series Masterlist Here

The waters splashed against the side of the ship with as much force as it took to pour the mists of water over the sides of the deck. Sprays and splashes making it seem like their was rain over top them, when the sea was just windy and moving fast along with them. In truth, the sky was clear, bright stars above and not a cloud to be seen, but as long as the winds didn’t force them against the tides it, a little bit of water overhead was not much of a problem to consider. 

Sailing down the path of war was new for Jon. He had sailed once and found war but it was not the intention as they came to the shores of Hardhome. Now though, he had sent an ask of reason to avoid such a conflict but his hand was forced. They needed one thing from the mines of the island and yet they were denied as aggressively as he stories he heard of ones before him. What Jon knew of Rhaegar Targaryean was very little, and the only parts which reached him painted as much of an image as he cared to know. What the image his son seemed to have of the man must have been painted over with something sweet, because even passed his own bias, Jon could see very little to admire. 

The nearer they came to their destination, the more he didn’t like the idea that the one who was to find out how close the two men were, was you. But now, it was too late to change that plan. Too late to force you to let someone else do it, and he was not going to demean you in front of his men by asking you to do so. Jon had to accept it, he would lead his army into the lands up to the castle, and you would go around, cut off their backup forces from being able to aid in pushing Jons back, before convincing Aegon yourself to force the rest into a surrender. 

Walking down the path of the ship, he could see it coming, see it finally appear through a mist in the distance and clear into a vision of a nightmare. Dragonstone was worse then he had once imagined, it was vast, and impenetrable from anywhere but the shores he sailed towards.

None of the Starks had any clue what a place they had been sending you home to for years. 

The largest in sight was the volcano of Dragonmont, pale grey wisps of smoke from the top of the mountain blew down to where the lands and waters lay. All around the sides were a rocky shore that stretched too high and too jagged, but it led into rolling cliffs of land that rose which each peak. Water from each end drenched down the sides and poured into the stream below until landing in the bay that encased the shore. 

Much work had been done on the lands to make it workable as it was. Paths and carvings into the stone and dirt that were surrounded by dark stones which was the only clear way up. Stairs and inclines the only thing that separated from the impenetrable land around, and it would be in those paths which blood would be shed. You had prepared him for it though, giving as specific as detail as you could, it would not be an easy place to spread out. The line would have to be held beacuse there was nowhere to go but up the paths from here. 

What you had referred to as the curtain, were steep mountain inclines that led to the castle where stairs had once been carved into the very sides of almost flat walls, to get down to the shores. The beaches were long, stretching out to the edges cliffs, but it was clear that there was no way of getting to the castle easy. Long, thinner stretches of sand that were pushed against the rocks and the ones that surrounded that were even more perilous then the steep ones you would be climbing. 

All along the shore and sitting within the waters of the bay were ships. The Golden Company were poised on their decks, waiting for Jon’s fleet to come close enough for a fight at sea that they had the advantage in. They would not come to them, they were waiting to be approached. 

As Jon ascended the steps up to the bow, the only other figure there standing with his forearms resting against the edge of the ship, was Theon. Coming beside him, Jon braced both hands on the wooden sides as his grey eyes were wide and in an unnerved awe at the sight. Both men had heard the stories but seeing it was a new one all together. 

Castle walls sat tall and each layer was higher then the last as it was build atop a new cliff side, and elaborate black carvings of stone had created expansive paths to connect the castle towers into one elaborate, complex building. On each side of the castle, the tallest at the very back, and a thick tower sat within the middle of the castle walls were high towers carved with very large, ornate dragons atop. The entrance of the main gate which was his destination was surrounded by the roaring open mouth of a dragon with three sitting on the top of the gates. The more one looked, the more dragons he could see. 

Fires were lit on castle peaks all around making it seem like it glowed against the darkness in a terrifying manner. Jon and Theon glanced to the other with a similar feeling in their guts, this was a place build to terrify and it only the over confidence of those calling themselves dragons, who would consider this a home worthy of themselves. But as he turned to look at the ships following their lead, he could see only one who did not look at such a place as a fearful place to overcome. 

Instead, you looked at it with a narrowed darkness in your eyes. Stood near the stern to the left, you hardly moved or blinked as your eyes scoured the lands you knew so well as the winds blew your hair and cloak through the airs behind you as if you were the only one coming there with confidence of what was to come. That, and an anger brewing that Jon too could feel in his own chest. 

Aegon himself did not commit those acts, but he was now standing in the memory of his father to claim the Throne. He was choosing to act as the one to carry Rhaegar’s legacy, which had left both Jon’s and your family changed forever. The damage he had done was still felt now, closer to thirty years later and Jon could not fathom wanting to fight this hard for anything of that mans name. Not even a throne.

Jon also couldn’t help the dread of why such a place of nightmares, seemed to hold the answer to the freezing nightmares waiting for the realm beyond the North. Why was part of the answer here, and why did both feel just as dangerous and sickening to be around as the other? 

The new King's armour was shining against the lights of the fires around. The metals of it painted a pitch black as across the plated chest sat the deep red of a three headed dragon. If Aegon were trying to be clever, he would have found it in him to say if there were supposed to be three dragons, why was only he here? But he knew why, or at least somewhat of why. Connington still held that place of who Aegon was to marry, but yet the one who chose to leave her behind was himself. Aegon had had the debate with him over it on the Shy Maid as they sailed near Volantis. 

“Daenerys is Prince Rhaegar’s sister, but I am Rhaegar’s son. I am the only dragon you need.” Connington trying to tell him to think about what he was saying before making such a choice, but Aegon had not looked to his future and planned with her in it. He never had. She has three living dragons they all spoke, but if his family was so powerful, he didn’t need the all encompassing fire and blood of dragons to fight as one. Actual dragons were what made her a ruler, but Aegon had been the dragon raised to rule on his own merit. “I have. Why should I go running to my aunt as if I'm some beggar? My claim is better then hers. If she should choose to join me or fight me, let her come to me in Westeros.” 

Looking to the armour across his person now, he wasn’t with the same easy confidence. Men had been watching with keen eyes the second the sun set and now it was only a matter of time before they appeared. He had found it within him to ask those of the castle whom were here serving those before him. Serving the Baratheon’s that ended his family to hear what Connington was trying to keep from him.

The King in the North sailed to his shores. His wife, the Baratheon heir at his side which they were all once told had been slaughtered at the side of her last husband. The first King in the North, since his namesake had taken these very lands. And it only compounded at how little he was ever going to avoid this conflict. The first King in the North after all, had been Robb Stark, Eddard Stark’s eldest son. 

And now his second eldest son, the King’s brother Jon Snow, took that same mantle and the same wife and both now were coming for Aegon, in lands which the Baratheon girl grew up in. Connington had avoided for a long time discussing his father’s final year. What Rhaegar had done to the Stark girl, what war came after Aerys burned two more Stark’s alive and ended with Robert Baratheon crushing his father at the trident and taking the throne for himself. Vengeance for taking his betrothed from him and now most of the men from those days lay long dead. 

And yet, it was Rhaegar’s son who now stood to fight against Lyanna Stark’s nephew and Robert Baratheon’s niece. Connington came to him as the night grew darker and men grew more tense around the castle.  Chain, Young Mudd, and Harry Strickland all joining at his side with ease, and all there was to do at that point, was wait. Sit, and wait hoping that whatever numbers came from the North, were nothing like the ones he was imagining. For now, the five stood around inside the base of the Windwyrm Tower, sharing a drink and whatever stories men of the Golden Company could come up with to pass the time until the inevitable. 

“You Southerners in the habit of building your castles in dangerous places for no reason?” As your eyes kept high on the cliff sides of Dragonmont, Tormund had been standing by you with as watchful as he was curious it seemed. 

A low hum in your throat as your eyes felt sharp and somewhat stinging looking into the windy night for the right signs. “Not typically. Old stories say that ancient Valyrians build the castle with blood magic, but Dragonmont hasn’t erupted in it’s recorded history.” 

“So why’s it smoking like that?” It indeed was a little bit more, but that came in waves as many maesters had spoken of. The air was slowly turning colder and it would more as such the further into winter it became, but you also knew some seasons saw fit to rain down on the island with storms and torrential weather which did not hit other coastal homes elsewhere. 

Ryk to the other side of you commented in jest, “Maybe it knows the dragon’s come home.” 

Your eyes narrowed ever so slightly, and a nervous twisting settled deep within your chest but without being entirely sure of what it was speaking to. Your voice on the air of breathy as you waters spilling into the shores bay, “Or it may be telling the dragons they are no longer welcome.” You wouldn’t have believed such an idea once upon a time, but now things were too different. Too much of you had been tested on what you thought you knew to be real, and your dreams still haunted you. 

Ones of cold and ice that now spoke of a horror you understood to fight, but now you were finding dreams of fire. And those dreams of fire made you wish to return to the freezing ones. Ice or fire, and a life growing up in homes representing places of both you would choose Ice. The realm had seen too much of the horror of fire, and now it was held in your hands as well. 

Tormund seemed to come to a similar conclusion, “We make it through the winter, pretty crow, and I’ll bring you North with me. None of their dragons ever stepped foot in our lands before.” 

No, you thought, they never have. Few ever went into the North and fewer that far, and you only ever came across one story in all of Maester Cressen’s books that told of a Targaryean and their dragon finding their way to the Wall. And how something made the creature turn back before ever crossing it. He had said it was just a story, but many just stories were truths of the world now. 

Only a half smirk came to one side of your face. “Let’s make it through tonight first. If we can climb to the tops of the curtain walls in once piece we still have an army and a King to sneak up on. I would prefer not to get too cocky right at the last minute.” 

Glancing more at you now with a curious eye raised, he rumbled “You and your husband get through your war thinking like that?” 

That was how you should’ve known it was nerves inside of you, not once did a mention of Robb twist in your heart painful enough you saw the blue and red haunting his final moments. All you could see were the images in your mind of the stories told about that day long passed on the Trident. 

The way the knights in the castle growing up would speak of Robert’s victory, the images of how grandiose and impressive his defeat had looked and yet you knew war now. War was never impressive, only horrific. No matter the triumph of the moment, you knew your Uncle’s strength and you knew that it was lucky Rhaegar had little family left to mourn him. The fury of a Baratheon would not have left the prince recognizable. Just as Gregor Clegane and Amory Lorch had left little Rhaenys, and whoever that baby boy was at Elia Martell’s side. 

Low in tone, were he not leaning towards you, Tormund may have missed it over the pounding of water and tides against the ships around you. “We survived at war for three years, we always won when we thought the odds were stacked against us. The second we got comfortable, we lost.” 

Would killing Roose Bolton so violently have made you feel better, or would it have just turned you more into Robert? Were your sister alive Aegon, you had thought, would she be proud of you for trying to live on in your father’s memory or was little Rhaenys lucky enough to have taken after her mother?

You hoped for both of their sakes, both children took after Elia. Almost thirty years since Rhaegar had died and still his destruction was felt throughout the lands. It wasn’t fair to Lyanna, nor Elia and Rhaenys, nor Brandon and Rickard Stark, but it also wasn’t fair to all of you now. 

You were now the Baratheon coming for the Targaryean, but you wished you didn’t have to be. 

“Always heard what they say about it, used to think they had to be exaggerating.” Both men looked to the island growing in the distance, through the fog on the sea it wouldn’t be much longer until they were spotted.

Jon didn’t take his eyes off the high cliffs, his voice a little more distant then Theon’s beside him. “The Lannisters destroyed half of Stannis’s fleet with it. Was sailing on King’s Landing and they thought it would be enough to push him back.” The King himself had relayed the details, and Ser Davos had been notably quiet during the conversation. Jon at least knew the man was thankful he wasn’t captaining the ship responsible for it, no matter the side he was finding himself on. 

Theon leaned his arms a bit forward more on the ledge, glancing down for the briefest if moments to ensure it was all still in place, and sure enough the only small amount with them was safe and secure as it was the last time he checked. “Don’t know if I’m glad or terrified it’s on our side.” 

Inhaling deeply as Jon’s hands tensed over the wood, he took a glance to where he knew you were watching from your side. “All I know is we use it now, means it can’t hurt anyone else. Been used enough for that the last hundred years or so.” 

Theon glanced to him, eyes sharp with a question before it rung in his head. “Forgot that’s what started it.” Jon nodded once but said little else on it. Glancing between the misty shores and him, Theon tried to come off as more nonchalant then prying. “Is it weird? Thinking about the rebellion, knowing at some point during then you were..”

Jon was starting to suspect the hurt in his father’s eyes that day on the Kingsroad was the same look starting to form in his own when it was brought up. He never went without a father who loved him, and even after him it felt like too many had tried to take his place. But it wasn’t that he was missing. It wasn’t watching his siblings with their father that had him hurt.

He had asked his father that day if his mother knew about him, if she knew where he was going, if she cared. But now, Jon had a new question to add. Would she be proud of who he’s become? 

“I don’t know. I’ve always tried to imagine it, how he met her, who she was but I never could come up with anything that made sense. Nothing ever fit the man I knew my father really was. Or what was so bad about it that he died spending over twenty four years keeping it a secret from everyone.” The war had left his father’s family in such tatters and yet somewhere in there Jon was some part of that story and he didn’t understand how or why he fit in. 

Robb at least was conceived before leaving for war. Catelyn pregnant before his father set out, you wouldn’t even be born until two years after it ended. But somewhere in the middle of war, his father had conceived him. Was his mother always there, did she seek him out after Jon was already born? How late into a war did his father decide to take a child with him? It had been a long time since any of this was so heavily on his mind. 

Theon seemed to sense that, thankfully. “Didn’t Arya used to try and figure out who it was?” 

That had Jon chuckle. “She did. She was so confident she'd be able to, even though everyone would tell her she was wrong and father never even came close to paying attention to it.” He paused for a moment, jaw clenching in thought before relenting. “I don’t even think I remember any of the names she came up with. Not sure going down South with just that is going to help very much.” 

“That and you don’t even look like her.” Jon glanced quickly with a raised eyebrow as Theon shrugged a shoulder. “Part why Lady Catelyn didn’t like you I suspected. Her husband’s bastard son looked more like a true Stark then her children did. Always figured that meant you didn’t get much from your mother.” 

It was true, especially the older Jon got the more he could see his father in his reflection. 

“Wonder what yours will look like.” Brows narrowing, Jon turned to the man who half heartedly gestured behind him to where you stood. “You look like a true Stark, she’s got all those Baratheon looks that all of them seem to inherit. Was wondering which of you, your own children will take after.”

Head hanging the slightest, his hands tensing against the wood, glad the gloves were hiding such a strain in his knuckles. He couldn’t think about that, not right now. Not with what they were all about to get into. Only muttering behind a clenched jaw, “If we’re lucky, they’ll take after her.” 

Just as Theon had something else on the tip of his tongue, a sound rung out. Faded against the distance of the water, but the distinct clanging of bells ringing deep across the way. 

Echoing along the waves and hitting the sides of the ship as the splashing which followed, your eyes narrowed ever so slightly. It had likely been a very long time since it came of any use, little having reason to bang them as opposed to the constant of their noise in Kings Landing it had once felt. 

Tormund glancing to you with a raised eyebrow, “I’m guessing that isn’t to tell us they give up already.” 

You tilted your head slightly, jaw clenching as you looked to the island closing in as the men standing by awaiting what they knew was the order. “The dragon wishes to play music with me in my home.” Eyes flickering to the men at the wait of your orders, you held only a tiny of a rigid and unamused glint over them, “Then let’s return the courtesy, shall we.”   

Had you asked Tormund years ago what he thought of Southerners using instruments in war he would’ve said it was pointless. Giving away your position when so much of how they managed to survive in the far North was stealth around the crows. But now? There was something to be said about the air around the ship, all the ships. 

The drums were loud, quite loud and rippled through your chest like thunder as it mobilized the men all waiting to come to the surface for a fight. Across the seas, each ship held the same playing in a booming tandem as each sound their decks filling with the men to fight once ready. That, and now that he could see the impending sight of the island, he suspected it wasn’t just for your side. But hearing the bass of drums in war coming across the foggy sea was to intimidate the enemy. 

That and, you counted on them seeing you coming. You needed them right where they’d go upon spotting the fleet heading their direction. All that needed to work now, was one final thing, the one thing both you and Jon had spent the entire time watching like hawks on each respective side of your ship since the island came into view. 

This battle wouldn’t begun until one more thing set in place. And it was the most important one. 

Moving across the gallery to the tops of the battlements from the Windwyrm tower, they had passed a multitude of men all making their way to the main gates. All of them looked much like Jon Connington did now, faces hardened and lines deep as they knew what was to come all used to the bulk of armour and weapons adorning them. Connington didn’t however, quite know if Aegon looked ready. 

He fit the image on paper. Dark armour new and painted just for him, weapons sharped at the ready at his side and the narrowed expression in his face as he walked tall. But his eyes, he wasn’t sure when he looked into them. Not that Connington blamed him, his first true feat as King now that his feet have landed anywhere near Westeros, was a battle with the heirs of ghosts. Some handled it well, others didn’t and he was doing a good job at hiding whichever way he felt about it. 

As they walked up to the tall landings along the stretch of walls between towers, looking out to the bay there was what the men had spotted. The faintest sights of ships in the distance, and for only a moment was Connington slightly unsure over their position at how many there were. The Northerners were a little more prepared for the sea then Lord Varys’s little birds had whispered to him. 

Strickland next to him commented in what was clearly his own amusement on the matter, “Seems more then a couple thousand Northerners if you ask me.” Connington turned to him with a glare but didn’t respond any. Keeping instead to face more towards Aegon as they both looked out at the sea. 

The men however continued to talk, “What do they know about sailing? Got one port for that whole stretch of land and none who know shit about the sea.” 

Your name came sharp from Aegon, his own eyes tense and wide as he barley blinked watching the approaching fleet. “She grew up on this island, was Robert Baratheon’s master of ships when he died too. If anyone knows how to get these men their way onto the island it’d be her.” 

It was strange the differences in who each of them were more consumed with. Connington stuck on the living memory of dead Starks on the Targaryean’s hands that was now coming his way. Aegon trapped in the unseen story of Robert Baratheon beating and killing his father, and the niece now coming right for him. 

Lord Varys had said to keep him away from Jon Snow, but Connington was starting to think that it was the Baratheon he needed to keep him away from. This wasn’t the Trident, but both living heirs had the potential to hold the grudges and fury to force it upon themselves. But his instructions to the men were clear and he had to rely on that. 

Voice strong and confident hoping it would wash over to the one next to him. “They still have to get passed our fleet in the first place.” Aegon looking up to him, eyes slipping from harsh to a brighter trust in him as Connington spoke low only for his ears. “Their numbers are only higher as long as they stand on the opposite side of our ships. We are the ones with the advantage.” 

He thought deeply it seemed before nodding, that trust more confident as they looked at the other for the moment. In the moon of the night and fires lit by, Connington almost forgot that Aegon’s eyes weren’t supposed to be blue. 

Across the ships blocking the way to the shores, men adorned in golden armour all were posed for a fight that they didn’t need to be paid to be ready for. The Northerners coming their way looked not intimidating, and their ships in fact seemed to slow. If they weren’t mistaken, it almost appeared as if they were stopping short. 

Each captain yelling out, manning their archers to the sides and keeping them to hold as suspicious eyes watched. One of the ships was just closer then the rest of them, more towards the middle of the stretching bay but it too, didn’t come closer. 

Aegon high up on the walls, noticed as well. “Why have they stopped?” Connington turned slightly to him only to follow his eyes trained harshly on the sea as he spoke louder to the rest of them. “Something isn’t right, they aren’t coming closer..”

Words were not spoken between any of the parties. Many eyes watching for others and none dared speak a word as it played out. Stepping up to the bow of the ship, your brows were narrowed and eyes dark as you looked up to the peak of the cliff you had watched. 

Theon put the bow in your hands as you finally turned away from the sight. Grabbing hold of it and the arrow as the final of it all was before you. Hardly any, and only enough that the adjusted tips of two arrows could coat along the substance enough to cover only what was needed. 

Glancing up to him, you and Jon shared the same mind. Only few would be able to detect how unsure you felt but the other knew it was there plain as day. There was no turning back after this, no ignoring that this was going to be on your hands. But Jon was insistent, it would be on both your hands. It was your plan he had said, but if he was King, it was his duty to have the courage to do it himself. 

Only a tiny shift of reassurance you to him, and he to you, both of you stood straight, turning to the high cliff peaks to the sides of the bay hiding away the castle and one eye to the left other to the right, all you two did was wait one final stretch. But the slightest of sights was all you needed. 

On one end, a flame which did not belong to any of Aegon’s men, made it’s flight from the cliff peak right to falling down uselessly into the sea below. You had glanced to Jon and his eyes saw the same on the one he had watched. There was no other way to do this without costing too much. 

Jon needed to get onto the island, and he needed his men, more then Aegon needed his. The smallest flame at the very bow of the ship had been now accompanied by two soaked arrow heads, and in an instant the flames poured onto it and lit the ends for both of you. 

Your eyes wide as you held it, the tiniest of green flames casting a glow over you but you swallowed heavily. Moving into place properly, nowhere but that exact spot to be paid attention too. You and Jon trusted the other to not need any words to know when to let go. Only for a moment as you both aimed high in the air, bow strings pulling the flames as close to your face as they could get did you notice that having it that close to you in such a small amount, already felt uncomfortably hot for the mere seconds you held. 

But it didn't last long. Jon let his loose as you did. Both slowly putting the bows down, all any did from the ships to the walls did, was watch. Some, knew better then others. 

It had been a long time since Connington had seen it, but there was no mistakening the sight. From the ship out front on each side, had come two arrows lit with fire. But not just any fire. The angle they were being shot, would have put such a normal flame out with the winds against them. But this wasn’t a normal fire, the green lighting the ends came to one side of the cliff to the other. 

Aegon had seen it too, the arrows coming to the pouring curtains of water that would spill out into the bay and out to the sea where currently, many armed men and fleet all were positioned. It was dark and foggy and why would they have noticed? 

It was too late, all Aegon and Connington could do was stand and watch as they came up to the waters and splashed into what they had done, what had been pouring into the water through the darkness. As the arrows hit, the green took over the curtains pouring and spilled downwards on each side as it lit them all up in a green glow. 

It was horribly fitting Connington realized. Rickard and Brandon Stark had been burned alive in the middle of the Red Keep with wildfire, as he and every other could only stand and watch. Now, he was to do so again, but with his own men. And it was the last living Stark who did it to him. 

Connington grabbed Aegon just as Aegon did him, and only with seconds did they try and pull the other more into them to cover but the force was too great. As the waters lit green, the wildfire followed it’s path and spilled right under his own ships. And the second the flames touched the other, all any saw was that same horrifying colour. 

Barley any had truly seen it in full. Your eyes and Jon’s followed the paths with a sickening unease until it all pooled under the Golden Companies fleet, and in an explosion that overtook the size of the bay surrounding the shores, did nothing but green fire overtake the world. 

Burning so bright that upon a second of looking at such an explosion, did all eyes on board fly shut in an agony like looking to the sun. The force of it flew towards your own ships and unsteadily all too close to it. Both you and Jon had turned away as you both grabbed at the other when the winds threatened to knock you both right off your feet. Hands tightly grasping as you both had to wait for the pain of the wildfire’s vision to die off before turning back. 

One side of the flames and the other, both leading pairs slowly came back to their feet and turned to the sight before them. Both pairs, all felt the same wave of horror. Burning, screaming, men diving into the water which would as quick boil them alive and others fell from the chaos of having the wildfire blackening their very flesh,  burning through the metal of their armour like nothing. The shores settling in flames as the intensity of the wave begun to simmer but the pain was left. Men scrambling to crawl ashore for any reprieve. 

Jon had turned to you not taking his hand off your arm, but you held with wide eyes something close to such a monstrosity of horror in your actions in the colours of your eyes. Were you to tear away from the hellish nightmare you lit the waters of your home in, the exact unsettled horror sat deep in Jon’s grey eyes as he forced himself to watch the consequences of what he had done. 

Wildfire was said to be the key to the Targaryean power once the terror of their dragons had finally gone extinct, but if this was the cost of using fire to rule? Then you and Jon stood together hoping that this was the last such a substance would ever see the light of day. This was why he insisted you both take such shots. This couldn’t be on one person’s heart, it would crush and suffocate at the darkness of such blood soaking your hands. 

But, it was clear. The shores were calling to you and there was no time to consider what kind of monster this had made you. Men coming to you both with questions on their faces of what next, and you gave one last moment to yourself. If fire was what it took to rule the Iron Throne, you’d soon rather see everything it’s corrupting power stood for burned down in one final act and rid the realm of this nightmare for good. 

Inhaling deeply, you felt your mind and heart settle just enough to find a voice. “Prepare to land.” 

One of the men trying calling to your attention with a hesitancy, but all moved none the less to the side as you and Jon came further in. His eyes dark but steady, not a hint of question or doubt but a growing intensity that felt dutiful as it was serious, but let you be the one to do the talking. He was King, it was his men, his army, and he leads the true fight but not for a second did he consider overstepping that this was still your ship, and thus, your command. 

“We’ve played our biggest trick, and they’ll know we can only play it once.” 

Pulling your cloak up and off your person, Jon had come to the side of you and both of you secured the last of things, mostly on you, mostly to climb. For the smallest of seconds, as ships all around you awaited the order, you and him looked to the other. 

Grey swimming with a beg to make you stay but a confidence that he would survive long enough to come to your aid if it came to it, and yours held something a bit more painful to look at. A shine that was in such a secret, filled with only nerves. And you felt something twist in your heart that he didn’t even know the true extend of why, but it had to be this way. 

Leaning the slightest you could feel his warmth, an almost indiscernible nod as he stood right at your side. There was nothing left to say until it was over, one way, or the other. 

In an instant, you moved to climb down to the main floor of the deck where the men had all gathered waiting. Each parted as you turned to move through them, your eyes only on the waters ahead. Jon close behind as if a wolf to guard his mate, brows dark and intense in eyes right on your heels. Pulling a rope up and out of your way as you reached the side of the ship. 

Grabbing the net and tossing it harshly over the side, you finally turned. A mixture looked to you, as did eyes watching from ships afar. Northerners and Free Folk all looked to you as your chest heaved slightly trying to quell the slamming of a racing heart within. Your voice wasn’t as loud as some could muster, but it was rough, almost on the edge of cracked as it was tinged with an aggressive fury that more then just you needed to hear. 

“Come with me and show this dragon what winter brings to his shores,” The men cheered, and you gave no more thought to the nerves within. Only being the first to grab the net and climb over the sides as others on the ships around followed suit. You had one final duty to get Jon and his men to the shores and you wouldn’t do so with worry in your heart anymore. He needed someone beside him better then that.  

There were many, too many. More then what he had initially planned for, and Connington felt the dread of what was to come. He lost the last true battle in Westeros as it had the last King exile him for it, and made him fail to protect the Silver Prince. But he repeated in his head the same thing he had for decades now. He failed the father, he could not fail the son.

Yet, as he looked to the wide eyed, slightly mouth agape blue haired boy next to him, Jon Connington couldn’t help but the fear of failing him. Not Rhaegar, not failing him or his memory or his heir. He feared the look in the eyes of a boy once called to him son as Young Griff. If he was afraid, then Connington knew he couldn’t be. Someone had to be there for him, and there was only so much time he had left to be the one to be there for him. 

Even if he survived tonight. 

Trying to keep his voice loud and steady as a King beside him, “We can’t let them get to the gates.” Blue eyes scouring the lands as he watched the boats come closer and closer, he knew if they got to the front gates it would be a problem, more a problem then they could hold off in a place that had never been his home. He and Connington shared a look, and just as he watched Aegons eyes ask as a boy, what do we do, the man stopped caring for now, what honouring Rhaegar meant. Protect the boy, the boy you’ve spent the past twenty six years by the side of, he told himself. 

Connington was loud, with no room for question anywhere in tone. “You lot, with the King at all times and stay here.” Just as Aegon’s face twisted with his voice declaring protest, Connington turned without any more of it to Aegon. Only turned away in command and descended down the winding steps to come in behind the front men and keep the gates guarded himself.  

“Let’s go men, it appears Jon Snow is about to start breaking down our doors.” As he passed by Harry Strickland though, an old friend maybe but someone he long trusted in ability, he was less then kind. Shoving him more against the wall and pointing up to where Aegon remained. “If if that Jon Snow hurts a hair on his head, Strickland, I’ll feed you to that wolf King myself you hear me?” 

That very wolf King now knelt perched at the front of the boat swiftly making it’s way across the waters, grey eyes narrow and sharp as ever. Looking at any and every sign of life still wandering the shore to handle first. The muscles in his hands and arms tensed greatly as he kept Longclaw out and close, counting only the final few seconds before this battle became his. 

Sailing behind him was more men then he ever thought would be at his own command, but now all would follow him with every ounce of trust. Once more finding themselves in a fight behind the blood of a Stark and Baratheon, and rushing into that fight against a Targaryean. Only this time, he didn’t have enough family left to him to lose as his father had, and it only made the blood in Jon run hotter and angrier to see them to a victory. 

It didn’t have to be this way and he wish it wasn’t, but he wouldn’t fail now. He refused. It wasn’t about him, or his father, or his family lost. It was about all of them, all of their survival and he needed either Aegon or Connington to understand that. And maybe, he could convince them to find reason to work together. 

You were not too far from Jon, hand perched right at the front bow of your own boat, as you barley found it in you to sit, kneel or anything. Slightly braced to rise up the closer shore got, and ready to jump out that very instance as you, opposite of him, kept cold and stoned eyes hardly moving an inch from it’s focus. And it was just what you did, the second your feet could touch land you jumped from the boat as did the rest of them behind. 

Men scattered across the seas and sands, soaked in a fire which would not end so swiftly. A glow of green as all you needed to do was get through them and up to the pass. Carved into the lands from an ornate black stone leading paths up to the castle gates, to the side of that pass was the shores untouched by the wildfire set ablaze. Beaches stretching far once once only accessible by carves of rock and jagged mountain sides but too led down by carvings of stone. But it wasn’t there which you would go up. 

It wasn’t so much skill by memory, but instinct which led you. The push to fight was good enough to survive as needed, but you knew your fight would not be truly found here. It would be elsewhere, unspoken to many of it’s degree. Your skill with a sword, not quite what it was used too and made you glad moving quick and low meant switching to smaller knives in each hand would service you well enough. The men now, thankfully, followed the one which was their true leader without any hesitation or question, and he was one which put himself in the fighting beside the rest of them. Not something many who call themselves King in these ages held as a virtue. But Jon and Robb both were that King.

As the pass came to view, a number of men came by you to help force open a tall gate seal which blocked the island off from any approaching by sea. Men were soon to follow once it did. Both you and Jon finding yourselves shoving up against the rock of the curtain pass, on one side he and his army, the other, only the sight of you and three behind. 

Separating was now or never, but no word passed of it. Looking to you, and painted across his face was the wish he could turn you around now and make you go back. But there was the confidence of Tormund, Ryk, and Theon behind you as it had to be done. Nodding once to you, Jon could only hope the old gods could hear him this far South, asking them to not let this once more be the final time. 

A commander, a King, was his orders yelling to his own men, and once he turned back the four of you had already left and slinked into the darkness of the jagged cliff sides. Was it you climbing something so treacherous, as he recalled his time making his way up the wall which scared him, or the fact which this all would end with you facing Aegon one way or another. 

Aegon was not his father, and you were not his aunt, but the stories which haunted his family made him feel an intense wave of anger all the same. Perhaps, anger in battle was the one time it suited Jon for the better. That intensity of what he had to do, just to find a way to protect from the horrors none of these Southerners had a clue was coming for them all. 

The Golden Company were good foes, but they were sell swords. Bought and paid loyalty, and yet all the men fighting beside The White Wolf, saw him and followed him as the only leader with a care that mattered to them. The Golden Company were still paid for. The North followed something entirely different. One army, a real army. United behind one leader, with one purpose. 

The only light between would be here and the very top. Only silence between as well, considering any sound could draw the wrong attention and none of you could climb and defend, you had to trust in your own ability and the others. The four of you knelt to the ground as you all secured your equipment, Theon attached to Ryk as he would take the higher climb of the pair as you and Tormund did the same and he took the lead. 

Nodding at you once, you back and between Theon and Ryk as you all looked up. It wouldn’t be easy, and as you all dug the first spike in, that much was made painfully clear. The walls inside the mines were similarly unfriendly but there was no rush nor urgency in such. You could climb at your leisure, whereas now was weighted with only blood at the top. 

Only a foot below where his head reached, you and Tormund knew to climb as close to the other as possible, relying on only touch now as the sight was black rock and nothing more. Muffled above and below was yelling and the clash of swords that made you swallow harshly. Slowly you pulled yourself up as to your right was the dual sounds of spikes and shifting that kept your heart only slightly below a racing. 

You struggled the most, all three men being far stronger then you to varying degrees. Face twisting in a wince as your muscles screamed to loosen, arms almost in a shake to grab the next spike and get your foot hold secure. Just as you let out only a wavering exhale did you feel Tormund's firm, large hand grabbing at your arm and pulling you just the right amount your lungs could breathe. 

Looking would be pointless, but as you stood steady you took what seconds you could to reach up and squeeze what of his arm you could reach all the same. 

Tormund was always up for a challenge, and were there little stakes, doing this in pitch black silent of night would have been a fun one to take up, but he didn’t choose to do so beacuse it would be a good push on him. It was interesting to him, finding that he trusted you as much as he’d come to trust Jon despite how much less time he’d spent with you. 

Not having the same time many of the rest did, having to slowly adjust to how different things were between how they approached life. You simply accepted the differences and thought none more of it, but you also fought against something fucked up in your head and still pushed on with a real stubborn determination and loyalty. 

If the crow weren’t so possessive, Tormund have taken you for himself, he thought. He’d chuckle, but keeping quiet was key and so he simply stabbed the next spike into the wall, and ensured he could both feel you climb at his pace and hear those climbing next to you. 

They were far. Far enough up the way that Aegon could see them, see their numbers and the increasing ferocity they came with. The men up at his sides all stood and watched glancing to the other seemingly speaking words he did not hear in the silence of war. 

Connington had ordered him to stay and for Strickland to keep him there, but what kind of King did he hope to be doing so? Wasn’t this what he was trained to not be like, a man who let other men do his work for him? He wasn’t raised to be this man. He was raised, well, he wasn’t raised to be the son of Griff was he? That was the child who grew up but now he was seen as only one man’s son. 

Would Rhaegar Targaryean stand by idly as other men fought his war for him? He didn’t know. He couldn’t know, and it seemed none knew who the truth of his person was in honest. Many insisted he was a good, charming man but then there were the stories and no amount of good in a man’s heart could make that alright. 

Aegon thought little of his mother and sister, maybe, because he wished not to accept it. That they found an end because his father was not there to protect them, but that he left them there to kidnap another. But he was remembered as good, some saying he would’ve been the best King of them all. 

If none knew who Rhaegar was, then it was up to no one but Aegon to find the truth of his own character. He had to be his own King, and he had to do it now. 

Turning to Strickland, he grabbed him roughly and turned to face him properly. Nodding out to the fighting, “How much longer until they reach the gate? Can your men withstand this much more?” 

Strickland thought hard over it, but an unsure tilt of his head came over along with the wave of it on his eyes. “Numbers they got if this keeps up? They’ll be there within the hour.” The two men stood in quiet as others begun to take notice, something trying to form between them in words. “If we call up all of our reinforcements? We might be able to push them back.” 

Aegon nodded, glancing to the men around him before closing his eyes. A deep inhale as he found the courage, he couldn’t be a boy anymore. “Men,” His voice louder now, and sounding much more full then it had all night. Turning to them, he looked on with finally something he could feel in his bones rather then guessing his every choice. “Did you come all this way with me to stand by and watch others fight for you?” 

The shouts of no, and Aegon felt it rising in his chest as he continued. “Is the leader you want to follow just a boy too afraid to fight his own battles, or did you come here to follow a King?” More murmurs and men closing in to listen. “If they reach those gates, then you won’t have a King to follow, and nothing to be here for, but best you know, their King out there will not show you mercy. He’ll end you just as he did the good, brave men out on the bay. It will be us they kill first, and nothing but cruelty to follow who live. So I ask you, come follow me. Face these Northerners like men. Fight for what we came here for and you won’t die on the soils of Westeros seen as cowards any longer.” 

They all looked to him, and he had to be the one to make the call and it was only that of a King which could. Pulling his own blade out, he pointed it out to the fighting ahead. “They say this King in the North is called The White Wolf.” Aegon’s voice finally finding strength to yell, “That makes me The Last Dragon, so let’s show him what dragons are truly made of.”

The men all cheered, and as they followed him down and out to the lands of the castle, they’d come out near the back and make their way around to pass through the great hall and push back this King for good. But as they found themselves in the heavy dark of night outside, Aegon only had two thoughts.

Which father would be angry with this choice, and why did he not know which father he whose opinion it was that he was worried about the most? 

They were supposed to check in, report any sights, sounds, unusual activity but as the sights of a dead guard he came across, did this one go to open his mouth and yet what came through was only a swish and then falling flat to the ground. 

Aegon’s garden was a somewhat large but confusingly organized area beside the cliff side of floral and fauna and statues that varied from dragons to scorpions. More all winding around paths to various off shoots of castle paths. All four remaining next to silent, Tormund and Ryk following almost in a protective manner as you led and Theon was the silent task getting rid of the problems guarding the way. 

There was many ways which you could reach the gates, keeping the castle from the paths of the decrepit woods and villages beyond and it was over the edges of dark shadows and rock sides that you had to cross. You couldn't make your way through the main paths of the castle, there were reinforcements everywhere. Everywhere that would outnumber you, and would be enough to push Jon back at the main gates. 

But they wouldn't be once you spotted it. Holding a hand out you paused movements of the men behind you as you perched on a rough rock edge. Only one other here knew these lands as well as you did and it was only him which you had to spot to make sure he was true about this. But you saw.

Another pair of eyes having hidden in the only sorts of dark that ones who lived here would know, you realized that not only did he show up, but you desperately were about to need him. What was supposed to be a gathering of guards to take out to let Stannis's army in quiet, was in fact, a small garrison of men all moving towards the castle with yelling orders of the King, their King. 

Aegon Targaryean had led a group of men down from the peak, and was more armed to fight then what four could handle all on your own. But as you and Stannis looked at the other, you couldn’t be more thankful it was your father who was here. Still the one man who you could read silently better then anyone, and in return, he did you as well. 

It would only be quiet until you opened the way for your father and his men, but once you did, the armies both around the area and with their King would notice your presence, and suddenly the battle had been split into two.

Connington knew who he was, before having to come close. It was the air of a King that followed him. Armour which fit just as normal as the Northerners around him, and nothing that stood out except for a power in his position that led, and a skill which was like watching the men around him get cut through like nothing. That, and he sure packed a punch by how hard he could hit those who came too close. 

Connington could eye the sword, something much fancier then a soul on this island had including Aegon himself, and his voice was a commanding, thick Northern accent if he’s ever heard one. Yet, it was as he came close did he feel something cold within him. He felt like he was seeing a ghost, and despite knowing he was coming, it still startled him. It shouldn’t be this close of a memory this many years on. 

Calling out names he didn’t in any way recognize before realizing, it seemed like what he had recalled as wildlings were on his side as well.  Turning to what seemed to be his own men as he had the yell of a commander and the authority radiating from him. “North, with me,” 

The wildlings held steady at the back with a strength of hold, taking anyone who got through and the Northern army flanking to each side of Jon Snow, who came through the front and fought to cut a line right down the middle and coming right to Connington. 

His men tried to push them back, and Snow’s men forced them more and more up to the gate and the closer he got, the more intense behind the sword he became. He had no reason to recognize the man, but he seemed to be smart enough to notice Connington’s eyes more then anything else watching him and his own yell confirming his command. “You can surrender now, Snow. Doesn’t have to end this way.” 

But the man moved forward anyways, his voice loud enough to hear but it was dripping with a low rasp that seeped anger through the ground and into the dirt it was so thick. “I didn’t ask for a fight, Connington.” 

Coming close, Connington didn’t like the look in his eye. Those eyes in fact, were dark. Almost black as his hair in the night sky looked against the fires around. But he still looked like a ghost. And that ghost had eyes that made the hair on his arms stand on end. 

Their swords hit though, and Connington fought back with as much as he was given. 

Stannis Baratheon was not a man to be overwhelmed by battle easily. Your small group grabbed their attention from long distance only to be circled around the second you pushed them slightly back and led them right into the blades of your fathers men. 

The mixture of the strategy of your father and his bannermen, and the unpredictable movements of two free folk who fought with a blood shedding ferocity that matched closer to Theon. At least some parts of him would never lose that viciousness Greyjoys were known for. 

Numbers dragged themselves from the depths of your girlhood home to fight back as the extent of the army which came up behind them drew attention. You had heard him, but you wondered for a moment, if you would be able to tell it was him. There was little to distinguish in the bloodshed if you were of any importance, which one here was a King. You and Stannis blended into your home with ease and it wasn't until you had turned around and sliced through a man close with a sharp dagger did he notice you either. 

Only a second passed, but in such a moment did your father make motion to move you behind him as his own sword cut through an attacker with ease, your own almost spinning to adjust and stood more at his own back. Some might doubt you lost sword in your favour of smaller daggers, but your father knew better then most that you could stand with your backs turned and trust what the other did to keep soldiers off. 

After all, Stannis knew Jon may have been the one to start the training that mattered most, but he himself was the man who watched you turn from a novice into a fighter he could trust. He taught you the toughest lessons back in the last years of your childhood he treated you like a daughter. Three years ago, you were a traitor to him and now both father and daughter in a battle on their own home, fought for the same cause, and were the ones at the others backs. 

And as soon as Stannis spotted the armour, he roughly called your name as you turned. Fierce eyes of green met a pair of blue ones. Blue that matched the dark colour dyed into his long hair but it was the black armour. The red already staining the deep painted red of a three headed dragon. But he cut men down, and so did you only you both went the same direction. 

He tried to push his men through the castle to reach the main gates as back up. Looking up to your father he gave the smallest of nods to the wide almost seething tensity in your own. He had told you the truth of what might have to happen, and you knew he was the commander the men out here already fighting needed. 

Someone had to go after Aegon and it was you, only the surrender wasn't going to be as easy as any thought. Because Conningtons fears were right, there was grudges held in the two heirs. And it was all too complicated to think of in easy terms, beyond the death that defined both yours and Aegons lives when you were too young to control. 

The hall was as empty as it was loud. Dark, only lit by fires along the high walls and the moon and stars shining through the ornate window. Only in the room was the throne considered to be the seat of whomever used to be crowned Prince of Dragonstone but too many years after the family was gone did it go unused. Your father hated conducting business on it, the room of the painted table was which became where all matters were attended too. 

Not many lived on the island but those who requested an audience with their Lord, Stannis would stand in front of it as did whomever sat high on his council, but now it was just a room. An empty room that had but one man who goaded you in here. 

Both you and Aegon knew that the fight happening just outside the doors was what both of you were aimed at. If Aegon got to the doors first, the fight would only end in nothing but death. If you got there, he lost but none after would die. “Baratheon,”

Aegons voice wasn't loud but it echoed off the high walls as sounds of yelling and clashing metal muffled through both sides of you. In his hands held a sharp, heavy sword and on you two sharp and small blades in each hand as you approached with slow steps. 

“You here trying to convince me to surrender?” You stepped forward more, not knowing how long it would take for your father to make it through to this point and you couldn't rely on that. Aegon lifted his own sword more into place as you both came close near the stone throne. “After everything your family did to mine, do you really think I'm going to hand myself over to you?” 

Your blood raced and left nothing but muscles tense and strained in each step. Almost as if they were to shake should they be kept dormant any longer. Shaking your head no, your eyes were narrow and a glint of anger matched in his as well. 

In your glaring silence, there was something however almost sympathetic in Aegons voice. As if here and now was an inevitability, but not with the vengeance of enemies. More just two people with a desperation the other wouldn't understand. “That Throne is all I have left, your family ruined what was left of mine. You have no idea what that's like. To lose everything like I have, and I won't lose any further. Not to the likes of you.” 

But you said nothing, you couldn't gauge what was truth, plead or a ruse and you didn't have the time or men to stand here and find out. And Aegon didn't think he had it either. 

His sword came down with strength, you with a knife in each hand blocked and moved with a swiftness that he didn't expect. Was it an even match, you didn't have the mind to figure it out. But you had to be fast as he had to be stronger and you knew by now which one would gain the upper hand. You just had to hold out long enough for those doors to open. By one King from the main doors or another King from your men behind.  

This wasn't the Trident, he wasn't Rhaegar and you weren't Robert. But it seemed as if Aegon was giving you no choice but to fight as if it were as such. 

Metal clashed and he couldn’t help the thought. He was fighting against a ghost, but it was more then just that. Many times Jon Connington had sparred with Rhaegar, and he knew too well the strength and intensity he could pack behind a swing, which bested him on many occasions.

But his men pushed back by the Northerner army, and his own muscles screaming to keep up with the King in the North, Connington felt a wave of almost fear. Eyes black and anger behind his face there was an intensity that overpowered what he even knew of Rhaegar. Lord Varys had said he was intense, but not to this point. Whatever this Jon Snow was like as a man? War, violence, and blood was where something intense shined through him the best.

Connington could only keep up for so much longer. Jon Snow was more intense then Rhaegar and a better swordsman then Rhaegar but he couldn’t end here. He couldn’t fail again. Aegon couldn’t die here at this man’s hands, he couldn’t. He spent too many years preparing him, spent too many years of his life raising him. 

Strange, that he spent all that time looking for the silver prince in his face, eyes, mannerisms, anything. But there was an intensity in the King in the North that reminded him of Rhaegar for the first time since he died, but he was more then Rhaegar, better then Rhaegar. And that scared him. 

But even that didn’t quite scare him as much as the ghost in Jon Snow’s face. One that looked just like-

The gates behind him slammed open, and men pooled out at once. Men all of the Golden Company and behind held at threat of Baratheon bannermen, only in the very middle was what drew his attention. The furious yell of woman, “Connington,” twisting him around as the Northerners begun to ease up at Jon’s own silent command.  

You had come through the doors, bleeding, bruised and truthfully, in a great deal of pain but so was Aegon. And yet he was the one with a blade to his throat as Jon Connington turned to you with a sudden terror in his eyes, that you didn’t feel good about. 

Voice cracked you yelled more strained, “Enough, this is over. We end this now.” He paused for too long, and your eyes were no longer angry, just a plea for reason. You were exhausted and wanted this fight to be over, you never wanted this fight to exist. “You lost the father to one Baratheon, do you really want to lose the son to another?” 

He stepped towards you and Aegon, but you pulled the knife closer to his throat as your hands shook in their hold. So strained it genuinely hurt to keep the Targaryean at bay like this. 

Jon however, was who he needed to listen too. And he did, there was no anger in his voice or grandiose pleas. Not a King demanding what he wants, just a man asking the truth. “This fight isn’t about us, it isn’t about the Seven Kingdoms. I didn’t want to come here for a fight, I asked for peace. You are not my enemy, and I am not yours.”

Connington turned between both of you, eyes painted over more with something that looked more devastated by the second. You couldn’t see the expression of Aegon, but he no longer felt like he was putting up a fight and you only felt the exhaustion more and more. You wanted no more part in wars of the Seven Kingdoms, you truly didn’t. 

You wanted to go home, and Jon did too. Him looking to Connington with earnest. “I don’t have time to stand here and fight a war with you, either of you.” Looking between him and Aegon back, “Winter is coming, and all I ask is you let me protect my people before it gets here. Tell your men to stand down, and so will we. I promise.” 

Was it the words he spoke that did it? Or was it the way he looked at Aegon. Beacuse as they looked at the other between, you felt something you hadn’t in a long time. Being pulled away from something a father you would never see again. It didn’t matter who he was to you in blood or not, knife to your throats and dragged away, you never forgot how it felt for you and Eddard Stark to look at the other desperately, for the last time. 

You didn’t care about Rhaegar or the Iron Throne or any of Robert’s hatred. You needed one thing and to go home. Protect the people you loved that remained to you. And you suspected, that might be what Jon Connington was about to do. 

The two looked at one another, before his face fell. A softness like a father, and tossed his own sword to the ground. Clanging followed, swords and blades dropped as free folk and Northerners all knocked men of the Golden Company down as did your fathers men behind you. 

Your eyes met Jons, the exhaustion in his, was tinged with a confusion and worried anger of how you got here looking as rough as you did, but you gave no defiance back. Just a soft ask in your eyes of what to do, and after a nod only you could notice from him, did you pull back. 

Slightly shoving Aegon forward as he and Connington went to the other before you almost fell back. The pain at that point keeping you unsteady on your feet, but suddenly an arm that snatched your side, dragged you up. 

The soft tone of Theon pulling you onto your feet as he muttered, “Next time you’re about to go up against a dragon alone, maybe tell someone other then just your father about it first.” 

You would’ve laughed if you weren't in too much pain. Once more you found Jon’s eyes, and all you could think was how much you hated Dragonstone. Or anywhere in the Crownlands. Honestly you were starting to think the only place you really did belong was Winterfell. 

But looking at Jon, you knew you only belonged in Winterfell anymore if it was with him. The night was not yet over, and much had to be done about the men and the dead, but as Theon kept you up until someone could take a look at you, all you could do was look at Jon with the same thought he had watching you. 

Wishing you could just take the other home, and sleep in the others arms. But you had work to do, and the gods refused to give you both a rest. No matter how badly you wanted the other to have it.

[nell0-0]

You asked for Linkle HCs? I’m here to provide. There are a few headcanons that involve Link as well

Like you, I also headcanon Linkle as Link’s twin sister. I also headcanon that neither of the twins know who is older. The twins were separated as babies and adopted by different families. Everyone who would have the knowledge has died. Except Lana who refuses to tell

Linkle was adopted by an elderly couple as their granddaughter. They have a simple farm. They bought the cuccos for meat but Linkle loved them too much for them to be dinner.

Linkle and Link share the Triforce of Courage. Link originally was the sole owner of it but after it was stolen by Cia and returned, the Triforce itself spilt into two to keep it from being stolen again. That infuriated Ganondorf. (I got this headcanon from a piece of art by @fuwafuwallen. I love their art.)

Linkle’s birth parents were extremely rich. Like 2nd to the crown rich. When she meet Link and learned of their relationship, they worked together to get their inheritance. Linkle loves to spoil her grandparents and cuccos using the money. Not all the time but enough.

Linkle, after entering a battle and fighting in it, was allowed to join the army as independent, somewhat drafted, archer ranger. She loves it.

She was given the title, the Cucco master and handler.

She proudly calls herself Auntie to the younger heroes and kids

She often bluntly asks Zelda or Link when their wedding is.

She and Link were once de-aged into newborns during the war by Wizzro. He was aiming at Volga to turn him into an egg. Tune has many, many pictures of the event. Mask was disgusted after Link puked on him. Ravio got puked on by Linkle. Because the twins looked even more identical as babies, their temporary onesies had stuff they liked to identify them. Linkle had, of course, cuccos while Link had fairies and horses.

Linkle and Link once nearly burned down a forest. They put it out.

I hope you enjoy these!

I enjoy these a lot! I do HC Link and Linkle as originally coming from a farm, but only Linkle staying behind while Link went to Castle Town to study and eventually become a soldier. Linkle had the option too but she didn't want to deal with Castle Town as a whole.

I never thought about Linkle and Link sharing two halves of the same triforce piece, but now that you've brought that to my attention I'm loving the concept. Would be cool to add with maybe Linkle going on her own adventure (with dungeons and stuff) as opposed to her brother's where it was just the war and timey whimey stuff.

And Linkle calling herself Mask's and Tune's aunt!!! I have this HC too and I've been meaning to draw something for it, I just need a bit more free time to do it ^^

HW Link is a fire hazard and I will not change my mind. Though it would be funny if they kept blaming each other for the incident when asked and no one can be 100% sure who did it. The answer is both.

[ribbononline]

Oh yeah! Since I have no clue if/when I'm ever finishing these and I've had them laying around for forever by now- here's the adult IT metaverse outfits I've made! They're all based on their ultimate personas and the concept of heros! Since these were made for an aged up p4 cast, these aren't quite what I'd put their during p4 time selves in- some changing more then others- but if you wanna follow me into design details, that'll all be under the cut!

First off to get em out of the way- Teddie is very largely the same as his p4 time metaverse outfit I made for him back here . The design is still meant to be inspired by magical girls, but the biggest change is that while the old one was meant to look like a magical girl protagonists outfit, this one I tried to lean a bit more into the older/more experienced cast member of the magical girl group type design. Overall a pretty minor change (and I will admit, largely because I'm still incredibly happy with that old design) but it felt fitting!

Chie and Yukiko were, as always when I work on them, designed to match. Their masks specifically mirror eachother with the opposites sides sticking out, and they both have a golden dragon pattern on their clothes as a reference to the twin dragons move! Chie was... honestly one where I had to sacrifice my goals a bit. Like mentioned before, these were meant specifically for an aged up cast. And while p4 era Chie I would absolutely imagine in a kung fu Chung-Li type outfit, we know what a more mature version of her action hero dreams look like; the police! And I.... really did not want to put her in a cop outfit, Ill be real. Instead I just tried focusing on making the outfit look more mature. Also tried to combine a practical and strong look with a more feminine aesthetic, since she struggles pretty badly with her femininity in p4 and I like to think she'd grow more comfortable with her own brand of it over time!

Yukiko is perhaps one of the most drastic one for changes compared to her younger self- if you asked me to design a p4 era outfit for her, it would look nothing like this, hah. Anyways, she's definitely inspired by onna-musha! Compared to Tomoe who was a full on commander of an army going out there, for Yukiko the idea was more the women taking up arms to protect their home when the battle comes their way. Fully having embraced the role she has as the next owner of the Amagi Inn and the responsibility and want to protect it, it's meant to be somewhat of an outing of that!

Fun fact: She has two color schemes! Because uhh I did not know what to go for at all. Her ultimate persona is like a single solid color and I kind of panicked and just ended up winging the colorscheme. One is more red since, y'know, thats her color! The other is more white gold to match her actual persona better. Included at the end of this post for the curious

Rise was based on a greek goddess- though not any particular one, moreso how they're commonly depicteed in art and old statues. Pretty, holy, someone you'd go to for advice and help (someone just out of reach from the general public) It just felt like a good combination of something she'd like to be seen as and percieved as as well. She gets two outfits- for scan and fight mode! Kouzeon has no canon fight mode, thats just for Himiko, but man it exists in my heart. The transistion between the two is literally just her throwing off the long overskirt, hah.

How does her mask work? Excellent question. The p5 idea of having it there when vibing but gone when the persona is out feels a little awkward when her persona's whole thing is putting a visor over her face. Quite frankly I have no idea. Sorry folks. Have all concept sketches for the outfits I've done as compensation with a bonus Noot in there that I never continued on and finished.