#It’s all so clear now (Fiora)

[shesjustanothergeek]

His Love

|Aegon Targaryen x Fem!Reader|

Part Thirty-Three

Masterlist of Series

Summary: Being a bastard born in the slums of Flea Bottom was all you were known for. Not the streak of white you had in your dark hair, the violet ring around your pupils, or how your sharp tongue and skills with the blade resembled your father, Daemon Targaryen. You were just a bastard, nothing more, but to him, to Aegon Targaryen, you were everything. You were his love.

Author's Note: I just wanted to warn y'all that we're going to be getting into some messed up shit here. Even more messed up than assault, getting drugged, nearly raped, and peeing on yourself. As always, thank you so much for your patience with these updates, and I hope you enjoy!

Chapter Warnings: Graphic depictions of a miscarriage and related thoughts, vomiting, daddy Daemon.

The prescribed charcoal remedy had long dried on your stomach, cracking and flaking gray chunks into your sheets. Helaena had left with the sun low in the sky, leaving chaste kisses on yours and Aegon's foreheads. She went to ensure Jaehaerys and Jaehaera were comfortable, and they went down to rest.

Aegon refused to move when the Maester returned for the evening; his arm slung over your chest and nose buried into your neck. Orwyle did his work as if the Prince was not there, wringing a damp, woolen cloth into a bowl of cool water as he removed the hardened remedy from your abdomen.

He observed with wrinkled brows when he saw the Valyrian symbols above your womb, rocking the fabric over your malleable skin as he quelled the uneasy feeling in his stomach. He rinsed the material, the clear water becoming ash as he continued his duties.

Orwyle longed to voice his concerns regarding your health, fiddling with his fingers as he concocted another batch of charcoal and clay. You needed to wake soon so he could ensure your best chance of survival. The first forty-eight hours were the most crucial for those battling Poison Hemlock, and the fact that the Stranger had not taken you was a miracle. Animals who ingested the flowering plant died within a day of doing so, their lungs giving out or seized by convulsions.

The Maester believed you were more robust than he thought. The Mother had unquestionably blessed you with the strength of the Warrior to have you breathing for this long. Or perhaps, he thought, it was the Valyrian Gods of your ancestors, the dragon blood in your veins, that protected you.

The few interactions Orwyle had with you always left him with a joyful feeling, a small ray of light within his darkened quarters filled with dusty and ancient tomes. He tried not to care for your health more than that of a provider and his patient, but he found it challenging.

It was the dichotomy, he thought, of when you were awake, full of life, sparring with words and the swords against men who believed themselves better than you, to now, laying on your soft feather tick mattress with an emotionless, sallow hue to your skin. It caused him anguish. Orwyle was determined to find out who would do such a thing to you, uncharacteristically desiring them to be brought to the Father's justice, and resolved to remind Aegon of the need to do so when your two servants entered the chamber.

Once he finished making another concoction, Aegon waved him off, leaving with a firm yet uneasy bow to the room. The moment he left, Aegon stood, righting his rumpled tunic from his few restless hours of sleep, and addressed Fiora and Jeyne.

"What news have you?" he asked pointedly, gathering the ashy mucilage and brush to apply to your abdomen.

The maids shared a look, Fiora's eyes seeming to have never dried up as she cowered behind her companion. Jeyne inhaled a resolute breath. Her years of working for spoiled, impuissant palace goers was a typical occurrence.

"We have found a servant boy who claims to have seen the Princess's protector enter her chambers hours before your discovery. I believe that there is no coincidence to his absence at her door during that time," she relayed in one steady breath, hands clasped humbly over her lower abdomen.

Aegon grunted, disbelieving the credibility of such a statement. It would be the most obvious answer for Ser Arryk to be the culprit. He was heartbroken that his idyllic image of you shattered and the only one besides Aegon who could get close enough to slip poison in unnoticed. The answer was too simple, too straightforward to be true. A lowly kingsguard was the easiest to blame to save face within the royal family and protect whoever really did this. He still had the feeling within him that his mother had something to do with this. It was no coincidence that days prior, the Queen demanded you to leave, and now suddenly, you were at death's door.

Yes, heartbroken and ego-damaged men were a danger to those around them. Aegon understood that more than any, but Arryk would never go so far as to kill you for it. His oath was still to that of the King.

"Bring me this boy," Aegon said dispassionately, never looking in the maid's direction, simply painting your skin.

Fiora and Jeyne nodded, curtsying as was protocol, and headed for the exit until Aegon stopped them short.

"I'm sure you know that the Hand has barred any ravens from King's Landing to Dragonstone," he inquired, unamused as a sneer curled his lip. "Her family must know what has happened here. The more who know about this assassination attempt on a, perhaps this rat will feel pressured reveal themselves."

They both glanced at each other, Fiora gnawing on her lip as more tears emerged from her viridian eyes. Aegon ignored the servant's weeping and placed the bowl on a writing desk with the rest of the Maester's equipment. He pulled a piece of folded cream parchment from his trousers and hurriedly scribbled, fearing someone getting wind of his plan.

"Here is a letter meant for her father," he stated, flicking the paper between his index and middle finger. "You will not be able to send it through the rookery and must go to a brothel madame within the slums of Flea Bottom. Her name is Babette and she will ensure that my words make it to Dragonstone unhindered," Aegon instructed calmly.

They were stunned. Both maids stood in the doorway to your chambers with slightly parted lips, reminding him of a fish. They had never seen him act like such a... prince. He was raised within the castle walls and had the highest education of anyone in Westeros, yet he never seemed to take advantage of it. The maids heard rumors that Aegon was no longer seen at brothels or gambling houses, though they did not believe such a thing to be valid until now.

Fiora's gaze drifted to your listless form, fiery brows arched in disbelief, slowly drifting back to the white-haired prince. Jeyne was the first of the duo to compose herself and briskly walked forward, taking the wax three-headed dragon seal to her cracked hands. You had changed Aegon in ways that people believed impossible, and if she hadn't realized it until now, then who else knew?

If she, someone who saw you daily, did not know the effort and influence you had over a person, did anyone? The eldest maid felt a pang of sadness in her heart for you as weathered eyes lowered to the stone floor, the memory of her scrubbing away your blood and bile replaying as if she were there again.

Jeyne heard passing gossip that you had brought up concern for the small folk during a council meeting. It was fleeting, nothing more than a whisper of a feather drifting in the wind, and soon she forgot about it. What other accomplishments had you done that no one knew of? It was the plight of women, it seemed, to sacrifice one's soul to receive respect or recognition in the world. Once you awoke, she would tell you how much she saw and that your actions were not in vain.

If you woke up, she grimly realized.

A frown pulled at Jeyne's thin lips as she returned to Fiora's side. Her companion seemed to sense the elder's thoughts, placing a comforting hand at her back. Again, She faced Aegon, his violet eyes never leaving hers as she spoke.

"You are changed, Prince Aegon, and while that does not atone for the wrongs you have done, it shows that you are capable of being better," Jeyne expressed with a firm look on her visage. "It would do her well to know that."

Aegon needn't ask whom she was speaking of. He already knew, a sullen look coming over his face as he focused on the cracks of the stone floor. The memory of your limp body when he found you vividly displayed in his mind's eye.

Jeyne and Fiora exited with brief nods and bent knees, with two different goals in mind. The elder would get the servant boy, and the younger would go to the brothel, madame. They didn't ask why Aegon trusted this woman, but they knew it was useless to try. All that mattered now was ensuring your safety and justice.

A quiet groan caused Aegon to lose his collection of thoughts, swiftly going to your side as he watched your brows arch in pain. Droplets of sweat he had not noticed glistened on your hairline and ran down your temples, grabbing a cloth to blot at the excess perspiration. Your breathing sped, breasts rising and falling in a hypnotic rhythm. Seeing you more alive as Aegon rang the dampened fabric into the bowl was a relief.

Aegon slid into his place next to you, intertwining his fingers with your limp ones as he brought your knuckles to his lips, stroking the thin skin of your hand. His lips pursed in thought. Aegon knew the Keep was full of snakes ready to strike at any opportunity to raise themselves into higher power, no matter the cost. But in his mind, it was too risky to harm a member of the royal family, but others did not seem to share the same sentiment, and anger filled his hardened soul once more.

Aegon tightened his grip on your hand, harsh enough to bend their sides and crackle the bones.

"When you wake, little one, we shall rain dragon fire on who dared hurt you," he declared, sullen face now calloused.

You found yourself within a void, darkness surrounding your body clad in a simple white gown. You couldn't see the beginning or end of where you were, as if your eyes were shut, an unending blackness never touched by light. Your hands found their way to your face, fingertips touching your cheeks, the slope of your nose, and the sockets of your eyes to ensure you were, in fact, real.

If you wake...

Memories flashed within your mind, becoming the only thing you could see in the infinite darkness. You recalled voices, wet mouths talking and drinking, tongues licking lips and tasting something rancid and sweet, hands gesturing and twitching, crawling up your legs. Nausea churned your stomach, and pain rippled in your gut, causing you to fall to your knees. The ground was solid; it was real, and suddenly your eyes opened.

The world was still midnight, though you could see a man before you.

But it wasn't a man...

You weren't sure if it was a person, their face covered with an obsidian mantle and the seven-pointed star's insignia woven into their robes. Fear cinched your heart, and your chest rose and fell with quick breaths as you attempted to run, only to be flung back into your spot by an invisible force.

"Who-" you stammered, breaths coming in quick pants, "who are you? Where am I? I-I cannot see."

The being reached an arm in your direction, the fabric slowly drawing back to reveal its skin or lack thereof. Their finger slowly traced down your cheek, cold and warm, comforting and alarming, yet like nothing simultaneously.

"I am what I am," they stated, tone unlike anything you had ever heard. It sounded like the voices of many speaking simultaneously, men, women, children, and everything in between melting into one eerie noise.

"You're here to hurt me, aren't you?" The words did not sound like they came from a grown woman; instead, a young girl high-pitched and hoydenish with fright as tears lined your lashes. Your breath hitched as their fingers left your skin, fear scratching at your throat and squeezing your eyes shut. "Where am I?"

The being stepped backward, seeming to float on the ground as sparkles of white flashed in the air. Stars, you realized, twinkling in the infinite void. For a moment, you were put into a state of wonder, gazing at the bursts of light in awe as the being only stared. It made no movements nor breaths, allowing you to take in the amazement of your surroundings.

"Am I dead?" you asked, finally gaining the courage to voice the most prevalent question in your mind.

"You are in the world between worlds, child. Not dead yet not alive within the realm of your creation," they answered with not a hint of emotion.

You couldn't hide the aghast sob that left your lips at his revelation, your mind reeling. You knew what happened for you to wake here. You drank from a cup tainted with poison that caused your limbs to freeze and your brain to wave, but who did it was unknown. The only picture within your mind was a silhouette of a figure with short, mousy hair and a slouched posture, supporting their weight on something.

You knew who they were. You felt it in your bones, but your mind refused to let you see. Was that your psyche subconsciously trying to protect you, or did the poison affect your memory?

"I don't want to die! What did I do to deserve this?" you wept with blurred vision, looking at the unmoving being before you.

You felt them sigh, though they did not move, their chest not indicating if they had lungs. "New born babes should not be taken from the world before they can sin, yet they are."

An involuntary grimace pulled your face as you licked the briny water from your lips. The world was cruel and uncaring. It took children from mothers before they were ready and kind people into places of darkness. Life was bleak and hopeless and full of negativity. At times, you wondered if there was a point to living when life would always end the same—breathing, eating, fighting, and suffering until you died and were forgotten a hundred years from now.

"I know who you are," you spat, tongue thick as you swallowed tears. "You are a callus and heartless being who takes those undeserving while displaying yourself in a cloak of self-righteousness."

They did not seem angry about what you said and tilted their head in response, examining you like one of Helaena's pinned insects. Its unseen stare unnerved you, appearing like a statue you never prayed to within the Sept. Anger began to well in the place of your unease at their indifference, taking purposeful strides to them before your body was abruptly taken aback, nearly tripping over your feet.

"I am neither good nor evil, simply I am, and I have come to take what is mine."

It raised the same arm that stroked your cheek and pointed at you, causing panic to grip your chest as the shrouded hands shoved you to the ground, air knocking from your lungs. You struggled against them, the whites of your eyes visible as your arms and legs flailed in their vice-like grip. The being came closer, towering over your writhing form until you could see what hid underneath the obsidian hood.

A face not of this world looked down at you, half human and inhuman, alive yet dead. It was too much for your mind to comprehend as you released a scream, kicking your limbs as you desperately tried to escape from whatever fate awaited you.

The hands pulled at your hair, keeping your head down and unable to see the face of the Stranger any longer.

"No! No, please! I don't want to die!" you beseeched, throat raw from tears and screams as your wide-eyed stare found the Stranger at your feet once more.

"I was there in the dark when you spilled your first blood and I have come to take what is mine—one soul. No less," they repeated in an amalgamation of different tones. Your heart broke for the loss not only of life but of what might be.

The Stranger's accusing finger continued to point not at you but at your stomach, your misty stare flickering from yourself to them.

You knew what was to come next. They would rip your heart out before your very eyes, crushing your life source within the secular realm and the divine. You would never wake again, never feel the sun flush your skin or the wind whipping your cheeks on dragon back. Aegon would revert to his old ways of whoring, gambling, and drinking himself into unconsciousness, a crown forced on his head as the realm plunged into war and your kin were slaughtered. Every sacrifice would be for not all due to one simple drink.

Refusing to resign to your fate, you thrashed and screamed in failed attempts at breaking free. There was no escape to this realm—no beginning or end in the vast darkness. There was only you, these unseen hands pulling you into submission, and the Stranger, his digit still raised and pointed.

"What have I done to deserve this?" you wailed, feeling your limbs locked at the joints. "I-I know I was not a devoted follower of the Faith and have sinned, but I repent. I'll pay penance to the Seven each day forth from now on. I'll attend services in the Grand Sept. I'll-I'll refrain from any vices you so wish. Just let me live!"

Your bargaining with the faceless being went unheard, his arm slowly falling to its side as you felt the hidden fingers slither across your abdomen, tearing your nightgown down the middle. Your eyes grew wide with horror, attempting to pry them away with panicked movements only to be thwarted by the others pushing your limbs into the ground.

"Stop!" you screamed, voice cracking as your neck was whipped back, head cracking onto the ground as your vision flashed.

Though you couldn't see them, you could feel them. Their digits indented into your malleable flesh as it broke under pressure, blood seeping from the gashes as a searing pain tore like a thousand cuts of a hot blade through your skin. Blood poured from your stomach and down your sides, soaking your tattered porcelain nightgown into a stained crimson. Wailing in agony, your throat grew sore, limbs twisting and contorted into inhuman positions as you gave under their ravenous scratching.

"Blessed be you, the daughter of the Mother bound to suffer eternal through the sins of your father committed long before your conception," the Stranger prayed, words carrying over your cries. "Blessed be your whore mother, tired and angry, waiting with bated breath on a ferry that will never move again. Blessed be the children. Each and every one who have come to know their god through some senseless act of violence."

The exposed image of your essence caused your heart to become faint, the torment fading into the back of your mind as your vision fluttered and your head became light. It was a small mercy in the ruthless death that you could no longer feel the torture of your organs torn into, limbs twitching in subconscious reflexes.

"Blessed be you, girl, promised to me by a man who can only feel hatred and contempt towards you."

The squelching of your insides was sickening as silent tears leaked down your temples, confused as to how you were still alive. No human could survive being disemboweled; the blood loss alone would kill the most robust of men, yet the invisible beings continued to burrow into your insides, seeming as if in search of something.

The Stranger did not move from its place at your feet, observing as your intestines glistened in the twinkling lights of the void.

You felt betrayed by them and those who preached that the Stranger was not a being of good or evil. They were supposed to guide you into the afterlife, not watch as beings threw your organs to the side. They lied. No being would stand there and allow a daughter of the Mother to have her insides turned out. You never feared the Stranger yourself. Death was inevitable, but now you understand why followers of the Seven feared the Stranger.

Cries that were higher pitched than yours yanked you into reality, a single thread pulling your gaze back to your stomach as a babe covered in crimson, glistening with your essence, was ripped from your womb. Confusion, fear, surprise, and desperation surged through you, attempting to pry yourself from your confines again. The cord connecting the child to you still pulsed with blood through the purple and blue veins as it was taken and placed into the hands of the Stranger.

"What are you doing?" you questioned with a thick tone, panic seizing your limbs as you broke from their unseen grip. 

That was yours—something you made solely of your labor, and they were taking it from you. It belonged to you!

You desperately yanked at the fleshy cord still connecting you to your child, the babe's shriek piercing your ears and into your heart. "Please, give it back!" you sobbed, reaching out again only to be shoved. "No! No, please! Please give me back my child! They are mine! They don't deserve this."

You were unsure of what came over you. You had never met this creature before, though it was born of your flesh and blood; you did not want them taken. An instinct to protect the life of something so fragile and innocent lay dormant within your body, coming to fruition. The thought of sacrificing yourself in the babe's place nearly slipped off your tongue, but a sudden light blinded you, pushing the cries of your kin to fade as your eyes burned.

When you came to, you were no longer in an infinite void. Instead, within your chambers, thick, fragrant smoke choked your lungs as the same searing agony from before tore through you. Aegon stood over your writhing form, and his brows arched with concern as he saw your sheets become scarlet.

You stared at him, his eyes glassy and filled with an exhausted longing, as he rushed to your side, grasping your slick palm. "You're alive!" he exclaimed, unable to think clearly through his shock. "You're alive."

Unable to speak, you nodded, sweat and tears dampening your face as another wave of pain knotted within your lower back, forcing a scream. Aegon's violet eyes danced over you, seeing your blood now spread onto your top blanket as his cheeks became devoid of color.

An array of thoughts swirled within his mind like a maelstrom at sea, swiftly lifting the sheet away as he saw the crimson between your legs. His first instinct was to believe that, somehow, the assassin had returned underneath his watchful gaze, paranoia seizing his chest. But Aegon, still confused as to what was happening, gripped your hand impossibly tighter, causing a groan that rumbled in your lungs.

"The Maester," you managed to breathe through gritted teeth. "Get the Maester, Aegon."

He paused for a moment too long, and another cramp went through you, wailing with a clenched jaw and shut eyes as your body arched in pain. The prince did not need to be told twice as he watched the woman he loved beg the Gods for mercy, swiftly exiting your room as he ran to Orwyle's chambers, your cries becoming distant within the pale red stone walls.

The man in question opened the door with tired eyes to the Prince's incessant pounding. He did not need him to explain. He knew it had something to do with you as he hastily gathered supplies and the seven-pointed star necklace on his person. What Orwyle did not expect to see when he entered your humid chambers were you on all fours, grunting and straining with blood-soaked hands and bedclothes, sweat discoloring your once pristine nightdress.

He went quickly into action, ordering Aegon to summon your maids as he stood there listlessly, unable to comprehend the urgent words over the sounds of your shrieks. Aegon was unsure when he finally summoned Jeyne and Fiora, the pair looking perplexed before spotting their Lady. Both quickly went into action, following Maester Orwyle's instructions, scattering in and out of your chambers with different items.

Aegon could not think as he observed the events unfold before him. It was all too much. He couldn't process the abrupt chain of events. One moment, you were laying there, breaths barely audible, now suddenly panting and sobbing for an end he was not sure he wanted to see. Aegon did not know if this was an effect of the poison as his distant eyes met yours, lips mouthing something he strained to hear. He could not bear to lose you. He finally had love within his grasp after years of yearning only for it to be promptly taken away before properly basking in its warmth.

Aegon, who was so focused on the end of something, could not see the future before him, staring with violet-rimmed pupils within thick lashes, begging him to bring comfort. Finally, he could hear you, a rush of sounds and voices barraging his senses as you strained a grunt for him to come near.

You took his fist in yours, the other clutching the footboard as sweat ran down your neck. It felt as if your head was about to burst from your skull with each contraction, panting like an exerted animal.

"It's almost over now, Princess. You just need to pass the biggest part," encouraged Jeyne, a soothing maternal presence in a place that lacked it. "Come now. In through your nose and push out your mouth."

Nodding fervently, you did as told, inhaling deeply and growling with downward force, bringing your arm to wrap around Aegon for support. You needed the closeness and comfort a loved one brought as you went through this traumatic event.

Tears from above sprinkled on your damp hair. Streaks of wetness lined Aegon's cheeks as much as they did yours as another cramp rolled through you.

"What's happening?" he whispered against your cheek, breath uncomfortably hot.

Surprise dawned on your features as the pain ebbed for a merciful moment, resting on your knees. Your free hand grasped his silver roots in support as your other led Aegon down to your stomach, unable to speak. He stared with wrinkled brows and glassy purple eyes as you allowed him to apply pressure there. You need not tell him the reason in words as he glanced down. It could only be one thing.

"You are with child?" he questioned softly, tenderly stroking the area with his thumb.

You nodded, the cramps rising and commanding your body to gush more gelatinous blood. "I saw her. She was right there and they took her from me. Straight from my womb as she wailed."

"Who? Who took her from you?" he asked, free head tangling within your matted hair as you rested your forehead against his.

"The Stranger."

Aegon believed this to be the ramblings of someone in labor, the blood loss not helping to have a clear mind.

The death of a child, whether in this realm or within the womb, hurts immeasurably. The loss of something you could see and touch, something you formed a connection with, brought immense suffering to you and many of those around you, but it wasn't grief to bear alone. Having a life stolen from inside you created feelings of failure and doubts about your body's natural capabilities in isolation, morphing into self-blame and loathing of what could have been if only you were different.

But it was not your fault, not in this or any other sense. Your body did its natural process of protecting you, and even though you did not meet the child in its complete form, there was still a connection to mourn.

So deep within your thoughts, you did not hear the opening of oak doors, two pairs of footfalls storming into the room as your support was suddenly ripped away. Your fists balled into the crumpled sheets in compensation. Aegon struggled in Ser Criston's ironclad grip on his collar as you felt the sudden urge to push, push, push.

"Yes, Princess, yes! Keep going, more is coming out! You're almost finished," Fiora cheered, kneeling in Aegon's place as she clasped her fists around yours.

"Bring him back! I want Aegon!" you shouted. "I need him, please!"

At your cries, the Prince felt panic begin to take root, a terror and desperation to get to you that was so visceral that he did the only thing he could. Aegon growled and bit down on the fleshy part of Ser Criston's palm that met his thumb and forefinger, breaking the skin as blood stained his lips scarlet. The knight howled in pain, releasing the Prince on instinct as he attempted to return, only to have his mother stand in the way.

"Aegon, you needn't worry about her now. She is in capable hands," Alicent attempted to placate, her voice as gentle and maternal as when he was a child.

He paid no mind to her false coos and shoved the Queen out of his way, uncaring as she landed into a corner of furniture that stabbed her side. Ser Criston swiftly regained his composure at his Lady's shriek, once again grabbing Aegon by the fabric of his tunic and towards the exit.

"She is your Queen and mother! How dare you lay hands on her!" Criston admonished and struck the Prince with an armored grip upside his head as if he were no more than an insolent mutt.

You protested the action, begging the Queen, Ser Criston, the Maester, or anyone who would hear your pleas to bring Aegon back to you, but no one listened. The Queen was the highest authority in the room. Her word was law, and you were nothing but a lowly bastard dressed in fancy clothes and titles left without regard.

"Mother! Please, don't do this. She's with child!" the Prince beseeched, unruly locks of unkempt silver strewn across his pale face.

"Not anymore," Ser Criston jeered as his vision met the blood-stained sheets, dragging a raging Aegon away.

Alicent stood, righting herself and smoothing the fabric of her peridot gown with jeweled fingers. "You do not have the right to make such demands, Aegon. Leave at once. We shall discuss this later."

She couldn't stand to look at him, the shame of everything weighing heavier than all man's sins, as Alicent turned her brown orbs away from her son. He had sired bastards before, as had many Targaryen men, but one within his own house, with another bastard no less, was too much for the Queen's mind to comprehend.

The doors to your chambers slammed shut, rattling your bones as sobs of defeat tore through your throat. Your body did not allow you to mourn Aegon's absence, focusing your efforts as your muscles forcefully contracted, expelling the last of the thick matter out of your womb and onto the bedclothes. Fiora stroked your sweat-knotted hair as the pain subsided into dull cramps, reminding you of a particularly rough moon's blood, lungs slowly inhaling as your body relaxed.

Maester Orwyle began dabbing at your temples and neck as you sat, breathing heavily through your nose. "You did well, my lady," he praised quietly, glancing over his shoulder to Alicent, who stood staring into the hearth with her thumb in her mouth.

You sighed in acknowledgment, eyes briefly shutting as your fury gave you the energy to speak. "You are a cruel woman, Alicent." Your words were a dagger straight to her heart as you wiped your stained hands on your nightgown.

She turned to you and quickly placed her arms at her side, trying to put on an air of pomp that the situation did not need. "Tis hardly proper for a man to witness the pains of a miscarriage," she answered as if rehearsed.

"Proper?" you asked rhetorically. "I was dying and all you cared about was fucking propriety?" you snarled, rising to your knees with a wince, nerves alight.

The Queen did not dare say more, her conscience gnawing at the back of her mind like her teeth to her lip. "I know this was your doing," you spat, allowing Jeyne to help you onto your plush settee as the Maester began to clean your stained thighs.

The two women who had been with you since the moment you were forced to call the Red Keep a home gathered your soiled linens, stripping your bed without needing to be told. The sight brought warmth to your heart you had thought died moments ago. Through the brief time of Ser Dalton Greyjoy's presence to dutifully covering marks left behind from stolen moments with Aegon, Jeyne and Fiora's loyalty did not waver. Most maids would be eager to pass on gossip and rumors among the nobility for a chance at some coin. Or perhaps to provide themselves some entertainment in their less fortunate lives, but your two maidservants did not.

You were overwhelmed by a sudden gratefulness for them, longing to bring them into your embrace to sing praises and shout thank yous, but the Queen's looming presence forbade it. There was uncertainty about why she was here. Undoubtedly, the same woman who all but told you to leave King's Landing was not concerned for your well-being. You were hardly but an insect pestering her with your annoying, buzzing wings.

"Is it not enough that you've murdered the last remaining blood of my mother? Now you must take the life of my unborn child," you grunted, adjusting your position on the plush, emerald cushions as nausea struck through your core.

The Queen gasped, and everyone in the room looked weary, certain they were not supposed to hear this. "I would do no such thing, Princess," Alicent rebutted with a horror-stricken expression. "You are being unreasonable. 'Twas whoever snuck into your chambers and poisoned you that did this! Do not blame me for your misfortune."

A hollow laugh escaped your chest at her words, swallowing the bile that rose with the lingering cramps. "Oh, but how fortunate for you," you replied bitterly, the jab tasting acrid on your tongue. You wanted her to leave, to let you grieve the loss of a future you would never know, but she refused, implanting herself into the lives of others to ensure her gains were met. "Have I not earned my place here? Have I not sacrificed enough?"

"You know nothing of sacrifice," Alicent rejected quickly, snapping her avoidant gaze to yours.

"Don't I?" you chortled. The laughter sent your stomach into knots, but you pressed on, nudging Maester Orwyle away to stand upright, much to his concern. "Have I not done what you commanded of me? Kept your son from whoring and drinking himself to death on the streets of Flea Bottom? Do you remember the day you wrote to me? How you implored me to come to King's Landing and herd your son back to the Keep?" you sneered, tears of frustration and sadness welling in your puffy, bloodshot eyes.

No matter how desperately you wished to do so, you would not break in front of the Queen, heart empty as you spoke, blood trickling down your leg. "I have done what you asked and more. I've made Aegon understand the responsibility of his birth. He does not gamble or whore, gluttony is no longer a vice. He's become a better husband, brother, and father. He is everything you want him to be because of me!" Your voice wavered, barely containing a gag that pulled your lip muscles, threatening to become something more.

Realization struck you as you observed the Queen stand underneath your rage. All your life, you have served others to attain recognition in their eyes, whether to prove yourself competent or receive the love and acceptance every child craved. With your father, desperately eager to please him, to show him and all others that you were not the baseborn bastard daughter of a whore---that you could hold your own and make a name for yourself. Your desperation to prove yourself would be your downfall, but no longer would you allow yourself to be the subject of your insecurities. Worth was not dictated by what you did for others but by what you thought of yourself.

"Now that I no longer serve to further your schemes of putting Aegon on the throne, you see it fit to discard me as if I am nothing but a piece thrown about the board, sacrificed to achieve victory." Your anger was palpable, striking the Queen into her soul without physical action.

Alicent inhaled sharply, glancing at your maids and the Maester, who had all seemed to have halted their tasks. Your words were a mirror to her as anxiety began to flutter within her gut underneath so many stares. Hands once primly placed at her side were now picking at the skin of one another, a nervous tick she never broke. She did not know these people. She did not trust them not to run to the nearest lord, who was desperate for Rhaenyra's favor with word of treachery.

"What you claim is treason and not from a sound mind," she protested, her voice velvet. The Queen knew that if she spent a moment longer discussing secrets that had been unsaid, they would finally surface to harm the steps made to plant Aegon on the throne.

You opened your mouth to speak once more, but Alicent's smooth voice was quick to interject.

"Maester, I believe the Princess has gone into hysteria due to the poison. She is not thinking clearly."

You began to argue, but the feeling of nausea overcame you, and you quickly stumbled to your chamber pot as the little contents of your stomach exited. Fiora and Jeyne rushed to your side, holding your tangled strands from your face as the other rubbed soothing circles across your lower back.

"Her hysteria is dangerous to herself and those around her, Maester. I believe milk of the poppy will numb her mind enough until she is well again," Alicent said with pursed lips, staring down at your hunched back from under her nose.

Orwyle blanched, understanding that this was not a suggestion but a request. Who was he to deny the Queen Consort of the Seven Kingdoms? "Your thoughtfulness for the Princess moves me deeply, your grace. However, any attempt to sedate her now would put her at more unneeded risk. She has lost far too much blood, and I must monitor her health."

The Queen's jaw clenched, teeth grinding at the man's tenacity. What did you have that gave people such a steadfast honor to protect you? Unlike her, you could not give them titles, land, or money in compensation. She was the Queen. They were supposed to serve her and bend to her will. Yet, they tended to your well-being with unyielding devotion, even in the face of one of Westeros's most influential people. Why did they not stand with her? Did a Queen not offer more than a bastard? Why not her? 

Why not me? Why not me? Why not me?

Envy ran hot through her veins at the thought. 

The three servants knew what this was—an attempt to control the situation and narrative, to prove that Queen Alicent would remain the all-encompassing figure of power and dominance, not some young, pretty bastard girl who bewitched all those around her.

"I shall not allow another danger to lurk about my home, especially one that deceives. We already have her assassin to worry about." She ignored your scoff, her words velvet but holding an icy undertone.

When Maester Orwyle did not move, Alicent shifted, palms conjoined just below her heart as she raised a manicured brow. "Do it Maester or I will have my guards do it for you."

The air was cold on Dragonstone, with a salty bite stinging Prince Daemon's flushed cheeks as he stood on a brimstone balcony overlooking where Blackwater Bay met the Narrow Sea. The moons spent without his daughter chipped at his war-hardened soul, revealing the center he kept tucked away, though many did not see it.

He hesitated again, gaze flickering to your slouched one leaning onto your ladies for support. You gave him a solemn nod, conveying with a single look that you would not resist. If this would get Alicent to leave the four of you alone and allow you to mourn peacefully... so be it. It would be better for you and them. You would not have to think about what happened for at least a little longer, and perhaps the pain would be gone when you woke, and your beloved Prince would be at your side once more. But hope was a double-edged sword. Each side was as sharp and brutal as the other and cut equally profoundly.

People believed Daemon to be a cruel, calculating man deserving of the title "Rogue Prince." And while they were not wrong, it did not mean that the same sentiment traveled to the treatment of his family. He was devoted to his wife, stepsons, and true-born children, tending to them as a shepherd would his flock. He no longer cared for the war in the Stepstones or any battle, focusing his efforts on the future, a future for his family that seemed to grow more uncertain as his brother's health declined.

While he did feel guilt knock at his hollow chest when he thought about his eldest daughter, the life she was born into, the life she was kept from and forced to live, he did not have regrets. Daemon would, a thousand times over, accept you into his heart.

You were a part of him he did not know was missing, fitting so perfectly into his cracked soul that not even Rhaenyra's love could mend. You are as much of his blood as the young Aegon, Viserys, and the babe that grew stronger every passing day within his wife's womb. There was a special connection between the two of you that only a father of a girl could comprehend. He now understood why his brother passed him in favor of Rhaenyra becoming heir, for if he had the choice, you would serve to inherit all he had.

Daemon longed to have you at his side again, listening intently to whatever thoughts, happenings, and plans you had. The council meetings around the Painted Table grew increasingly irksome as he patiently awaited your next raven. Rhaenyra brought Jace along to more than one gathering with the pompous lords. Daemon admired the boy's fire and tenacity, yet he always seemed to lack the mature awareness you seemed to possess—no doubt a byproduct of your vastly different upbringings.

It had been a sennight since your last word, the longest Daemon had ever waited, and he grew antsy with each passing hour. He found himself pacing the sandy beaches across the island, climbing the same mountains and hills he forced you to in training. Memories were what he felt he had left of you now and that of the written word.

"My love."

He heard his wife's tender voice calling him inside. "You will hear from her soon. I know it."

Rhaenyra's soft hand found Daemon's, bringing it to the growing bump underneath her Myrish lace dress. The notion grounded him as much as her as they pressed their foreheads together, sharing a kiss full of all the longing and melancholy he kept hidden within himself.

It was not until late evening, as he and his wife retired to their chambers for rest, that a footman knocked, revealing a single piece of parchment atop a bronze platter. Daemon's heart leaped for joy, knowing it could only be one thing, and he hastily tore at the three-headed dragon seal.

Rhaenyra allowed her husband to read in silence, brushing out her long, snowy hair as she hummed a tune her late mother used to sing, absentmindedly stroking the life tucked below her breast. When her task was done, and she had secured herself within her thick nightdress, she turned to Daemon, his hunched spine facing her over their shared writing desk.

"What news does she have, my darling?" Rhaenyra sang, combing a fragrant oil through her strands. She prodded him further at his silence, eager to know what her chosen daughter said. "Has another lord insulted her again? You mustn't worry about it like last time. She is more than capable of defending herself."

Daemon did not answer, a strained, choked sound that his wife had never heard before emitting from his throat. Rhaenyra turned, swiftly walking to him as she smoothed a palm down the crown of his head to his nape. "Love?"

"She's dying."

"What?" Rhaenyra stammered, taking a step back.

"She was poisoned. The Greens have obstructed all communications with Dragonstone, and the sender is unsure if she will be alive by the time I read this," he answered, paper trembling.

The shock paralyzed all rationality. Rhaenyra didn't know what to think or feel. "Who sent this to you?" she ardently asked. The world around her became fuzzy, and her head went light as she braced herself against the wooden desk.

Daemon flipped the parchment over, searching for any indication of who the sender could be, but found none. "It has the royal seal, yet there is no signage."

His wife had no answer, dread beginning to take hold of her chest as tears collected in her amethyst eyes. A sob escaped Rhaenyra. The pain, the suffering you must have been through, was enough to make her faint, knees buckling as she struggled to stay upright—her poor child. Poor perzītsos dampened until they snuffed out her flame.

Daemon was lost within the confines of his mind. Fear, betrayal, sadness, and anger coursed through him, roaring the dragon blood to life in his veins. 

He felt powerless living on an island away from the daughter he loved, unable to fulfill his role as father and protector. It was a failure on his part not to see what the Hightowers could do. Their schemes and treachery reached from King's Landing to Oldtown, an ancient family with roots among the elites of Westeros. There was a reason they held onto power for so long, and it was not by allowing one unexpected person to throw them awry.

Swiftly, Daemon stood, throwing the sturdy wooden chair behind him with the force of his legs. He gripped the letter with an iron fist, wrinkling the parchment under pressure as he went for the door.

"Daemon," Rhaenyra called, struggling to steady her breath. "Where are you heading?"

The Rogue Prince paused just before the exit, turning on his heel to face his wife, crumpled paper raised high in his hand.

"To burn that green bitch and her cunt father," he proclaimed, a fire within his voice that assured he would keep his word. "They will pay for what they have done to our daughter." 

Rhaenyra understood that convincing him otherwise was futile, and deep down, she didn't want to. Despite not being her biological child, she held you in her heart as her own. She wouldn't stand in the way of Daemon's quest for retribution, knowing that he would spare no effort if their roles reversed. With a brief nod, she left him and settled into a cushioned chair.

Daemon stormed through the brimstone halls of Dragonstone, leather riding boots echoing his every step. He had only one goal, one in which he had no care for the consequences of as he reached the cave where his ride was housed. The Rogue Prince climbed the ropes of Caraxes as the Keepers struggled to untether the beast, mounting atop his dragon and fastening the chains in the saddle.

Masterlist of Series

The Blood Wyrm chirped with a puff of smoke through its nostrils as Daemon snapped the reins, sending the dragon forward and out of the cave. He did not care as the frigid wind cracked like whips against his exposed skin, flying higher—faster to his destination, death and destruction trailing behind beating crimson wings. His daughter would be avenged even if it meant the whole Keep would be nothing but ash and bone by sunset.

Tagged Peeps: @zeennnnn, @malfoytargaryen, @targaryencore, @justasmallbean, @omgsuperstarg, @sommornyte, @silverslive, @prettykinkysoul, @duesobabe, @legolas017, @iiamthehybrid, @dd122004dd, @ladybug0095, @millies0bsimp, @kalfild, @sheislonelyalways, @tempt-ress, @minttea07, @trikigirl271, @esposadomd, @prettywhenicry4, @justarandomflowerchildofthenight, @partypoison00, @please-buckme, @pastelorangeskies, @existential-echo, @priyajoyy, @valaenatargaryensdragon, @merovingianprincess, @candy12110, @w3ird11, @ruhjkie, @somemydayy, @marikkjj, @zillahvathek, @sunfyresrider, @heavenly1927, @hjgdhghoe, @im-sidney, @aurorathi, @marihoneywk, @xitsemm, @justbelljust, @qardasngan

Daddy's on his way, babies! Are we excited? I know I am!

I hope this chapter wasn't too sad for y'all. I've never had a miscarriage before or have been pregnant. I wanted to make the most accurate portrayal by talking with people I know who have had one or been pregnant. I apologize if I've offended or triggered anyone with what I wrote.

Thank you again for your understanding and patience while waiting for these updates. Life has been chaotic!

[emblemxeno]

Xenoblade 1 DE Main Story/Game Thoughts

Finished the main story! I didn't go full completion but I got full affinity for all areas and saw every Heart-to-Heart. More detailed thoughts-including spoilers-under the cut!

-For starters, DE is a great update to the original. Many QoL improvements trims the extra menu time down a lot (inventory management, art books, equipment/gems, etc.), especially swapping gems. Also hell yes to including the appearance feature from X, as someone who prefers the default outfits for everyone!

-Same applies to battle stuff and general gameplay. Quest tracking, gauges on things like Break and Topple, clearer status effects, chance arts being highlighted, even something as small as the scroll between Talent Arts/Running/Chain Attacks being more streamlined had many great returns on me not pressing the wrong thing.

-However... why did they not just go all the way with more changes? The two big ones that come to mind are trading and Colony 6 collecting. First, why can you not bulk trade? It is such a time sink having to constantly open the menu again and again. And since trading and skip travelling share a button, I clocked probably over a hundred instances of opening the damn map menu instead of trading since there's a second of cooldown before the option appears for the NPC again! It's an annoyance that is easily ignored once or twice, but absolutely brutal after the tenth time.

-Jumping ahead a bit, but I speak not just criticizing DE but XC1 as a whole. It's probably an unpopular opinion but I don't like the ongoing Colony 6 reconstruction sidequest. The first time I completed it-about half a decade ago I think-was magical! Seeing a ruined home blossom into a lively city due to my hard work was something I'll never forget as an RPG fan. But I don't have that kind of time on my hands anymore (or I simply have better management of time now that I don't stay up til 4 am playing video games anymore lol). Exploring Bionis and Mechonis is an undeniably wondrous and beautiful experience, but only when doing normal quests (well most of the normal quests) and progressing the story. Jogging around places trying to find each item is incredibly unfun and tedious. The big offenders are typically Ice Cabbages (luckily I got all the ones I need by playing through the Valak portion of the story), Rainbow Slugs (I spent an entire hour on the Fallen Arm ugh), and the Black Liver Beans. The last one was the breaking point, I can't stand the Bionis Interior and after an hour in there just trying to find one, I said fuck it and did the Time Attack trials to get them that way. It was just not... good! I don't like it a bit.

-Last thing on DE specifically, I found that the graphics are apparently controversial among fans? I'm understanding of the position, as there's definitely a charm that the original artstyle had, especially being on the Wii. But to me the original has more issues in its visuals than just being a different artstyle. Poor resolution, blocky models, souless faces when not in an important cutscene, absolutely diabolical pop-in. And some say that the original gave its characters more personality during cutscenes, which... I don't get whatsoever. Did we watch the same scenes, cuz it's very hard to distinguish emotion in the original, whereas DE has better mouth, eyebrow, and facial movements. Certain scenes may "look" more emotional in the original, but things get exaggerated all the time to compensate for poor resolution or graphics.

-Now on to the just XC1 in general! Holy fuck the main cast is better than I remember. Shulk, Fiora, and Melia were already my favorites, but honestly... Dunban is probably my absolute favorite out of all of them now. His story is just so succinct and he's just so cool and hot and kind and just ughhhhhh!

-Egil is still best villain in the game, no surprise. Revisiting this game honestly made it really fucking clear why I loved Dimitri from 3H so much cuz the two are so similar (to the point where you can pull line's from the game about Egil and put them in 3H). The others fair less well. Metal Face/Mumkhar is delightfully hammy and an amazing threat for the first half of the game, but is as deep as a puddle. Dickson and Lorithia I found I dislike even more, for the wrong reasons; they lack charisma, and it's noticeable in places where the game gets really anime in its hammy villainy, but they're written and played a bit too straight for it to come off as anything other than lackluster. Though at least Dickson has presence as Shulk's caretaker and the guy who everyone knows and respects; Lorithia though? Throw her away. Honestly if Yumea took her place and retained the bigotry against Homs it'd be much more entertaining IMO.

-Zanza himself is a definitive mixed bag. Were I ignorant to Klaus' entire story from XC2, I'd honestly write him off as a by-the-numbers arrogant (but secretly imperfect and prone to "human" folly) god figure that happens in many, many RPGS. But I can't dislike him because I do know the entire story, and Zanza being an utter dickwad is explained in great detail and makes sense. Honestly, he does work for the story that XC1 is telling without playing XC2 as well, but ehhh. I guess it's just really difficult to be the main villain after Egil does such great things in a limited time.

-Narrative is great, just as it was the first time I played. Highlights for me:

Singlemindedly fighting for revenge is destructive not just to your enemies, but to yourself and your friends. Ignorance and unwillingness to look beyond your own world or history means you may be hurting innocent people without realizing it. Chaining your life to the deaths of others rather than supporting the survivors is unhealthy and can lead you down a path of misery and disaster.

Ether is not just analogy for carbon/other base elements in our world. Philosophically it's analogous to light and fate as well. Shulk unlocks the Monado's powers when he stops treating it as a tool with functions, but rather as an extension of his will. He wills his wishes into his heart, and they are made manifest. He protects Reyn with Shield not cuz the Monado lets him, but because he desired it. Same with Sharla and Speed, and it's how Alvis taught him to unlock Purge. It's how he resists Apocrypha, and later gains Cyclone once the Apocrypha is destroyed. His will is so strong, it becomes resistant to Zanza's influence, hence why he starts suffering the more he learns of Mechonis' history. The truth being brought to light is painful internally and externally, as Zanza physically rejects anything that challenges how he sees the world. Shulk brings himself back to life, begins having visions without Zanza, and gains his own Monado-which looks purely made of ether and light-through pure willpower and the desire to create his own future.

Shulk's duality and inner turmoil when he realizes his yearning for revenge is destructive; Fiora's endless strength of heart when dealing with a machine body and carrying on Meyneth's wishes; Melia going through hell and back trying to find a balance between her sense of self and sense of duty (I imagine Future Connected is gonna touch on that more as well); Dunban grappling with his moniker of being a hero and mentoring the party despite being imperfect and lamenting his disability; Reyn's goal of being a protector developing into being a supporter once he becomes insecure over his strength and character compared to Shulk; Sharla trying to keep hold onto a sense of hope that her love is alive before coming to terms with the fact that she needs to cherish her life and love those within it; Riki just being the fucking best dad and friend in the world.

Having played XC2 and XC3 makes all these things even richer as well.

-Last but not least, gameplay:

-Most quests are good. Most. The generic quests weren't ever fun for me, and they cause significant bloat that could've been trimmed IMO. Especially since lots of quests ask you to kill monsters and collect items anyway.

-The method to get quests started though? Awful. I know that things like Community in Torna and Field Skills in XC2 are hated, but man I can't stand having to change the clock and track the damn NPCs in XC1. Especially since there are many areas separated between towns/villages and "wild" areas (Colony 6 and Bionis Leg, Frontier Village and Makna, Alcamoth and Eryth + Valak), it just makes things so drawn out. Going back and forth, changing time and all that, is a sour point on this game.

-Like I said a few weeks ago, the Xenoblade series as a whole is unmatched in gameplay story telling. Beautiful and large environments make curious exploration a treat, especially as you start getting pieces to puzzles that can get completed later. I payed a lot more attention to the High Entia and Giant related sidequests due to the fascinating lore, for example.

-The fights are great, if a bit centralizing. Shulk, due to Monado arts, is the best character to have in the party and is sorely missed when switched out. I have pretty standard opinions on the rest of the characters, so no need to speak on each individually. I will say though, holy fuck is the AI just as bad as I remember. Shulk wastes his Monado gauge, Sharla is terrible at using arts and always puts herself into cooldown, and Melia for the love of god, stop firing elementals as soon as you summon them you're made of tissue.

Topple locking is deffo the prime strategy, cuz there were fights I wouldn't otherwise have won were it not for it, and thankfully Reyn and Dunban have pretty good AI.

Two major gripes though. Spikes are a terrible mechanic, gross. Second, I hate that the enemy tags affect accuracy, it makes certain quests extremely brutal to complete without grinding. And I just hate having to fight tough/overlevelled enemies as a whole, it becomes routine and simple after a while.

As a whole, I like the gameplay still, but it feels very restrictive going back to it after seeing all the crazy tricks I could do in 2 and 3. And also auto-attack arts > timer arts forever and ever.

-Overall a very great experience getting to replay this game like this. Though more rough points than I remember, and with certain things that have not aged well whatsoever , XC1 is still a good game that I'm glad introduced me to this series. I'm taking a break before playing Future Connected.

[nemaliwrites]

prompt: safe

They hover, this family of hers, after they get her back.

Fiora’s used to being the one who charges on ahead, wielding her words just as well as her knives. She’s used to being the one who kept them safe. But somewhere in the time that she was gone — in the time when they thought her dead — that had all changed. 

Dunban likes it when she stays on his right. Her father, brother, protector all in one, he takes out hordes of Mechon before they can so much as even look her way. 

Fiora never thanks him for it; not verbally, at least. Instead, she guards his side — and afterward, when she tugs on his hair and chides him for putting himself in danger, he just smiles. He knows what it means.

Reyn hasn’t changed much, not when it comes to her. He’s still ready to spar with her, verbally or otherwise, at any given moment. It reminds her of when they were children, tussling out near Tephra Hill until they were scuffed and bruised all over. 

But Fiora still sees the way he watches her out of the corner of his eye. He’s never been the subtle type. There’s tension in his shoulders whenever he sees her fighting, and his fingers clench around the hilt of his driver. She can take a few hits, she assures him, but as always, he never listens.

She makes him dinner every day now.

And Shulk…he’s changed the most. Sometimes, Fiora doesn’t even recognize him. 

It had always been her job to drag him out of the lab on long days, her job to make sure that he ate something. Her job to keep him safe. 

Now, it’s all different.

“He never rested,” Dunban tells her quietly. “Not once. Not until he knew you were safe.”

She’s safe now — but he still doesn’t rest. 

If one of her joints is creaky, he’s there in the blink of an eye to fix it. He has no qualms in shoving her back behind him, yelling a warning at her every time he has one of those visions of his. 

Fiora wonders if she should hate it more. She can take care of herself, a fact that she’s made all too clear.

Some part of her, though, likes him — all of them, really — keeping her safe. 

Change, she supposes, maybe isn’t such a bad thing.

[eaglefairy]

A new world is born.

Began with a little world tour to kill some unique monsters and get more experience (and affinity coins)

After the Bana fight Roommate: Huh, I wonder where Bana went after this. Me, gleeful: Oh? You want to see Bana now? ... Roommate: He's on the wheel now! Me: He's on the wheel now!

I'd recommend looking back at the previous post on my blog for a conversation much too long and winding to include in this post. It's worth it. Trust me

We're finally back at Prison Island and we literally walked past the fight that made her ragequit last week. The deinos don't attack us on sight anymore and the rest of the enemies won't spawn if they aren't fought so we just. walked past.

...and we just got the second bolt element so we are once again not fighting Dickson. This is like the third time we've walked away from the main story in the endgame, it's honestly kind of funny at this point

Upon seeing Demon King Dragonia for the first time: "OH. MY. GOD." "Ok but can you imagine like canonically...like people talk about the giants sometimes but no one talks about the dragons. And then finding out they're real??"

So I thought we were mostly keeping up with the collectopaedia, but we're looking at it again and we're missing items in Colony 6, the Ether Mine, Makna Forest, Valak Mountain, two from Galahad Fortress, and the Fallen Arm. What...what happened?!

My roommate is very disappointed that we don't really get any lore about the dragons and honestly, I agree with her. They're so cool and there's only three of them and we don't know anything about them except that they were likely important to the Giants because of their presence in the decor of Prison Island

Oh shit we're going for it. Past the point of no return!

Oh oops, I didn't make it clear that "point of no return" meant that she couldn't save past that point. Well, at least we have the autosave at Gondorl

Dickson...his death really tore her up. This is the only time she's cried throughout the whole game

:Saturn: Roommate: "Saturn, ok." still sniffling Me: "Saturn." Roommate: "...wait, Saturn?!"

"Jupiter?! So I'm actively in the solar system?!"

We're at the Moon now. "So the whole thing...the whole thing happened on Earth?! What the hell happened to Earth?!"

"Oh good, we don't have to fight Alvis. He'd probably beat me" (we are about to fight Zanza, she doesn't know yet)

I forgot how horribly ugly Zanza's second form is, wow. The roommate is not impressed either

Alvis: "I am Monado." Roommate: "I KNEW IT! I said that last week! Tell them I said that last week, Eagle."

Oh interesting, the experiment cutscene in 1 doesn't actually show Galea touching the button. I always thought it had. I'll have to rewatch the version from 2 then to see if my anger at the retcon is as justified as I thought

Time to beating Zanza: 99 hours

Final roommate stats: Game rating: 10/10, 5/5 stars, absolutely perfect game. Worldbuilding, design, characters, perfect Favorite character: Dickson, obviously Top 4: Dickson and Riki are both number one (whole head and whole heart respectively), Sharla and Reyn are number two, everyone else is below those Favorite area: Valak Mountain (and really any area that glows) Least favorite area: Bionis Interior by FAR Favorite town: Frontier Village Favorite party member to play: Fiora Favorite and least favorite story beat: Mechonis Core (because it's complicated) Favorite uncomplicated story beat: When Xord speaks for the first time and when Fiora is discovered to be alive Most heartbreaking moment: Dickson's death

Thank you all so much for joining us on this journey. I never thought I'd be liveblogging the entire game like this when I started, but it's been so fun to chronicle the entire game for the good people of tumblr. I've made new friends through this! Reaching the end of this game is bittersweet (heavy on the sweet), but it's certainly not the end of the liveblog! It's not even the end of this liveblog, honestly. Join us again tomorrow for more sidequests!

[dirtyoldmanhole]

so i started reading the Fates manga late last night after learning it exists, and this was the best decision ever for characterization/meta learning, omg.

tl;dr of the manga is it's a take on Revelations' story, but from Leo's perspective, so a lot of the early material is much-needed worldbuilding on Nohr social life.

leo is genuinely cool. dude. i want to write that guy now. literal only shota protagonist i like, since his guile is refreshing, and so so much less annoying than corrin's naivety. he's got his heart in the right place but boy does that guy know crystal clear what it takes to survive. seeing how he works with niles is so refreshing.

it's so pretty. i'm shallow enough as an artist i need some top-tier art to reel me into manga. i love how it communicates so much of the body language and the harshness of Nohr life without even needing many words (the cold dark spires in the gloom, empty corridors with many hostile eyes, jumping to orders b/c there's an executioners axe right behind it )-- the contrast between the scarcity (physical and emotional) versus everyone trying to be upbeat and chipper is upsettingly well done here.

also seeing how like - cloistered? dystopian? Nohr life is with class differences. you only see the caretakers (jakob/felicia/fiora/gunter) once or twice and always on the margins. (man, no wonder gunter is genuinely shocked if/when femui hits on him. so much of this manga is retroactively making me go 'ooooooooh..... that's why (random character) was like That.' there's a heavy militaristic/authoritarian tone/contrast that i cannot wait to start really weaving into these fics. especially with gunter being an embodiment of that old order.)

jokingly, i'm not saying nohr is fashkink coded, but -

i've been talking with @damoselcastel about Marx and how he reads so different than the EN Xander in the base Fates script itself, and i LOVE how the Fates manga clearly takes after the JP characterizations, and how shell-shocked he still is from the concubine wars. you definitely get the sense the other nohr sibs don't quite trust him because everyone knows he will be their executioner if they step out of line.

See, after rereading all of gunter's fates (conquest) scripts + support last night a bunch of times before picking this up, it always felt so disjointed. the JP<>EN difference didn't help but it felt like he was several characters in one, from the strict disciplinarian of femui's upbringing, to what i'm calling "off the clock" relaxed gunter with her supports. i couldn't bridge the tonal clash those two, but now -

(this is helping me write that decidedly tasteless nsfw spanking fic with him and young!femui - because now i understand that streak of barely hidden resentment he has towards her between the class angle and his backstory with Garon, and how it'd be ripe for some nasty sexual undertones (that i am totally taking advantage of b/c i m trashy l m a o )

and yet, yet - i'm building a headcanon that when he fell down into the bottomless canyon he had a.... not a change of heart, per se, but after talking to azura, something close to like the only honest conversation he's had given his near death experience. about what he's fighting (and living for) and comes back with priorities rearranged.

also this is really hammering home how uncomfortably naive corrin is. i thought a few of her quirks in the EN fates script was just, classic cringy JRPG 'i fwight for mah fwiendsss' writing, but, sheesh, i don't even have to age her down for that sort of jarringly 'wow, damn you have no life experience with social politics and this is going to hit in some interesting ways w/this ship' vibe.

like the only scene gunter has in the manga he briskly approaches Marx while escorting femui back to krakengard, and starts talking (logistics of oncoming famines etc), and everyone else shushes both of them because "it isn't appropriate to mention such nasty things in front of femui! ^w^;;;" like, whew, there's a lot of emotional mileage for playing with neglect, how lack of transparency can lead to all kinds of abuse, how, almost, cripplingly reliant the nohr sibs are on their underclass of retainers/servants..... and on and on....

aaaa this is so tasty

[harpagornis]

MTG Analysis: Archons part 2

a while back I wrote an extensive article on the archons of Magic: The Gathering. Since I don't feel like making a fool reboot (and I can't add more images to that article) I've decided to make a sequel article dealing with the archons we haven't reviewed yet.

Archon of Coronation

Released in Commander Legends this archon hails from the plane of Fiora. Given what a political clusterfuck that plane is, I don't know what the archons political stance is, but I suppose they support whoever's in charge (currently Marquesa).

This is the first archon with an actual bird steed (unless we count Ornitharch's flock of birds?) which makes it stand out quite a lot. I also like the pure black face, so eerie for a White card. I guess it could be mask like a robber's mask, which makes it funnier in my opinion.

Archon of Cruelty

Introduced in Modern Horizons 2 this one is the first non-White, mono-Black archon, which I quite dislike since it plays into the whole "Black if evil" shenigans. As we previously discussed, Archons represent the cruel side of White mana, so this makes even less sense flavourfully.

The design at least it's interesting, with a hooved carnivore like a mesonichian with bat wings as steeds. The exact plane where it lives is not clear, but judging by the Bolas horns it might either be from the Meditation Realm (which would make it the only living thing besides the imprisoned dragon twins there) or Amonkhet, which has no precedent for archons but enough for angel-fuckery. Maybe Bolas meddled with it and that's why it's mono-Black?

Guardian Archon

(Apologies for image quality, it was the only large pic I could find without the card)

Debuting in Strixhaven: Commander, this owl ridding archon has a quill-end like shield, which I find it quite adorable for a sinister force of violent order. The pen might be mightier than the sword... which is why its a shield instead of a weapon. Clever girl/boy/non-binary!

Archon of the Wild Rose

We return to Eldraine with this imposing white-stag riding archon. Like previous Eldraine archons it looks quite luminous and ghostly and we actually have a reason why! Accroding to the D&D tie-in monster manual, Eldraine archons are actually deceased knights. They live at the boundaries of the wilds, marking the border between the human and fae realms. Human knights often pick up a fight with an archon in order to expand the humans' domain, which is fruitless as the archons don't get to decide where the boundaries are. Silly humans.

The return to Eldraine also introduces the card Archon's Glory, showing an archon flaring before what I assume is one of Ashiok's nightmare thingies. Not much to say except it looks pretty cool.

Ezrim

We conclude this sequel with the second legendary archon, Ezrim. From Ravnica, Ezrim started as an Azorius archon, before quitting because the other archons were apparently too much for him. He then went on to found a truth cult (ironic considering mythological archons are all about keeping the illusion of the material world) until it grew into a detective agency. He is a major character in the Murders at Karlov Manor storyline; not a lot of quirks but has quite a presence. We also see through him that an archon and steed can momentarily seperate... which he uses to file paperwork. Neat.

I like the use of browns in his depiction, like a very subdued gold. Besides the trenchcoat - working wonders to hide his face btw - he wilds a blue staff, which I assume he uses to unvield the truth. His steed is some sort of sharp toothed bull with two tails and four wings; it isn't described in detail in the story, I'm assuming because either the final design wasn't ready when it was written or because it's simply not easy to described

And that's it for now

Creative has made Archons quite a rare creature type, and have played quite a bit since we last sank our teeth, subverting both the MTG rule as White's bad side and the mythological role as masters of illusion.

Let's see what the future holds.

[leafdrake-haven]

What was your oc's like as a child? What was their childhood like? Do they think they had a good childhood?

Rhynn was the kid who was always curious and always asking questions. A lot of questions. All the time. Most of her caretakers and mentors in the Dromoka clan would humor her if in a slightly exasperated sort of way. Occasionally some would joke about sending her to the Ojutai because they like questions there (most of the time this was a joke, when someone was annoyed/angry though there were a few times it sounded more like a threat). Overall she had a pretty good childhood though. She was bright and talented for her age so despite her over-enthusiasm in areas many people didn’t think were important, she rose in the ranks pretty well. She would get into some good-natured mischief and trouble now and again but she usually got out of trouble without too much punishment/consequences. Her late teens were a little harder due to being the lone survivor (to her knowledge) of a caravan attack, spending a year in the Atarka wilderness with only one shaman to be her guide and mentor, and then finally sparking at 16.

Elrick as a child was both very spoiled and had very high expectations placed on him. He came from a noble family in Fiora with a reputation to upkeep and status to climb even higher. He did feel some pressure growing up but he actually relished it. He welcomed the challenges and felt accomplished when he completed his missions. He was good and he knew it so he was definitely a cocky little shit as a kid and preteen. He very much thrived on praise and would try to do extra just to receive more. His parents were demanding and definitely saw him as an asset first and son second, but he was still cherished. They would still take time to share their interests with him and his love of plants and music started with his parents. He very much would say he had an excellent childhood…. Until he turned 14 and the events of his spark occurred. Life was tough for a long while after that unfortunately.

Tali had what she would consider a very boring childhood. She grew up on the ocean floor of Ravnica’s vast underground sea. Her parents and immediate family had no interest in the surface or the guilds and didn’t care to explore those opportunities even as more and more merfolk were traveling to the surface. Tali was also restless and wanting to learn more and better herself and make herself stronger. They didn’t discourage Tali’s curiosity but they didn’t really encourage it either. She at first tried to get her parents interested in the guilds but after it was clear they were content just living a simple life, she lost any sense of attachment for them. Eventually as a teen she ran away and didn’t look back.

Helis was a bit spoiled as a kid. He’s an only child with three parents to dote on him and he loved it. Other than his sparking, he didn’t have a very eventful childhood, and even that was a happy event. He was very curious and playful, more than a little mischievous (not in a malicious way). Would definitely fib to get out of trouble and eventually got somewhat ok at it, even if his parents could tell most of the time. He thinks he had the best childhood ever.

Penny had a similar upbringing to Elrick except that she didn’t like that. She was the youngest of 4 (including her twin brother) in a noble family with lots of money and connections. Her parents did care for their children but they were also very detached; the kids had more parental love from their nanny. Perfection was expected from all of them. Penny did like the luxury of her childhood; she always had the finest foods, clothes, and furniture. She had the finest music teachers and was given the most expertly crafted instruments. When she and her twin brother were younger and there was slightly less pressure on them, they used to cause some mischief but as they got older, he bought into the ‘Be a Perfect Heir’ thing and got more serious. Penny felt very abandoned by this and kind of lost her way. If you asked her, she would say yes she had a wonderful childhood! But it’s a question she would linger on in the back of her mind later.

Thanks for asking!

[orginaldisneychild95]

Closing In.

The sun has risen on Naboo, vibrant and beautiful. As Fiora was getting Grogu dressed and ready to go, a flush and luscious warmth slowly swam through her as she recalled what happened between her and Din the night before..

She smiles softly, gently kissing Grogu on the head as he coos with happiness. Her mind drifts away as she places the little one in his pram..

The idea, the notion, the FEELING of having The Mandalorian, Din Djarin kissing her, ravishing her mouth and consuming her the way he did... Fiora could swear she dreamt everything. The heat of her body being tempered by the beskar, her excitement and arousal being teased by the cool metal of the armor... The deep kisses, Din’s mouth like hot silk.

Fiora softly giggled to herself, the room window left open welcomed the breeze to cool her down... “Imagine if we had finished”..  Thinking to herself, her mouth watering. 

For now, their moment would just have to be under lock and key in her heart. There were bigger and more time sensitive things to worry about, like saving Mikka’s life.

Suddenly, the sound of the door opening took her out of her delicious trance as Mando returned. Fiora secretly hoping for good news. She heads to the small sitting area of the room...

“There you are, I was beginning to get worried. Did you find anything?” Fiora’s voice is a bit tight with anticipation and worry..

Din watches her from under his helmet, he can see she’s worried and rightfully so.. He swore by the vow of his creed to protect her and safe her best friends life.

Mando lays it all out...

“I did, but we have a problem.. He’s too far ahead of us. The bastard was here two weeks before we arrived to see Mikka. When was it that he broke into your home?” Mando’s modulated voice was no nonsense..

Firoa let out a worried sigh ...  “Immediately after I left the tavern, the first time we met when you saved me from those thugs. I get home, everything was dark. He asked me where his supply was, he attacked me.. then he put the threat on Mikka’s life if I didn’t get him the powder.” Mando was crushing the coordinates map in his hand without realizing it, listening to Fiora’s voice brake.

Din tried to clear his throat, asking for another piece of the puzzle.. a slight feeling in his chest that Fiora acted on instinct. 

“How did you know I was at Peli’s hanger?” Mando was certain he was going to hear what he wanted..

Fiora smiled bittersweetly, tears forming in her eyes ... Mando comes closer, as if trying to shield her from collapsing... “After Kygen left, I packed a bag and I acted instinctively. I knew you were leaving so I ran for the hanger like my life depended on it”... 

Fiora closes her eyes, letting a few tears fall... One of Mando’s fingers comes under Fiora’s chin, her gorgeous eyes glassy and broken..

“I’m glad you didn’t let me leave and I’m ever more pleased that my prediction was correct”. Mando soothes her with his words. “Fi, listen to me... The coordinates I have on this map lead us to Coruscant, we’re slowly going to gain on him. However, as of now we’re going to need more help. The coordinates are on the paper, I need you to take it and put in your bag” Mando gently passes the paper in her hand, she grips it softly...

“Give me a moment.” Fiora steps back into the bedroom and places the map in her bag. Taking a deep breath to calm down, goes back to the sitting area..

“So, What next?” Fiora was done letting time waste.. 

Mando calls Grogu’s pram out of the room, the little one squealing with joy at seeing his father and protector.. Mando looks down with at affection at his little one... “Hey, little guy. Did you behave for Fiora?” Tickling his ears, a smile in his voice..

Looking back at Fiora, the course is set in Mando’s conviction.. “I have to send an emergency transmission to Tatooine, some special friends will be our muscle”...

(***)

Meanwhile at Mos Espa..

“Boss, we’ve got a message from Din”... 

[crystalelemental]

New feh channel dropped and in short: No Ascended Nino but we got Limstella and they're referred to with They/them so that's cool.

Also a bunch of stuff to celebrate the new warriors game and stuff.

The worst part is I had wanted to guess Ascended Florina but thought no, they tend to be more story relevant, and the one time I don’t guess it would’ve been right.

And now the real reason I’m replying, because I want this cleared up so it doesn’t look like I’m just being an asshole later: anyone who’s been around or has looked through my Limstella tag probably knows I refer to them as “she.” And I can’t promise to stop.

Yes, I was aware ages ago of the whole “Limstella is agender” thing, however I have never seen any clear official statement on that subject. It’s always been something brought up from the wiki. Which…isn’t always accurate, but also seems to get this notion from “morphs don’t have genitalia.” Which isn’t the determination of gender. If left alive, Ursula is killed by Limstella, who she refers to as Lady Limstella, which I always took to mean Limstella goes by “Lady” by choice. So in my mind, Limstella was a trans woman in the same way as Jenny the robot; agender by default, but took a look at what constitutes “girl” and went “that me.”

That said, I do accept and appreciate that they’re going with they/them for Limstella. I think that’s great, and there’s a good argument for Limstella not caring at all about gender in the first place. But after all these years, I’ve grown really attached to my interpretation, so I can’t really say I’m going to give up my view of the character on FEH’s say so, especially knowing that the writers tend to just reference the wiki for their own canon, resulting in the travesty that was Fiora’s forging bonds. I realize this will be important for a lot of people, and I think that’s great. I just…don’t think I can give up this particular headcanon. Please understand.

[handelplayssims]

It’s the final day with the Wallace household! Such a long awaited day is here! And it’s time to go to work with Ashlynn. Time to search some criminals! ...these are the exact same criminals as I saw last time. Hmm. Now our next promotion marker is to go on patrol. Which I could do by myself but eh. Let’s just do these suggested work tones instead. Analyze some evidence is next up and then, we travel to a crime scene. Today we’re off toooo, ah, the Elderberry household. Lots of items scorched, just like last time. Serial arsonist! Now after interviews with witnesses, we go back. Time  to cross-reference the database multiple times and gain those clues. Next is to take a police report from a civilian but we don’t have any normal folks around just yet. So analyze evidence once more. And there they are! Oooh! Going on Patrol is now offered! Nice! Let’s eat some food and then head out. Annnd immediately sims are fighting with each other. Excellent. Citations for everyone! And we get our promotion. We’re a corporal now! And we get loads of prison furniture. Hmm. To home with us! Where Ashlynn shall immediately conk out on bed. Policing very tiring work, after all.

Onto Kiara who, again, wants to paint. The world is getting nice and golden from sunset happening so let’s paint towards it, shall we? Zayne...again, wants to solve hard problems so let’s gain a logic skill. Santiago still wants to complete that work task and now has the actual time to do so! Oh, wait no, he’s sleepy. Well, let’s interview and write up about one person and then head to bed. Looks like we got across the street is Dwight LeBlanc! He’s another randomly generated household that I manage to play a few times and then never again. Alas.

Oooh, this one actually turned out real well! Also, Zayne went to bed but got startled by the monster under it...but now he’s befriended him! Good for you Zayne. Time for a munch for him and then after the article from Santiago, they’ll both head to bed. ...I should remember articles when I just want a little bit of money.

There is something I want to check though. See I want to get into a home over in the more gated community in Oasis Springs. Especially since there’s actual fishing points around there. Can we move into Granda Palace? ...nope! Still 64 thousand plus short, even if I sell off all of our furniture. And I wouldn’t do that, I’d want to nab a lot for moving purposes! Alas, we’re stuck in this small home for a bit longer. Oh and Kiara’s back to being a one-star celebrity for her paintings! Nicely done you. ...oh, I need to get rid of that picky eater trait. If I switch households while that’s still active, the trait will become stuck on her. Doing that and oh, she’s very close to finishing skilling painting! Nice! Ah, Ashlynn is awake and- is sad. Because someone died. That means that it’s immediately time for-

Nieghborhood Watch!

Shulk Monado in the Shulk and Fiora household has died. Shulk was so angry he burst into flames and died.

NOOOOOO! NOT MY MONADO BOY!

Nigel Yanez in the Yanzez household has died. Nigel was milking it and got too close to a cowplant.

Oh that’s the one Ashlynn knew of. Though, checking the social bar, she didn’t even know a single trait so eh. I’d say grieve today and clear out the moodlet tomorrow but eh. We’re about to bail from this household! Annnd yes! We managed to get painting level 10 with Kiara! We’re done with this household! Let’s go and roll up another one to play! It shall be...man. It’s the Stuart-Waddel’s. Man. Vampires in the desert here we go. See you all then.

[childrenofmeyneth]

These lines from Linada have always been interesting to me -- she is a peaceful Machina doctor but she specializes in Face units and cases like Fiora's. There's a few possible reasons for this, let's go into them.

One: Linada used to work with Egil, potentially even pioneering the Face unit project with him before realizing how messed up it was. The major supporting evidence for this, in my opinion, is the way Eiz in irt what Egil has done -- that's an awful lot of guilt over something he seemingly had no hand in. Doesn't explain why she shows no guilt, however.

Two: Linada knows how to care for Machina AND for Homs, allowing her to specialize in Face units' cases. Supporting evidence is the fact Homs and Machina alike both live on the arm. Doesn't explain how she knows of Face units, though -- via Dickson or perhaps the Black Wreckage?

Three: There have been past Face units she has cared for on the Fallen Arm -- which we have never seen, for one reason or another (either they died or we just haven't seen them for story reasons). Evidence is sparse here, but there's also less contradicting it in the form of missing info.

Basically, Linada gives potential evidence that we could all make like. Face unitsonas and not have them be Xord-esque Brain stems piloting giant Faces around. Please consider.

[feralandmoonstruck]

Prize

DNI IF UNDER 18

Warnings: Kidnapping, self harm, suicide attempt, doctor/hospital, blood

Word Count: 2,950

Fiora ran. Staccato hoofbeats pounded behind her the same rhythm as her heart trying to break free of her chest. An entire life spent watching the horizon for any sign of danger was being brought to heel in blood-churned mud beneath a hazy sky that stank of smoke and piss and death. An entire life spent in fear of Breschen soldiers pulled up short as a gauntleted hand snatched her hair and yanked her off her feet. Her scream choked off as her back hit the ground. The last of it exploded out of her, leaving her unable to breathe. Even dazed, she struggled to get back up. She needed to be faster. To outrun the nightmare playing out around her. Mud sucked at her skin. It made her boots slip as she tried to get her feet back under her. The foul mix of muck found its way inside her mouth and she gagged. Then she was on her knees again, about to push herself up and run, when the soldier’s hand clamped down on the back of her neck. Empty lungs took all of the strength out of her fight, but she twisted and squirmed nonetheless. The soldier was a mountain she railed against. He let her struggle for a moment before pulling her wrists behind her back and binding them with a rough length of rope. He looped a second rope between her hands, threaded it through a ring on his belt, and then secured it to the saddlehorn. He remounted and dragged her up onto the horse, situating her in front of him to keep an eye one her. He had come prepared. Fiora’s breath returned as they rode away from her village. She spat obscenities at him that were wholly ignored. It didn’t matter what she did, the soldier had won his prize.

It was three days of being tethered to horses and stakes and clinging to the other weeping women who had been taken before reaching the palace. The soldiers kept them on the edges of comfort. They were fed and given blankets and water. The men spoke to them with gentle words. They weren’t monsters. They didn’t mistreat the women. Life in Bresch would be better, they promised.

“Dracen,” the soldiers called the man who had taken Fiora. “Prince.” “General.” A Breschen prince had destroyed her home and her life. He had stolen her away from everything she knew and loved, and he had burned it all down to ashes. That callous destruction hardened in the depths of her heart, a seed watered with her tears. It would grow to be the death of one of them, Fiora did not care which.

Dracen’s hands were gentle but firm as he lifted her off his horse once they reached the palace stable yards. She squirmed and jerked against him, but she could have been a kitten for all that it mattered. He swung her into his arms. Fiora’s fight had all but gone out of her.

“Thank you, Andreas,” he called to the groom who held the reins of Dracen’s silvery-blue gelding.

“I’ll take good care of him.”

“I know you will.”

“Say something! Acknowledge me! Anything,” she begged.

Dracen continued to ignore her.

Another servant was waiting to open a door to the palace for their prince. They kept their eyes carefully averted as Dracen carried her inside and the door shut behind them.

The interior was blessedly cool after three days of stinking heat. Dracen’s chest was warm against her side. Fiora twisted her chin up and sank her teeth into his shoulder. He sucked in a sharp breath, freezing for a heartbeat. His forearm shifted against her back and then his hand was in her hair, wrenching her head away from him.

“That’s enough.”

Fiora sneered up at him. “I’ll never stop fighting you.”

Dracen looked down at her, his brown eyes softening at the edges. “It’s not sustainable, but I would expect nothing less.”

“You destroyed my life.”

His grip loosened on her hair, but he continued to hold it. A warning. He didn’t answer, just began to walk again, his boots ringing against the granite floors.

When they finally stopped, it was in front of a plain, unassuming door. He set her on her feet. One hand remained on her shoulder to keep them tethered. Always the subtle reminder of his strength and his power over her. “There’s no other way for you to view it, but know that this is better than death.” He opened the door.

The room beyond was empty, save for a small cot on the floor. There was only one window, far above Fiora’s head with no chance of reaching it.

“I wasn’t even given the choice. I would have chosen death.”

Dracen nodded, “I’ve no doubt about that. That’s why you weren’t given that option.” He walked her into the room. “Someone will be by with food and water.” He drew his dagger and sliced through the ropes binding Fiora’s wrists. Her skin beneath was red and scabbed. Without another word he walked out, shutting the door before she had a chance to bolt. A lock clicked. Fiora screamed, slamming her fists against the heavy wood. A cough choked her. It wracked her body to the point of bringing tears to her eyes. It’s not sustainable. Dracen’s words echoed in her ears. Every act of defiance had sapped the strength from her. Every scream scoured her throat raw. Every jerk and pull of her body wore down her stamina, making her ache more and more. She slid to the floor as the tears finally came.

The door opened, sending Fiora tumbling face first into the floor. “Oh!” came a small voice from above her. “Oh no! Are you alright?”

Fiora blinked up and noticed a servant with a guard standing over her shoulder. She rolled onto her back, forcing the maid to step over her. “I’m waiting to die.” The guard followed her inside and shut the door.

“I’m Lettie,” she said, ignoring Fiora’s comment, “and this is Milo. I’ve brought you some food and some water if you’d like it.”

“And I’m here to keep you from doing something destructive. Prince Dracen said that you’re a fighter.”

Fiora’s laugh was hollow as she picked herself up off the floor. “Your prince is a monster.”

Lettie gasped. “You shouldn’t say such things about the prince! He is protecting us all.”

“Protecting you maybe, but he doesn’t give a shit about Olerans.”

“How can you say that? He brought you here. Surely here is better than what you left.”

The words stung. “Give me the food.”

Lettie held out the tray that contained a thick sandwich and a cup of water. Fiora snatched the water first.

“Easy,” Lettie cautioned, “you’ll not want to drink it too quickly.”

“I know that.” Fiora grabbed half of the sandwich in one hand and sat down on the floor. She took a large bite as Lettie kneeled in front of her.

“If you’d like, after you’re done eating I can take you to the bathing chamber.”

Fiora looked up at Milo, “Will he be there?”

“I’ve no plans to watch you, but the prince assigned me to you. All the women brought back were assigned a maid and a guard. I’m to keep you –”

“From doing something destructive,” Fiora finished. She took another bite.

“We’re only trying to keep you safe,” Lettie said gently.

Fiora swallowed thickly. “Safe for what? What do they plan to do to us?”

“I’m sorry, but I don’t know. We were only told to keep you safe and to take care of you as well as we could.”

“When can I see the others?”

Lettie shook her head. “I’m not sure of that either. We weren’t told much.”

Fiora sighed. “A bath would be nice.”

Lettie smiled. “We can do that.”

The heat of the water leached the ache from Fiora’s muscles. She was still sore, but it was better than she’d felt in days. She could barely keep her eyes open as Lettie and Milo led her back to her room. After three days of fighting and sleeping on the ground and being slung over a horse, the cot may as well have been a bed of the softest feathers for as quickly as Fiora sank into it and let slumber pull her down.

She awoke disoriented. Her throat was dry and raw and her tongue felt pasted to the roof of her mouth. She sat up, the memories of the previous few days returning in a hot rush. She climbed slowly to her feet and made her way to the wall. The first slam of her head against the stone sent pain exploding through her. She screamed. Blood poured over her lips. And then she was laughing and crying and screaming all at once. Death would hurt either way, but at least this was on her terms.

The door to her room was thrown open, and then hands were wrenching her away. Milo was shouting something, but she couldn’t make out the words. He dragged her out into the hallway.

“Let me go,” she begged. “Just let me do this!” Blood hazed her vision.

“Milo, let her go. She’s not an animal.” Fiora didn’t recognize the voice.

“Prince Dracen said I’m not to let her do anything destructive, and now look at her! We thought she’d be fine in an empty room!”

“Dracen,” the voice snapped, “is busy, and I’m telling you to let her go.”

Milo released his hold on Fiora, and she collapsed. The newcomer’s voice drew closer to her. “Hey,” he said gently, “are you alright?”

“That’s,” she choked, “a stupid question.”

He gave a soft chuckle. “I suppose it is. I’m Prince Viorel. Let’s get you cleaned up, shall we?” He pulled a handkerchief from his pocket and handed it to her.

Fiora groaned as she sat up and wiped the blood from her eyes. Her head throbbed.

“Milo, go find the physician.” Milo hesitated for a moment. “She will be fine in my care. Go.”

“You’re one of the girls Dracen brought back from Olera, aren’t you?”

“He should have killed us.” Even with her eyes clear, she still saw Viorel as more of an overlapping blur than a person.

“Perhaps, but my brother still has a soft heart from time to time. Do you want to die so badly?”

“Death is better than being a Breschen prisoner.”

Viorel frowned, his face duplicated. “And if you weren’t?”

“Unless you plan to send me home, I would still choose death.”

“Is there still a home for you to go back to?”

Fiora glared at him. It hurt to think. Before she could piece together an answer, the sounds of Milo and the physician hurrying to them echoed up the hall. Viorel drew back to give the physician room to work. He stood with Milo off to the side and they conversed in voices low enough that Fiora could not have heard them even if she were paying attention.

Once finished with his examination, the physician spoke briefly with Viorel then disappeared with Milo once more. Viorel returned to the floor next to Fiora. “You’ve got a concussion,” he said, answering her question before she had a chance to ask it. “And a broken nose. He wants to keep you for observation for a couple of days.”

Fiora spat air from between her teeth. “I want to see the others. The women your brother stole, I want to see them.”

“You’re in no state for that right now. Not to be rude, but you’re an absolute mess and you would likely only frighten them.”

Fiora tried to shake her head, but the movement set the room to spinning and she slumped sideways. Viorel caught her before she could hit the ground.

“I would like to stay with you, if that’s alright.”

“But you’re a prince,” she said.

“Fourth prince, but seventh child. There is little that is expected of me on a day to day basis.”

“Seventh?”

Viorel laughed. The sound was as rich as wine. “It’s been a long time since I’ve seen a reaction like that. But yes, seventh out of eleven altogether.”

“All from the same mother?” Fiora blinked rapidly as she tried to wrap her head around the information.

“Yes, surprisingly. I promise you can meet her and all of my other siblings.”

“If I promise not to die, right?”

“Death would make it a sight more difficult.”

Fiora let out a laugh that was more of a groan. “And if I don’t?”

“No one can make that decision for you, but I hope you would consider delaying it. At least for now.”

Milo and the physician returned again. A stretcher was held between them. “Ma’am,” the physician said, “we need to move you now.”

Fiora nodded slowly. They put the stretcher next to her and helped her to lie back on it. When they had her situated they lifted between them.

Viorel touched Fiora’s shoulder. “Would you mind terribly if I were to join you?”

“I suppose not. Not that I think you’d listen even if I said no.”

Viorel chuckled. “I’m not sure I would either.”

He followed them back to the infirmary, standing at the edge of the room while the physician and one of his aides moved Fiora to her bed and proceeded to run a series of tests on her.

The aide helped lower Fiora back on the pillows while the physician conversed with Viorel. When the aide kneeled and pulled leather straps from beneath the bed, Viorel stepped forward. "You're not restraining her."

The aide's eyes went wide. "My apologies Prince, but it's protocol for patients who pose a threat to themselves or others."

"And I'm telling you that you're not restraining her, protocol or no." The aide placed the straps back under the bed. "I plan to stay here for the night at least. If something happens, I assure you I will notify you. She's gone through unfathomable hardship, and I have no intention of leaving her alone."

"Fiora. My name is Fiora."

Viorel looked over at her, "I have no intention of leaving Fiora alone."

"As you wish, my prince." They retreated and Viorel dragged a chair up next to Fiora’s bed.

Her eyelids fluttered as she looked up at the prince. “Thank you for not letting them strap me down.”

“You’re not an animal, Fiora. Dracen should know better than to treat you as such. Any of you. If he planned to take you from Olera, he should have planned to make your lives here as comfortable and attractive as possible. Otherwise things like this happen.” He reached out and carefully brushed her blood crusted hair from her cheek.

“I’m so tired,” she admitted.

“No rest yet,” he said gently, “we still need to get you cleaned up.”

Fiora let out a slow breath. “You’re right.”

“If you will pardon me for just a moment.” He waited for her nod before stepping around the curtain.

She could hear his boots clicking through the infirmary, passing by the rows of empty beds. Her eyes flicked to the window above her, to the edge of the bed where she knew the straps lay just beyond her reach. She sighed. “You’re not an animal, Fiora.”

“Fiora? Fiora, wake up.” Viorel laid his hand on her shoulder.

She woke with a gasp.

“There you are.” He smiled, his cheeks creasing with dimples. Fiora stared at him, her eyes tracing the bow of his lips, the line of his nose, all the way up to flintlock eyes. “We’re going to get you cleaned up now, okay?”

She turned her gaze to the other person standing next to her bed. “Lettie, I wasn’t expecting to see you.”

“I should have been there. This wouldn’t have happ–”

Fiora raised a hand to stop her. “There isn’t a single thing you could have done. I did this, not you.” The other girl’s face crumpled. “You’re here now, and so am I.”

Lettie nodded. “You’re still here.” She reached into the basin of water on the cart next to her, wringing out a rag before passing it to Viorel.

“Has anyone told Dracen yet?”

“Milo is looking for him, my prince.”

He nodded and bent down to dab blood from Fiora’s skin.

An aide swapped places with Viorel at one point so that he could go with the physician to speak with Dracen about the incident. That’s what they had begun calling it, “The Incident,” as though it was some unfortunate accident and not a deliberate act by Fiora herself.

Lettie and the aide, Caris, had washed the blood from Fiora’s hair and had her sitting up by the time Viorel had returned. wheeled the cart holding the basin and rags away for a final time. He waved Lettie out after them.

“You’re looking better already,” he said as he took a seat next to her.

“And you’re a liar. We both know what I look like.”

“You wound me.”

“How are the others? Did your brother tell you anything?”

“None with reactions so drastic as yours I’m afraid. Mostly weeping, from what he’s heard.”

“But they’re alright?”

“They are. It’s your turn next, if you think you can manage?” His words were gentle, no hint of mockery or reproach in them.

“I can’t promise that,” she whispered.

“I wouldn’t ask you to. This is something only you can choose. Until then, I’ll be here so long as you’ll let me.”

Fiora nodded. “I think I could do that. At least for now.”

[heraldofzaun]

//Still lurking.

Some thoughts below the cut. A little melancholic. A little ranty. Many thoughts on how Viktor is perceived by the fandom at large. It got away from me.

I think I’ve mentioned it elsewhere, but I have followers here and this is also a Viktor blog... I think it would be nice if people stopped making fun of Viktor’s accent - I saw T/BSkyen’s (I think that keeps me out of the tag) shorts video on Viktor, and it was disheartening that he chose to make fun of Viktor’s accent several times throughout a one-minute video. No other character with a hammy, over-the-top accent, as far I know, receives this treatment. No one makes fun of Caitlyn’s British accent in character analyses of her. No one makes fun of Fiora’s French accent in character analyses of her. (I just checked his videos on them, actually, and guess what - no mocking their accents by doing them! Although Fiora’s accent does get mentioned, at the least.)

Just... stop doing it? We know the accent is cartoonishly bad and not accurate to actual Russian accents at all. But why, specifically, are people - T/BSkyen, in this instance - compelled to make fun of Viktor by putting on an accent and saying “Get reed of all emotions“ and “GLORIOUS EVOLUTION” and “BEEP BOOP ROBOT BRAIN”? (The misspelling in the first is not mine. It is in the actual subtitles for the video.)

I mean, we all know that the answer is the fact that American (and other countries, but we can focus on America for now) media spent the Cold War convincing Americans that Russians and Eastern Europeans were mindless followers of ideology and/or Crazy Insane Scientists, instead of like... people with diverse thoughts and feelings who may or may not agree with their government, but like... I have to ask the rhetorical questions here because no one else is going to apparently. Anyways it’s 2021 stop conflating people and the governments they live under, I guess.

Anyways, also very disheartening that I just checked the pinned comment on that video and he is now saying that Viktor’s endpoint is the Battlecast universe, which is not a canon fact even in current lore. It’s an assumption. I can’t even say that Full Machine Viktor is Viktor’s endpoint, because that was retconned into being a janitor skin that randomly breaks into Spanish in the skin bio for a... “joke”? (Because that’s a cool thing to do. I’d ask how that got past anyone, but that’s a pointless question.) But Battlecast is not stated anywhere to be the end result of canonical Viktor, as far as I know. I suppose it’s not stated to not be the result, but... Like, what other character gets an AU skinline that people then say has to be their canonical endgoal when it is not said to be their canonical endgoal by any official source?

Quothe the loremaster... “The endpoint of Viktor's quest is the Battlecast universe. In case y'all forgot. Read between the lines of his stories even a little bit before stanning him, I'm begging you.”

The entirety of the pinned comment is frustrating. It is frustrating not only because it clashes entirely with the funny comical tone of the minute-long short, which also decides to yet again conflate transhumanism with being trans (we have heard my thoughts on this before. Please stop doing this), but because it is unfortunately true in aspects about current Viktor. He is really not a good man, even though you may be able to argue that Riot’s biased narrator choices mean that a canonical version of the Viktor-Jayce fight does not exist. (Because both lores tell their sides of the story. Biasedly.) But as the story stands, his character getting filled out didn’t make him more morally ambiguous than his original counterpart. The ambiguity that existed originally was due to us not knowing a lot about him and thus being able to interpret things the way we wished. (I’m sure that there is still room for interpretation in the new lore, but it seems lesser to me. Also, his color story is framed atrociously. It’s going for warm and fuzzy when the content of it is giving a kid drugs but this is a long enough post already...)

Riot does not know what to do with Viktor. They’re content to portray him as a Russian mad scientist and buffoon in LoR and in some other media, because... [gestures at the struck-out paragraph above]. But then they have his lore which... could be interesting, maybe, if it weren’t convinced that the way to tell a morally grey story is to have narrators more unreliable than a pull-start lawn mower. Like, they just don’t know what to do with him.

Any analysis of him needs to come with that caveat, not someone deciding that the best way to spent a minute of analysis is to make multiple jokes about Viktor’s accent being stereotypical via... feeding into it being stereotypical... and saying that transhumanism is related to trans rights in any inherent way.

Also, T/BSkyen says that Viktor only has an augmented hand and the third arm, which conveniently ignores the fact that Prototype is probably supposed to be taken as semi-canonical considering its name and the fact it was made when backstory-related skins were a more common thing. (And also because it hasn’t been retconned into being a janitor.) It also conveniently ignores the fact that Viktor’s lower legs clearly don’t look like armor on his model, but this is a side tangent that doesn’t really matter, so...

Whatever, right? I’ve clearly put more thought into this than League’s local loremaster put into that video and subsequent “no guys he really is a baddie stop stanning him and grow critical thinking skills” comment. Sorry if I sound jaded here or am taking this far too seriously or whatever, it’s just... man, it’s a lot. It makes trying to do my take in any public capacity feel kind of like shit, because it’s clear that the general perception of Viktor is currently 1) Haha Funny Accent Man, 2) Trans Rights!1!, and/or 3) He’s Evil :(, and it sucks. I already am writing for a niche audience who will accept a Viktor who never went to Piltover and who exists in old Zaun. I know that that’s niche. I’m okay with it being niche, I think.

But it sucks to build up all this character and do all this writing and try to... I don’t know, present a nuanced view of someone, and then just get another fucking joke about his accent or his design tropes or about what transhumanism is. Especially when those jokes are what people remember, right?

Sorry. This got whiny. But I think it explains why I’ve lost so much steam on writing our favorite Machine Herald, because stuff like this just keeps kind of... happening.

Thank you to the folks that send in anons about my analyses or who like my posts about my artistic endeavors or just... well, interact in general. It does mean a lot to me that you guys are invested enough to hang around and read 2k words of me doing the Pepe Silvia scene from Always Sunny as I connect dots that might not have been meant to be connected. It’s just hard to keep doing it, sometimes, and I guess this is one of those moments.

[making-dough]

Down and Dirty - & Larcei

With shiny knights and aristocratic brats being the talk of the town, Nessie brings the attention to herself again with a mud-wrestling tournament to welcome you all with. No prizes, of course, but what’s a broke girl to do about that? Sidebets are already abound, and muscle-bound, charismatic Nessie is the favorite to beat. Make your own bets if you have the cash, or get down and dirty with the rest of them.

♠  ~ The shouts of the crowd echoed all around, excitement clear in their roars. No doubt they were there for the spectacle that being, of course, Nessie’s Grand Pennywell mud-wrestling competition. In particular, its latest match, starring yours truly, the most well-paid mercenary in all Elibe. Though, to be fair, she quite understood them. If she wasn’t in the ring herself, Farina would have been right out amidst the crowd, trading bets and making jokes. It wasn’t as though there were much other spectacles in this muddy, swampside town. 

So, while she was here, she may as well give them a show, as befitting of any arena across Elibe. With a light spin on her heel, Farina paused for a brief moment, turning to blow a kiss into the air and a flirty wink to the crowd. The shouts only grew louder. The mercenary only laughed heartily and turned to face forwards once more, enjoying the cool, squishy feeling of mud between her toes.

Oh, she’d kicked her boots off ages ago. Didn’t seem like the sort of the thing that’d seemed quite right in the ring. Actually, she’d stripped herself of everything but smallclothes. Besides, the swampy air felt a ton more comfortable on her bare skin. Though, no doubt Fiora would have something to say about her current lack of attire but, eh, Fi wasn’t even around. What she didn’t know wouldn’t hurt her.

Proud, confident (and squelchy) steps brings the blue-haired mercenary closer to the centre of the makeshift arena, a ring of villagers and some flimsy ropes forming a loose circle around them. She soon finds her latest opponent, a certain black-haired girl with chocolate brown eyes. A smug, playful smirk spreads its way across her lips. May as well give the crowd some pre-match trash talking while she was at it. “Well, hello there, darling! The name’s Farina! Welcome to the arena! Now, tell me. Ya ready ta eat dirt?” Well, admittedly, it was a little uncreative but it worked. 

Slim fingers lock themselves and pull forwards into a lazy stretch. In fact, she was feeling so confident that she was willing to let the other girl make the first move. Well, why not? She was pretty sure she could take whatever the other girl could dish out.

@keen-kin

[rainbowwing251]

(This post was recently revised. Revision date: March 6, 2021. Some spelling and grammatical errors have been corrected.)

You know what? I just realized that despite how much I post about Shulk, I’ve never made any general headcanons for him! So you know what? I’m going to do it!

Actually, before I get started, I don’t think everyone knows which Shulk I’m talking about, because there are technically three Shulks, all of which are from different fandoms. I should have clarified this earlier, but I’ll do it now.

There’s Tubbo Shulk, which is from the MCYT fandom. If you came here for this Shulk, then I’m sorry, but you’ve come to the wrong place.

And then there’s She-Hulk, who has the nickname of Shulk, from the MCU. If you came here for her, I apologize. You’re gonna have to keep searching.

And the final Shulk is from Xenoblade Chronicles. I wish I knew how to insert a picture into a Tumblr post, because I would love to show you just what this good boy looks like. If you came here for him, then congratulations, you came to the right blog!

Alright, now that that’s cleared up, I’m going to get to the headcanons. These will go under Read More, so click or tap on “Keep Reading” to see them!

. Okay, so starting off, just look at Shulk. Look at him, and tell me that he doesn’t look like a lee.

. Well, you can tell me that he’s a ler. I’m interested in know what your opinions are. But to me, Shulk is a straight-up lee.

. His worst spots? I’ve gone back and forth between his ribs and his stomach, but you know what, I’m going to go with both!

. The people who target him the most? In Xenoblade Chronicles, it’s pretty much the entire main party, along with Alvis, Kino, and Nene. For Super Smash Bros., it’s Cloud, Pit, and Palutena. Honorable mentions go to Rosalina, Joker, Marth (for some reason, I think Marth would go after Shulk), Roy (Fire Emblem Roy. Again, I don’t really know why, but I could see Roy being a ler to Shulk), Pyra, and Mythra. For Xenoblade Chronicles 2, it’s Fiora, Rex, Pyra, Mythra, and Zeke (though Rex is susceptible to retaliation. Maybe I’ll write my XC2 headcanons some day).

. He can’t stand any form of teasing. If you talk to him in a baby voice while tickling him, he WILL die. If Cloud calls him “brother” and teases him like a big brother would, he’ll spontaneously combust. If Joker teases him in a low, smooth voice, his face will burn with the heat of the sun.

. Oh by the way, he likes being teased. He won’t admit it though, so you got to tickle him into admitting it.

. If you really want to kill him, there is one way to do it. It’s simple, it’s easy, and he will lose his mind while he blushes profusely. Just say this one word: tummy.

. Riki and his family LOVE to exploit this weakness while they gang-tickle him into oblivion. The Nopon tend to say the word “tummy” or “tum-tum” quite often. Therefore, Shulk’s face is just a constant shade of red while he’s in Frontier Village, and it happens every single time he visits the area. Also, I don’t know if you have seen the Nopon, but they have feathers. Riki has 13 family members (14 if you count Shulk himself. Huh? That Heart-to-Heart might not be canon? Fuck that, I’m making it canon!). Shulk is going to die in at least two different ways at the same time.

. Speaking of feathers, Shulk is SUPER weak to them. If you find a Fortune Feather, try to walk up to him with it in your hand. He will bolt.

. Too bad that he can’t run that fast. Not even a Quick Step gem can save this boy from his fate.

. He has a hard time with traveling in Alcamoth because the High Entia have feathers, and they are everywhere. He proceeds to have a lee crisis in the middle of the street.

. He’s not safe from the feathers in Smash, either. As soon as he sees Falco, Pit, Dark Pit, Palutena and Sephiroth all in the same area, he makes a run for it. He’s not going to take a risk.

. When he first got to Alrest, he thought he was safe from the feathers there. Long story short, Roc and Rex proved him wrong.

. The feathers will always find you, boy.

Okay, as much as I want to keep going, I need to stop for the night. I need to head off to bed soon. I’ll make sure to return to these headcanons as soon as I can!

[kentuckywrites]

deform to form a star

Long after the events of the main story, Shulk has a dream and sees Alvis again.

Shulk had skipped dinner that night in favor of working in the lab uninterrupted. Mechon parts were strewed about on his desk haphazardly, some dangling off the edge, threatening to fall. Blueprints to various inventions and upgrades were crumpled up or tucked away, and only one was in clear view. It was the design for an arm cast, a mechanical splint. If everything worked out, it would give Dunban movement in his right arm again. Shulk hoped to surprise him with it once it was done. 

But the claws of the unconscious were grabbing his temples, and with every passing moment Shulk wanted to give in to its grasp and sleep. Eventually he decided he wouldn’t get anywhere like this, and even if he did manage to keep going, there was no guarantee that the work he did would be adequate, or even subpar. Shifting some of the parts away with his arm, Shulk used the crook of his elbow as a makeshift pillow, and when his eyes fluttered shut the world of dreams embraced him with a quiet indignation.

Dreams were not something Shulk wished for, not after all that had happened. His nights were haunted by ghosts of the past, of mistakes he couldn’t fix and lives he couldn’t save. He would wake as if he hadn’t slept at all and go about the day normally, avoiding any and all questions about why there were dark circles under his eyes, why he kept tripping over his own two feet. When darkness claimed him he knew he would dream, and the vast expanse of space greeted him coldly. Shulk knew this vision - this was where he and the others fought Zanza and all the ghosts of their past. Metal Face, Face Nemesis, Jade Face, Xord. Mumhkar, Fiora, Gadolt, and whoever Xord had been in a past life. He felt the hilt of the Machina’s monado in his hand, and he prepared himself for a lonely fight in a lonely void.

But the scene changed, and when he went to grip the monado tighter his fingers pressed into his palm, empty. The sun, distant in the sky, grew higher as grassy land pressed into Shulk’s boots. A gentle breeze came to comfort him and the sky turned a brilliant shade of blue. He knew this place - it was just outside of the former Colony 6, the path out of the ether mine. Loose fence posts jutted out in weird directions, hardly performing their intended purpose at the edge of the land. In one of their many gaps, a familiar Homs sat, his feet dangling over the edge of the Bionis. Shulk had to rub his eyes to fully realize that it was Alvis, who hadn’t acknowledged that he was there yet. Smiling, he walked over, choosing not to sit down yet.

“Alvis!” He said, “It’s been a long time.”

“Indeed,” Alvis didn’t look up at Shulk, his silver gaze focused on some distant point on the horizon, “And it would seem during that time, you’ve been in good health.”

“I’d say so,” Shulk stretched his arms outwards, noticing that in this dream all of his aches and pains had been alleviated, “Rebuilding the colonies is taking longer than I first thought, but they’re coming along nicely. I’m back to working in a lab again too! Overall, everything’s coming along.”

“Good news,” He nodded, and without looking up he patted the space to his left. That silent affirmation was all Shulk needed to sit down next to Alvis, letting his legs dangle off the land. There was a dull sense of danger involved, but in the end, even if he fell, this was only a dream. Still, everything around him felt real - the sights, the textures, even the faint smell of iron and rosewater that the breeze carried over from Alvis. This close to him, Shulk could even see how smooth Alvis’s skin was, flawless and pure, porcelain that held no imperfections. His hair, feathery like the High Entia he’d worked with long ago, metallic and shining in the sunlight. The frown decorating his thin lips, desperately wanting to turn into a grin, but held back by something beneath the skin.

Shulk decided to ask what was bothering him, because it was obvious that Alvis was sad. 

“How have you been holding up?” He said, “Honestly, I wasn’t sure if I’d ever see you again.”

“I have nothing to report.”

Well, that was anticlimactic. 

“Really? Nothing new at all?”

“There isn’t much of anything for me to report. It is as you said, Shulk. Everything is coming along.”

“But what have you been up to?” Shulk pressed, “It’s been months since I’ve heard word from you. I find it hard to believe you haven’t been doing anything at all!”

Alvis paused, contemplative. His hands found their way into his lap, folding ever so perfectly with each other. “My administrative duties have taken up the bulk of that timeframe, but even then there is not much left to maintain. Thanks to you, this world has progressed in a natural manner. I believe in due time, my line of work will become obsolete.”

“Because this world has no gods to control it?”

“Precisely. I was set to maintain the world for Zanza’s return, but now that there are no gods left to govern it, this world has progressed on its own terms. It’s possible for me to collect new data regarding the future of this world, but…”

“But that’s not what you want.” Shulk finished, and finally Alvis turned to face him. His expression had taken on a miserable quality, his brow furrowing and his eyes creasing at the corners.

“Correction: that is not what you want, Shulk,” He said, “You expressed the desire to live life each day as it comes, and whatever the future held for you, you would embrace with open arms. It is difficult to collect data on a future that is not predetermined, only because of the infinite possibilities in store.”

“Right,” He agreed with a small sigh, “Though if I might ask...are you sad that this is what I chose?”

Alvis’s eyes went wide. “I could never be disappointed in you, Shulk. This world is prospering because of your decision, and I cannot fault you for placing the people of this world into your consideration.”

“But I basically took away your purpose,” Shulk protested, “You don’t have anything left to do anymore. Zanza gave you a job to fulfill, as much as it’s weird to admit it, but now you’re just…”

“Outdated technology.” Alvis turned away again, his legs gently kicking outwards. “All technology is bound to be replaced as advancements are made. I simply wasn’t expecting my own expiration to be so soon.”

“Expiration? Alvis, you’re not just a piece of equipment to be thrown away once you’ve served your purpose. You’re sentient. You can think for yourself. You can make a life for yourself, if you want!”

“My own life…”

The silver-haired Homs went quiet, now staring down at his hands, observing how his fingers bent to press down on his palms. It was a gentle movement, so carefully planned that Shulk couldn’t resist watching him. When the silence had passed, Alvis took a deep breath, and his hands came to rest on his thighs.

“Zanza once informed me that I would never change,” Alvis said, “That I was a program made to execute commands and nothing more. I cannot help but consider that he was right.”

“I killed Zanza, remember?” Shulk found himself laughing, “He can’t control who you are or who you want to be. Isn’t that why you helped me?”

“I deny that I was of any assistance to you. Your friends considered me a traitor, and even in the end, all I asked of you was to make a decision.”

“So all those times you appeared to me in my dreams weren’t supposed to be helpful? Alvis, you gave me the strength to keep fighting. When I thought I was nothing more than an empty shell, you were there to tell me that I had meaning - that everything I’d done had purpose to it.”

Alvis looked to Shulk again, and this time the saddened hint to his face had increased tenfold. It was like Shulk had spoken a truth he wasn’t prepared to accept. His eyes threatened tears, silver pools of mechanical grace that hid a mortal life. His lips parted, showing the slightest hint of white teeth, though no words could escape his body. So Shulk continued, smiling now that he knew what Alvis needed to hear.

“Maybe you can come and live in Colony 9 with me and experience what it’s like to be alive. You deserve to live, after all. Nothing can change that.”

“I...I’m afraid I may not live up to your expectations,” Alvis confessed, twisting a part of his hair behind his ear, “I have witnessed firsthand how life can be cruel, that the decisions you make can lead to life being taken away.”

“You’re afraid that you’ll hurt people? I was scared of that too, even when I had the Mona - when I had you.” Shulk told him, “But I don’t think you’d need to worry about that at all. Because now you’ll have me.”

And that was what broke the dam. Alvis’s tears spilled over onto his perfect cheeks, leaving trails of saltwater behind as evidence. Despite his tears, a beautiful smile now adored his face, and he was beautiful, and now Shulk never wanted to leave this moment. Before he could think, his arms were wrapped around Alvis, and Alvis’s arms pressed into his back, and Alvis’s face was pressed into Shulk’s shoulder, and Alvis was pressed into all of Shulk so perfectly that it was hard to believe this was a dream. 

With quiet sobs Alvis whispered, “Thank you.”

The smell of iron and rosewater followed Shulk into the waking world, and when he sat up and looked around, he saw Alvis faceplanted onto the floor behind him, fast asleep. The sight would’ve been comical without context, but all Shulk could do was smile. He didn’t know how long he’d been encased within the dream, or how the dream had followed him here. Shulk stood up from his chair, the aches and pains returning to declare vengeance, but he ignored them to pick Alvis up off the ground and carry him bridal style out of the lab. Along the way, Alvis’s eyes peeked open, still exhausted from his travels out of the unconscious. 

“Will you truly share this life with me?” He mumbled, a question that caused Shulk to blush.

“Of course I will,” He answered, for what else could he have said? “Now let’s get you somewhere comfortable to sleep. I’ll show you around the colony tomorrow.”